blood porn

act one
A loft apartment cut apart by shadows. Rain falls outside, the low murmur of static. Hardwood floors and bare walls. At the
far end is a stripped mattress on rough wood frame beneath a barred window. Slash of light from the open bathroom door.
At the near end is living and kitchen area. A breakfast table with two chairs. Pete Valentine sits at the table. He wears a
cheap blue suit and his head is shaved. He has two black eyes. In the living area is a heavy dark red armchair, broken
rocking chair and small coffee table. A loveseat in center, facing a large old-fashioned television set. On top is a fat black
and gray cat, asleep. The television screen has been smashed to bits. Among the dark chunks of glass lies an ordinary
household hammer.
The toilet flushes and Jesse Moreau comes out of the bathroom, a cigarette in one hand. Thick black hair hanging to her
shoulders. Pale skin and no jewelry. She wears black vinyl bell-bottom pants and a sleeveless black shirt. She is anorexic in
appearance. She begins to pace, circling toward Pete. He turns slightly in his chair. His right cheek is swollen, bruised. He
holds an unlabeled pint bottle of clear liquid. There is only the sound of bare feet touching wood, then silence.
Are you going to answer me? she says.
Pete opens the bottle, drinks. Begins coughing.
This is shit, he says.
I hope it kills you, she says.
Pete looks at her. I'm sorry.
She spits at him. Thin white streak appears on his lapel.
How old was she?
Please, says Pete.
Sixteen, she says. Was she even sixteen?
Jesse. Don't fucking start.
I can see her, says Jesse. In my mind's eye. She wore white socks and a little plaid skirt. Her knees were bruised from
playing kick the can.
I was just talking to her, says Pete.
Her hair was blonde, says Jesse. Am I right?
She was sad, says Pete. Her rabbit died.
And she smelled like toothpaste, says Jesse. Like mint.
I asked her what the rabbit's name was and she started crying.
Her little chest was smooth as a stone.
I told her the rabbit was in heaven, says Pete. With all the carrots he could eat.
She was a baby, says Jesse. Still forming.
I told her she would see the rabbit when she died. Then she started screaming and everybody on the bus went crazy.
There is a long silence.
She wanted to trust you, says Jesse. She was afraid to ride the bus alone. Then you get on and you sit next to her. A nice man
in a suit.
I am not a nice man.
I trusted you once, says Jesse.
You were safe with me.
No, she says. But I wanted to love you.
You were safe, he says. Twice I saved you.
I didn't want to be saved.
What, says Pete. What did you want?
I wanted to love you.
Pete laughs. I gave you my heart and you crushed it like a grape. You sucked the juice from your fingers.
Jesse smiles. She moves toward him. I watched a nature show this morning, she says. On television. Did you know that
raccoons wash their food before they eat? The hilarious part is they eat garbage.
Come here, says Pete.
She stops out of reach and sways back and forth.
Come closer, says Pete.
And now you look like a raccoon, she says. Like you're afraid of the sun.
Pete explodes from his chair, knocking it backward with a crash. Jesse turns to run and he chases her across the room.
Breathing hard and fast. Jesse scrambles across the mattress and into the corner by the window. She raises her hands to
defend her face. Pete stands over her, fists at his sides.
I don't want to hurt you. But I can if I have to.
You're bigger than me, she says. And stronger.
Pete crouches down.
Tell me it's okay, he says. Tell me everything is okay.
Pete reaches for her hands. Jesse is laughing silently, her eyes wild and bright.
I dream about you dying, she says. Every night.
He shakes his head and pulls away. He begins to cough.
The dream goes like this, says Jesse. You lie on your belly, face to the floor. Circles of smoke from cigarettes. Windows of
light mingle with dust. Your shoulder is sunburned and I peel the loose skin. Lift tissue flesh to the light and it glows like
oil. Soft as a condom. I play with it. I close my eyes and I see you in the burn ward. The doctors say sixty percent of body
surface is third degree. And your face is a bubble of skin with a slime coat. Left ear black and shaped like a fist. One finger
hovers over morphine button. Hands blistered thin purple from slapping fire. Your thighs and ass burned terribly, sticking to
the plastic sheet. Nurse lifts you for bedpan and there is a tearing noise. You try to laugh. But your hair is gone and you
don't recognize your own dick. It is burned like an egg. Then I'm in a parked car with Bobby, your brother. He's at the wheel
looking through the windshield. I'm in the backseat and my legs are asleep. In the rearview mirror he has your face. He tells
me you died at 1:09 a.m. in hospital. Cry if you want to, he says. I take off my shirt. Come fuck me, I say. He laughs at me
with your voice. There is a gun beside me on the seat. It's a toy gun but looks real. I hold it to his head and pull the plastic
trigger. Blue sky explosion and he turns the key.
Do you have a cigarette? Pete says.
Jesse shrugs. A knock at the door and she goes to answer it. Pete coughs, slapping his pockets for cigarettes. Jesse opens the
door. Her lips part to sneer as a tall black man enters the room. He holds a gun at waist level. He is barefoot, with a
bloodsoaked bandanna wrapped around the left foot. Jesse closes the door behind him. He crosses the room and Jesse looks
down. The bloodied foot leaves one-legged marks like hoofprints in the floor.
Pete regards the man. Do you have a cigarette? he says.
The man stares. No.
Jesse. Give me one, Pete says.
She doesn't answer.
What's in the bottle? the man says.
Pete holds it to the light. Corn whiskey, he says.
How's it drink?
Like poison.
Let's have some, then. If you're of a mind.
Pete gives him the bottle. The man unscrews the cap, glares at Pete.
Don't stand so close, he says.
He wipes the bottle's mouth and takes a small drink.
That's okay stuff, he says. He gives the bottle back to Pete, who goes over to the kitchen area and is heard clattering dishes.
The man sits down in the armchair. He places the gun on his thigh, then aims a finger at Jesse. She still stands at the door.
Boom, he says. Fall down. You're dead.
Jesse doesn't move.
I'm Charlie, he says. What's your name.
Jesse, she says.
He points at the rocking chair. Sit down then, he says. Like folks.
Pete comes back with coffee mugs, pours them each a drink. Charlie looks around. He regards the smashed television.
What's the matter with this TV? he says.
It's broken, says Jesse. I broke it.
I was late, says Pete.
Charlie laughs. They drink.
What do you want? says Pete.
Charlie picks up the gun and twirls it.
I killed four people down the hall, he says. I killed two, and then two more.
Jesse bangs her drink down and spits. What?
