Roy and Jimmy Boyle were shooting pool on a rainy Saturday afternoon in Lucky’s El Paso when Mooney Yost, a Lucky’s regular, came in and sat down on a bench near the boys’ table. Yost was about fifty years old, a fin and a sawbuck hustler who was always kind to Roy and his friends. He liked to tell slightly off-color jokes. “What’s the lightest thing in the world?” he’d ask, then answer himself: “A man’s penis—it only takes a thought to lift it.” He didn’t look happy sitting on the bench, though, and after Roy and Jimmy finished their game they sat down on either side of him.
“What’s wrong, Mooney?” Jimmy asked. “Your dog get run over?”
“Dogs don’t dig me,” Mooney said. “They take one sniff and head for the hills. Must be something in my blood reminds ’em of bein’ beaten in Egypt back in the days of the pharaohs. No, I was just talkin’ to my sister, Rita, in Peoria, and she told me that our mother’s last husband died a bad death. He was her fourth or fifth, not even my mother remembers any more. His name was Reno Mott. He was Rita’s stepfather, she’s twelve years younger than I am, and I was gone by the time our mother married him. Rita’s father was my mother’s third or fourth husband, a cat burglar named Slippery Elmo Daniels.
“Anyways, this last husband had been divorced from our mother for more than twenty years. He wasn’t smart or rich or even very goodlookin’, but my sister says he was always nice to her. I met Reno Mott a few times but I had no use for his ass. Despite his religious dishonesty, constant lies and penny ante swindling, he never made even a modest living and lost every cent my mother had, including whatever I give her or Rita did.
“He remarried, my sister said, and he and his new wife lived in a trailer on the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona. He worked odd jobs, Rita told me, the final one for a messenger service deliverin’ small packages in his old Buick that didn’t have headlights. His wife worked as a bank teller. Reno kept at it until he was eighty, then his vital organs began to go one by one. Rita went to see him in the hospital a few days before he died. Drove all the way from Peoria, Illinois, to Phoenix. She’s a good girl, Rita. He was hooked up to a few machines and he was scared. He told my sister that he’d lived a bad life, cheatin’ people all the time, pretending to be a big shot and failing at everything he tried. Mott lost his messenger job after he drove into a kid on a bicycle and killed him. The police let him off because the kid had darted out from an alley or a side street without lookin’ to see if any cars were comin’. It was typical of his bum luck, Mott told Rita. He’d done everything the wrong way, he said, and now he was about to die without money, love or peace of mind.
“My sister talked to his wife after he died and the woman told her it had been a real ugly deal. She was in the hospital room when the nurses pulled the plugs. He stood up next to the bed and howled, ‘I don’t want to die! I’ve led a mean life, I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever known. I’ve stolen money from children, I’ve killed people! Now I’m goin’ to hell, I have to go to hell and I’m afraid! Oh, Lord,’ he cried, ‘you know me only as one of the wicked of the earth and my flesh trembleth for fear of thee!’
“Reno carried on like this, his wife said, for more than a minute before he collapsed to the floor and was pronounced dead. His eyes were rolled back in his head and his mouth was open. Almost all of his teeth were gone. His tongue was green and hung out of one side of his mouth. Rita told his wife that Mott had been nice to her when she’d been a young girl. The woman thanked her for saying so, and said once Reno had read about a boy who’d been hit in the head and lost his ability to remember anything after that. The child’s mind was frozen in time. Not only could he not remember anything new but also did not even recognize himself in the mirror as he grew older. Reno thought that would be the perfect way to live, with nothing terrible in your mind to haunt you forever.
“When my sister told our mother that Reno Mott had died, she said, ‘I thought he died years ago.’ Rita said he believed he was going to hell and was afraid to burn. ‘I’m not surprised,’ my mother said. ‘He never did any good in his life.’ ‘He was always nice to me,’ said Rita. Out mother looked at her and said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ ”
Mooney stood up, stretched his lanky frame, and said, “Be thankful, boys, you don’t have a Reno Mott messin’ with you. Guess I’ll see if I can scare up a game of one-pocket.”
“I don’t really feel like playin’ any more,” said Jimmy.
“Neither do I,” said Roy.
They racked their cues, walked to the door and pulled their jackets up over their heads before going out into the rain.