A Hard Case

by Ron Hess

  After the casket was loaded, the small party turned and went back down the hill, their silence more poignant than any wailing could have been. I could literally feel the sadness coming from the small group, a certain deep sense of knowing that, one or more of them would also die from drugs, either by suicide or overdose, like Mary probably had. They must have wondered as I did, wondered when this drug madness was going to be at an end.

  I leaned back against the pickup, crooked my arm around the outside mirror and watched the plane climb out into a blue sky. There was envy in my heart for the pilot. Landing as he did for such a short time kept him from becoming too involved in each of the villages that he transported mail to. If he had problems, then those problems could be kept to himself. Tired of ruminating, I hopped back into the old truck and drove slowly back into the village, hoping the procession had disbursed.

  As I turned onto Main Street, I could not see a soul. Only the dogs knew I existed. Sighing, I pulled up to the side door of the post office. Much to my surprise, my two helpers were waiting for me.

  “Jean, Jeanette.” I said, as I jumped out of the truck.

  Jean gave me a steady look.

  “We are here, ready to work.”

  “You don’t have to be,” I said.

  “Yes, we do. There is nothing else for us to do.”

  I looked over at Jeanette, whose eyes were still red.

  “Jeanette? You don’t have to be here. Jean and I can handle the mail today.”

  She gave me a quick look and shook her head. Without speaking she hefted a sack and moved into the back room. I looked to Jean, a twist in my brow.

  “She’s okay,” she said. “But she still has to grieve. Until we get Mary back, there’s nothing else but work.”

  That said, she too hefted a mail sack and joined her sister who was already sorting mail. Okay, I thought, I guessed I could live with that. The afternoon went by, albeit a little slowly. I missed the girls talking back and forth about nothing, the comforting talk women do. A package came across my hands that I found interesting, addressed to Helen Ermoff. A smile crossed my lips when I saw the brand name for a popular home products line in the return address. Of course, that was the reason for the packages that came through the mail. She was a home product’s dealer, not a dope dealer as I thought she might be. To think it took me all this time to see that. My heart lifted, and I was once more in love. I looked over at the two women and smiled, especially at Jeanette. I wanted to see that unhappiness erased.

  “Ladies, I think it’s time to take a break.”

  They looked at me, their eyes just short of rolling in disbelief. A manager declaring a break? Unheard of.

  “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever heard of taking a break?” I asked.

  Jean spoke. “Mr. Justus never let us take a break until four-hours had gone by.”

  As Jean spoke, I noticed her face could have been made of granite. I just shook my head. This Justus. It became even more apparent to me why he had been shipped here to this Alaskan Siberia. He may have had a good admin record, but his people-to-people record must have been terrible. He probably had more complaints from the Equal Employment Office filed against him than any other five managers.

  “Well, from now on, we take a fifteen minute break in the morning, and one in the afternoon. Sometimes, during this break we can talk informally about what we can do to make this place run more efficiently.”

  Jean and Jeanette looked at one another. I could see what they were thinking. Ah-ha! There is a catch!

  “But occasionally we’ll take time, on post office time,” I hastened to add, “to tell you about new policies. Just because we live way out here, as far as the post office is concerned, doesn’t mean we can’t keep up with downtown Anchorage.”

  They looked at one another again, no doubt thinking, that’ll be the day. I wondered if they had heard of EEO’s, for example, or; and here I shuddered in true manager fashion, how to join the post office unions. We sat in strained silence waiting out the fifteen minutes. The thought occurred to me that the girls had no place to go as far as restrooms were concerned. At least I had the honey bucket in my room. I’m sure my face got red.

  “Uh . . . do any of you need to go to the ladies room? If so, always feel free to go.”

  Jeanette face cracked a smile and she shook her head. This was funny, watching the white postmaster get red. The smile disappeared and she went back to her netherworld of grief. I nodded, trying to be a manager. Next time I would offer them a Pepsi or something.

