Thank you so much, Cybele.
Well I've been laboring very hard
to produce something without any hope of redemption for.
Oh yeah.
OK.
We're going to make this work.
We are.
I think I was saying I was impressed by this notion
that underneath the ugliness in some of my work,
there's hope of redemption.
I've been trying to make a book without that in it,
just all ugly.
And this book is called "Nobody Move".
I just got this the other day and apparently, there's
going to be some stuff for sale.
Look, it has bullet holes in it.
I think there're going to be copies for sale
but I'm going to show you this anyway.
You get the bullet holes, and look here.
It's like Grand Theft Auto.
I know that sounds like a joke but actually, I
don't know what Grand Theft Auto is.
They told me they were going to do an illustration like Grand
Theft Auto.
Apparently, you know what it is.
Anyway, what this book is is kind of a shoot
them up that was written in four installments
for Playboy magazine.
10,000 words and so I don't think
it's entirely inappropriate to read something
like this at a Poetry Center because there
are certain formal pressures operating on the composition
and sometimes that does produce poetry.
Maybe not in this particular case,
but I think free verse poets are always making up little.
I mean for instance they decide, well, I'm
going to have a four line stanza and only four line stanzas,
or I'll have three or something.
We're always trying to put ourselves
under some kind of formal pressure.
And I don't think that happens so much in prose.
You just sort of be a big fat slob if you want.
Later on, they find out and they tell you you are
but you can just do whatever you want really.
And in this case, I was unable to do whatever
I wanted and it made for a novel without any redemption in it.
Dammit.
OK.
So I'll just start at the second.
You understand this was a serial and I just
imagine that many people open the magazine
not having seen part one and saw the first page of part two.
And so although I don't know anything about writing serials,
I thought it would be good if the beginning of part two
had some of the exposition of what went on in part one.
So I'm going to start reading part two.
Am I just babbling now?
Like have I said part two like 12 times?
All right.
The title of the book is "Nobody Move"
and that's as much background as we need I think.
Can you hear me in the back?
Now you can.
Could you before?
All right.
Well if it gets weird, I'm going to try and stay close
to this mic.
But you know I see you back there.
And if you start going like that,
I'll assume that you want me to speak up.
"Jimmy Luntz woke at the Log Inn Motel
and spent 20 minutes sitting upright in his bed,
smoking a Camel and staring at the woman asleep beside him,
just watching her breathe.
Very gently, he lifted the covers.
She was dark skinned all the way down.
"Oh, that's right," he said.
"You're an Indian."
The woman didn't stir.
He carried his shaving kit into the bathroom.
Before he emptied his bladder, he
fished the woman's cell phone out of the toilet
and set it on top of the tank.
Anita.
She hadn't told him her last name.
He took his time shaving, grooming, getting good.
He couldn't remember the last time
he'd awakened beside an unfamiliar woman.
As for when this good looking, never.
He came out naked and found her wide awake,
sitting on the bed's edge also naked, holding
a revolver in one hand."
Now this, I should tell you that I became very interested in how
you write these things.
And I read what Raymond Chandler had to say
and he said, when you're in doubt,
have a man walk through the door with a gun.
Which is fine, you know, that happens
like eight times in part one.
But so then, part two, the person has to be naked.
And I'm sure Chandler would have approved.
Actually, he was a bit of a prude and lived with his mother
all his life.
Oh.
All right, I'm back.
Thank you.
OK.
Are you following it so far?
Yes.
Jimmy Luntz has woken in a hotel room.
He's with an unfamiliar woman.
She's now naked and holding a gun and pointing it at him.
"With the other hand, she held up a credit card.
"What's this?"
"Wow," he said.
"You tell me."
"What is it?"
"It looks like American Express," he said.
"Wow, you said your name was Franklin."
"Well, it's not.
It's Ernest Gambol."
"It's not that either."
She spun the credit card from her fingers
and it sailed across the room.
