He’ll Come You Back a Man
By Matt Lavin

I saw the tracks before Benny did. He was busy deciding whether to faint or puke. Poor kid, six months on the job and suddenly he’s looking at this: two dead homesteaders, flesh mangled, bones crushed, eyeballs popping out like oysters on a plate. Pools of blood already drying in the midday sun. Whole strips of skin and muscle and fat torn away from the corpses by buzzards. Flies everywhere.

Benny took a step and stumbled, gagging.

“Alright, boy,” I said. “You’re no good to me unconscious. Take a knee over by them bushes and get yourself right.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Shit, I’m twice your age, but I won’t be called ma’am by you or nobody else. Not as long as I swear, spit, and fight as tough as any other sheriff. You remember that, else I’ll squeeze your balls till they pop.”

Benny didn’t hear a word. He was busy holding back a wave of sick. I let him be and took a look around.
The tracks were everywhere, two pairs of them, evenly spaced: a car with two sets of wheels, or a truck towing something. They were plain as day but hard to believe, like something straight out of the stories grandpa used to tell, from the olden times storybooks he used to read to me. You could see where the driver had approached, run down the husband, backed up, turned around and floored it after the wife. Foot prints where the driver got out of the car to make sure they were dead. Gunshot wounds on both bodies.

It was your basic middle of nowhere homestead, built on the foundation of one of the buildings of olden times. Some called them fools to live this far out. Probably right, from the look of things. 

The tracks ran from the yard outward toward the desert to the West, but, in between the murder and the leaving, they’d backed into a spot next to the building. Near there, coming out of the ground was a big, thick hose, like the kind that used to lead to an old underground gas tank.

Benny got back to his feet and came over. No puking today, I guess.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just … so terrible.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “That’s why I’m the sheriff and you’re the piece of shit deputy.”

Benny lowered his head. Maybe I was being too rough on him. I didn’t let it show like Benny did, but it bothered me. Nothing in my background prepared me for this. Nothing could’ve.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll do right by the next one.”

No answer, but I could tell he heard me by the way he gritted his teeth.

“Alright, Benny, grab your dick and let’s go.”

You can’t be too nice, either. Woman sheriff and all.

 “But the bodies.”

“No time for funerals. We gotta leave now to have a chance at catching the fuckers that killed them. No telling how far they’ve gotten already.”

The trail was easy to see. Four long tread marks running through an empty desert. The tires made deep impressions in the red desert sand but, underneath that sand was hard ground, dry and ancient. Our horses trotted along, limber and contented. I kept my eye on the tracks, like any minute they’d disappear and I’d know the whole thing was a nightmare, or a nutcase brain playing tricks.

We found our way into the bottom of a dried river bed and followed the tracks in the withered, cracked clay. I kept my horse in a trot, ten yards or more ahead of Benny in the hopes that it would discourage conversation. Nothing against the kid, I just prefer silence.

There was no sound but the wind for a good long while. Benny knew me well enough to keep his mouth shut, I’ll give him credit for that. But after an hour of watching me stare, I guess he couldn’t take it.
“Sheriff, I’m sorry to … I mean, I wouldn’t have, but …”

“Ask your question, Benny, or shut up.”

“It’s just … was it a car that done this?”

“Truck, I reckon.”

“Ain’t it impossible?” he asked. “They’re gone now. They’ve been lying dead, rotting away, for years.”

I noticed Benny’s horses making gains on mine. I urged my horse on a bit faster.

“A few survived the wars of olden. Sat idle for years after that. No gas to run ‘em, except what you can scrounge. Even when something’s gone, it ain’t really gone. And those poor son-of-a-bitch homesteaders were sitting on it, in a big metal tank fifteen feet beneath their asses. Empty now.”

The dust picked up and we both covered our faces with our handkerchiefs. I was glad for a break from the conversation. When the dust died down, Benny pulled down his cloth and went on talking.

“If I’d seen them tracks when I was a kid, I would’ve it was said it was a monster.”

“Kid, you are a kid.”

“No, I ain’t.”

 “You ever seen one before?”

“Yeah, I have. In a museum. But it was up on blocks..”

We spotted a place where the vehicle had pulled over. The tire tracks formed a soft vee shape in the dirt. I told Benny to hold up a moment and see if there was a water source nearby. Finding nothing but a hole in the ground for recently used for an outhouse, we moved on.

“Hang on,” I said, as we remounted. “You been to a museum?”

“I have … in Callyforn.”

“You been to the coast? How the hell—“

“I was born there. Got shipped to Zona when my mom died.”

“By wagon? That’s a hard journey. Not many would do.”

“Had no choice. They got a planned community out there in Cally. If you’re considered dead weight, you get tossed aside. They toss you, and you end up here.”

He scowled, and I wondered if that’s why Benny became a lawman. He didn’t take to it naturally, but there was a kind of boy who was pulled toward policing on account of the injustices from his own past. Or Cally was so great that it just made Zona seem worse than having your cock chopped off.

“My granddad raised me for the most part. After my parents died. He was sheriff before me, you know.”

