Cold in July

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “You’re right, it has.”

  Ted went back to work and I went over to the door to look at the lock. It was pretty serious looking. Good. And there was a sliding grillwork that could be pulled across the glass at night and locked in place, just in case a rhino charged you. I didn’t know if I felt secure or stupid. The only thing I knew for certain was I wasn’t going to mention Ben Russel to Ann, least not now.

  I got the portable television out of the storage closet in the kitchen, put it on the drainboard and plugged it in. I tuned in Bugs Bunny and left Jordan watching that and drinking the milk he hadn’t spilled yet.

  I found Ann in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to me. Her elbows were on her knees and her hands were supporting her head as if it had grown too heavy. I closed the door and sat down beside her.

  “I hate the couch,” she said.

  “Sorry. I can take it back.”

  “You should have asked me what I wanted. Don’t we always do that? We want something, we make up our minds together. Right?”

  “I just wanted the other one out of the house.”

  “You could have waited on a new one until I could look with you.”

  “I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “It wasn’t very considerate of you.”

  “I’ll have them take it back. Could we talk about something besides the couch?”

  “I just don’t like it, that’s all.”

  “You talk to the police?” I asked.

  “You’re changing the subject, but yes, I talked to them. Lieutenant Price was very nice. It went quickly.”

  “Want to go out to dinner?”

  “Jordan made himself a sandwich.”

  “I thought maybe Dorothy could keep him. She owes us a babysitting, doesn’t she? What say just you and I go? Mexican food maybe.”

  “I can call her and see.”

  “Good. I’ll wash up and shave. I feel sort of grungy.”

  “Brush your teeth too. Your breath has hair on it… Do you really think we need bars on the doors and windows? Alarms? Did you see that bill?”

  “No, I haven’t seen the bill. But right now, the way I feel, I wish I could put this house on Mars.” I got up and started out.

  “Richard. I still don’t like that couch. It looks like it was designed by that guy who did the sets for Alien.”

  “It goes tomorrow,” I said.

  · · ·

  After dinner, we picked up Jordan and got him to bed early, and Ann and I made love. It was good. Our sex life had never turned bitter, but it had turned quick, spaced between too many obligations and performed far too often when we felt the least like it.

  But this wasn’t like that. It was like the old times when we couldn’t wait to get at each other. It reminded me of college and the back of my old battered ‘61 Ford; worn out when I got it, worn out more by my neglect. We used to do all our loving in the backseat of that car at the drive-in because we both had strict dorms and roommates. I remembered that Ford with the sort of reverence a monk reserves for a shrine.

  I lay there with Ann asleep on my arm and looked at the space between the curtains and saw one of the burglar bars banded against the window glass like a strip of cancer across a pale eye. I looked at the bar until I made it go away. I made everything go away. I imagined us in the backseat of the old Ford with pieces of ripped roof cloth dangling down like limp stalactites. It was a cold December night, not the dead of July, and Ann and I had the old patchwork quilt across us and the Ford’s windows were all frosted.

  I lay there believing that for a long duration, traveling backwards by mental time machine to a time when all was right with the world and I thought Ann and I would live forever and that our future would always be as bright as the chrome on a brand-new Buick.

  9

  So the next day the alarms were installed and the couch went back and Ann and I picked a new one. And by the next day I was able to tell myself it was time to get on with life, and it was foolish of me to consider seeing Russel buried. That wouldn’t make things any better, and I just might see his old man, and I didn’t need that.

  But on the other hand, what if no one went to the funeral but the grave diggers? That didn’t seem right either. Even the executioner would be more welcome, I thought. I had at least seen his face, and it was a face that would be branded on my memory forever.

  Still, I wasn’t going. And I wasn’t going all the while I drove over there, telling myself I was only driving by. And I wasn’t going when I parked under some oaks across the blacktop from the graveyard, and I wasn’t going when I got out of my car and leaned on it, looked across at the burying.

  It wasn’t funeral weather. It was hot and gummy. The oaks I was under didn’t provide much relief. It was as if they were dripping hot ink instead of shadow, but I knew if I stood out of that shadow, out in the bright sunlight, it would be even worse; molten honey. For this kind of business it should have been rainy and cold and the graveyard should have been full of people dressed in black, at least some of them crying. But it wasn’t like that for Freddy Russel.

  What he got were two grave diggers, and a hired preacher waiting impatiently beside the cemetery fence in a bright, black Buick with the door open fanning himself with what looked like a church tract, which was probably its best use.

  The grave was already dug, most likely the day before, and there was a contraption over the hole that was used to crank the coffin down. One of the grave diggers wore a Hawaiian shirt with red and yellow parrots on it. He and the other man were laughing about something, probably an off-color joke about preachers, and they worked very fast, cranking at the rig, lowering Freddy down. For all they cared the coffin could have been empty.

  When they had the coffin in the hole they waved the preacher over, and the preacher stood by the grave and cracked his Bible and started reading. When he finished, he said a few words, and damn few at that, and wrapped it up with an “amen.” The whole thing had all the conviction of a hooker’s lovemaking. The preacher checked his watch and made for the Buick, cranked it, and he was out of there. Probably had a late free lunch somewhere.