  “Why did you make Charlie ship Mary back to Anchorage?” Jean asked.

  Ah, here it was, the reason for the silence.

  “Jean, I didn’t make Charlie ship her back. I did suggest to him that we should know why she died. Was it drugs or did she drown?”

  Jean stared at me, like she was measuring me, while Jeanette kept her head down. I stared back at Jean, looking directly into her eyes. It was the longest time I had ever done this and I felt my head beginning to whirl. Finally, either satisfied or intimidated, she looked away. I drummed my fingers on the desk. Obviously, the break was over and I was the manager again. “Well, let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  The afternoon passed quickly after that, with me kicking myself for not thinking about breaks before. I also wondered how much enmity I had stirred in the village as far as Mary being shipped to Anchorage was concerned. And here I was, thinking I should have their thanks for finding Mary.

  Their work done, the women left, leaving me to my own devices, which meant doing paperwork. Five o’clock eventually rolled around and I had done enough to keep the Boss happy for another day.

  The phone rang. I checked my watch and groaned. Five o’clock, straight up. Should I answer it? Against my better judgment, I lifted the receiver.

  “Bronski!”

  Of course. The Boss.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I said this in a quiet respectful manner, knowing what the subject matter was going to be. I was not disappointed.

  “I hear you found a dead body last night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boss hesitated, and I listened to his chair squeak as he tried to find the right words.

  “Well, why in hell didn’t you call?”

  “Sorry, boss, it’s in the report I’m sending. Have to keep the phone expenses down, you know.”

  The boss got personal.

  “Listen, Leo, I know it was just another dead, probably drunk, native. But this case is different. I even had one of the Washington senator’s top aides call up here, for God’s sake! Do you think the death of this native had anything to do with the Justus’ death? Dammit! I need results! Do I need to send someone else out there?”

  I made my reply full of syrup, which I knew the boss hated.

  “Of course, sir, you can send out whoever you want.”

  I went on to tell him what happened. He quieted down somewhat when I explained that sending another man out here would probably only gain more animosity from the villagers. I also told him this “native” was a “special person,” highly regarded by the rest of the village.

  “Well, Bronski, I know what it’s like out there. I’ve been there myself. But if something doesn’t happen before long, you may have a new boss, and you know what that means.”

  He didn’t have to say what it meant. It meant a new boss might not put up with me, and my alcoholic ways, and out the door I would go. It was a new threat I hadn’t heard before. Most of the time, my response to the boss’s threats was, “Sure boss, anything you say,” but this oblique threat sounded real, therefore I took it seriously. I mumbled another quiet “yes sir”, and hung up. I sat there, drumming my fingers on the desktop, realizing if I didn’t stop doing that I would need new fingertips. There was only one thing to do. Go get a drink or maybe two. Yeah, it was definitely going to be a two-drinks before dinner night.

  In my room, I held up my vodka bottle to the light. Damn! Only
half a bottle left. I decided to save it and went to “Old Jack.”

  Two stiff drinks or so later, I was careening down the street toward the cafe. Hell, maybe getting fired wouldn’t be such a bad deal after all. Hell, I might drift out of the state to a warmer clime. Maybe I could go to South Texas or someplace. Any place but here. With that decision, I made more of an effort to put my feet down in a steady manner, so I would appear to be walking a straight line.

  I stumbled up the steps, opened the old brown screen door of the cafe, sauntered in and collapsed in a chair. It was strange how the drinks affected me. Maybe I was losing it, or getting old. I braced my feet on either side of the chair, and tried to make out I was sober.

  Casually, I turned my head from side to side, wondering who else was there. There was no one. Oh, lucky me. I sighed and looked down at the one-page menu. The caribou stew was okay, but I’d had enough of it. Time for something different. I felt a movement of air and looked up to see the kid standing not two feet away, dressed in black pants and white blouse, her lips in a straight line; pen poised above her order tablet. Funny, how my head wanted to wobble. I tried a grin, to show I was all right.

