Winter in the Blood

by James Welch

  It was plain that he was dead. I tapped him on the shoulder just to make sure, but he was dead all right.

  22

  Again I stood under the awning of the Coast-to-Coast store in order to collect my thoughts. Gable’s and The Silver Dollar would be open by now, but the girl wouldn’t be there, not this early. I felt a peculiar sense of relief. The girl undoubtedly had gotten rid of my gun and electric razor, so what would the confrontation be about? I didn’t want her back—I was damned relieved when she left, so why would I want to find her?—but I knew I would search her out again and find her, that afternoon or evening, but not yet. It was too early, and there was the airplane man and whatever mess he was in …

  “This your car?” A meter maid was writing out a ticket in front of me.

  “I wish.” I stepped out from under the awning and started down the street, past the movie house, the florist’s shop, the liquor store …

  “I thought you’d never get here,” said the airplane man as I entered the Legion Club.

  “I almost didn’t. I almost got hit by a car,” I said.

  “No matter—good that you’re here.” He was talking again in that confidential tone.

  “You remember that old man in the café?”

  “The eavesdropper.”

  “Well, he’s dead.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. Then as though he remembered something else, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then blew his nose, a quick snort. “I like the way you think under pressure. I think we’re going to get along okay.”

  “Deader’n a doornail.”

  “It’s just as well … dead, you say?”

  “Deader’n a doornail. He’s just sitting there one minute rolling a cigarette and next thing I know he’s a goner.”

  “It’s just as well … dead!” He shook his head.

  “He won’t be eavesdropping anymore.”

  “I suppose … hell, I just can’t believe it.”

  I had expected him to be pleased with this piece of information, but now he was shaking his head and muttering. He wiped his upper lip with the rag. Then blew his nose again.

  “At least he won’t be trailing you anymore.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t—that was the first time I saw him.”

  “What?”

  “I never saw him before this morning in my life.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “No, no—as a matter of fact, someone else is tracking me, since you bring it up.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about him anyway.” I felt like a fool.

  The airplane man busied himself with a punchboard. On the top of the board a girl with golden hair lifted her skirt exposing golden thighs. A red heart was stitched on the crotch of her panties. He punched a dozen numbers, unfolding them carefully, then peeking at them with his head tilted. None of the numbers matched the ones on the top of the board. He swept them off the counter and punched a dozen more.

  “You aren’t very lucky,” I said.

  “Probably just as well.” He punched a dozen more.

  “Who is trailing you, then?” I said.

  He peeked at another number, then glanced at me. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What?”

  “I won. Hey, I won,” he yelled down to the bartender.

  The bartender, a man in his sixties with a red turkey neck, strolled over, bar rag in hand. “What can I do for you, ace?”

  “I won something. See, this number matches the second one in the third column. I won a prize or something.”

  The bartender pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He put them on and held the piece of paper up to the light. Then he walked down to the window and looked again. “Is this number on that board?” he called.

  “Here.” The airplane man held the board up, pointing at a number.

  The bartender brought a box of chocolate-covered cherries. “I’m just the swamper here. I’m not really a bartender—hell, you couldn’t pay me enough.” He looked at us shrewdly. “I just keep the joint clean.”

  “You do a pretty good job,” I said.

  “Old Walt, he lets me sleep in the back,” he explained. “Now then, how many chances did you take?”

  “About thirty, I guess,” said the airplane man.

  “At a nickel a throw, that adds up to …” He closed his eyes. “How much?”

  The airplane man rolled his eyes. I shook my head. The swamper got a pad and pencil. He licked his thumb. “Let’s see now, thirty times five equals …” On the paper he was dividing five into thirty. “Let’s just round it off—say, five dollars?”

  “That’s impossible,” I said. “Thirty nickels doesn’t add up to five dollars.”

  The swamper ran the pencil through his hair, scratching his scalp with the point. “I’m just the swamper,” he pouted. And he began to draw a column of fives, which at first leaned too far to the left, then to the right. He pushed the pad at me. “How are you at arithmetic, ace?”

  A fly lit on my forehead.

  “Regular bartender’s got woman troubles—if you catch my meaning,” the swamper explained.

  I began to add up the fives. It wasn’t easy because of the curve of the column. Finally, I pushed the pad back to the swamper. He held it up to the light, then walked down to the window. “You owe me one dollar and ninety-five centavos,” he said. He was smiling now that the problem had been solved.

  The airplane man took two dollars from his wallet and tossed them on the bar. “Here—and I’ll take one more chance for that extra nickel.”

  The swamper leaned over the money. “Wait a minute—that’s not right.”

  “It’ll make things easier. Don’t you see, the two bucks will square us.”

