too.” The man on the left chuckled.
Lafleur tried to think what they wanted, or what he could give them. He tried to remember what he had on the floor, wondering if there was something loose down there that he could use as a weapon, but what had been so clear in his mind a few minutes ago, exactly what equipment he had packed, and where, had become a muddle. By pressing their bodies against him, the two men had him in a helpless position. When he shifted his leg slightly to disengage his trapped foot, the body on his right turned, then suddenly the movement became fast and inescapable like a tree, tipping, then rushing for the earth. He saw the fist coming at him, and the blow exploded in his face and banged his head against the back window. Everything went black.
When he opened his eyes he saw the windshield as a blur, wet and glistening. He felt the bodies next to him, the one on the left quivering as if with excitement. The two had their heads down. The one on the right was chewing something. The mask moved rhythmically at his cheek. When Lafleur stirred he spat and said, “There, now.” Lafleur's head throbbed. He touched his face, felt it. Through the windshield he saw a car go by, lighting up the street.
He looked at the big man out of the corners of his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Good,” the big one said. He raised one hand and put something through the hole in his mask, and resumed chewing. “Much better,” he said.
“Money?” Lafleur said. “Do you want money?” The two didn't speak. “I'm going to take out my wallet,” Lafleur said, “and put it up on the dash. Take what you want.”
Neither of the men spoke, but the one on the left abruptly stopped quivering and Lafleur thought, Addicts, they're addicts, they want the cash. He moved gingerly, reached back for his wallet. He had to wedge his hand between himself and the one on his left to get at it. He eased it out, set it on the dashboard, and the one on the left jerked forward, snatched up the wallet, then bent down again, and rifled the contents. “There's two hundred dollars,” Lafleur said. He watched as bits of paper—his receipts and the notes on bits of paper—scattered to the floor. The man dropped the wallet and made a fan out of the bills and held them near the dashboard lights. The big man on the right turned his head slightly to look and Lafleur caught a glimpse of the pale skin around his eyes. The man on the left put the bills in his pocket, then squeezed back against Lafleur. “Now,” Lafleur said. “I don't know who you are. Leave me.”
“Full of ideas, isn't he?” the big man said softly.
The man on the left chuckled.
The big man spat again, then said, “It's a cage out there.”
Lafleur sat still, watching the big man's head. He was thinking that he needed to watch, to not appear to be a victim, even to try to talk. He closed his eyes and opened them. He felt groggy.
“They sent me to check on you,” the big man said. The man on the left laughed. “You've got to steel yourself before you go out there.”
“Okay,” Lafleur said.
“Wherever you're going,” the big man said. He laughed. It came out as a rapid wheezing, then he paused, drew his breath, and said, “Okay, he says. Okay what?” The man on the left laughed. It sounded like a cackle. Lafleur could feel the two bodies rocking gently with laughter, and he thought, These two aren't simply out of control, they're crazy. “It's all a cage,” the big man said, almost whispering. “I've spent my whole life in a cage. Life is hard.”
“I'm sorry,” Lafleur said.
“Sorry?” the big man said. “You don't know me.” The man on the left had begun to quiver again, then he pulled away from Lafleur, and Lafleur thought, Maybe they're going now. But the one on the left stopped. Lafleur sensed expectation in his position, then realized that the man wasn't leaving, but just getting out of the way. For an instant, a terrible, accepting sense of calm descended upon Lafleur. “You don't know what my life is like. Who do you think you are?” the big man said, and Lafleur saw the big, oval head bow, and then felt the huge body turning again, coming at him. Desperately, he tried to twist free, but the one on the left knocked him back. Lafleur raised his hands. The fist crashed through them, striking him on the forehead, and then again he took another crushing blow to the side of the head, and he smelled the big man near him, the strong odor of wet wool and something in his breath, rancid and faintly salty. The man hit him a third time. Lafleur's skull rattled against the window. As he passed out he felt another blow and it seemed almost soft, a cushion for him to lay his head on as he went under.
When he awakened he found himself half stretched out on the seat. Confused, he tried to raise himself. His foot was stuck. He disengaged it and turned it to test his ankle. He remembered that detail, the ankle. It was all right. He heard a car swish by. He tried to pull himself up by the dashboard, but couldn't do it. He fell back on the seat. His head pounded. He stared at the ceiling of the cab. He remembered the two men, then realized that he was alone. He felt a tremendous wave of relief. Groggy, he passed out again.
Then he came to, his thoughts clearer. He eased upright and hung on to the steering wheel. His head knifed with pain. The truck was still running, trembling. Down below, the lights of Portland stretched as far as the eye could see. He thought of Phil Grimes waiting for him at Blaylock's and he tried to read his watch, but couldn't make it out. He thought—Blaylock! In his mind, he saw Blaylock's pitted face. He wanted to blame Blaylock for this. He straightened, pressed the clutch down, pulled the shift lever, and grasped the wheel. He eased the truck out into the street. Behind him, the trailer clanked. A car honked. Its horn wailed and changed tone as it passed. He drove on, fighting sleep.
6
HE AWOKE in his own bed. He knew that by how it felt and by the place in the ceiling directly above him, by the way the faint light from the hallway darkened at a scoop in the spackling.
He was in his clothes. His boots were off. He moved his toes and felt the stiff grain of his wool socks. He ran his hands along a nylon quilt, then reached out and touched the wall behind the pillow. For a moment he felt a powerful sense of well-being, an almost sexual pleasure. It was the quilt and something to do with the wall, the familiar smell of the woman left on the quilt and the feel of the wall on the other side of which his children slept, and also the penumbral glow from the nightlight placed in the hall so the children could find their way to the bathroom. It made the hall safe from their imaginations. It made him feel safe. He rolled toward the wall at the side of the bed, seeking out of an old habit to touch the naked hip of the woman. He had a peculiar sense of his weight turning, a buoyancy in the bedsprings granted by the absence of the other body, the lack of counterweight, and then it came to him again, but quite differently: he was in his bed.
Startled, he sat up, then buckled with pain and reached for his head. His head was bandaged.
A portion of it came back to him—waking up sprawled on the seat of his truck, dragging himself upright by the steering wheel.
Presumably he had then driven here—home. He didn't remember that. He remembered thinking he would try to make it down to Blaylock's place to meet Phil.
Vaguely he remembered finding himself half-conscious at the wheel with the door open and Penny standing on the step and her arm, white as bleached bone, reaching to turn off the truck. He remembered the truck going off, the sound of it gone like something dropped through a chute to the center of the earth, and the headlights going off, and Penny's face, white in the night at his side.
He remembered what she had said, annoyed: “What do you think you're doing here?” Then alarmed: “What happened?”
He remembered being walked to the house and steered inside. He remembered Penny tugging on him, leading him into the bathroom. He remembered catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror, his swollen cheek and the blood spidering down his jaw. She sat him down on the toilet seat. She washed his face and head and applied ointment to his wound. He remembered her wanting to take him to the hospital and himself refusing. He remembered her ear sticking out from behind her hair as she reached around to the back of his head. One soft breast had crushed against his