Costa and Marshall came upon their destination around 10:00 AM. Omer was one of those small Michigan towns you’d miss if you blinked, other than the road signs which proudly announced that the village was the Sucker Capitol of the World.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Marshall said. “Sucker Capitol?”
“It’s a fish,” said Costa.
“A sucker fish?”
“Not sucker fish, just sucker. It’s a bottom feeder.”
“Whatever,” said Marshall, laughing.
The men drove through the small village, which took all of ten seconds. About two miles further north, Costa pulled off 23 onto a lumpy dirt road. Marshall looked around at the naked trees, the yards with sad little ranch-style or farm homes sitting in yards sporting hulking, junked-out cars and piles of old tires. Everything was dull, gray, and soggy brown. Even the sky was a dirty yellowish blanket. Marshall hated fall. It was a season of dying.
“How much farther?” he said to Costa.
“Just up the road a ways.”
Marshall peered out the window at the gloomy trees. Through the branches and trunks the wan sun winked off a surface that looked to Marshall like some type of body of water.
“What’s out there? A pond or something?”
“You’ll see. That’s what I wanted to show you.”
“Okay, Costa. I’ve seen ponds before. Lakes. Rivers. Jesus, I’ve even seen the fucking ocean. We’re in Michigan, man. Water wonderland. What’s the big mystery?”
“Isn’t water,” said Costa. The truck bumped over the dirt road. “Look.” He pointed between the trees.
Marshall pulled off his Ray Bans and leaned, squinting over the dashboard. “What is that? Looks like some kind of fucking spaceship or something.” Costa just chuckled and pulled the truck up a little further along the dirt road. Marshall rolled the window down and stuck his head out, trying to get a better view. There was a silvery flickering back beyond the copse of oak, scrub pines, and poplar. In a clearing beyond the trees, Marshall could now see a small ranch-style house. It was covered from roof to ground with shiny, silver hubcaps. The dull autumn sun reflected points of light off the chrome, making the house look like some sort of surreal oracle set in the midst of the wooded lot.
“Holy shit,” Marshall said, leaning out to get a better look. Costa pulled the truck over to the side of the road. He drained his coffee, squashing the empty cup in his hand and whipping it onto the floor, which was covered with similar trash.
“Hubcap’s house,” said Costa.
“Pull up a little further,” Marshall said, still staring out the windshield. “That is the most fucking bizarre thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“No shit. That’s why I had to show you. And we are close enough, my friend.”
“Wait,” said Marshall, sitting back on the seat and regarding Costa. “You had to show me this, why exactly?”
“You want to end up like that? Bat shit crazy living in a house covered in hubcaps?”
Marshall laughed, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “You’re fucked up, man.”
“No, my friend, you’re fucked up.”
Marshall stared out the window. He thought about the little six-by-six cave he’d created for himself at home, the drinking, the fact that he hadn’t shown up at his own office for nearly two weeks.
“What’d you come in my restaurant for? Huh?” Costa had turned in his seat and was looking intently at Marshall.
“I don’t know . . . I . . .” He looked away. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Then he growled, “What do people usually come into a restaurant for?”
“You came in there looking for me. Wanted to see what kind of a fuckup I was, so you could figure out what kind of fuckup you are.” Marshall was silent. Costa pointed a finger at him. “Lemme ask you this—how many days you call in sick to work this week?”
“Fuck you.”
Costa put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I almost lost everything after Violet,” he said. “It tore me up to lose her.” He sat back and laughed. “I know she’s a crazy broad. But you know what? Sometimes I still miss things about her.” Costa’s eyes got a faraway look. He smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. “Yeah, Angelina would fucking kill me if she knew that.” Costa reached in his pocket and pulled out a coin, rubbing at it thoughtfully with his thumb. “Know what I missed most?”
“What?” Marshall sat staring out the window at the chrome-covered house of Brian Jankowicz.
“The way she smelled in the morning. Not a perfume. I can’t explain it. It was—”
“Her smell,” Marshall finished. He swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” said Costa. “And the way her hair was this big net of black fuzz and her eyes were almost Chinese-looking.” Costa sighed. “She looked like a little cat to me then. Sweet, you know?”
Marshall nodded. The men sat looking at the winking, metal-covered house. “So, what happened to him?” Marshall said.
“I don’t know for sure,” Costa said. “He went crazy, I guess.” He pulled a pack of gum absently out of his shirt pocket, glommed two sticks, and handed one to Marshall. The truck filled with the sweet minty scent.
Marshall chewed, lost in thought. Without taking his eyes from Jankowicz’s property, he said to Costa, “Let’s go ask him.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”
“Let’s go talk to him,” said Marshall, a bit more insistent. Costa was waving his hands at Marshall, shaking his head.
“No way. What would we say? We were here spying on your crazy ass and we just thought we’d drop in and say hi?”
“We’ll tell him we’re starting a support group,” said Marshall. “Just like those crazy fucking groups Violet was always going to.”
“Jesus, you got that right. Cost me a bundle. I don’t do no crazy support group shit. Let’s go.” He put his hand on the ignition.
“Oh, really?” Marshall said. “Why was it again you came to pick me up today?”
Costa sighed and dropped his hand back in his lap. “Oh, come on. I saw how you were Friday night. You didn’t mean to bust up my place. You’re just messed up right now.”
“Right,” said Marshall. “You wanted to . . . help me get through it.”
“Okay,” said Costa, throwing his hands up into the air. “Whatever.”
“And think about it, Costa! How many of us are there?”
“Us?”
“Ex-husbands. Of Violet’s.”
“Hmmm.” Costa rubbed his wide forehead. “Well, me, you, Hubcap,” he said, counting on this fingers.
“Dead Winston,” they said at the same time.