I had to, says Charlie. So they wouldn't wake up. Then the other two come home.
Jesse folds her hands in her lap and stares at the TV.
Pete shakes his head. We didn't hear any shots.
Charlie grins. I used a pillow for a silencer.
And how'd you do that to your foot?
Put it clean through a fancy glass coffee table.
I guess you lost your shoes.
Charlie rubs his thigh with the gun. I took my shoes off so I could walk stealthy. I was robbing the motherfuckers, wasn't I?
I guess so, says Pete. And now you're going to kill us?
Jesse closes her eyes. Why are you even talking to him? she says.
Why not? says Pete. Bedsides, it's a good question.
He looks at Charlie, who looks at his gun.
I might, he says. I might. Don't much feel like it though. And I only got one bullet left.
Seems like that gun would hold at least six bullets.
Shit. Only had five to start with.
Jesse opens her eyes. What do you want then?
I don't exactly know, he says. One thing I don't want is to walk down the street with my foot bleeding like it is.
I imagine we have something to put on it, says Pete. Jesse will look in the bathroom. He grins. Won't you, dear?
Jesse hesitates, a tendon rising in her neck. She turns, walks into the dark. Her feet can be heard padding on the wood floor.
Charlie looks sly. There a telephone back there?
In the bathroom? says Pete. No. That's the only one, under the table.
Charlie kicks the receiver off the hook. The dial tone is a faint hum.
What's your name?
Pete.
I'm Charlie. She your wife?
Sort of. Look what she did to my TV.
Well. That looks like it was a nice TV. Now you haven't got one. What the hell is wrong with her?
Pete waves a hand. Nothing. She gets tense. Paranoid sometimes.
I know the kind, says Charlie. Crazy.
I'd say killing four people is crazy. If that's what you did.
Charlie points the gun at him. What's that supposed to mean?
Sorry. Where's the stuff you stole, then?
Fuck you, boy. I stashed it.
Stashed it, huh. Pete nods. Where?
Charlie's mouth twitches. You want to change the subject before I shoot you in the face.
Sorry. Forget about it.
Where's your TV smashing wife at?
She's not really my wife.
Jesse returns carrying a bowl of water, a dry towel, a roll of gauze, a bottle of peroxide. Her eyes are touched with shadow,
her lips fat with dark lipstick.
Charlie stares at her. What were you doing back there?
She bends to unload the medical things, then hangs up the telephone.
I took some aspirin, she says.
Pete dumps more whiskey in his cup. You look beautiful, he says.
She smiles without teeth and offers Charlie the bowl of water.
What is that for? he says.
To wash off your foot, she says.
Charlie points the gun at her. First get that shit off your face, he says.
Excuse me?
His eyes are dead moons. Look like a whore. I never trust a woman with a mouth whored up like that. Wash it off now.
Look just like a damn whore.
Jesse dips towel into water, sullenly rubs her mouth and eyes. Her lips now appear bruised. She shoves the bowl splashing
water onto the table.
Charlie wiggles the gun. No, he says. You're gonna do my foot.
Why should I?
Because I asked you. And you seem a nice girl.
Jesse looks at Pete, then clicks on a bright white lamp. She kneels in front of Charlie and unwraps the bloody foot. Pete
extracts a cigarette from her pack. Jesse looks up and says softly that the foot has glass in it.
Charlie lifts his foot to examine it. Well.
Pete blows smoke. You need to get that glass out, he says. Else your foot is gonna turn black and fall off like a turd.
Jesse, says Charlie. Let me see your hand.
She holds out her right hand and Charlie leans close. She has long white nails on her thumb and first two fingers. Charlie
nods. What I figured. You can dig the glass out easy with these, he says.
Jesse pulls her hand away. Go fuck yourself.
She starts to get up and Charlie pushes the gun in her face.
I am serious, Charlie says. I'm serious as I can be.
Pete, she says.
Pete cools one black eye with his coffee cup. I'm sorry, he says. The lipstick was your idea.
Charlie waves the gun. I'd like to not shoot either of you. It's just some strange blood and tore up flesh. He points at Pete.
You'd do it was it his foot.
Jesse laughs. Is that right, Pete?
She wouldn't spit on my foot, he says.
Neither here nor there, says Charlie.
Jesse looks at her nails. This is going to hurt, she says.
I expect it will. I'd like some more of that shine.
Pete refills his own cup then slides the bottle across the table.
Jesse bends over the foot. Pete is restless, his foot bouncing. He stands and begins to pace. There is silence for a minute. The
light shines hot in Charlie's face. Pete moves in a broken circle around them.
I'm trying to visualize this, he says. Charlie, you say you took off your shoes and broke in on some people down the hall.
What apartment was this?
Charlie shudders. The end. On the left.
Number three? says Pete.
Three, says Charlie.
Are you sure.
Yes, I'm sure.
That would be Jones. He works in the bookstore. And his friend, what's his name. Do you remember his name, dear?
I don't, says Jesse.
Never mind, says Pete. Let's say they were in bed, sleeping. And you shot them with a pillow for a muffler. Then you started
looking for valuable shit and they didn't have anything.
That's right. Charlie spits. Two slick talking queer boys and they got nothing worth stealing.
Exactly. One bullet each. Then two other people came in and you say you killed them too. One bullet left. Because you
only had five. How'd you happen to step through the coffee table?
One of them tried to fight me, says Charlie.
Jones has a little dog, I believe. Doesn't he, Jess?
That's right, she says. Nasty little white dog.
Did you see the dog, Charlie?
Charlie groans, his face bright with sweat. It was under the couch pissing itself. Listen what's your goddamn problem?
Jesse picks methodically at the skin of his heel and blood trickles to her wrist.
No problem, says Pete. A minute ago you said you stashed the stolen shit. Now these poor dead bastards don't have
anything. And one thing they don't have is a fucking dog.
Only cats in this building, says Jesse.
Don't want to talk about it, Charlie says.
I'm sorry, Pete says. I'm just thinking, maybe these people aren't as dead as you made them out to be. If they're still kicking,
you might be in less trouble. He blows a thin plume of smoke from his nose. You know. Attempted murder.
I'm telling you they are dead as shit and I want you to shut up talking about it. Charlie is shaking. His lips pull back to show
teeth. You're drunk, he says.
Pete stops and his hand falls on Charlie's shoulder.
I'm not drunk, not at all. He raises his voice. Am I drunk, Jesse?
I don't think so, she says.
Charlie throws off the hand. Don't touch me, boy.