  “Nope, nope—it’s going to throw my arithmetic way off. I’m the one who has to ring up this cash register, not you.” He rang up the dollar ninety-five and brought the nickel back. “Now, you want another chance, is that it?”

  The airplane man seemed dazed.

  “Okeydoke, punch away, ace.”

  He won again. After the ritual by the window, the swamper brought another box of chocolate-covered cherries. “Say, you’re one of them lucky ones—me, I’d head for Reno if I had that kind of luck.” He turned to me: “What are you drinking, ace?”

  I ordered a mug of beer which I didn’t want, then walked back to the toilet. What are you looking up here for? The joke’s in your hand. I buttoned my pants and looked at my face in the mirror. I needed a shave. If I had my electric razor I would be able to shave. But there was no outlet.

  A large purple teddy bear was occupying my stool. The floor was littered with punchboard chances. The airplane man was working on a new board, this one with a picture of a señorita raising her flamenco dress. I sat beside the teddy bear, stroking its fuzzy head. It had a white belly and face. Two black-button eyes stared solemnly at the mug of beer and a red felt tongue flopped foolishly from between its lips.

  23

  “Canada!”

  “Jesus, not so loud.” He leaned across the teddy bear.

  “What’s that, ace?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he called.

  “But why Canada—what’s up there?”

  “It’s what isn’t up there that concerns me.” He put his arm around the teddy bear. “The F.B.I.”

  “Now just a minute—are you trying to say the F.B.I. is looking for you? Is that the mess you’re in?”

  “The Federal Bureau of Investigation, correct.”

  “But what did you do?”

  “Took a little something that wasn’t exactly mine—absconded, you might say.”

  “Money?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say at the moment. I plead the
fifth.” He looked smug.

  “So now you’re on the lam. Shouldn’t you be in hiding?”

  “I am. I’m hiding in Montana; what better place to hide? Except Canada, of course—and that’s where you come in.” He ordered another drink, a gin and tonic. “No cherry this time, huh?”

  “Right you are, ace.”

  “Then that business about tearing up your airplane ticket and leaving your wife was all a lie?”

  “Not at all! In fact, it was my wife who put the federal men on me.” He laughed. “She was burned!”

  I pondered this. It seemed a little coldhearted for a wife to squeal on her husband, but then he had run out on her.

  “I don’t have a car,” I said.

  “No problem. For that matter we can go get one right now, if you like.”

  “And you just want me to drive you across the border and that’s all?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Those border guards get pretty cranky sometimes.”

  “I’ve thought of that, but, see—and this is the beauty of it—we tell them that you’re driving me up to Calgary to catch a plane. That way you can come back alone, no questions asked.” He slapped the teddy bear on the shoulder.

  “How will I come back?”

  “Alone—that’s the beauty of it.”

  “No, I mean how will I get back? I can’t just walk back.”

  “You think I’d let you walk back? What do you take me for—Mussolini? No, here’s how it’ll be, see. You drop me in Calgary and the car is yours. You come whistling back in style.”

  “Where you going to catch the plane to?”

  “That’s my business—this is strictly business. Once we get past the border, you’ll receive five hundred plus the car. Now tell me that’s not worth your while.”

  “I can’t figure out why you picked me—maybe I should tell you, those guards like to harass Indians. They can never figure out why an Indian should want to go to Canada.”

  “Man, you don’t know anything about intrigue!” He slapped the teddy bear on the head. “Now listen: there are two of us in the car, right? One of us gets harassed; you said it, right? In fact the harassed one is going to keep those guards so busy harassing him that they aren’t going to pay any attention to the other one. I’m going to drive across, see—I’ll just say I picked you up. Now who do you suppose is going to question me?”

  I looked out the door. There was an ambulance double-parked across the street. The driver was reading a newspaper. He seemed to be laughing at something he was reading.

  “When do you want to do this?” I asked.

  “Tonight … when the moon is full.” He rested his chin on the teddy bear and glared at me. His blue eyes seemed lazy and wild at the same time, as though the swamper had slipped him a knockout drop and he hadn’t quite reacted.

  24

  I felt like a fool carrying the purple teddy bear through the streets of Havre. The airplane man walked behind me and off to the side. He had five boxes of chocolate-covered cherries under his arm.

  “You ought to see yourself,” he said. “A grown man, too …”

  “Look,” I said, “couldn’t we just get rid of this damn thing? It’s not like we’re obliged to take it with us.”

  “It’s for my daughter—I’m going to wrap it up and send it to her. Trouble with you is you don’t appreciate good old-fashioned sentiment.” But he kept walking off to the side. “That’s the trouble with you young buckeroos.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I’m beginning to feel like an idiot.”

  “See?”

  “Besides, don’t you think we might be attracting a little too much attention? You’re supposed to be an outlaw.”

