The Truth of the Matter

by John Lutz

  The one other customer left, an old man who’d been sitting at the counter. “See you, Ab!” the fat man called. Ab raised a feeble hand and went out into the greater heat beyond the door.

  “It started during the war,” Roebuck said seriously, “when I was just a kid, in the Battle of the Bulge. Old Jerry took us by surprise and we knew we had a battle on our hands. It was fight and fall back. Some of the finest men I ever knew died there.

  “I was a sergeant, despite my age, the leader of a platoon that was ordered to fight a rear action because we were seasoned troops. We were dug in along a shallow dry drainage ditch when the Germans came. All of a sudden they opened up with a machine gun, killing one of my men and wounding another. We had to knock out that machine gun!”

  “Here’s your coffee, folks.” The fat man had returned. “Traveling far?”

  “To California,” Roebuck said, irritated. He waited in icy silence until the fat man had walked back behind the counter out of hearing range.

  “We could hear the clank of tank treads in the distance,” Roebuck went on, “a terrible sound. Something had to be done about the machine gun right away, and I didn’t want to ask any of my men…so I did it myself. I cut down along the ditch, doubled back and threw a grenade. I had to shoot one of the Germans with my service revolver and strangle another. Then I turned the machine gun on the German tank. It was—”

  “You folks ought’a stop off down the highway and see the Crazy House,” the fat man called from behind the counter. “It’s an anti-gravity place. Balls roll uphill, water don’t set right in a glass. Only cost you fifty cents.”

  “We might just do that,” Ellie said with a forced smile.

  “You can’t knock out a tank with a machine gun,” Roebuck said tightly. “But it was all I had. Shells were whistling over my head and dirt was kicking up all around me. I kept firing, and I held back the tank long enough for the rest of the men to come up and knock it out with a bazooka.”

  “Fifty cents ain’t much,” the fat man said loudly. “Not these days.”

  Roebuck turned in his seat and looked at him intensely with pure hate. “No,” he said slowly, with finality, “not much at all.” He continued to stare at the fat man until the man turned his back and began scraping the grill.

  “Then all hell broke loose,” Roebuck said, looking again at Ellie. “There were krauts everywhere. We had to fall back to where we’d been dug in and make a stand. A man named Ingrahm, one of my best friends, was hit in the head and fell next to me. I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him back with me. We passed another man, named Ben Gipp. Private Gipp had been hit and was on his back, pleading with me to take him because he couldn’t move. But hell, Ingrahm couldn’t move either. He was unconscious, and I already had him so I kept dragging him right on past Gipp through that hail of bullets to the cover of the drainage ditch.

  “The Germans pinned us down there, and they used Gipp for bait. He kept calling to us to help him, but there was no way. I called the colonel on the walkie-talkie, and he ordered us to leave Gipp to be taken prisoner if we had to.

  “We stayed there until nightfall, then I pulled the men out under cover of darkness. That was the last I saw of Private Gipp for the rest of the war.” Roebuck frowned. “It was the hardest decision I ever had to make.”

  “You folks like Otis Birdly?” The fat man behind the counter turned a radio on very loud to some twanging country music. “He’s better than them Rollin’ Rocks!”

  “Ingrahm survived,” Roebuck persisted in a slightly louder voice, “but the doctors had to put a plate in his head.”

  Tires squealed outside and Roebuck jumped and looked out the window. It wasn’t a police car, but two girls in a red convertible speeding out of the closed and abandoned gas station across the highway.

  His jaw quaking, Roebuck glared at the fat man. “Why don’t you turn that damn radio off?”

  The fat man did, then very slowly he untied the strings of his white apron and started to come out from behind the counter.

  Ellie touched the back of Roebuck’s hand. “We can’t have trouble that might bring the police, Lou,” she said softly.

  Trouble was the last thing Roebuck wanted as he saw the huge bulk of the man approach them. He was one of those sharp-eyed fat men whom Roebuck instinctively disliked and feared. How could you not fear such hunger peering at you from the folds of such mountainous fat?

  “The roast beef wasn’t tender enough for you?” the fat man asked menacingly, hovering over Roebuck.

  Roebuck swallowed, aware of Ellie watching him. By God, he wouldn’t let himself be bluffed out!

  “Couldn’t stick a fork in the gravy,” he said with a quaver in his voice.

  The fat man backed up a step. “You ain’t talkin’ to no short-order cook,” he said. “You’re talkin’ to the owner of this place.”

  Roebuck waited for him to say more, but he obviously wasn’t going to.

  “So?” Roebuck said.

  “So I’m tellin’ you to get out of here, and that’ll be three ten for the specials.”