What's the matter?
Just don't ever touch me. You don't want to do that.
Pete removes the offending hand with a shrug.
I'm finished, says Jesse.
Jesse sits on the edge of the coffee table. She lights a cigarette and lets it dangle in her smeared bloody hand. Pete stands
like a shadow behind Charlie, as if reading over his shoulder.
Get the hell away from me. Charlie swings the gun, the light still shining in his face. You two are so close on me I can't
breathe.
Pete steps back. I think you're lying about something, Charlie. About the guys you killed, or how you fucked your foot. The
bullet. Definitely the dog.
Charlie jerks the gun up. Call me a fucking liar?
Pete is quiet.
Jesse blows smoke. I fixed your foot. Why don't you go home?
Charlie don't lie, he says.
Good for you, she says. Now go home. We're tired of you.
Charlie leans forward, switches off the lamp. Shadows fall on his face and he stares back at Jesse. Stop talking to me. You're
aggravating my stomach.
Fine, she says. I'm going to make some coffee for the police.
Pete laughs. Excellent idea.
Charlie lowers the gun. I need to think a minute.
She's right you know, says Pete. The cops are liable to kick in our door any minute.
Charlie looks at him. I don't think so. No, sir.
Why not?
Because the door to that place is locked. Those boys don't have no phone and nobody's gonna miss them. Be a while yet
before they come to stink. Nobody knows a thing about it but the two of you. I got the gun. I got the answers.
Charlie rests his hurt foot on the table and leans back. The gun on his thigh. Pete sits down and reaches for the whiskey.
Jesse stands by the sink. The hiss and sputter of coffee brewing. She examines her bloody hands. I wish we could turn on
the TV, she says.
Charlie looks at Pete. Ever go bowling?
Not since I was a kid.
I love to bowl, says Charlie. Love it. The slick floors and the stillness before the pins crash. Like church. The weight of the
ball, like a hammer. And so cool inside the finger holes. He pauses. I don't care for the shoes. The shoes make me sick if I
think about it. Some folks don't ever wash their feet.
Pete sighs. I always hated bowling. It's sport for fat guys.
Don't get smart, says Charlie. I'm telling you a story.
Tell it, then.
Today I went down to my favorite alley. The Paradise. You ever been there?
No, says Pete.
It's a beauty. They keep those lanes polished like silver. They serve cold beer and they got The Temptations on the jukebox.
It sounds great, says Pete.
Yeah, says Charlie. It's nice. Anyhow, I was there today. I was throwing strikes, too. Then I met this little redhaired girl. She
was dressed up like a tramp and she was eager. She was so wet I could smell it. I got her in the corner and felt her up. Nice
titties, soft and fat. She gave me some tongue and said let's go.
Okay, says Pete.
This girl, says Charlie. She was nasty. I never raised my fist to a woman before. But this one. She bit me and I had to give
her the back of my hand. She got real peaceful after that. She was wearing this little skirt that zipped up the front. She lay
there and let me unzip it. I took her panties off and went to eat her but she had her period. I saw that little white string
poking out like a snake. And she was saying no all the while. Don't do it, she said. I told her a little blood wouldn't bother
me and I pulled out the string with my teeth. Then I ate that old pussy 'til I was sick.
Fantastic, says Pete.
She came alive after that, says Charlie. Thought I was wrestling a goddamn pit bull. You might say it was rape because she
was just sixteen. Statutory. But she was willing. Wasn't she, Lord? She about fucked me to death.
Ringing silence. Pete and Jesse look at each other.
That's a good story, says Jesse. I like the way you tell it.
What, says Charlie. What do you mean, girl?
I mean it sounds familiar. Even though I never heard it before. Like you heard somebody else tell it and you liked the sound
of it so much you practiced telling it in the mirror until it felt good to you.
Charlie's jaw hangs open.
Maybe it came from a magazine, says Jesse. You look like a guy who loves a dirty magazine. And you didn't even pay for it.
You read it in the store. You stood in the back with your face hidden. You looked at the pictures and read the letters and
jerked off in your pocket.
Pete is smiling.
Why would I do that? says Charlie. Why tell a story that's not mine?
That's easy, she says. You don't want us to think you were down in apartment number three because you like boys.
Charlie growls at Pete. Wipe that goddamn smile off your face.
Jesse takes her shirt off and drops it to the floor. She wears a black bra. She is bony and her ribs show. Her breasts are small.
Okay, she says. This was loads of fun. I'm going to take a bath.
Charlie stares at her. What does your daddy think of you? he says.
I don't have a daddy.
Oh yes, he says. Every little girl has a daddy.
Listen, she says. Fuck you.
This is what I'm saying. You talk like a whore. Walk around half naked. He must be proud.
My father is dead, says Jesse.
I'm sorry, says Charlie. Was he a good man?
He was a piece of shit.
Don't speak ill of the dead, girl.
The Christian routine is a bore, says Pete.
Charlie stands up, still staring at Jesse. The bloody bandanna that he wore earlier lies on the table. He picks it up with two
fingers. The gun is aimed carelessly at the floor. Charlie moves slowly, stopping behind Pete's chair. The gun comes up to
touch Pete's face, the edges of his mouth.
I believe you misunderstand what's happening here, says Charlie.
Listen, says Pete.
Let me clarify it for you, says Charlie. He strokes the side of Pete's face with one finger. You are my hostage. I might be a
madman. So you had best be polite. Or else someone could accidentally get shot.
There is silence.
Don't you see? says Charlie.
Yeah, says Pete. I see that now.
Open your mouth, says Charlie.
Listen to me, says Pete.
Charlie shoves the wadded bandanna into Pete's mouth. Pete chokes and jerks his head, wild. Charlie sits back down, the
gun trained on Pete.
Now then, says Charlie. I am talking to your
wife. Not you. If you move, or interrupt again, then I'm gonna waste a perfectly good bullet.
Jesse has lit a cigarette. She blows smoke at the ceiling.
Charlie smiles. I am sorry, he says. You were telling me about your daddy. How did he die?
He was killed in a fire.
Was he drunk, says Charlie. Fall asleep with a cigarette?
He was in bed, says Jesse. But he was sober.
How do you know?
Because my mother was there. She told me.
What did she tell you?
Jesse stands and walks toward Pete. That he was screaming., she says. That he sounded like a horse.
Didn't she try to help him? says Charlie.
Pete throws his head back and forth. His eyes are wide.
Didn't she? says Charlie.
No, says Jesse. She didn't.