"Then what is your name, if you don't mind my asking?
Since we recently fucked and all.""
Oh yeah.
There's a lot of dirty language in this too.
A shitload of dirty language, so I apologize to my aunt
Evelyn who looks down from heaven.
Yeah.
Oh.
"Since we recently fucked and all.
What is your name?"
"Jimmy Luntz."
"Who's Ernest Gambol?"
"Gambol is a great big asshole."
"As big an asshole as you?"
"Bigger, just my opinion."
"In my opinion, the asshole is the one who steals the wallet."
"The thing about a gun," Luntz said, "Is it can just go off."
"I'm not pointing it at you."
"I'm talking about this other gun."
"What other gun?"
"The one I shot Gambol with."
She closed her knees together and took hold of the blanket
and pulled it over her crotch.
"Now, it's pointing at you."
"You don't have to tell me.
That's all I can look at, is that gun."
"That's what I thought yesterday.
I saw you at the Feather River, remember?
I thought, hey, that guy has a gun.
Then spoof, no more gun."
"I saw you too."
She aimed her weapon at him a long time without speaking.
She stood up.
Luntz stepped backward until his shoulders
collided with the wall.
With her purse in one hand and her gun in the other,
she headed for the can and shut the door behind her.
The lock clicked.
Luntz heard the shower start.
He let the air out of his lungs.
He lit up and burned through half a Camel,
inhaling smoke with every breath.
With the cigarette clamped in his lips,
he went on his hands and knees and pulled
Gambol's white duffel bag from under the bed and opened it.
He found his last clean set of socks and underwear.
He didn't touch Gambol's shotgun.
He got on his socks and shorts and opened his door
and tossed the last burning inch of his cigarette
into the parking lot and observed a county squad
car pulling up to the motel's office.
A green Caprice, mid-90s.
Luntz sat on the bed and wrapped himself in his own arms
and closed his eyes and sat there shaking his head.
As soon as the knocking came, he started for the door
but three feet short of it, he stopped.
He cleared his throat and said, "Who is it?"
"Sheriff's deputy.
Two seconds."
Luntz put his hand on the doorknob and bowed his head
and waited for a thought that didn't arrive.
Four more knocks.
He opened the door and said good morning
to a young guy in uniform.
"Good morning.
Mr Franklin, right?
How are you?"
"Me?"
Luntz said.
"Better and better."
"That's good.
Do you know anything about a Cadillac parked
over there at the airstrip?"
"No.
A Cadillac?"
"There's a Cadillac Brougham parked over there
and Mr Nabilah tells me you checked in without a car."
"Me?"
"Yeah."
"No, I mean, that's right.
Who's Mr Nabilah?"
"The manager.
He thought it might be your Caddie over there."
"Right.
Oh.
Yeah."
"And it looks like blood on the left rear tire.
A lot of blood.
Did you maybe hit a dog?"
"No.
It's not my car.
I don't have a car."
"There's a hole in the left rear quarter panel.
It looks like a bullet hole."
"For goodness sake," Luntz said.
"Can I see some ID?"
"ID?
Sure.
Gee, where's my pants?"
At that moment, Anita came out of the bathroom
wrapped in a towel.
Her black hair slicked back and flashed
a smile that would have blown the doors off Jesus Christ.
"Deputy Rabbit!"
"That's me," the deputy said.
And then, "Oh, Mrs--" "Right.
It's still Mrs. Desilvera," she said.
"For six more months."
"Oh, all right," the deputy said.
"That's your Camaro out there.
I mean, it looked like it.
I mean, yeah.
That's your car."
He turned to look at her car, which was parked sideways
across three spaces behind him.
"All mine.
Is there a problem?"
"No problem.
I was just checking about this Caddie
out there at the airstrip.
If nobody claims it, I'll have to get it towed."
"Tow it to the moon," Luntz said.
"It ain't my car."
"He's with me," Anita said.
"OK, that clears things up a little.