  Roebuck tried to finish his coffee slowly and deliberately, but his hand trembled and some of the warm liquid spilled onto his shirt front. He and Ellie stood and he placed three one-dollar bills and a dime on the table.

  “I hope you didn’t expect a tip,” he said sharply as they walked out.

  They got into the car and Roebuck started the engine. “Hah!” he said. “He forgot to charge us for the coffee.”

  Ellie glanced toward the diner. “I’m just glad you didn’t let him make any trouble.”

  “I was measuring him,” Roebuck said coolly. “Under ordinary circumstances I’d have half killed him.” He put the car in gear with a practiced flip of his hand.

  “He didn’t seem very afraid of you,” Ellie said.

  “They weren’t afraid at Hiroshima, either,” Roebuck answered, “then all of a sudden they were gone.”

  Ellie looked straight ahead as they sped down the highway. “Lou, I want you to know it doesn’t matter if you lied to me the first time.”

  “I have faith in you now,” Roebuck said. “That’s why I want to tell you the truth about Ingrahm and Gipp, about the murder charge.”

  “Then you are wanted for murder?’

  “It wasn’t murder,” Roebuck said quickly. “It was an accident.” He swung into the outer lane to pass a station wagon loaded down with children. “You see, Gipp was taken prisoner and then released, and somehow he and Ingrahm became friends after the war. I saw them a couple of times, and I could tell that Gipp never forgave me for what I had to do. Then last week Ingrahm called me on the phone and asked me to meet the two of them at a motel where they were staying. I did, we had a few drinks, talked, and I left. Then, as I was driving out of the parking lot, it happened. Ingrahm came running out the door of the motel lounge right into the path of my car. Don’t ask me why—he was always doing crazy things since he got that plate in his head. I ran over him, and Gipp was the only witness.

  “He was mad with hate! He said he’d turn me in, say it was murder, that I’d threatened to run Ingrahm down! And it had happened so fast that there were no skid marks, nothing! I ran—I’m still running.”

  “You’re not to blame,” Ellie said, looking at him with compassion. “But you sure made it look worse when you ran.”

  Roebuck snorted. “I weighed the odds. It was all I could do. Anyway, I’m not sure Ingrahm is dead.”

  Ellie’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t get it.”

  “After leaving the scene of the accident I went to where I used to work to collect some money they owed me. My ex-boss was there. He refused to pay me and I didn’t have any choice but to take the money by force. He’s a very influential man who married the right woman. I think he convinced the police to fake a murder charge so I’d get scared and come crawling back. He didn’t know me very well.”

  “But, Lou, could he do that…?”

  “H
e could and he would and he did! And if I go back and Ingrahm isn’t dead, they’ll still have me for attempted murder and robbery!”

  Ellie said nothing. Roebuck slowed the car, parked on the shoulder of the highway and sat with his head bowed, his eyes clenched shut. “Sometimes I just don’t know what to do,” he said, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands so hard that his body trembled. “Sometimes things go so wrong and nothing fits and I just don’t know what to do!”

  Ellie placed a hand on his cheek, and with her other hand she caressed his shoulder until the trembling stopped. “You rest, Lou,” she said softly, urgently. “It doesn’t matter to me what you did. You rest and I’ll drive.”

  Roebuck let out a long breath and opened his eyes, staring intently at the dashboard. “I’ll go around,” he said.

  He got out of the car, walked around to the passenger’s side and got back in. As Ellie steered the car back onto the pavement and picked up speed he slumped in the seat, letting the gentle motion and vibration relax him. After about five minutes he rested his head on the seat back and went to sleep.

  As he slept, he dreamed.

  A long, lonely scream. Light, flickering red light over everything, moving across the thin membrane of his closed eyelids, forcing its pulsating redness into his mind. The acrid odor of smoke was fading….Roebuck opened his eyes and sat up violently. The car was stopped. There was a huge, red-tinted face outside the driver’s window, a face beneath a silver badged uniform cap.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you, mister,” the face said, smiling a reddish smile.

  “The officer stopped us because we only have one taillight,” Ellie explained sweetly. “It’s a state law.”

  “There’s a station about two miles down where you can get the bulb replaced,” the highway patrolman said. He raised his eyebrows, and took in the interior of the car with a glance. “I noticed you people are from out of state.”

  “That’s right,” Roebuck said, regaining his composure. “We’re going to visit my wife’s family in Colorado. Her mother’s sick.”

  The patrolman nodded. “Well, I guess there’s no need for a citation if you get the light repaired right away.”

  “Thank you, officer.” Ellie smiled. “It must have just burned out. I took the car to have it checked before we left on this trip.”

  “That’s right,” Roebuck said. “I’m in the auto repair business myself. I should have checked it over personally.”

