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over the tub to hold him. He took the pants from her hand.
    “I can wash them myself,” he said.
        — — —
    When she left, Poe stripped his shorts off and scrubbed himself where the bum had grabbed him. The cut on his neck stung and he remembered knowing Isaac had left him, for a second all he'd thought was fucking Isaac he left you here and then he'd felt the cutting burning on his neck. He'd felt the cutting and he'd gone loose, done what was expected of him. Would have cut me all the way, Jesús his name was, Jesús the cocksucking Mexican who is still alive now somewhere, he was not a cruel person but help me Father I'll find him I'll put a stick through his ankles and hoist him up and skin him. Poe could imagine him screaming and the thought of that, of old Jesús screaming as Poe skinned him alive it nearly gave Poe a hard- on or maybe he would gut him first, field- dress him, as it were, leave his guts all hanging out so old Jesús could get a long look. Christ, he thought, listen to yourself. Your fucking brain is out of adjustment. He splashed water on his face. The Mexican had squeezed on his balls so hard he'd tasted the puke come up. That was when he pissed himself. I ain't kiddin, said Jesús. I'll cut these off you don't settle down quick. He'd felt the air going in and out of him and the man's heart beating against his back the way you feel a girl's heart beating when you're on top of her it was fucking disgusting and he'd let it happen, he wanted to sink back under the water and never come up.
    He remembered that enormous fucking crack, though, it sounded like a pistol and the Mexican let go and Poe took off toward the door. He saw Otto, the eyes all bulged out Otto was crying blood and it was swelling from his mouth and ears. Isaac was waiting for him by the door, he was a good man Isaac no doubt about that, a fucking standup human man. Though he might say otherwise he was not sure, when the moment of truth came, that he himself could have done that for someone. He was not that kind of person, that was the truth of it. That was a thing he knew about himself. Whereas Isaac—Poe would have wanted to but he might not have been able. Might not have been capable of making his feet take him in the direction. He had always suspected that but now he was sure. Except I would have gone back for Isaac, he thought. Maybe not for someone else but definitely for him.
    He knew Otto must still be right where he fell. They wouldn't try to bury him—burying a dead body, you're fucked if you get caught doing that. He wondered if they would go to Harris, everyone knew Harris hated bums but maybe these guys didn't know. Maybe they would tell him and Harris would have no choice but to check it out. Went with Mom for a while. He wondered if his mother had done it with Chief Harris. There was no question about it. Bud Harris had gotten Poe out of an assault charge. Everyone knew about that—that Poe had gotten a free ride for what he'd done to the kid from Donora. This time Harris would not be able to help him.
    After a time he got out and dressed and went into the living room. He was so exhausted he could barely keep his head up. The house was dark, she'd turned nearly all the lights off, but it was warm and he could tell by the singed dusty smell that she'd turned the baseboard heaters on. He felt guilty but also relieved.
    She said: “Was anyone else with you?”
    “Isaac English.”
    “Is he okay?”
    “Better than me.”
    “Your father is coming over.”
    “Did you tell him?”
    “No. I just thought I should warn you.”
    “Does that mean he's back for good?”
    “I don't know yet,” she said. “We'll see.”
    He sat on the opposite side of the couch from her and then she pulled him over and he laid his head in her lap. His head was against her belly. He let his eyes close and he stopped thinking about the Mexican, he could hear her breathing in her belly and everything was going to be fine and he fell