Pete stomps the heels of his boots, cracking against the wood floor like gunshots, and now Jesse pulls the bandanna from
Pete's mouth slowly, like a piece of string.
Like I said. I'm going to take a bath, she says.

Act Two

The rain has stopped. From the bathroom comes the porcelain echo of the tub filling. Jesse can be heard, singing softly to
herself. The words are below the surface, too far away to make out, swallowed by the falling water. Charlie sits in the
armchair. Pete remains in the rocker, which creaks irregularly beneath his weight.
That girl. She's got a mouth on her, says Charlie.
Pete stares. Yeah, she does.
I like a woman that's got spirit. How long you been with her?
About a year, I guess.
What the matter boy? Charlie grins. Sound a little bit blue.
Nothing, says Pete.
She seems unhappy with you, says Charlie.
Yeah, says Pete. I think she is.
Easy as cake, says Charlie.
What is?
To make a female happy. Bring her some chocolate. Ask her what she's thinking and rub her damn feet.
Pete laughs. You don't have a fucking clue. This is not some girl on TV. She's not stupid.
Charlie stands and moves to the window, sipping his coffee. What does she want, then?
I don't know, says Pete. Sometimes I think she wants me to kill her.
Nah. That's your own daydream.
Maybe, says Pete.
Did you ever kill anyone?
No, says Pete.
Messy business.
Silence. Pete stares at the slash of light from the bathroom door.
How would you do her? says Charlie. I'm curious.
I never thought about it.
Of course you did, says Charlie.
Pete turns his gaze to the shattered television.
Come on, says Charlie. It's the middle of the night. She's asleep and you're in the toilet pulling your dick cause she won't
fuck you. And you think to yourself, if only she was gone everything would be peachy.
I would kill her in her sleep, says Pete.
With your hands or what?
I don't know. Make it look like suicide.
Charlie slips the end of his gun in his mouth and raises his eyebrows.
No, says Pete. She would cut herself. Take a straight razor and open up her arms. The cops are pretty sharp, though. They
look at all the angles. The wounds would have to appear self-inflicted. It's not an easy thing.
You have thought about it, says Charlie.
Yeah. I've thought about it. Funny thing is, she's tried to kill herself twice and I stopped her.
That a fact, says Charlie. What did she do?
Last Tuesday she stuck her head in the oven and went to sleep.
She wanted you to find her, says Charlie.
I woke her with a kiss, says Pete. She said she hated me.
Why do you stay with her? says Charlie.
Listen. Were you ever married?
No. I never had the pleasure.
You don't know shit. Do you?
Enlighten me, says Charlie.
I stay because one day bleeds into the next.
Charlie puts down his coffee cup. Well. Tell me how you got them shiners.
I was in the drunk tank last night.
No, shit. Cops done that?
Not the cops. Pete looks at his empty cup.
Pass the bottle, he says.
Did some old boy get hard on you?
Three guys. They wanted these boots.
Pete lifts one leg to show a scuffed black cowboy boot.
Nice, says Charlie. Look like genuine leather.
Shit. They cost me a hundred bucks.
That right?
Pete drinks, rocking slightly. Back and forth.
What happened? says Charlie.
They jumped me. I wouldn't give up the boots and they beat me. One of them I fucked up.
That's a kind of funny story.
I'm not laughing.
Well, I wonder, says Charlie. What are three fellas going to do with one pair of boots?
What do you mean? says Pete.
I mean maybe there's some more to that story.
Like what? Pete stops rocking abruptly.
I'm sure I don't know. I wasn't there.
Long silence.
You do have a pretty face, says Charlie.
What? What did you say?
Nice white skin, says Charlie. Sharp, fine bones.
It wasn't like that.
A man gets lonely, says Charlie. He wants to be touched. He's living in purgatory and he can't be choosy.
Three guys, says Pete. They wanted my boots.
Charlie closes his eyes. Dark inside and cold. I've been inside, I know. A man's eyes grow weak without the sun. His blood
is thin as milk. Then he sees you. Bright blue eyes and flesh still warm from the outside. He wants you. He wants to touch
you.
Listen to me, says Pete. I'm not your fucking friend. Don't talk to me like you know me.
But you don't want to be touched, says Charlie. The man is clumsy and violent. He sucks your breath, stops your heartbeat.
And then you know how it feels to be a woman.
I know how it feels, says Pete.
Do you think so? says Charlie. Do you really?
Pete blows smoke rings.
Let me tell you how it feels, says Charlie. Look at your wife. She's a tiny little thing. She's like somebody's sister, scared out
of her pants. And you're supposed to take care of her. To protect her from me.
Pete whistles through his teeth. He laughs, a short barking sound.
What's the matter with you? says Charlie.
I think you're talking about someone else's sister, says Pete. I promise you, Jesse isn't afraid of you. She's tough, she's a
fucking razorblade. We had a sick bird once, on the windowsill. It had a broken wing. It was a pretty little thing. A little
blackbird, with wings like gasoline puddles. Its eyes were huge and sad. I offered to put it in a box and feed it sugar water
with a syringe. I thought she would like the idea. You know. Give it a name and play house. And Jesse says, no. That bird's
not gonna make it, she says. It's already dead. Then she picked it up and snapped its neck, dropped it out the window.
Silence.
She scares you, says Charlie.
Oh yeah, says Pete. She scares me. She scares the shit out of me.
Pete gets up, goes to the sink. The water is a slow trickle and he refills the ice trays. Charlie stares at the television. The cat
is still asleep. Charlie begins to talk.
I been in the joint, like I said. Runs in the family. My pa was public drunk the night I was born. The doctor pulled on me too
hard broke my collarbone. I got soft bones ever since. My ma swore it was because doctor was a fundamental Christian and
he didn't abide the modern technique. She would get drunk and cuss his sorry name then like as not she would start to
beating on me. And steady crying, she's crying the entire time, crying real quiet like she's watching a movie on the TV and a
potato chip in her hand she forgot was there. Her face turning black from tears running through her make up. And her hands
smelled like rubbing alcohol, she was always washing her feet with it when they cramped up. Now I always wonder what a
woman's hands smell like. Soon as I meet her I'm wanting to smell her hands.
And what do Jesse's hands smell like?
Like an ashtray.
Pete sighs. Fascinating. What's your point?
I can start a woman to crying, says Charlie. Like nobody's business. Reckon I could make your wife cry just looking at her.
Pete laughs, scornful.
Okay, says Charlie. Let's make it interesting. I got five dollars says I can make her cry. What do you say?