  “I guess I’ll have the burger.”

  Her pen worked a second and stopped, poised for more info.

  “Fries?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. And a coke too.”

  Her pen moved on the tablet briefly and then she turned and left. I sat there, trying to focus, wondering if I had had one drink too many, again. My brain seemed to be working, even if my physical extremities weren’t. The tongues would be wagging tonight in the village. “Did you hear about the new postmaster? Yup, drunker than hell the other night.”

  The waitress slammed the coke down. This let me know what she thought. Most women can let you know without saying a word and she was doing it. Hell with her. I was here to divvy out the mail, which did not necessarily mean being loved by everyone. My fingers inched toward the coke can and I took a swig, letting it burn over the whiskey on its way down my gullet.

  I had just sat my coke down and let out a satisfied belch, when she walked in. Dressed fit to kill, in a blue silk blouse, black pants with maybe a smidgen more eye makeup than usual. The gold hoops dangled and winked gold fire. Was I dazzled? Oh, yeah.

  She took one look around the room and since it was empty, she did the only thing a neighborly person could do, she headed for my table. My morale shot up. I began to feel good and devil-may-care.

  “Good evening, Leo. May I sit down?”

  That voice, that low contralto voice. Smoke from a cigarette glowing in the dark and satin sheets in disarray became a hoped for vision. I nodded because that was all I could do. My eyes stayed on her as she slowly, gracefully, sat down in the straight-backed chair next to mine. She leaned forward and rested her chin in the cup of her hand, her head inches away. Her eyes moved to mine.

  “Are you taking your supper, Leo?”

  I swallowed, trying to summon a little courage.

  “Yes, would you like to order something? It would be on me.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  She sat back in her chair.

  “Oh, c’mon,” I said, “You’d be doing me a favor. I haven’t had a beautiful woman sit down beside me in ages. I would consider it the highlight of my day.”

  She arched her eyebrow, but I saw the beginning of a smile. “Well . . .”

  “Hey, the hamburgers taste great here, and I bet you could eat, right?”

  She leaned forward again and rewarded me with a smile showing both rows of teeth.

  “Okay, you convinced me.”

  Great. The first hurdle. Or was it the second? Who cared? Meanwhile, I was conscious of someone else coming through the screen door, but I cared little for who it was. I was on the edge of heaven and still a little drunk. The waitress came out and I signaled her. She turned in my direction and I swear she was literally dragging her feet. After what seemed half a millennium, she reached our table.

  “A hamburger, fries and a Coke for my friend here.”

  I got another one of those prim looks and a curt, “yes, sir.”

  I watched as she marched slowly toward the kitchen and then turned my attention toward Helen, who by now had folded her hands on the table.

  “What’s with her?” I asked.

  Her eyes slid toward the kitchen and then back to mine.

  “I don’t know because she has certainly seen white men with native women before.”

  Her eyes brightened.

  “Who knows?” She giggled. “Maybe she’s jealous?”

  “I can see why,” I murmured, “you’re one beautiful lady.”

  She gave a slight head twist and then gave me another smile full of teeth.

  “Are you sure your name isn’t O’Bronski, instead of Bronski? Because you have a bit of the old blarney, I’m thinking.”

  I took a sip of Coke and smiled.

  “Well, yes, Miss Ermoff, me mother’s maiden name was O’Tool and that’s right certain.”

  She laughed. A genuine from the heart laugh. I was going to like this woman.

  “What do you do for a living?” I asked between our bouts of laughter.

  She sobered up, but her eyes were still dancing and I was dancing with her. An earthquake could have happened and I still would have been immersed in those eyes.

  “I’m a freelance communications consultant dealing in computer networks in San Francisco during the winter. I come out here in the summer to relax and catch up on real life.”

  There’s that word again, I thought. Where have I heard that before? Of course, I knew the answer. The old man, John, must have a large influence with the villagers.

  “Sounds like you’re working on the edge of technology. Anyhow, computers are mostly above me.”

