It’s pretty well known that the only way two people can keep a secret is if one of them is dead.
In the Gutter, those numbers get skewed. But we ain’t exactly accountants....
In the Gutter, those numbers get skewed. But we ain’t exactly accountants....
The Clean House by Teri Skultety
 |
 |
“Elizabeth is dead.”
“What the fuck do you mean, Elizabeth is dead?”
“Did they change the meaning of dead? What the fuck does
dead mean to you?” Sheila picked her cigarettes up from the table. “Fuck.” She
threw the empty pack against the wall.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I walked up to the Quick Stop and grabbed some
milk and some 7-Up, you know, for my stomach, and when I got back she was
dead.”
“She ain’t even supposed to be here!” Carl paced around the
kitchen. “We gotta think of something. We can’t have Bobby blaming us.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Sheila collapsed onto the sofa in the
living room.
“From where? No, it looks like she snorted it, must have
brought it with her.” Sheila started fishing through the big ashtray looking
for a long butt until she found a whole cigarette separated from its filter and
lit it.
“How can you smoke that?” Carl made a face.
“You’re a pussy, that’s just wasteful to throw away a
cigarette like this. How can I smoke this … sheesh. You better think of
something. When Bobby figures out she ain’t home you know he’s coming straight
over here.” Sheila coughed. “Good shit,” she said.
“Bobby, damn. Why the fuck was she here?” Carl sat down and lit
a cigarette from a pack he took out of his shirt pocket, which Sheila then
immediately grabbed from him. “All you had to do was ask,” he said. “What was
she doing here?”
“Some trick she was afraid of or some dealer Bobby owed
money to. Some guy, all right, some dude she said kept coming across the hall,
knocking on the door and climbing out on their balcony, jerking off and calling
her name. He broke in when she was in the shower or something. I don’t know. She
was probably lying anyway. Look at her, she ain’t had anything to eat in a
week, at least.” Sheila knotted her hands at her stomach.
“How is it?” Carl asked.
“It’s a fucking ulcer, that’s how it is. Don’t ask me that
shit. You know I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sick, yeah, yeah, I’m sick,
we know I’m sick. Shut up.” Sheila frowned. “Fucking bitch, I was going to put
on my pajamas, smoke a fatty, drink a nice big glass of milk, maybe try to eat
some bread and a cup of soup. I had my afternoon planned.” She looked at Carl.
“It hurts a lot today,” she said.
“Where is she?” Bobby demanded.
“I cleaned the house,” Sheila said, looking at the full
ashtray.
“Well a, you see, well, look man, we didn’t have nothing to
do with it.” Carl looked at the floor. “Sheila went up to the store and I was at work and…” Carl was a
toothpick of a man, five foot eight at most and about a buck-ten soaking wet.
Bobby towered over him, his biceps bulging under his shirt, fists like anvils
attached to the ends of his arms.
“Where?” Bobby said.
“She’s OD’d in the back bedroom,” Sheila said, still trying
to figure the full ashtray. Two different kinds of cigarettes, Elizabeth’s
Camel pinks, and the Marlboro’s that she and Carl smoked. But everybody else
they knew smoked those too.
Bobby walked to the back of the house. Carl got up to follow
him and Sheila picked up the heavy glass ashtray and nailed him in the back of
the head with it, sending him lurching forward into the dining room and the
edge of the kitchen table. Carl hit the floor and Sheila sat on him, smashing
him on the side of the head with the ashtray again before he managed to fling
her off. Bobby grabbed her by her arms
pulling her back.
“What the fuck, Sheila? No, baby, no. I didn’t do anything. I
wasn’t here!” Carl was hanging onto his jaw, trying to piece together what was
happening, the look in his eyes one of total devastation at his girlfriend’s
accusation. “I think you did it, Sheila,” he said.
Bobby collected Elizabeth’s lifeless body from the back the house and left the way he came in.