I say you're going to lose five dollars
Charlie grins. Let's go, boy. She's been back there too long as is. Must be lonely.
The bathroom is a narrow box of trapped air. An exposed light bulb flickers over the sink and the mirror is cracked. The
floor is white and sloped. The bathtub is long and deep with claw feet. Pete is slouched against the wall beside the tub.
Charlie sits on the toilet, his legs crossed and the gun in his hand. The cat is awake now, crouching in the doorway. Jesse is
underwater. Her hair floats in a swarm at her shoulders. Arms and legs distorted in bent light. Black hairs rise and coil
between her legs.
She can hold her breath forever, says Pete.
We got time. Plenty of it, says Charlie.
Then silence.
Jesse comes up for air, water breaking over her face. She opens her eyes and stares at Pete. She doesn't speak.
Sorry about this, says Charlie. Wanted to talk with you.
Jesse touches the nipple of one breast. Her arm hides the other.
I masturbated just now, she says. It was amazing. Deadly in fact.
Pete's face is blank.
Don't talk nasty, says Charlie. He don't mind it but I do.
What did you want to talk about? She reaches for a washcloth.
Charlie looks at his gun.
I believe we should get to know each other better. The three of us.
Jesse smiles as if amused. Why? she says.
It's gonna be a long night if we don't trust each other.
Are you serious, says Pete. You have a gun and you want us to trust you?
Jesse looks at Charlie. Why don't you tell us something about yourself?
No, he says. My life is my own.
Okay, she says. Let's play a game. Twenty questions yes or no.
Pete smiles. I like this game.
It's a familiar story, says Jesse. Even boring. You were born in Mississippi.
No, says Charlie. I was born in Louisiana. The bayou.
A little shack and a few pitiful chickens, says Jesse. Dogs eating trash. Half naked kids and dirt.
A trailer park, says Charlie.
Your grandfather was a sharecropper, she says. Your daddy a Baptist preacher.
Something like that.
But your mother, says Jesse. She was a fallen woman. She drank. She couldn't keep her pants on for two minutes and the
preacher left you.
Charlie is shaking. No, he says. Not my mother.
And you were a mama's boy. You walked to town and traded food stamps for money to buy
her liquor. You were ashamed. The other kids laughed at you. The girls wouldn't talk to you. They wouldn't kiss you. The
only sex you ever had was with your neighbor's retarded sister.
You evil bitch, whispers Charlie.
Does that sound about right? she says.
Pete coughs. Jesse, please. Do you want him to shoot you?
I wouldn't touch no retarded kid, says Charlie.
Tell us something good, says Jesse.
It was a sheep, says Charlie. When I was fourteen my cousin got me drunk and made me have intercourse with a sheep. The
beast shit on me. My good clothes were covered in sheep shit.
This is fun, says Jesse. Now. What do you want to know?
How did you all meet? says Charlie.
I wasn't normal when Pete found me, says Jesse. I couldn't talk. He took me home. He fucked me on the floor and it was
nasty. He made noises then he went to sleep. I was naked and awake. The door was locked and the cat was following me
around in circles. I was afraid of it. I couldn't sleep. I watched Pete sleep. I didn't know his name. He was beautiful I
thought. But his face kept changing shapes. He was dream traveling. Visiting the dead. Then the cat was on the bed with me.
I heard it growling. I couldn't move and sat like that for hours.
It was jazz fest a year ago, says Pete. Down on the river. The sun was a nightmare and she was freaking. I almost tripped
over her. Spilled my beer. Her clothes were half off and her eyes swollen up. Cooking in her skull. She was trying to crunch
herself into a puddle of shadow the size of your head. She was a tangle of black hair and brown shoulders. And skinny but
vicious as hell. Like I had found a dog. I tried to help her up and she fucking bit me. I should have known better. But I gave
her some water and talked her down. The sex was brilliant.
Then I don't remember, says Jesse. All of a sudden it was morning. I was sitting against the wall. Pete woke up blinking. It
was bright. He rolled over and reached out to touch me. Oh fuck, he said. He moved away from me and I saw what he saw.
Blood and cat shit on the bed and on me. On my thighs and stomach. Then I was in the bathroom throwing up. Pete
followed me. He put me in the bathtub and cleaned my body. Soap and hot water like drugs to my skin. He held me and said
it was okay. He was sweet to me. He gave me clothes and fed me. He asked me what my name was.
But none of it was real, says Pete. I woke up and her arms were scratched open, red and raw. The sheets were fucked with
blood. She was rocking back and forth and chewing on her lips. The cat was under the bed. It didn't come out for two days
and she thought it was dead. I thought it was bad acid and she would be normal if I gave her time. Like a girlfriend. But she
isn't. We don't have missionary sex. We do things to each other. She masturbates all the time, in bed beside me. The only
time she comes. She says I should try to humiliate her. I should rape her in her sleep. I should fuck her in the ass, in the face.
Charlie wipes his mouth. Do you love her? he says.
Pete looks at his hands. Sometimes, he says.
Jesse. What about you, Charlie says. Do you love him?
Silence but for the sound of water. Jesse swishes the washcloth along her thigh.
I want to know do you love him? says Charlie.
Do I love him? says Jesse. She looks at Pete. She moves the washcloth to her crotch.
Pete lights a cigarette. The smoke is blue.
Yes, she says.
If a woman is in love, says Charlie. She ought not need to satisfy herself.
Jesse doesn't look at him. She reaches for the soap, bored.
Every woman does it sometime, she says. Little girls and little old ladies. Mothers and daughters.
Charlie raises the gun. Put that damn soap in your mouth.
She laughs. I don't think so.
I'll shoot you. Here and now.
Jesse hesitates. Then rubs the soap across her lips.
Charlie points the gun at Pete. Kiss him, now. On the mouth.
What for? she says.
I said to kiss him. If you love him.
I have soap on my mouth.
Fuck that. I want him to taste it.
Jesse moves to a crouch. Strings of water run from her hair. Pete doesn't move. She leans to kiss him. He opens his mouth to
bite her lip, softly. He lifts one hand to wipe the soap from her mouth. She kisses him again and he moves his hand to touch
her breast.
That's enough, now. Turn him loose. Charlie stands and moves toward them.
Pete leans back against the wall.
Charlie puts the gun between Jesse's eyes. I want you to kiss me now.
She looks at Pete.
I don't care, he says.
