Agreement to Kill

by Peter Rabe

  • • •

  Spinner thought how easy the homecoming would be if Dixon weren’t waiting for him. But that wasn’t completely true, because the homecoming was bigger than anything Dixon could mean. Spinner had tried three times and lost twice; if he lost a third time, if he still had no luck, then he might lose his intent.

  His shoulder ached, for no good reason, and Spinner held it carefully.

  If that should happen, he thought, if he should lose his nameless intent, he would save it by finding a name for it He had one, ready made; an intent to kill.

  CHAPTER 3

  He spent the first night at the farm without having seen anyone. He got off at the farm before the bus reached Stone Bluff because he wanted some time to rest and be alone — to get ready to start, he said to himself when he went to bed in the evening. Then, lying in bed late at night without sleep, he saw he had done it this way because he was afraid.

  He must have slept some of the time because he woke bathed in sweat He got up early and spent all day on the farm. Fields to look at, the barn, the house, prime the pump — and he should go to town. The utility company should hook up his current, he should call at the lumberyard for wood for repairs, he should see the farmer down the road who had rented most of Spinner’s equipment.

  It was evening before he was ready to go into town. Had he been back in his cell now, he was sure he’d be able to imagine it all with so much reality, so much so that — Spinner started to curse. He should not have to imagine that he was back!

  Then, from somewhere, the intent came hack to him, the thing he had saved without knowing how, and though it was nameless it rode him now like a man with a whip.

  He went to the pump and washed his face, and with a careful feeling in every move, he walked down the road to town.

  He remembered the signs along the way, telling that almost all of it belonged to Dixon — the filling station at the fork in the highway, the ice plant further down, the long concrete sheds where Dixon kept his construction equipment. And there was a new one. The sign said South End Development Co., Prop. T. Dixon, and City Homes in the Country.

  A lot of land was torn up and leveled, including a big part of Dixon’s park. It was getting dark, but a crew with equipment was still working away from the road, cats and a bucket. The cats were working toward Spinner’s farm.

  Spinner walked on to town. If he stopped now he would lose his momentum, he would lose his mood of careful attentiveness, and something else might come over him. He walked into town and found everything very familiar. For a moment he even felt light, felt like smiling. He went to the square in the center of town, anxious to see it, and even when the light, happy feeling started to leave him nothing worse happened to his mood. It felt mostly quiet and he would have had to pay real attention to the shades of his feelings to know that it was like two eyes in the dark, looking, looking.

  He wasn’t recognized right away because of the hazy evening light He got halfway around the small square before anyone spoke to him.

  “Jake! Hey, when did you get back, Jake?”

  He stopped, hands in pockets, and walked back to the man on the bench.

  “Just yesterday. How you been, George?”

  George got up, wiped his nervous hands on his overalls. “Hey,” said George. “You got a tan, even,” and he laughed.

  “Outdoor work. The rock piles,” said Jake, but the joke felt forced.

  George must have felt it too. The first impulsiveness of the greeting was wearing off, and he rubbed his hands along his thighs again, slowly this time.

  “Well, guess you’ll be around. Gonna work that farm again?”

  “That’s why I’m back. Why you asking?”

  “Just wondered. You know. Well, I gotta get Ruth. She’s shopping. See you around, huh, Jake?”

  “Sure. You’ll see me.” Spinner watched George walk toward the row of stores.

  That crack about working the farm had done it Had it been a crack? A normal question, except that Spinner’s answer had been too sharp. George was going into a store to pick up his wife. He had left because he was picking up his wife.

  Spinner got a few nods while he walked, and a few times there was small talk. No back-slapping and pumping the hand, because these people weren’t made that way. Would he have worried about their casualness if he had come back from somewhere else, for some other reason?

  Nobody mentioned Dixon. Did he expect they would? Did they ever?

  Then he got invited to have a beer. Should he worry why nobody else had asked him, why only Eddy? Eddy wasn’t so different from all the others, except that he came to town only once in a while. He worked in St Louis.

  “If this is the first beer since you’re out, Jake, I want to know about it,” said Eddy. “I want to know what it’s like after two years.”

  “Three.”

  “I mean three. Must be really something.”

  They walked into the bar and Spinner still thought about Eddy’s remark. Not about the beer, but about having been gone. An easy remark, making no strain between them. Spinner smiled and was suddenly anxious to have that beer. Maybe for Eddy’s sake. He would drink that beer down and sigh a big sigh, shaking his head, to show Eddy what three years without beer could mean and how good it was to be back.

  The first counter was low, for eating sandwiches and soup. Turtle soup when it was in season and fried catfish sandwiches all year round. The next counter was high, for beer and hard liquor, and a few men were standing there, staring at Spinner and Eddy till they could make them out in the light over the bar. A few waved, and some nodded, and one of them shook hands with him.

  “Jake here,” said Eddy, “is going to give us a demonstration. He’s gonna show what the first beer is like after three long dry years.”

