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Chapter One

Boyce

Bud Wynn died thisphysician, time of death was 5:23 am He died of liver disease, of cirrhosis, of complications from ascites that caused heart failure—any and all of these would be true enough, I reckon

I say he died of booze, because that’s truer than anything else

Under the fluorescent lights of the hallway, everybody in that hospital looked a step closer to death than they probably were I’m sure I was no exception—but I didn’t intend to die anytiht have made me a cold-blooded bastard, but the reason I didn’t intend to die was because I was finally free Free of that gutless, mean old man Free of the asshole who’d chased off my htless shadow, the other into a grave in Arlington National Cee I took of his final days because nobody else wanted charge of them

Two ave ed dry-eyed and signed the papers authorizing the creerated box in the wall, and there he’d wait out the necessary forty-eight hours until he could be returned to dust It’s what he’d wanted

“No fucking funeral,” he’d wheezed froht about six o, like we’d been in the middle of a conversation I paused in the doorway but didn’t answer “No goddamned casket And for chrissake, no crap-ass service Just tossinhis remains to the water at sunset in some sham memorial “Or the john Makes me no nevermind”

That was our only conversation about his loo death

As the sun rose over the gulf, I came hole-wide I’d left hours before, because this ti it a bit at a time for years now—hard-won territory, every inch—the trailer and the se But neither had belonged to me Not until today

Leaving the front door open, I walked straight up to the stained recliner, deep-sea blue in a forether with duct tape and loose bolts Dragging it from its corner, I pulled it across the soiled carpet and rah the front door, down the cracked concrete steps, and into the yard I stared where it sat harrass

I picked it up and moved it to the arage Pulling hter and smokes from my front pocket, I stared at that chair,over me one after another until they all blended into one where I entered the rooo out that door, you worthless dumbass” from that chair I’d fetch a can froe and hand it to hirab my wrist and twist it, or yank me closer and punch a fist into my shoulder, my side, my stomach

Most of the ti screen One tiet hold ofI never knehen he’d lunge and when he’d just snatch the can fronore me

I lit the end of a Camel Crush and sucked in smoke and nicotine-aided calm