Chapter 10, Part Two

No Honor Ch. 10 Pt. 2: Seeing Ears

It was about four in the a.m., when I awoke. I was a little out of it, at the time. What I mean to say is, I was at the point where I could hear voices an' words, but I couldn't get their meaning. There was def'nitely somethin' up though, in the next room.

It wasn't the lovely couple this time. The bother was comin' from tha room ta my right, or south o' me. Their voices was raised... No, one of them was. The other man was quiet.

Again, I wasn't all there yet. I'd been dreamin' about, somethin' I can't recawl. My head ached, and it felt... foggy... is the best word for it. Then somethin' slammed against the wall, to my right, and I damn near leapt outta bed.

A man said, "Do you think I'm stupid, you dumb sonofabitch?"

The other voice was a man too, but I wasn't for sure right away. It was so low, it was hard to hear 'im. I heard him say, "No. No, I didn't...", but I couldn't make out the rest.

Somethin' hit the wall again, hard.

Was that the man's head? It sounded like it was about to come clean through, an' inta my room. My body was tense, and I was jumpy. I didn't want ta hear that noise again, but I wasn't sure I could stop it.

Again, the one man's voice came boomin' over...

"Bullshit! Brett an' Garth fuckin' seen it!

"Ya think people don't know whatchu look like? Huh? You think you can run, an' folk don't see where you gone?"

That thud boomed again, and I shuddered. That other man was cryin' now... Cryin'... It was soft, and weak, and buried under heavy, labored, wheezin' breaths.

The man tol' him ta "Shut up", and he started beatin' on 'im. His head didn't hit the wall again, but I swear I could hear every blow. Every one... and there was plenty ta hear.

I didn't know who was in the next room, but in my head, I could see the victim. It was Tom Goodman, on the floor over there. It was his head, cracked an' bleedin', his cryin', ruined face and his lungs, givin' up air. I wasn't part o' that dispute, and I know it wasn't my business, but a man can only take so much.

I started feelin' around, for my jeans and my gun belt. I had closed the curtains, and it was pitch in there, but I kept searchin'. My hands were shakin' an' I cringed, with every blow struck, but then they stopped completely. He was just cursin' at 'im then, and callin' him thangs I simply won't repeat.

I was wavin' my hands around, somethin' fierce. I didn't know if rushin' would do any good, and I didn't know if I was rushin' ta my own death. My heart was beating so hard my chest hurt, but I kept on searchin'. When I finally laid hand on my Colt, I heard a gunshot.

I froze. For a minute, I wasn't sure whether or not I had done that. It had gotten dead silent... No more blows, or cryin, or cursin'. There was just crows, cawing far off, in tha distance.

The door to that room opened then, I'm sure of it... The door opened and the killer walked out. He didn't run, he didn't hurry at all, and why would he? What sheriff was around, ta get 'im? 

I had a mind ta throw my gunbelt on, and go out after 'im.  But then, what was I gonna do? Kill the first man I saw? Go out in my undergarments, and my belt, like a crazy, and kill someone, for bein' in a hallway? 

Who's to say, whether or not there'd be more than one, by the time I got out there? If there was one, who's to say the killer was him, and not some other man, slipped out some otha way? I just sat there in bed, with my gun belt in my lap. I didn't move for hours. 

Around a quarter to seven, I got hungry, so I went downstairs to order somethin'. When I got down there though, I had forgotten that reason entirely. That same damn boy was at the counter again. I walked up to 'im, and he raised his eyebrows.

I said, "Someone been shot. Upstairs... Three Twenty-Nine". 

                        
"Dead?"

I nodded. His expression was still blank, and it never changed. He just put up a sign, sayin' he'd be back, in ten minutes, and then he disappeared behind a curtain. I went outside.

It was lightenin' up, quite a bit, and I got a chance ta see The Station, durin' early mornin'. Ernest De La Rosa, the photographer an' tailor, was hangin' up clothes in his main winda. Mr. Stevens, the gardner, was waterin' plants an' soil, in front of his home. At the bake-ry, young Mr. Butler was shapin' dough, ta make biscuits, and it was just like regular, just like normal.

There's a set o' benches, in front o' the hotel, but I didn't use 'em. I just kept pacin', back an' forth, in front of 'em. People started ta pass me, and I don't recawl if any stared, but if they did, I just kept pacin'. Back and forth, back and forth regardless.

Somewheres around that time, I heard the cawing o' crows again. I did see a bunch, far off in the distance. They was flyin' away from this place, and hopefully, ta somethin' much better. That cawin' though, it sounded a lot closer than it shoulda been.

But I kept pacin' back and forth, back and forth, like I didn't know where to go. Like I was an animal stuck in a cage, or caught in a trap. Part of me wanted to stop and siddown, but I just didn't. I kept pacin', back and forth, back and forth... and there was tears in my eyes.

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