Page 82 of Southern Comfort
He throws up his hands and tears well in his eyes. It shocks the shit out of me.
“Well don’t start crying, asshole.”
“I’m not crying, fucker! And don’t you ever tell anybody I did! I’m serious, Hunter.”
“You think I want people to know about this?”
He wipes his cheek and gives me a look of false courage.
“I can’t even remember what happened,” I say, standing on weak legs.
“I’ll tell you what happened. We were blinded by the pussy.”
I have no comeback. It’s true.
Bing continues. “And we didn’t even get any.”
“That’s the least of our problems.”
We begin walking the room, taking in the scope of things.
“The tequila must have been spiked. They planned it all. Coming on to us, the shower story, the cameltoe. All of it.”
“The cameltoe was planned?”
“Obviously! You were hypnotized, weren’t you?
“You were too!”
“I never said I wasn’t!”
He makes like he’s got a huge hook in his mouth and it’s being pulled.
We burst out laughing at our own stupidity. It dies a quick death, because reality butts in and reminds us we are screwed.
“Let’s go look at the extent of this. We need to know what we are dealing with.”
We look through some of the rubble. I move to the staircase and he follows.
“Pray they stopped down here,” I say, suddenly realizing things could get much worse.
“They may have made a quick job of it. You know, in and out before we could catch them in the act.”
Looking over my shoulder at Bing’s face, my blank look says it all. We climb the stairs like prisoners going to the electric chair. Approaching the room, I’m trying to bullshit myself and find any ray of light I can.
“Hey, the door’s still closed, that’s a good sign.”
For a flash, I think of the characters inDumb and Dumber. Never thought I would identify with them.
“Yeah. You’re right,” Dumber says.
I turn the handle and walk inside.
“Oh no.”
Bing does not add to my on target reaction. It looks eerie in here. It is unnaturally quiet for such a chaotic scene. Only the sound of my heartbeat is loud. Now I understand how people say they feel violated when they get robbed. When some stranger goes through their things. Strewn across the floor are rejected items that didn’t meet their standards. Books, a baseball trophy, an old looking Santa hat. The closet light is on and even from here, I see things have been looked through. Empty hangers here and there tell the story.
“We don’t know what they took. It could be gold bars. Oh fuck. We are going to get killed for this.”