  I was about to follow suit when an old, blue Ambassador drove up next to the cemetery fence and a big guy got out and stood beside it watching the grave diggers toss dirt on the box. He lit a cigarette, turned and saw me. He looked to be in his late fifties, slightly paunchy, but handsome in a workingman sort of way. He stood there smoking his cigarette and staring at me, then he gave up on the smoke, put a heel to it, and started across the road.

  As he neared, I saw that he was older than I first thought. Perhaps his late sixties. But it hadn’t hurt him much. His face had the look of a comfortable, old shoe, and there was something about the way he walked that defied age; weary confidence preceded him like the figurehead of a great ship.

  “You’re Dane aren’t you?” he asked as he came to my side of the road.

  My pulse quickened. I knew who he was, though he wasn’t the fantasy image I had conjured two days before.

  “Yeah, you’re Dane,” he said, answering his own question. “You know me?”

  “I’ve got a hunch,” I said.

  “I know you. I’ve made a point of it. When I came to town, first thing I did was ask around. People told me what I wanted to know. Said you got your picture in the papers a lot. Good citizen stuff. I went to the newspapers and asked to see their morgue, said I was interested in local history, said I was a writer researching a book. I saw your picture in quite a few issues. Big man here in LaBorde, Dane. And by the way. You take a good picture.”

  “It won’t make it any better for you, but I didn’t want to kill your son. I had to.”

  “You’re right. I don’t feel any better. Good of you to come out though, so you could see the shit go into the hole. Real nice of you.”

  “He broke into my house, for God’s sake. He had a gun. He tried to kill me. I shot him in self-defense.”

  “I do
n’t think that sounds like him. He was my only son.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That tidies it up. I feel better already, you having said you’re sorry. You have a son, don’t you?”

  I felt a tingle at the base of my skull, as if some kind of cold borer worm were working itself inside my head.

  “Ought to be about four now. I read the birth announcement. Nice name, Jordan. And I like your wife’s name too. I had an aunt named Ann. She got hit by a truck.”

  “Russel, listen to me—”

  “People around town I’ve talked to say your boy looks a lot like you, that he’s really something. God, wouldn’t it be awful if something happened to him?”

  “Is that some kind of threat, you sonofabitch?”

  “Not at all. I was just saying it would be awful if something happened to him. It could, you know? Look what happened to my son.”

  “Maybe if you’d been a better father, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You have no idea what kind of father I was.”

  “I can imagine. You stay away from my son. My family. Hear me?”

  “Don’t shit yourself, Dane. I was just pointing out how horrible it would be if something happened to your little Jordan. Little kids don’t always watch what they do. You have to be very careful with them. They get hurt easy. Killed sometimes.”

  “Come near my family, and I’ll kill you.”

  He smiled at me and got out a cigarette and lit it. He pushed the pack toward me. “Smoke?” I noticed his hands were exactly like my father’s. Thick and square and powerful. It made me uncomfortable.

  “I meant what I said, Russel.”

  As I opened my car door and slid behind the wheel, he said, “Have a nice day, sonny boy.”

  10

  “I told you to stay away from there,” Price said.

  We were in the police assembly room, which served as a kind of lounge, and like everything else about the station, it surprised me. It was cool and clean. The vending machines were well stocked.

  Price looked his usual sharp self. Today he wore a gray suit with a maroon shirt and striped tie, and his shoes were as shiny as ever.

  “I know,” I said. “But he wouldn’t have left me alone if I’d stayed home. He’s been asking around about me. Even went to the newspaper morgue to read about me, saw pictures so he could identify me.”

  Price ran a hand over his face as if trying to reshape it. “Anyone overhear you two?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  I did.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if the two of you were overheard. No real threat there. He even told you to have a nice day.”

  “It’s the way he said it.”

  “You got zip. Maybe if someone could testify that the tone of his voice was threatening, you might have something, but not much. Besides, you haven’t got anyone.”

  “Can I get protection for my family?”

  “Officially he hasn’t done anything.”

  “He’s an ex-con.”

  “He served his time… Look, I believe he threatened you, I do. But it doesn’t amount to anything officially. I don’t make all the decisions around here either. Even if I wanted to post someone to watch your family I haven’t got a legal reason to do it. If you’re lucky, he’ll go away. He could just be worked up over things. That’s natural. No crime in seeing the man who killed your son. If he wanted to harm you, he could have done that at the cemetery.”

  “It isn’t me he wants, it’s my son. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.”

  “All right, listen up tight, Mr. Dane. Unofficially, I can give you protection for a couple of days. It might get my ass in a crack, but I’ll do it. It’s possible the chief will pull me off of it if he finds out, but we’ll give it a shot, even if I have to do it myself. I’ll have a car watch your place, and we’ll check with you from time to time.”

  “You said a couple of days. That’s all you can do?”

  “Two days, Mr. Dane. That’s it.”

  “And what if he waits until the third day?”