“I was gonna be a musician, before it happened. Mom always told me I had a gift. Made me feel like I had a place in the world.”

“Moms are good at that, I hear.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am shit?”

He turned away, but I could see it was because he was on the verge of tears. I figured it was best to change the subject.

“Benny … out in Cally … you seen the ocean?”

He nodded.

“That’s something.” He sniffled a bit, and I pretended not to notice.

The sun dropped into the western sky, and soon it was right in our path, eye level.

Soon after, the horses began to show their first signs of tiring. Benny shot me a look for concern and I nodded as if to say, hell yes, we’ll keep after them until they’re caught or our horses drop.

I swore to myself and tried to focus on the positives. With any luck, the killers would stop for the night and make camp somewhere. The trail wove around rocking outcroppings and stands of cacti.

“You see that?” I said as we approached a steep bluff. “Tracks go around the slope. Whatever they’re driving ain’t so good at mountain terrain.”

“You think they circled around and kept their bearing?”

“Had to if they’re really going West.”

“We could cut them off.”

“Hell, yes.”

We went on foot, leading the horses over hills, through the canyon land. We walked till our feet started aching, till the sun began to set, till we could hear nothing but the song of swirling zephyrs whipping all around.
“Hey, Benny,” I said. “You got talent, music-wise?”

“I used to, as a boy. Now I ain’t even got an instrument.”

“Maybe you could sing one for us as we walk.”

“I wasn’t ever much of a singer.”

“Hell, c’mon.”

“Alright.”

Benny started with a dull hum and worked his way into a melody. I recognize what he was trying to sing; it was a sad song from way back. Something like, if you have a daughter, bounce her on your knee, but if you have a son, send him off to sea … you can’t change what’s done, but you can shape what’s to come … send your boy to the ocean and he’ll come you back a man.  I walked and walked, but I never grew tired, not one bit. The moon rose above our heads. The stars came out. The wind picked up and faded, rhythmically, with the passing of the hours. All the while, Benny’s voice carried me.   

The slope crested, and the trail began to lead down toward the other side of the pass. We knew we were getting close. We imagined our quarry hunkered down for the night, confident and foolish, drunk out of their minds, laughing and pissing in every direction.

We spotted the smoldering campfire from about a hundred yards out. I told Benny to plant himself cozy in a nest of red rock and train his rifle on the center of their camp. He nestled himself in and steadied his gun against an outcropping. Adjusted the sight and signaled me when he had a clear look at the camp from his perch. I pulled out my shotgun and made sure it was loaded.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

“I’m gonna go down and collect these sumbitches. They try anything, you fuck them up with that pea shooter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Boy, I don’t want to look back up this way and catch you grabbing your prick.”

“Yes’m.” His voice quivered.

I tied my horse up near Benny and walked toward the campfire. I could see the first light of dawn in the eastern sky but, still, the camp was quiet. When I got closer, I noticed two bodies curled up under a blanket a few feet from the fire. I could see their faces: one man and one woman. Young looking. Older than Benny but younger than me.
Next to the sleeping bodies was a gun. A six shooter, antique looking. I picked it up, emptied the bullets, and stuck the barrel down the front of my pants.

The guy’s youth was hidden behind a nasty tattoo that curled from the nape of his neck all the way across his cheeks and up to his forehead. No pattern that I recognized, either, just some abstract shit. Closest thing would be to say it looked like wisps of smoke.

So far as I could tell, the woman didn’t have ink. She slept with her mouth open and was missing a front tooth. Drooled like a motherfucker.

A dozen yards away was the car, but it didn’t much look like the pictures grandpa used to show.  Instead of tires like they had in olden times, they’d rigged up some makeshift replacements out of saddle leather. Probably what slowed them down. It was stripped down to the frame, probably so there’d be less weight on the tires. Rust on every surface and dents anywhere you could fit one. Attached to the back end was a trailer with a big metal tank.  
I went back to the sleeping bodies. Stood over them for a minute deciding on the best way to wake them. The woman was small; she’d be easy to handle in a fight, but the guy looked like he could do some damage if he lost his temper. Best to pacify him up front.

I settled on a good crack of my shotgun butt against his abdomen. Knocked the wind out of him good. He grunted something fierce and curled up in pain.

“Wake the fuck up!”

The woman screamed and tried to hide herself against Ink Man’s body. As she scuttled toward him, the blanket fell, and I could see they were both naked.  

“Jesus, Christ. You didn’t use your fucking heads at all, did you?”

Tooth kept on squealing and Ink breathed heavy, trying to catch his breath.

“You fucking bitch!” he hissed. “I’ll kill your fucking ass.”

I shoved the shotgun barrel in his face. “Best get to your feet first. Else you won’t get the chance, on account of I’ll blow your fucking skull off.”

“God, woman? What’d I do to you?”

“You killed good folk back there. On your goddam feet!”

Ink held his stomach as he tried to stand.

“That’s right, fucker. Easy. Hands up. Where’s the keys to that car?”

“Don’t know. Ain’t they in it?”

“No they ain’t in it. You know goddam well they ain’t in it.”