Jesse stands up, her skin shining yellow and wet. Hip bones like knots of rope. Shadow of ribs. She has thin white scars
across her thighs and arms, puckered and swollen from the water. Charlie hesitates and she grabs for his throat. She kisses
him, violently, and he pulls away. Jesse sinks back into the water and wraps her arms around herself. She glares at Pete.
Did you like that? she says.
Like giving blood, he says. It only hurts if you watch them put the needle in.
Then get the fuck out, she says. Both of you.
Charlie's upper lip is bleeding.
Scars on her, he says. Looking at Pete. What are them scars from?
Pete takes a towel from the shelf, gives it to Jesse. Her eyes are wild and bright.
Scars on her arms and legs, says Charlie. I seen them.
Charlie. Charlie, says Pete. Leave her alone.
Silence except for the drip of water. Pete drops his cigarette in the toilet.
I told you, he says to Charlie. She doesn't cry easy.
Charlie turns. Blood on his chin.
No, he says. I guess not.
Jesse looks up. Did you ever kiss a white girl before? she says.
No. Charlie shakes his head. I never did.
Nothing to write home about, is it?

Act 3
The cat returns to its place on the television and begins to clean itself, growling with teeth in fur. Pete turns on the radio.
Gospel singing mixed with static. Charlie sits in the rocking chair. He wipes his bleeding mouth with one hand. Then again.
Pete pours coffee into three cups and adds whiskey. He gives one to Charlie. Jesse comes out of the bathroom, hair hanging
wet on her shoulders. Now she wears a blue shirt, open at the throat. Black leggings with a hole in one knee. She stands at
the sink, blowing into her cup. The music becomes a dirge.
Jesse puts her cup down.
I want to dance, she says.
Pete looks at Charlie, who is staring at the cat. Pete shrugs and puts one arm around Jesse's waist. They move across the
floor. Charlie wipes his mouth and watches them.
They drift in a ragged waltz. Jesse's feet are still wet, leaving small prints in dust. Pete holds her stiffly. She looks over his
shoulder at Charlie.
Pete gave me those scars, she says.
Charlie doesn't answer. Pete's face is hidden in Jesse's hair.
With a razorblade, she says. And on my feet.
Jesse, says Pete.
He likes to do things to girls, she says. That's how he got the black eyes. He was touching a girl on the streetcar and she
didn't like it. Girl started yelling and the streetcar was full of people and some tourists were drunk and started beating on
him.
She's lying, Pete says. She's a fucking cutter.
It was the cops that saved his life.
Charlie looks at his gun, then at Pete. You a pervert, he says.
The music stops but they still dance.
Pete sits on the floor. Charlie doesn't look at him. In the kitchen Jesse is boiling a pot of water.
That true, says Charlie. What she said?
No, says Pete.
I told you I did some time, Charlie says. When I broke my hand in the showers. Molester is the lowest piece of trash in the
house. One fellow, we found out that's what he done. Some boys got together and castrated him with a guitar string. Never
saw such blood, it was like bleeding a pig. He close to died.
It's not true, says Pete. I never touched a little girl.
What about her? says Charlie. Them scars.
The cat jumps from the television. Pete lights a cigarette. Jesse smashes a bottle in the sink and his shoulders twitch. Her
back is to them.
Let's show him, she says. What we do.
She turns with a long curved piece of glass from a broken bottle. The cat begins to chase its tail. Jesse gives the piece of
glass to Pete.
Let's show him, she says.
Pete crushes the glass under his boot. Jesse sits calmly on the floor. Pete goes to the kitchen and opens a drawer. He touches
two knives together, then examines a fork.
Don't we have an ice pick? he says.
No, she says.
Pete goes to the bathroom. He leaves the door open. There is a dull crashing noise. Then again.
The mirror, says Jesse.
Pieces of mirror can be heard falling into the sink. Then running water. Pete comes out and goes to the bed. He sits down.
I'm tired, he says.
Pete, says Jesse.
He rips a thin strip from the bed's sheet, wraps it carefully around the knuckles of his right hand. He gets up and walks in a
circle. He comes toward them.
I'm tired, he says.
Jesse looks at him.
Listen, Charlie says.
Pete crouches in front of the television. He pokes through the remains and selects a heavy chunk of dark glass with a rough
edge.
Pete holds the piece of glass flat in his left hand. The cigarette in his mouth. Jesse sits cross-legged on the floor before him.
Steam begins to rise in the kitchen. Water runs over the edge of the pot with scalding noises. Jesse takes off her shirt,
placing it aside. She doesn't wear a bra. Pete looks down at the glass in his hand. He blows smoke through his nose. Jesse
wets finger and thumb in her mouth. She touches her left breast, making a close circle around the nipple.
Hold on now, Charlie says.
Pete reaches with the glass. Jesse still touches her breast, pinching the nipple between fingers. He touches her lips with the
glass, then draws a line across her collarbone. A mark appears but the skin doesn't break. Jesse rocks back and forth at the
waist. She moves her fingers to her mouth again. Pete hesitates. He drops the chunk of glass to the floor. He unwraps his
bloody knuckles, touches his fist to Jesse's breastbone. He pulls away and a half moon mark of blood is left.
Charlie
sits very still in the rocker. Pete is gone. Jesse looks around her. The bra she wore earlier is under the table and she puts it
on.
Did you like that? she says.
He doesn't look at her.
It's better, she says. When Pete is in the mood.
Did you like it? says Charlie.
It was my idea, wasn't it.
Something is wrong with you, he says. Both of you.
No, she says. I don't think so.
It's not normal.
What is normal? She says.
I don't know. Something else.
Jesse lights a cigarette. Did you ever see your parents make love?
My daddy left when I was a baby.
But your mother must have had lovers.
I didn't watch them. I got respect. Besides it's nasty.
Jesse laughs.
I have a home movie, she says. That my parents made of themselves.
Like a porno, you mean.
Do you want to watch it?
No, he says.
I could set up the projector. It's no trouble.
Charlie stares at her now. Where is Pete? he says.
The quality is very poor, she says. Only one angle and they never kiss. Nothing like that. The father slaps the mother until
she falls over the bed. He pulls up her dress and rips her pantyhose. The mother doesn't resist. She just lies there and he
takes her from behind. The mother bleeds. The film is black and white and the blood is black. Then another man comes in
but you never see his face. He wears a bathing suit. He masturbates on her. When it's over the men leave the room and she
wipes herself off. The mother puts on clean panties. She walks to the camera and turns it off.
And you watch that, Charlie says. Like on the TV.