Thanks."
"Glad to help," Anita said.
"Can I get dressed?"
"That's fine," the deputy said.
"Are you going to watch?"
"Oh," he said.
"All righty.
Have a nice day, folks."
Luntz said "You too," and shut the door in his face
and sat down on the bed.
Anita dropped her towel and stepped into her skirt.
Luntz stared at her breasts.
She got her bra fastened.
"That was Deputy Rabbit.
Maybe his first name is Jack, huh?
Deputy Rabbit conducted my firearms training class."
"You actually have a carry permit or something?"
"I did, but it's revoked."
She found her blouse on the floor.
"Deputy Rabbit was talking about your Caddie."
"It's not my Caddie."
"It was your Caddie when I saw you throw
that gun in the Feather River."
"I just borrowed it."
"The gun or the car?"
"Both."
"What did you say your name was?"
"Jimmy."
"Can I borrow the Cadillac, Jimmy?"
"What's wrong with that Camaro of yours?"
"Too many people know it."
"Like Deputy Rabbit, you mean."
"Can I have the keys?"
"The door's unlocked," he said.
"I put the keys under the floor mat,
but I wouldn't advise driving around in that thing."
"Is it stolen?"
"Not legally, I guess.
Gambol doesn't deal with the police."
"Gambol?
I thought you shot him."
"He didn't die."
"Is he running around looking for it?"
"Probably not yet.
If he is, he's running around on one leg."
Luntz stared while she sat on the bed
and stuck her toes into the legs of her pantyhose
and stood up straight and hiked her skirt
and wiggled her underwear all the way on.
She dropped the hem and smoothed her skirt.
One at a time, she kicked her black pumps into position
on the floor and worked her feet into them.
She got her coat on and opened the door.
"Wait a minute," Luntz said.
"I want to talk to you.
I mean, about last night."
"What was your name again?"
"Jimmy Luntz.
I had a good time last night."
"It was kind of a fluke, Jimmy."
"I get that, yeah.
But maybe we could have coffee or something."
Leaving the front door ajar, she went into the john
and came back and handed him her cell phone.
"Hang on to this phone.
If it still works, maybe I'll call you."
She gave him a little salute and walked out
and he sat there holding her phone
in his hand for 10 minutes.
Then he set the cell phone aside, clapped his hands
together twice and stood up.
He got dressed and got his gear together.
He had no jacket other than his white tuxedo.
He put it on and pocketed the cell phone.
He picked up Gambol's duffel by the handle
and looked around for anything else he might have forgotten.
A knock came at the door.
He opened it quickly.
It wasn't Anita.
Two very clean cut men stood side by side
in the doorway, one of them holding up a badge.
"We're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Luntz said, "Wow."
The man put his badge away and told Luntz both their names
but Luntz didn't hear.
"Wow," he said.
"For a second, I thought you were Jehovah Witness people."
"Can I ask your name, sir?"
"Franklin.
But listen, I'm about to hop on a bus.
I'm late."
"Where's Mrs. Desilvera, Mr. Franklin?"
"Mrs who?"
"The lady staying here with you."
"Oh, I didn't get her last name.
Just her first."
"Are you two pretty good friends?"
"They're on a first name basis," the other one said.
"I just met her last night."
"Yes, we're aware of that."
The other one said, "What's in your bag? $2 million?"
"What?"
"Didn't she tell you she's sitting
on a pile of other people's money?"
"We barely got introduced."
"We understand that," the nicer one said.
"Did she say where she was going?"
"No, sir.
Destination unknown."
"Let me tell you what this is about, Mr Franklin.
In just a few days, your friend will
plead guilty to embezzling $2.3 million."
He waited for a reaction and seemed satisfied
with Luntz's speechlessness.
"You didn't know about it? the other one said.
"No, sir.
No.
Embezzlement?
That's a federal thing."
"She'll plead guilty to state charges.
But until the money goes back where it belongs,
we're very interested in her.