  There was some laughing, because of Eddy, but mostly there was the same kind of waiting that Spinner felt He took out a cigarette and lit it And when ash had formed he would let it drop on the floor, the way all of them did it, because this was the bar in Stone Bluff, not the mess hall with lysol smell or the cell with the concrete. He looked at the oiled boards on the floor, dull and uneven. That sight was as good to him then as the open door out to the square or the windows with nothing but glass in them and an old cactus for decoration.

  “Tell you what,” said Eddy, “if the first one don’t carry a message, you got to buy the second yourself. Here, try not to drop it.”

  Spinner grinned at the glass on the bar, feeling self-conscious. He said, “Maybe I lost the taste for it, Eddy. Maybe you’re wasting a beer.”

  Eddy stared, because the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Then he saw Spinner’s face and they both laughed.

  Spinner picked up the glass seeing cool yellow and the soft foam on top and winking at Eddy.

  “There’s just a chance,” he said, “mind you, just a chance, and this beer’s going to bring back my taste for it.”

  “In detail, Jake! When it’s down you got to tell me in detail!”

  Spinner held up the glass and held it for a moment “Tell you what, Eddy. You lay off for three years or so and I won’t have to tell you about it.”

  “Come on, man. Drink it!”

  Spinner drank the cold beer down to the bottom, and it was the best he had ever had. He put down the glass, gave a deep sigh, and started to shake his head. He stopped in the middle of it.

  “Not wasting any time, huh, Spinner?”

  It was the tone of voice more than the words. Spinner turned to see who it was, very slowly, because he had suddenly realized that this was the kind of thing he had really expected — cold dislike and an edge in the voice to needle him.

  “Hi, Sloan,” said Eddy, and some of the others said hello to him too.

  Sloan wore his khakis rolled up so the work boots showed at his ankles and he stamped his feet a few times, making the dry mud break off in small pieces.

  “I thought you jailbirds wasn’t allowed no liquor once you got out.” S
loan made a big laugh. “So us peaceful citizens shouldn’t have to worry,” he said.

  He scratched his chest, laughing again, and when he passed Spinner he gave him a hard slap on the back, like a taunt, but too casual to make anything of it.

  “I’ll take another beer,” said Spinner.

  Sloan may not have heard iL He walked to the other end of the bar with three of his buddies following behind.

  “You been working late,” said Eddy. “I never knew road gangs worked late. Or at all,” he added.

  There was laughing again, which stopped abruptly so that Sloan could give his answer, but Sloan kept laughing and didn’t bother. He walked to the pinball machine and put in a coin.

  “When you work for Old Dixon,” he said, “you keep jumping. Right, Spinner?” Sloan let the plunger slam home.

  The pins made short buzzes and the scoreboard clacked with electric sounds.

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Spinner.

  “And if you don’t work for Old Dixon, then you really jump. Right, Spinner?” Sloan laughed again, then shot the next ball.

  “Is Dixon gonna break ground soon?” said Eddy. “On his South End development?”

  “That’s why we’re pushing the road,” said Sloan. “We just tore up the cutoff to the turnpike on the south end.”

  For a moment it seemed as if Sloan was through. He watched the tallies flash on the board and shot the rest of the balls.

  Eddy turned back to Spinner and said, “How’s your farm look, Jake? Could you tell it was there, under the weeds?”

  “It’s there. It’ll take some doing.”

  “I mean to tell you!” Sloan was back at the bar. He leaned forward so that Spinner could see the grin. “Now I don’t know farming from nothing,” he said, “but I know it don’t go with excavating.” Then he waited.

  Spinner was tapping his empty glass. He noticed how the slight move made his shoulder hurt.

  “We figure on tearing it up starting next month. Part of the South End Development.”

  “Like hell,” said Spinner.

  “Like hell?” Sloan walked the length of the bar. He made his face look surprised. “You ain’t selling to Dixon?”

  “He knows it,” said Spinner.

  “He knows it? Now I’d say that’s strange. How come he don’t tell me those things? How come Dixon tells me a different story, huh, Jake? You think maybe he was lying to me?”

  “Why should he lie to you, Sloan?” Spinner held the glass in his hands, rolling it back and forth in his palms. The glass felt warm. “Dixon lies only when it’s something important”

  It took Sloan a moment to get it all and when he did he took a low breath.

  “You calling my boss a liar or you telling me I ain’t important?”

  “Forget it,” said Eddy. “You gotta remember …”

  “You shut up, Eddy, unless you want the same thing Spinner is getting any minute now.”

  Spinner felt his hands trembling, but he knew he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t afraid till he noticed the rage pushing up inside him, with heat on his skin and the sense of his muscles swelling.

  “I’m waiting,” said Sloan. “I’m dumb and you better explain it again.”

  “I’m not supposed to get into trouble,” said Spinner. It hurt his throat, saying it. “So forget it.”

  Sloan’s grin spread out slowly and it showed how much he was starting to like everything.

  “Well,” he said, “well, well, well.” He leaned on the bar next to Spinner, very close. “You mean you wanna apologize? Go ahead. Lemme hear it.”

  Spinner swallowed and moved his neck. His shoulder was aching. “Leave me alone,” he said. “Will you?”

  “Say please.”

  “Please. Just forget it.”

  Sloan grinned more. He stood back and put his hands on his hips.

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re sweating! How come you’re sweating?”

