Sunset and Sawdust

“I ain’t wanting to get killed over all this,” Hillbilly said.

“You go on out the back way,” Clyde said to the whore.

“McBride, he went through that door there, down the hall,” she said.

“Go on out the back way,” Clyde said again. “And thanks.”

She went away and Clyde said, “I know you got a gun, Hillbilly. Throw it out.”

“Naw. I do that, you might shoot me.”

“I’m go

“Let me think on it.”

Clyde slid forward, stood near the wall, Hillbilly on the other side.

“Last chance,” Clyde said.

“Or what?” Hillbilly said. “I watch myself pretty good. You come get me.”

Clyde lifted the shotgun and pointed at the wall, where he thought he heard Hillbilly, and fired, pumped another round into the chamber, dropped low, waited.

“Goddamn,” Hillbilly said.

Clyde slid around to the doorway, staying low, poked his head and gun around on the other side. Hillbilly lay on his back, a pistol nearby. He wasn’t hurt bad, but the shot had surprised him and he had been peppered with pellets. A piece of the wall, a splinter, had gone back and into Hillbilly’s shoulder.

“You ain’t bad off,” Clyde said, picking up Hillbilly’s pistol, sticking it in his belt.

Hillbilly took hold of the splinter and pulled it out of his shoulder, took a breath, turned his head toward Clyde. “Guess you can get even now.”

Sunset heard the shotgun blast to her left, in the rooms beyond. The blonde came through a door stepping lively, saw her, waved at her, went out the back way, into the grasshoppers, closed the battered door.

Sunset turned, looked back at the wall where McBride was. She could see him in the platter, still easing forward. She slipped backward until she was between the windows, her back against the wall. She let her ass slide to the floor, pulled her knees together, propped the shotgun on them, braced the stock against her shoulder.

McBride poked his head around the corner, poked it so fast the stupid black wig he was wearing shifted dramatically.

Sunset cut down on him.

Most of the shot hit the wall, but stray pellets lit into McBride’s face and he let out a yell, disappeared back behind the barrier.

Sunset pumped up another load, braced herself again. Thought: He hasn’t figured I can see him in the platter. She could see him leaning against the wall, picking at the pellets in his face.

“You damn bitch,” he said. “You hit me some.”

“I was trying to hit you a lot,” Sunset said. “Surrender, and it’ll go better.”

“Ha.”

“You always wear an apron?”

“You messed up my breakfast, bitch. I’m go

Sunset was trying to decide what to do, like maybe break and run, because here she was, just sitting, nothing to protect her but hopefully being quicker than McBride, and she was thinking this when McBride stepped out quickly from behind the wall, took hold of the lantern and stepped back.

She fired.

But it was too late. Her shot hit the far wall and the silver platter fell, hit on its edge, came rolling toward her, whirled and fell flat.

Goddamn, Sunset thought. I was looking at him in the platter, and he still beat me to the punch.

The lantern, lit, appeared on McBride’s arm from behind the wall and was tossed at her. Sunset leaped away. The lantern hit behind her. A burst of flame ran up the wall, ate the wallpaper like cotton candy. Sunset felt its heat, felt her hair crinkle. She rolled away from it as McBride stepped out from behind the wall. He had a double-barrel shotgun, and when he cut loose, Sunset, already rolling, threw herself flat. The shot tore above her. She felt some of it nip at her heels and heard the window behind her blow. Then there was a sound like something growling from beyond the grave.

Sunset lifted her head, tried to put McBride in her sights, but what she saw was his amazed face. He had broken the gun open, having fired both barrels, was ready to reload, but his expression caused Sunset to turn her head, look over her shoulder.

The flames on the wall were licking out to taste the air and the grasshoppers flooding in were catching fire. They washed in a burning wave toward McBride.

McBride dropped the shotgun, covered his face as they hit him, a mass of bugs aflame. His wig burst alight, and he tried to dive to the floor, but the grasshoppers followed him down, were all over him. He rose up screaming, batting at the air, his apron on fire, and Sunset thought: You dumb sonofabitch, just roll. You ain’t on fire, it’s your apron, that stupid wig.

But he didn’t roll. The wig had become a fool’s cap of fire. He snatched it off his shiny bald head, tossed it and ran. Ran straight at Sunset. Sunset was so amazed, she didn’t shoot, and he kept going, ru

Clyde appeared to her left. He had Hillbilly with his hands tied behind his back with a twisted pillowcase. Hillbilly looked bloody and bowed, but not too bad off.

“You okay?” Clyde called.

“Almost,” she said. “He hurt bad?”

“Got some pieces in him, mostly wood from the wall. He’ll live.”

The entire wall behind Sunset was on fire and the fire was spreading. She said, “Out the front.”

“Is that all of them?” Clyde said. “Did we get them all?”

“God, I hope so.”

Sunset stood, slapped flames off her skirt where the kerosene had splattered and caught. Clyde kicked Hillbilly in the ass, said, “Move it, songbird.”

When Sunset got to the doorway, she stopped and bent over Bull. She said, “Bull?”

“Is he gone?” Bull said.

“Who?”

“That big nigger in the bowler?”

“I don’t see him anywhere.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m sorry, Bull.”

“Don’t let the peckerwoods have my body.”

“You’re go

“Got a knife in my back. My legs, everything from my pickle down, gone cold, won’t move no more. We on fire? I smell smoke.”

Clyde was there with Hillbilly now. He said, “Yeah. There’s fire, Bull.”

“Let me burn,” Bull said.

“You ain’t go

But Bull didn’t answer.

A moment later, Clyde came back in with Hillbilly. “There ain’t no car. Your daddy, he’s hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Yeah. Leg is broke.” Clyde looked down at Bull. He wasn’t moving and his eyes were closed. “Bull?”

“Bull’s gone,” Sunset said, coughing at the smoke.

“Yeah, and so is this place,” Hillbilly said.

The far wall was fire, and the fire, fed by kerosene on the floor, was creeping toward them.

“Leave him,” Clyde said.

Sunset thought about that, about how he lived and what he told her, said, “Reckon so.”

Sunset took Hillbilly down, her shotgun in his back, and Clyde picked up Lee, carried him.

When they were at the bottom of the steps, Hillbilly said, “I didn’t mean for it to go this way, Sunset.”

“I have a feeling you don’t never mean for nothing to happen, but it always does.”

“I’m kind of cursed.”

“Hell, you are the curse.”

The flames were licking at the apartment and smoke was pouring out the open door and the drugstore below was starting to catch fire. The flames were so hot and bright, the grasshoppers had finally started to recede. Sunset looked up, saw them like a dark rainbow against the sky, going south, and fast, dimming the sun.