Federal charges aren't out of the question.
Can you show us some identification?"
Luntz dug out his driver's license and handed it over.
"I thought you said your name was Franklin."
"Yeah, but that's when I didn't know who you were."
"I told you who we were."
"Oh," Luntz said.
"That's correct.
I guess I got confused.
I thought you guys were Jehovah's Witnesses."
"Really?"
"Look, I have to catch a bus South in 15 minutes.
I mean, now it's 10 minutes."
"When will you be seeing Mrs. Desilvera again?"
"Never.
I got the impression it was a fluke."
"A fluke?"
"That's the description I'm giving it."
"What's in the bag?
That's not her bag, is it?"
"It's mine.
It's my luggage is all.
I bet you wish it was her luggage."
"So she still has the money, huh?
Was she carrying anything, Mr Luntz?"
"You mean like a satchel with a big old dollar sign on it?"
Neither of them laughed.
"Just a purse," Luntz said.
"About yay big."
"You mind if we look around the room?"
"Help yourself.
I'm all checked out and I'm really late, so yeah."
The nicer one raised an index finger.
"Call coming in."
He took a few paces backward and the other one
joined him and stood with his back to Luntz.
The first one with his phone to his cheek, talking.
It seemed the other might be talking too.
Fake phone call.
Luntz lit a cigarette while they reached an agreement.
"OK if I get moving?"
"That'll be fine, we'll make a note of your name, Mr Luntz."
"OK.
I sure hope I make that bus."
They stepped aside for him and the nicer one
said, "good luck."
"I was born lucky."
Luntz set out at a good pace without a backward glance.
He had no idea where he was going.
In his pocket, the cell phone started ringing."
This will be the signal that we're at a section break.
I feel compelled to sum up the plot for you
but I think you get it.
I'm going to resist.
All right.
"Gambol closed his eyes.
He felt his head nodding forward and rode a ferris wheel down
into violent cartoons.
He shivered, but he didn't feel cold.
When he shivered, the pain filled his right leg.
"I want another shot."
"No more for two hours," the woman said.
"This isn't an opium den."
He opened his eyes.
He wore a frilly blue nylon robe, probably the woman's.
"Where's my clothes?"
"How many times are you going to ask me that?"
"Fuck you."
"Your stuff went out with the rest of the bloody trash."
Gambol's head drooped and he looked down
into Jimmy Luntz's face.
The landscape had that blonde Central Valley look.
Some pine trees, oaks, orchards, farmland, sunny and still.
They drove south past Oroville looking for a shopping mall.
The speed sign said 65.
Luntz stayed legal.
He kept his window crack to suck his cigarette smoke away
from Anita's face.
Luntz said, "Dude who worked in a casino in Vegas
told me about this hippie.
This hippie comes in out of the desert night.""
Sorry.
Damn it.
I know what page I'm on but I lost everything else.
OK, sorry.
So they're in a car.
Destination unknown.
Luntz said, "Dude who worked in a casino in Vegas
told me about this hippie.
This hippie comes in out of the desert night,
creeps into the casino all scraggly and scratchy sandals
and tie dye shirt and Hindu balloon pants,
and he goes to the roulette table
and reaches into this little pouch tied to his belt
and comes up with one US quarter.
Lays the quarter on black.
Little ball comes down on 22 black.
He lets it ride, doubles again, switches to red,
doubles his dollar, takes his $2 to the blackjack
and wins 10 in a row.
Doubling every time.
10 in a row.
True story.
$2,048.
He pulls his chips and heads for the craps and starts
betting with the shooter.
Double whatever the shooter bets.
Inside for two hours, the house is clacking his action
and he's comped with free meals and he's drunk on free booze
and he's still at the craps with a crowd around
and betting a throw.
By 3:00 AM, he's stacked up over six grand
off an initial investment of $0.25.
And suddenly in four or five big bets, all gone.
He busts out.