  Two girls approached us. One was swinging her purse against the other’s behind in rhythm to their step. I hid behind the teddy-bear head. They giggled. The airplane man offered them each a box of chocolate-covered cherries. He snapped his forehead in a kind of salute. They looked at each other and giggled but accepted. They examined the boxes as they walked off.

  “Why don’t you carry this thing for a while?” I said.

  “Did you see the look on their faces? Let this be a lesson to you”—he started up the street—“to give is to be blessed.”

  “What’s so great about that?” I said, catching up. “Anybody can give away candy.”

  “But I made two fellow human beings happy. How many have you made happy today?”

  I shifted the teddy bear to the other arm. “You just didn’t know what to do with those chocolate-covered cherries.”

  “I made them happy and that’s what counts.”

  “You made their teeth fall out quicker.” I had to talk above the noise of rock ’n’ roll coming from a music store. “You just made their teeth fall out quicker, that’s all.”

  The airplane man was not paying attention. He scanned the windows of the various stores we passed. I followed him into a sporting goods store. He twirled a circular rack filled with fishing poles until he found one which interested him. He gave it a couple of whips, then sighted down its length, then replaced it. He tried out another, and another, and another, giving all of them two or three whips through the air, then sighting down them. The salesman pretended to be rearranging some thermal socks, but he had his eye on the airplane man.

  “That’s a good one,” I said. “That’s just like mine at home.”

  “Too stiff.”

  “Eight ninety-five—a real steal,” said the salesman. He looked like a student from the college up the hill. His white shirt was a couple of sizes too big.

  The airplane man went through the assortment of rifles, holding each to his cheek, squeezing off shots, the salesman wincing with each click. Finally he bought a hunting knife, which he attached to his belt. The salesman said that was a real steal too. We left the store.

  “Part of that knife has to show, you know. Otherwise it’s a concealed weapon.”

  “You think that matters to a fugitive from justice?”

  We walked on in silence, out past the sidewalks and blocks, out east where Highway 2 straightens into a strip of drive-ins and car lots and cinder-block businesses. We were both sweating, but still we walked until we were beyond the bowling alley and the lot that sold Half Moon trailers. We stopped across the highway from the slaughterhouse. A column of black smoke tumbled from its single stack. The highway disappeared over a hill before us.

  “Pigs,” I said. “Once I caught a ride up here with a man who was delivering pigs.”

  “Is there anything up there?” He pointed to the top of the hill.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did you see any back there that interested you?”

  “What?”

  “Cars, for Chrissake.”

  “Oh!” I turned around. “Well, that’s a different story.”

  “Pigs, you say.” He sounded disgusted.

  “What?”

  “I’ll bet that bear is getting heavy,” he said.

  “Heavy enough.”

  “Here—I’ll trade you. I don’t want to take advantage of you.” He took the teddy bear and gave me the three boxes of chocolate-covered cherries. We started back.

  “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I said. For some reason, the candy made me think of the barmaid from Malta.

  “Oh yes—she has a birthmark right here,” he said, tapping the left side of his neck.

  “Is she good-looking?”

  “A regular beauty. I’m going to wrap this bear up and send it to her.”

  “Does she live around here?” I said.

  “Are you joking? Not bloody likely, since her husband’s an astronaut.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, he hasn’t actually been up yet … but they live in Houston. At least that’s where I�
�m sending this bear.”

  “I was just thinking about that night in Malta …”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Remember that barmaid?”

  “How could I forget? Lying, vicious little tramp.”

  “She claimed you knew her—from before.”

  “Not bloody likely.” But he glanced at me.

  “But why would she say it if it wasn’t true?” I asked.

  A semi truck throttled down behind us. The noise of the tires on gravel made us jump to the side. As it passed, the airplane man clamped his hand down on his head, as though he were wearing a hat. The cloud of dust obscured the first part of his sentence. “… about the wiles of the world!”

  “She knew about your daughter’s birthmark,” I yelled.

  “A lucky guess. Don’t you understand? She’s after my money.”

  “Is that what you absconded with?”

  “What else?”

  “Search me—secret documents, maybe.”

  He didn’t answer.

  We stopped at a car lot next to the Ford dealer’s. It was full of Cadillacs, Thunderbirds, Pontiacs, Fords, Chevrolets, all washed and polished, windshields, paint and chrome gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. I pointed out a couple that looked good for our purposes, one a white Chrysler with red upholstery, the other a Bonneville with the gearshift in between the seats. The airplane man frowned but said nothing. He kept walking deeper into the lot. I was still in the front row, but I could see him over the tops of the cars, frowning at a blue top.

  It was a Ford Falcon and it was blue, faded, dull blue, all over. We leaned against it, studying a small trailer, while the salesman went inside to get the papers. The teddy bear was already sitting on the seat, ready to go.

  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to get this thing off the lot,” I said.