Sometimes, she says. I like the way she turns the camera off. Like it's the oven or something.
Where is Pete? says Charlie.
In the bathroom. He throws up sometimes.
What was the water boiling for?
Infection, she says.
Pete comes back. There is water on his mouth. He doesn't sit down. Jesse stands, she puts her arms around him.
I'm hungry, he says.
Poor boy, she says. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
My belly feels like a fist, he says.
Poor sweet boy. What do you want?
I don't know. A sandwich.
Charlie smiles, watching them.
What are you grinning at? says Jesse.
The two of you. This is how normal people act.
Oh, please. He's hungry.
Jesse walks to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator. Pete and Charlie follow her. Pete sits at the table and lays his hands flat.
His fingers are trembling.
We have eggs, says Jesse.
She opens the carton, removes an egg and shakes it. I'm always afraid I'm going to crack one of these, she says. And find a
chicken fetus.
Jesse lights the stove and takes out a skillet. She opens the fridge again and takes out a slab of gray bacon. She places
several strips in the pan and begins mixing eggs in a bowl.
I love the smell of bacon, says Charlie.
I'm sorry, says Jesse. Are you hungry, too?
Yes. Thank you.
Charlie sits down facing Pete. He lays the gun flat on the table before him. They watch Jesse move at the stove. She still
wears only the black bra and pants. Muscles tense across her back. She reaches for a long knife and Charlie places one hand
on the gun. Jesse chops a clove of garlic in brief, sharp strokes. She turns, wiping the blade on a towel. My, she says. Isn't
this cozy?
Do we have any milk? says Pete.
Jesse drops the knife in the sink. She pulls a carton of milk from the fridge and examines the expiration date. She pours a
glass and gives it to Pete. He takes a long drink, wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
Thanks, he says.
Jesse smiles and strokes the edge of his ear with one finger. Charlie is watching and she turns away. She takes out dishes to
set the table. She is humming a children's rhyme. She places a bowl and spoon in front of Pete. She looks at Charlie.
Move the gun, she says.
Charlie drops his eyes. He puts the gun in his lap. Jesse serves the eggs with a wooden spoon. She puts a plate of bacon in
the middle of the table. Pete begins to eat, his head bent over his bowl. Charlie mutters the Lord's prayer. Jesse smiles and
lights a cigarette. She leans against the stove and Charlie looks up.
Are you not going to eat with us, he says.
No. I'm not hungry.
Sit down, then.
Only two chairs, she says.
Charlie looks at Pete. Give her your chair.
Pete is chewing. He stops. What. Are you kidding?
No. It's rude to let a woman stand.
I don't want the fucking chair, says Jesse.
Why not? says Charlie.
I don't like to watch people eat, she says. It makes me sick. It makes me think of dogs.
Charlie sighs. Well, thank you. It's two days since I had a good meal.
Pete pushes aside his bowl and looks at Jesse.
But why does it make you sick, love?
The noise, she says. The sound of someone chewing.
What else? he says.
I don't want to talk about it.
I'm sure Charlie is curious.
Charlie stops eating. Jesse walks away.
She doesn't eat, says Pete.
I'm not sure I understand.
Fucking food. She hates the stuff.
She must eat sometime, says Charlie.
Oh, she eats enough to stay alive. She ate half a peach last week. A slice of bread two days ago.
Why doesn't she eat?
It's fascinating, really. The textbook anorexic thinks she's too fat. That if she were only skinnier she would be beautiful. She
starves herself for love.
Charlie frowns. But your wife is a fine looking woman. A little bony.
There's the rub, says Pete. She wants to be ugly. Then no one will love her.
Jesse sits on the floor. Her face is pale and she hugs herself as if she's cold.
Her father loved her, says Pete. He tried to fatten her up.
When I was six I played a game, says Jesse.
And her mother, says Pete. She was a big girl. Daddy liked a woman with some meat on her.
I had two Barbie dolls, says Jesse. And stuffed bear called the pigman.
She thought her Daddy would stop loving her if she was skinny.
The Barbies waited until the pigman fell asleep.
She was wrong, says Pete. Daddy loved her still. He loved her too much.
When the pigman was asleep the Barbies tied him down.
Daddy never wanted to hurt her, says Pete. He said so. But she was so little.
The Barbies set the pigman on fire, says Jesse. But it was only pretend fire. Mother told me so.
Jesus on a horse, says Charlie.
Pete has tears in his eyes. He gets up and walks in a circle. Opens the fridge and closes it. There is a long silence. Jesse
smokes, a thin smile on her face.
Do you still want to kill her? says Charlie.
What? says Pete.
Show me how you would do it.
What is he talking about? says Jesse.
Nothing. He's talking about nothing.
Use one of those steak knives, says Charlie. And don't bother making it look like suicide. There's no need. I'm your
eyewitness. I'll swear it was self-defense. Take the knife in your right hand. Pull her head back with the other and stab her in
the heart.
Jesse. Don't listen to him.
Go on, boy. Do it, says Charlie. You said you wanted to.
Jesse's eyes are dark. You said that?
Do you want the gun, says Charlie. If I give you the gun will you shoot her?
Give it to him, says Jesse. Her teeth flash.
I don't want the gun, says Pete.
Would you shoot me? says Charlie. He extends the gun, butt first. Pete places one hand on the gun. For a moment his and
Charlie's hands touch.
No, says Pete. I don't think so.
Charlie pulls the gun away and stares at Pete.
You are pitiful, says Jesse. She sinks into the floor as if suddenly very tired.
Did I ever tell you about the first time I had sex? says Pete.
It was with a man. I was twelve, I think. I was in the park, hunting bottles for the nickel deposit. This man was sitting on a
bench. He asked me if I wanted to make some easy money. Five dollars, he said. He smelled like he'd been sitting out in the
rain. He wore a gray sweatshirt with the hood over his head. He showed me the five pinched in his knuckles. I said okay and
he took me to the bus station. No one was around except two old black guys watching a soap opera. He said come on and
went into the men's room. The bathroom had metal mirrors. They have those in jail, so no one can cut each other. They
make your face look like a person drowning. The floor was wet from a broken pipe. The hiss of water and the man wore
football cleats. His footsteps were like rocks hitting the floor. He pushed me into the big stall at the end, the one for
wheelchairs. I wasn't sure I wanted five bucks anymore. The man put his arm around me. His mouth was a stinking hole. He
was missing most of his front teeth. One of his eyes was clear blue, the other white and bloody. His hands big with curved
nails. He touched my face, he kissed my lips. His breath was like something dead. The man pulled down his pants and said
hold my joint. I had never seen a foreskin before. It made his dick look like a little hairless animal. It got hard in my hand.