  She gave me an amused look.

  “It’s only training, my friend, only training.”

  Our banter was interrupted by our dishware being slammed down on our table. I started to rise up, to say something to the waitress, when my eye was caught by Helen’s. There was a slight shake of the head. Not wishing to cause a scene I sat down, my temper barely in check. What the hell was wrong with that kid? I shook my head trying to get back to the good time my dinner partner and I had been having, but it was mostly a no-go. The waitress had effectively ruined our dinner. The rest of the meal was spent in small talk. Our knees accidentally touched from time to time, causing sparks to fly under the table. Then, as the last bite of burger was going down, her knee and lower leg remained locked to mine. Current flowed. I got the message.

  “You watching TV tonight?” She asked, peering over the top of her Coke can.

  “Yeah. I was thinking maybe The Bridges at Toko-Ri.

  She leaned forward and muttered.

  “Sounds good to me. See you later, okay?”

  I nodded. Thunderstruck at my good luck. I watched as she rose and left, her bag swinging on her hips. I saw then who had been sitting there, out of my line of sight—Ivan—his face twisted and lips curled. For a moment, I thought I saw a wolf, not a man. A deep-gutted knot of fear nearly made me lose my supper.

  “Here’s your check, sir.”

  I looked up at the waitress. Right that second I could have kissed her. Instead I let out a sigh and gave her a smile. I was happy that she appeared at the right time, and I forgot about her slamming the dishes down on the table.

  I paid up and left the back way, renting the video on my way out. The vision of a wolf remained in the back of my mind. Ivan. He would have to be dwelt with, and the only way to deal with him was to outsmart him. That wasn’t going to be easy. I took the back way to the post office, but even so, I heard a few curtains slide back and forth, probably wondering if I was as drunk as the rumors said.

  Chapter 10

  I slammed the back door shut in anger and frustration. To be specific, I was angry at myself about my fear of Ivan. It was something I was going to have to shake. My eyes moved to the sh
elf where “Old Jack” resided and decided he would have to wait for a while. I looked around the place and decided to spiffy it up a bit. I even changed the cotton sheets on the bed. Fifteen-minutes later I sat at the table, drumming my fingers again. Was she coming or not? Had the knee rubbing under the table at the restaurant been for real? Maybe she couldn’t come. Maybe Ivan, who had surely seen most everything, would put a stop to it. I sighed and turned the TV on and watched the single channel for a diversion.

  An hour later found me nodding, only waking myself because of my snoring. To hell with it. I got up and paced the floor. A quick check of the clock showed nine o’clock. Where was Helen? I stole a quick look at the shelf. “Old Jack” was waiting patiently. Heebie-jeebies or not; I would wait. The only way to do that would be to go to bed. I amazed myself by doing just that.

  * * *

  I awoke to a quiet knock and a whispered “Leo.” It was something I learned in Nam. To always, always, have your mind alert, especially when you’re sober. I jumped out of bed and put on my Levi’s.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked across the floor and opened the door. There she stood. No smiles now. A quick look left and right, and she was in my room with the door closed.

  “I began to think you weren’t coming.”

  She reached up and ran a finger over my bare chest, a smile forming.

  “You know, Leo, I don’t know when I’ve seen so much hair on a man’s chest. You look very . . . manly.”

  I smiled a silly grin.

  “Well, when I was in Vietnam, there were a couple of times I thought about shaving all the hair off. You have no idea what can nest there in a hot humid climate. I did pick up a fungus on my chest that pops out from time to time. The doctors say there is no real fix for it. Something to live with, I guess.”

  While I was talking, I laid my hand on one of her breasts, letting it slide around. I became dizzy with desire.

  “I’d say you’re very womanly.”

  “Not yet, Leo” She said, in that low voice of hers. I could practically see the satin sheets. Gently she removed my hand and whirled away from me, leaving me standing there, hands wanting to touch, but not able to. She came to a stop, hands on her hips.