Stands there thinking a minute.
Folks around him watching.
He stands there.
Everybody's shouting, one more quarter!
One more quarter!
Old hippie shakes his head, staggers
back out into the desert night after one hell
of a night in a Vegas casino.
A night they're still talking about.
Total cost was $0.25.
A night you'll never forget."
"For a person who doesn't drink coffee," Anita said.
"You sure run your mouth."
"It keeps me from thinking about things."
"Like what?"
"Like who you are and what the fuck you want.""
Oh, a minute.
Sorry.
"Cigarette smoke in his nostrils woke Gambol and he coughed.
And the woman said sorry, waving it away.
"Lots of folks are quitting these days.
What century are you in, guy?
I'm the last smoker on Earth."
"How long have I been here?"
"You don't remember yesterday?"
"When was yesterday?"
"You were walking and talking."
"Walking?"
"And swearing.
A real creative style.
I poked my head into that cupboard
and you hopped right up and walked right into my car."
Then she said, "I couldn't get you out of the back seat.
I had to do the whole thing in the back seat.
Debrided the wound and all the rest.
The back seat of a Chevy Lumina is not the place for that."
Gambol closed his eyes.
"I feel like I weigh 10 tons."
"You lost a lot of blood.
A lot.
I scored one liter of plasma, nothing else
but glucose and water."
"It feels like he shot me through the bone."
"He missed the bone or you'd be in the ER right
now getting your leg saved and probably talking
to a detective."
"I don't talk to detectives."
"And he missed the big artery or you'd be dead.""
Whoops.
"At the timeout lounge in the Oroville Mall,
they sat in the rearmost booth.
And Jimmy, who called himself Franklin,
only stared at her, never sipping once from his Coke.
She took a long swallow of vodka and 7 and said, "Oh well,
was I on TV again?"
"How did you steal 2.3 million bucks?"
"Didn't the TV tell you?
You run a bond election for a new high school,
you float the loan, turn on the computers,
transfer it here and there, zip.
It's all yours."
"That's greedy."
"Then, the money gets missed right away
and the list of suspects is extremely short.
Then somebody gets arrested."
"Well," he said.
"Well what?"
"I guess you were greedy enough to take it, but not mean
enough to frame an asshole.
Excuse my language," she added, "but where I come from,
that's what they call the guy who gets sacrificed.
The asshole."
She laughed without feeling amused.
"There was definitely an asshole," she said.
[PHONE RINGING]
Damn it.
If we could have timed that--
[LAUGHTER]
In his pocket, the cell phone started ringing.
[LAUGHTER]
But your friend is not telepathic.
Forgive me for calling attention to you.
But it would have fit so good.
[LAUGHTER]
Oh, I'm really lost now.
[LAUGHTER]
Asshole.
[LAUGHTER]
It's just a jump to the left.
[LAUGHTER]
So that didn't help at all.
Now I'm at a rocky road.
[LAUGHTER]
Wait a minute.
Hold-- yeah, sorry.
"There was definitely an asshole, she said."
[LAUGHTER]
I'm sorry.
I'm making this gesture for the character.
[LAUGHTER]
She was the asshole who was framed.
"If you've got it stashed, you're doing it right."
This is Jimmy talking.
"Wandering around, acting broke.
That's doing it right.
But if you've got it, why don't you just disappear?
For one thing, I'm due to enter a plea
and take a deal in court, probation
and a lifelong restitution.
If I miss that date, the judge will void the deal
and max me out.
That's six years at least, a long time to wait to spend
your $2 million.
Have you lost count already?
2.3.
What's a point or three among friends?
I haven't got any friends.
And I'm flat broke.
Not according to the Federal Bureau of Jehovah's Witnesses.
[LAUGHTER]
I haven't got the money.
I just know who has it and how to get it.
No more flip commentary from Mr. Jimmy.
Doesn't that interest you?
You're interesting every way there is."
Excuse me.
I'm doing a little editing.