  “He makes a real threat you can prove, we’ll move in on him. I’ll run a check on him in the meantime, and my suggestion to you is to get another gun, sleep light, and hope he leaves town. I think there’s a good chance he will.”

  “I don’t find that too goddamn reassuring. You said he was dangerous. You’re punishing me for not listening to you.”

  “That’s stupid. He is dangerous. But I can’t do a thing unless he tries something. Innocent until proven guilty, Mr. Dane.”

  “When does this protection begin?”

  “Tonight. That’s as soon as I can arrange it. I can’t make a big deal out of it. We’re short-manned as it is.”

  “In LaBorde?”

  “More goes on here than you think, Mr. Dane. A lot more. I want you to describe his car. If you’re lucky, he stole it. That would be something to hold him on, and with him being an ex-con, it would be a quick trip back to the pen. Perhaps for good this time.”

  I didn’t know the license plate number, but I gave him a good description of the car, for what that was worth. There must have been a lot of old, blue Ambassadors around.

  Though I didn’t much feel like it, I shook Price’s hand and went outside. I understood his position, but I didn’t much care for it.

  Standing there on the edge of the parking lot, I thought about Russel and his son and tried to imagine them at home together; Ben on the floor playing with little Freddy, or maybe sitting around in his bathrobe Christmas morning, laughing while the boy unwrapped his presents. But these weren’t visions I could hang onto. I could more easily imagine him teaching the boy to beat a lock or hotwire a car.

  Then I got to thinking about what Russel had said about my son, and I got mad again, then scared. I drove over to the day school on North Street to get Jordan early. I planned to call Ann from there and tell her I had him and where she could meet us.

  When I pulled into the church parking lot I saw Russel’s Ambassador and Russel was standing over by the dumpster, smoking a cigarette.

  I parked near his car, got out, made a point of. memorizing the license plate this time, and went over to him.

  Russel looked at his watch. “I didn’t think your boy got out until three-forty-five.”

  I swung at him with everything I had. He rolled his head like a boxer to avoid it, but I caught him some on the jaw and the punch was hard enough to move his head and send his cigarette flying out of his mouth.

  I brought the left around and tried to coldcock him, but he blocked that with his right forearm and stepped back out of range of any more blows.

  “You hit pretty hard for a frame builder, Dane. You got to watch dropping your shoulder and roundhousing though. Gives your punch away, takes half the sting out.”

  “You sonofabitch,” I said.

  “Could be,” he said, and he got out a fresh cigarette and lit it. I stood there breathing heavy as I watched him take a puff and put the lighter back in his pocket. I watched to see if his hands were trembling. They weren’t. But mine were.

  “Been to the cops yet? That’s what I figured you’d do. Go straight to them. I think you’re of the opinion that I’m threatening you and your family.”

  I wanted to tear back into him, but he’d taken my shots so easily, I figured, sixty or not, he could mop up the parking lot with me.

  “I told you once to stay away from my family. I won’t tell you again.”

  “Careful, Dane,” he said. “You keep threatening me like that, I may have to lodge a complaint.”

  I walked back to my car and drove it over to the far side of the lot and got out and walked through the side door. Once inside the glass door, I turned to see if he was still standing there.

  He wasn’t, and the Ambassador was gone.

  11

  I left a message for Ann at the school, told the receptionist to tell her everything
was all right and not to worry, but to meet Jordan and me at the police station.

  At the station, Jordan was restless and I bought him a Coke and a package of those round peanut-butter-filled crackers. He drank some of the Coke and used the can to mash the crackers into the table. That seemed to bother Price. You would have thought it was his table. I didn’t make Jordan stop.

  “Who was there first?” Price asked. “You or Russel?”

  “Russel.”

  “Did he do anything to you?”

  “No. He said he thought my son got off at three-forty-five and I took a swing at him.”

  “Did you make contact?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he hit you back?”

  “No.”

  Price did the reshaping number with his hand and face again. “You still got nothing, Mr. Dane. The worst he could be accused of is loitering. That’s a big parking lot. He could have been planning to go in one of the stores on the other side of it; maybe he was having a smoke before going inside. He could try and press charges against you for taking a swing at him. You’ve admitted yourself that you did.”

  I didn’t even feel like arguing anymore. I could see where this was going. “For what it’s worth,” I said. “I got his license number.”

  “I’ll run a check on the computer. Give me the number. It won’t take but a minute.”

  I gave him the number and he went away with it and came back in about two minutes. I was watching the clock.

  “Local car rental. All legal.”

  “I guess that leaves me where I was.”

  “I’m afraid so. I know how you feel, but I can’t arrest a man on another’s say-so. Even if the one accused is an ex-con. If we arrested everyone that might commit a crime, the jail would be full long before sundown.”

  “I get the picture. But you still intend to have someone watching the house tonight?”

  “That’s right.”

  I collected Jordan and we went outside to wait on Ann. Jordan told me a story about a little blue rabbit that could run fast, and about five minutes later Ann drove up. I told her to follow us to our favorite Mexican restaurant and I’d tell her the story there.