“Sorry, can’t help you then.”

“It don’t fucking matter. Guess we’ll just have to go on foot.”

“Cain’t we at least put our clothes on?” Tooth was hunched over trying to cover her tits with one hand and her pussy with the other. Didn’t do much good.

“You can grab your clothes and hold them in your hands.”

“Then what?”

“Then you march, or I kill you both.”

 “But we’re naked!” Spit came out of the gap in her tooth line.

“I’m walking you back to my deputy. Let you get dressed when we reach him.”

“You fucking bitch.”

“You’ll find I don’t much like a murderer calling me bitch.”

Tooth wadded up clothes enough for both of them and held them in a bear hug. W e started up the hill toward Benny’s perch: Ink first, then Tooth, and me bringing up the rear. Ink was a hairy son of a bitch. Should’ve let them put their clothes on.

I held my scatter gun level as I marched them. Silence for the first ten paces. Then the sound of Tooth sniffling and crying.

“Jesus,” Ink said. “Goddamn you.”
“Damn yourself.”

I said nothing more. The sun was starting to come up. I thanked shit I wasn’t naked.

“Damn it, listen to me.” Ink sounded scared. “I’ll pay you. More than you can imagine.”

“Where you got the money, up your ass crack?”

“Funny, bitch. Funny. You think this is the first gasoline we stole? I got more money than you can imagine.”

“Yeah?” I scoffed. “How much?”

“Filled that tank and sold the insides seventy-two times. You figure the dollars.”

Fuck. You could sell my whole town and not make that much. More than I could make sheriffing for the rest of my life. Enough to send Benny back to Cally, in high style.

“You’re fucking lying.”

“No, ma’am.” We were halfway up the hill to Benny. That kid. I thought about him singing that old chanty as we made our way through the pass. A kid like that didn’t belong out here. Send your boy to the ocean and he’ll come you back a man.

“You’re gonna tell where it’s hid, and when I get there, I’m gonna be walking into a trap. Eight guys with guns. That’s it?”

“No, that ain’t it.”

“Alright, you lead me to it, and I’ll let you both go.”

Too much money not to try it. I’d have to explain to Benny, but a one-way ticket back to a real life, a life as a musician, that would convince him.

“No. You let us go, and I get word to you where it’s hid.”

“Fuck, you must think I’m the dumbest bitch alive. You got one chance. If I was you, I’d take it. Else, how about I just plug you dead right here?”

That was a dumb thing to say. I’m the law, not some thug. Threatening him made me sound weak.

“This whore thinks she can take everything we got,” Tooth seethed. “Fuck me if I’ll allow it.”

“Shut up. And don’t you stop walking.”

“I won’t go another step.”

“Turn around. You walk up this hill, or I kill you.”

She looked at me with anger, not fear. Fuck. Her whole body started to shake and her face began to go red. We sat there, neither sure what to do next.

The sound of Ink coughing and spitting interrupted us. He stepped to the side and leaned over like he might puke. I raised the shotgun in his direction.

“I got my eye on you,” I warned.

Should’ve had my eye on Tooth. Turned just in time to see her flailing a shirt in my direction. The other pieces of clothing scattered in the air. For a second, I wondered what she was trying to prove with a shirt as a weapon. It became clear as the fabric made contact with my face. Must have lodged a rock or something heavy in the sleeve. Knocked me clean on my ass.

Ink saw his moment. He charged full speed, hate and murder painted on his face. I tried to get to my feet and turn with the scatter gun, but he was already on me. He got his hands on the gun and brought his foot into my gut. I fell backward, and I heard the sound of my gun skittering off one or two arm-lengths. Ink tumbled to the ground with me and got me in a strangle hold. A big cloud of dust had picked up in the scuffle, and my eyes were burning fierce. I could hear Tooth cheering for her man. Kill that bitch. Kill her.

I kicked at Ink and his upper body jerked upward in pain, away from me. Then I heard the sound of shots. Ink’s grip on my neck fell away and his body fell to the ground. I rolled over and rubbed my eyes.

I could see a little, enough to know Ink was dead. Benny’s shot had gone into his back and gotten lodged somewhere in his insides. Tooth was half a dozen yards away, writhing on the ground, blood squirting blood from a pinhole in her neck. Stray clothes were scattered all across the hillside.

I rushed up to Tooth and pressed my handkerchief against her neck. She had gone pale and was going into convulsions.

“Now,” I said. “You got a choice. You can die in pain, or you can tell me where the fuck you hid that money.”
She gurgled and blood came up out of her mouth, through the gap in her ugly smile. So that’s what laughing up blood sounds like. A second later, she stopped moving altogether. Tooth was dead, and so was any chance of sending Benny back where he belonged.

Everything was quiet, and then I heard Benny’s footsteps. He was tripping all over himself, moving fast down the hill toward me.

“Did I kill them?” he called. I lifted my head. He was beaming like a kid who just learned how to stop pissing his bed. Poor son of a bitch thought killing a man and becoming a man was the same thing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong he was.

“Yeah, you killed them both,” I yelled back, shaking my head. “You done good."