[LAUGHTER]
Nobody edits my stuff but me.
[LAUGHTER]
"Jimmy Luntz drove the Caddy north.
He watched the dial"-- they're back in the car again.
--"and kept under the limit.
Again, they passed through the blonde country, some vineyards
here and there, lots of vineyards,
either vineyards or orchards with very small trees.
He asked her if those were vineyards.
What do you care?
Are you a wino?
I need a drink from an extra large Sprite in a go cup,
doctoring it with vodka.
Orchards, a roadside stand selling Asian pears spelled
A-S-I-N Pears.
Then higher country, the road winding.
They lost the jazz station.
He found another, just geezer rock, tight curves, tall pines,
and geezer rock.
Is that the Feather River?
By way of answer, she took a swig and coughed.
Hell of a lot of trees, he said.
That's why they call it the forest.
I hope we're not going camping.
[LAUGHTER]
We are if I can't find this place before dark.
Look, Jimmy, who is this guy?
I knew him in Alhambra.
Is that a prison?
It's a city a few hundred miles from here
in your state, California.
She pushed a button under her window."
Sorry.
"She pushed the button and her window came down."
Dammit, these are my words.
[LAUGHTER]
And this is my mouth.
[LAUGHTER]
Theoretically, there shouldn't be any problem.
[LAUGHTER]
"Alhambra, is that a prison?
It's a city a few miles from here in your state, California.
She pushed the button, and her window came down,
and the wind thudded into the car.
She pitched her empty and listened
for the small musical sound of the bottle
shattering behind them.
You're nice, he said, when you're sober.
Have you ever seen me sober?
I think I did for about a minute.
She laid her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes.
Luntz turned down the radio and kept his eyes
going left and right, looking for a building,
a sign, anything.
After a while, she opened her eyes.
What's the plan?
So far, the plan is, I can't go back and I can't stay here.
That's the plan so far.
You know what I mean.
What's the plan?
Luntz stalled for 20 seconds, starting a cigarette.
He set his lighter between them on the console.
I think if you're looking for a gunslinger,
you better keep looking.
You said you shot Gambol.
Only in the leg.
I should have put two more in his head,
just in proper observance of the rules.
Instead, I took pity.
You don't want a guy with pity in his heart.
I'd like to know what the plan is.
I didn't say yes yet.
Let's sit down with a paper and pen
and map out the pros and cons.
Great.
Don't say great yet.
Say great when I say yes.
I just hope I chose the right guy.
When Luntz said nothing, she added, don't be insulted.
I'm not insulted.
I just think it's bullshit for you
to act like you had a choice.
The woman was what they called a hefty blonde
in jeans, and a sweatshirt, and big pink fuzzy slippers.
She smoked cigarettes and watched crime shows and fake
judges on TV, while Gambol nodded and watched cartoons
in his head.
She laughed a lot at the shows.
And when she laughed, it woke him up and he watched her.
Where's the vet?
Vet?
Juarez said he knew a vet could fix me.
A vet, huh?
I guess that's me.
What, kind of, animals, large like horses,
or small like pets?
She laughed, took a drink from her glass, some, kind of booze,
and set it down and lit a cigarette.
I'm a veteran.
[LAUGHTER]
I was an army nurse for 21 years, three months,
and six days.
I dealt with lots of combat trauma.
She exhaled straight upward to avoid
blowing smoke in his face.
I'm a veteran, not a veterinarian.
[LAUGHTER]
What's your name, Lady?
Mary.
What's yours?
Fuck you.
[LAUGHTER]
That's what I thought.
[LAUGHTER]
He nodded off and shot Luntz four times in the crotch,
waited while he suffered, and then
left him with two in the head."
Is that enough for now?
[LAUGHTER]
There's more to the book.
[APPLAUSE]
Is that good?
You got 30 minutes?
What's that?
Did I do 30 minutes [INAUDIBLE]?
Oh, yeah.