La Mermaid

"Approximately three hours before gutting Jem Kline, who claimed I was dealing dirty, I am feeding ammunition into a six gun at midnight, coffee - black - shirtless in my kitchen. Kate still sleeps. An empty demijohn on its side in the sink, like a sunken ship. Horinzonless Arizona night and all these games of chance. In my mind, I see my familiar, the feejee mermaid on her plaintive plinth, frozen and howling through Creation: Papa Death's fish-girl. And now I can hear Kate stirring. It's a shot of rye. Gig line tight. I'll polish my shooter 'til it shines like a dime & place that at the small of my back. The buttons fall through the buttonholes and Contained Kate emerges like a pale moon, like some kind of Yes in the storm. We meet Wyatt later. I fold my knife. Always did like Jem, but, then, we had never played cards together."