  Spinner didn’t answer.

  “It makes you look yellow all over, Jakey. How come?”

  Spinner pushed away from the bar and turned to the door.

  “Let me through,” he said and looked down at Sloan’s foot.

  “Say please again.”

  He couldn’t talk, so he stepped back and looked past Sloan, at the door. He couldn’t see the door clearly, but it gave him a point of attention, to try and see the door clearly.

  “All choked up, Jakey?”

  Maybe Sloan would lose interest. If Sloan would hear please again, perhaps that would be the end. Spinner coughed.

  “What you say, Jakey?” Sloan had a greedy look on his face.

  “Please,” said Spinner.

  Nobody made any sound and Sloan stood there, gaping. His arms were hanging down. Then he started a slow, unbelieving laugh.

  “What? What you say, Jakey?”

  Spinner’s voice didn’t feel like his own, it was quiet and even.

  “You can either get out of the way, Sloan, or you can try staying right there,” he heard himself say. “And if you stay, I’ll break your back.”

  This time, at the end of the pause, Sloan said nothing. He moved his mouth, stopped. Then he moved his foot with a slow scrape, and then jumped — not at Spinner, at the bar. He grabbed up the empty glass and in one motion smashed the wide rim and swung for the strike.

  The door banged. There was a yell, “Hold it!” Sloan couldn’t stop, but he swung wild. His hand hit air and Spinner set his back for the spring.

  “Hold it! Damn you to hell!”

  Spinner was sure it was the badge that stopped him. He saw the sheriff, the gun at his belt, his hands up by his hips, and how he stood wide-legged, ready to move. But the badge stopped Spinner.

  “Drop that glass, Sloan, or I’ll draw on you!”

  Sloan let it drop and watched it roll.

  “And you there, Spinner!”

  Spinner stood still and looked at the sheriff. The man’s hair had gone all white since Spinner had seen him three years ago. The red face made a contrast next to the hair.

  “All right,” he said. “What is this?” His breath was coming fast and gave hoarseness to his voice.

  Sloan started talking, but the sheriff cut him off angrily, and Spinner didn’t say a word. Eddy explained it and the barman said the same thing and the others nodded. The sheriff told Sloan to get out, and said that the next time he wouldn’t care whom Sloan was working for, he’d run him out of town.

  “You won’t see the day,” said Sloan and went to the door, his buddies following.

  “Just git,” said the sheriff.

  Sloan stopped at the door. “I got better rights than that jailbird,” he shouted. “And see if Old Dixon don’t hold with me.”

  “He’s got nothing to do with this,” said the sheriff. He jerked his head at Sloan to get out, but Sloan came back in.

  “It don’t? That’s what the whole thing is about! First day out of jail and he comes in here insulting Old Dixon. I got my loyalties. No jailbird threatens my boss and gets away with it!”

  The sheriff looked at Spinner and said, “This true, Jake?”

  Spinner shook his head but the sheriff didn’t see it.

  “Ask the rest of them,” Sloan was shouting. “Did he call Dixon a liar?”

  The men at the bar looked away. One of them went to the door in the back and walked out to the alley.

  “You better get one thing straight, Sheriff!” Sloan had pulled himself together.

  But the sheriff didn’t want to listen. He said, “Out, Sloan, I don’t need you for this.”

  He stood waiting, and Sloan backed down. He walked out of the bar and one of his men slammed the door after them.

  Jake Spinner rubbed his hands over his face and the sheriff said, “I’ll want to talk to you.” Then he left.

  CHAPTER 4

  When Jake Spinner came out of the bar it was dark on the square and the small crowd which had looked in at the windows had walked away again. A dullness
came over him, obscuring his mood, and he let it be that way. He gave a brief glance at the square. The center was indistinct, and he turned away, not wanting to know who might be there. To the left the North Highway came in and Jake stood looking away from the square. Only details registered for him. It was too painful to think about Sloan or the sheriff.

  The trees stood very still and the blinker light where the highway entered the town made impersonal winks. He watched the headlights of a car dip up, then spread closer. The car slowed before reaching the square and turned into a side street Concentrating on details because he didn’t dare think of the other things, Jake saw that the car moved without hesitation, knowing the way, and that the plate was from a different district, St. Louis, most likely. Jake crossed the street and walked along the far side of the square. Now the trees had started to rustle.

  “Jake,” said the sheriff.

  Spinner slowed to let the sheriff catch up with him.

  “On your way to the station?” asked the sheriff.

  He hadn’t been. He kept walking and said, “You wanted to tell me something.”

  “Jake,” said the sheriff, “maybe it isn’t your fault, what happened, but it will be if it gets worse.”

  Spinner took a breath and kept walking.

  “Just lay low,” said the sheriff, “because I don’t want trouble around here.”

  “You?” and Spinner heard himself laugh.

  “Don’t get chippy. Just do like I say.”

  “Do what?”

  The sheriff sucked his teeth. Then he looked the other way. “You deciding to sell your farm?”

  “You don’t sound like you’re asking,” said Spinner. He wanted to say more but kept it down.

  “Best thing, to my way of thinking,” said the sheriff.

  “I do my own thinking.”