Battle Mountain

(George Simhoni - Gallery Stock - )

"I don't believe this. You have your cell?"

"I hawked it up in Boise. How do you think I bought the Percocet?"

"Call my phone the minute you reach town. Wait, I don't think I can do this. Get back in this car."

"Force me."

"Really?"

"You have to ask permission?"

"No. I don't."

"You did, though. I just heard you. I don't -- just watch."

Holly cut down an embankment toward a service road running parallel to the interstate that I'd blow all my tires trying to reach, assuming I didn't break an axle first. The night ate her up. No moon. No star glow. I drove along at the speed of a pedestrian, but it was empty chivalry by then, a purpose without a purpose, just dumb male custom. I drove a bit faster to see how it would feel and found that it felt like nothing in particular except a good way to attract attention from cop cars, which I didn't need with a pill-bottle-filled glove compartment, none of whose labels were in my name. That and the unregistered revolver I should have given to Holly, which I'd never let her know I owned. I'd strapped it in with duct tape beneath my driver's seat when Holly's ex left a death threat on my machine one night, and ever since, during all our restless time together, it had been my little advantage, my secret love toy. Sometimes when Holly was dozing in the car, I snuck it out and pointed it at her cheek, loaded, of course, but never cocked. Role playing. Harmless. Then I'd turn the barrel and aim it at my open mouth, my tonsils. She never caught on, though. She never woke up and saw me.

Now I was in Elko, with Holly behind me -- permanently, in one way or another -- and none of that twisty stuff mattered anymore. I parked outside the brothel, unsure if I had enough juice left to go in and get my money's worth. I felt for the pistol as I sat there meditating, and it was still there. I slipped it out. I opened the chamber, spun it, slapped it shut, and realized that sometimes it's probably best to let a woman out, even at night, on the highway, with kooks around.

I decided to go and find Holly to prove how lucky she was, though part of me was hoping she'd already hitched a ride, passed through town and was safely on her way to Utah. That wasn't the part of me she'd loved, though -- the gentleman, the good guy. The part of me I hid and who I miss now that I'm back in Elko with my new sweetheart, who swears that she'll never leave me. And she's right.

Walter Kirn is a novelist in Livingston, Mont. Among his books are Thumbsucker and Up in the Air. His latest novel is The Unbinding. He can be reached at 20071@washpost.com.