The hood peeled back and the face poked out. It pulsed like a fish trying to breathe. The man said pull on it, pull 'til it come.
The thing was dry as leather and I pulled, forcing my hand up and down. Pull motherfucker, he said. Pull on that joint, he
said and I felt something give and my hand was wet and I thought it was come. But the man was howling fuck goddamn shit
boy and I opened my eyes. It was blood. The foreskin was torn like ribbon. The man held his bleeding dick in both hands,
screaming and howling. I pushed him and he went down twisting between the wall and the toilet. Then I was running,
holding my bloody fist away from my body
Jesse's face is white as ash.
Charlie, she says. Did you ever have sex with a man?
Lord, no. I never, he says. I never did.
It was years before I could masturbate properly, says Pete.
Jesse makes a noise in her throat. She picks up a small piece of glass from the floor. She holds it close to her face, turning it
to the light.
I thought I must be queer or something, says Pete.
Charlie, says Jesse. I want to show you something.
Then I had sex with a boy, says Pete. I was in the ninth grade and we did it on his mother's couch. Every Thursday when she
played tennis. He had swimmer's muscles and he was very gentle. We
got drunk on Seven and Seven and he showed me how to French kiss. His name was Johnny. I think he was in love with me
but I never felt anything.
Jesse moves close to Charlie. Do you see this? she says.
A piece of glass, says Charlie. I see it. Charlie is pale and sweating and he holds the gun loosely. He licks the dried blood on
his lip.
Pete puts a cigarette in his mouth. Then in the eleventh grade, he says. I managed to fuck a fat girl when I was drunk. After
that everything was just cool.
Do you notice anything about this glass? Jesse says.
Charlie looks away from Pete. He studies the bit of glass between her fingers.
It's green, he says. It has some paper stuck on it.
That's right, she says.
Jesse. Give me a match, says Pete.
The paper is from a beer label, says Jesse. This came from the bottle I broke in the sink.
Jesse do you have a match? says Pete.
He closes his eyes. The unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Jesse, he says.
I don't have a fucking match, she says, without taking her eyes off Charlie.
Charlie moves the gun from one hand to the other.
The glass I took out of your foot, Jesse says. It wasn't green. But some of it had paper stuck to it. Like this. It wasn't from
any coffee table.
Pete opens his eyes and looks at Charlie.
It was a table I stepped through, Charlie says.
No, says Jesse. It was a bottle.
What the hell does it matter? Pete says.
Jesse flicks away the bit of glass, looking at Charlie. You were in a big hurry to get out of there, she says. You forgot your
shoes. It was dark and you stepped on a bottle.
I was in a hurry. That's the truth, Charlie says.
You aren't even a thief.
Charlie touches the gun barrel to his mouth. I had to kill those boys.
Pete lights his cigarette at the stove. Jesse watches Charlie.
Where did you meet Jones? she says.
I killed him dead. With this gun.
There isn't a drop of blood on your shirt, she says.
It's not my shirt, he says.
Where did you meet Jones?
Charlie wipes his mouth. I was drinking in a bar, he says. An old woman was playing on the piano and I was listening. The
piano sounded pretty.
Jesse nods. But you didn't have any money, she says.
No. I had my own money.
Jones bought you a drink, she says. He's a nice guy.
I got some money. Charlie stands up, then sits down again.
His friend was with him, Jesse says. Jones and his friend. They're mostly domestic but sometimes they like the odd number
in bed.
Pete stands facing the shattered television, smoking. The hammer is at his feet.
What's the difference? he says. Leave him alone.
Jesse lies on her back, her arms crossed over her chest.
This is such a sad story, she says. It's just like television.
Pete picks up the hammer. He smashes it against the floor.
What happened next? says Jesse.
Charlie looks at the gun. His chin jerks up and down.
Jones asked if you wanted to go home with them, she says.
I went home with them, says Charlie. I thought I could get some money. He collapses backward in the chair, his knees
together.
The apartment is dark, says Jesse. A few candles burning. There's music and you are alone with two men. One of them takes
your shoes off. He strokes your feet. The other one is kissing your neck.
Touching my feet, Charlie says. It's nasty.
The hammer crashes to the floor again. Charlie groans.
Jesse sits up and turns to look at Pete. She holds up a book of matches. He opens his mouth then closes it. Jesse lights a
match and drops it to the floor.
Jones has a gun, she says. He showed it to me once. He keeps it on his bedside table. It isn't loaded, of course. It's just for
shock value.
Jesse strikes another match.
But Jones doesn't have bullets for his gun, she says. He told me so.
Smoke rises from the dead match between Jesse's feet. She watches it. Charlie closes his eyes. The cat returns to its place on
the television.
Jones is taking his pants off, says Jesse. I think his friend must be naked already. He's whispering. He wants you to suck
him. He wants you to swallow him. He wants your fingers in his ass. Do you want some chocolate, he says. And you freak.
You pick up the gun and point it at Jones. He laughs and says it's not loaded.
Charlie licks his lips. I pull that trigger, he says.
The gun only excites him, says Jesse. She lights a match. What do you do?
He wants me to touch him, Charlie says. He wants me to take off my clothes. His friend is drunk and laughing, he's crazy.
What do you do? she says. She lights a match.
He's naked, Charlie says. I hit him in his mouth with the gun. I hit him again. His friend is laughing and screaming.
And you run, Jesse says. You step on a bottle. You knock on the first door you see, our door. Glass in your foot and the gun
still isn't loaded.
Charlie holds the gun in both hands. He fumbles, almost dropping it. He manages to break open the cylinder. There is a
bullet in one chamber. He holds it up so she can see it. He slides it back in and spins the cylinder with a flick of his finger.
He snaps it back in place and raises the barrel.
He aims it at the sleeping cat.
There's no bullet, he says. Huh, smart girl?
Charlie don't, says Pete.
Charlie pulls the trigger and the bolt clicks. A dry sound, like two bones touching. Pete swings the hammer with both hands.
The claw end crashes into Charlie's wrist and the gun crashes to the floor and slides close to Jesse. She laughs out loud.
Charlie makes a moaning noise, sucking on his lower lip. He looks at Pete.
I'm sorry, he says.
Charlie cradles the broken wrist to his chest. Jesse lifts the gun with both hands, slowly, as if it weighs twenty pounds. She
points it at Pete.