  The patrolman shrugged. “That’s how it always is. I get citations for burning leaves.” He gave them a parting grin. “Have a good trip, folks. And I hope your mother’s all right.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie called after him as they watched him walk away, adjusting his cap in the wind from a passing car that might or might not have been going too fast.

  The flashing red light atop the police car died as the patrolman swung sharply back onto the highway and drove away.

  Roebuck and Ellie did stop at the service station down the highway, where they had the taillight bulb replaced and the gas tank filled before driving on.

  “We better start playing it safer,” Roebuck said as they pulled out of the station.

  “I guess you’re right.” Ellie looked at the speedometer carefully. “Why don’t we stop at a grocery and get something for our meals? That way we wouldn’t have to risk eating in those greasy roadside places.”

  “I was thinking that myself.”

  “We can get some donuts or something for breakfast,” she said, “and we can buy a coffeepot and some coffee. We can fix us something right in our motel room.”

  “We’ll stop at the next town,” Roebuck decided, slouching down and resting his head again on the back of the seat.

  He closed his eyes, but this time he didn’t sleep.

  9

  Roebuck drove the station wagon slowly out of the Jolly Rest Motel’s lot, onto the baking expanse of concrete highway, and accelerated in a smooth and steady rush to seventy miles an hour. Ellie sat beside him, munching a glazed donut, sipping her coffee from the motel bathroom’s sanitary paper cup. They drove away from the low morning sun, into the west, the green scenery rotating gently and sliding past them as they rode the snaking highway.

  They drove for perhaps fifteen minutes before they passed a crude wooden sign almost obscured by dew-bent weeds. LAKE CHIPPEWA 5 MILES—it read in weather-beaten yellow letters—CABINS—FISHING—BOATS—REST—RELAX.

  “Do you think we can run all the way to California?” Ellie asked, finishing the last donut and brushing sugar from her hands.

  Roebuck grinned in his best desperado manner. “I’ll tell you one thing. Nobody’s going to stop us.”

  “I know you mean that, Lou, but do you think it’s the smart thing to do? I mean, won’t somebody somewhere figure out that we keep going the same direction?”

  Roebuck had a vision of dozens of important-looking individuals gathered around a gigantic wall map, moving red-flagged pins and circling areas with red pencil. “Maybe,” he said.

  “We could stop,” Ellie said. “We could fool them and hole up, rent one of those cabins.”

  Placing an unlit cigarette between his lips, Roebuck pushed in the car’s lighter. “Yeah, I saw the sign.”

  “We could pretend we were a couple on a fishing vacation. Nobody’d suspect anything.” Ellie was getting enthusiastic. “We could buy some fishing stuff and supplies and just take it easy.”

  Roebuck touched the hot tip of the lighter to his cigarette. “I don’t think much of the idea. We should move, put miles behind us….”

  “But that’s what everybody does who runs from the law. It’s just human nature, and they know it. But don’t you know that they can radio ahead, that they’re all across the country, that what we’re running from keeps moving right along with us?”

  That was sure as hell true, Roebuck thought. It followed, it waited ahead of them, like the sun, slowly passing them at thousands of miles an hour to wait for them on the other horizon.

  “Anyway,” Ellie said, “it’d be good for you. You’re too nervous, Lou. Always worrying about who’s behind us on the highway, where we’re going to eat, how we’re going to steal another car….”

  “It would solve that problem,” Roebuck said; “We wouldn’t have to steal another car for a while.” He’d been worrying about that.

  “And nobody’d notice out of state license plates at a place like that,” Ellie said. “They’d just think we came here to do some fishing.”

  “I don’t like to be trapped, though,” Roebuck said tensely. “I don’t like to be walled up.”

  “That’s just a feeling, Lou. You’d be safer where nobody could see you than moving along out here on the highway in a stolen car.”

  “Understand,” Roebuck said, “it’s not just me I’m thinking of.”

  “I know, Lou.” Ellie touched his knee with her fingertips.

  Ahead of them was another wooden sign, like the first only bigger. The letters were freshly painted on this one, and beneath LAKE CHIPPEWA was an arrow pointing up a narrow dirt road.

  “Whatever you want, Lou.”

  The sign flashed past.

  After a few minutes Roebuck said, “It sure would be a relief not to have to keep looking in this rear view mirror.”

  Ellie was silent.

  “We could go back,” Roebuck said thoughtfully. “We could lay low for a while and listen to the radio, wait for things to loosen up.”

  “It’s up to you, Lou.”

  Roebuck slowed the car.

  “Lake Chippewa,” Ellie said, “that’s Indian.”

  “I know,” Roebuck said absently. “My mother was half Pawnee.”

  He stepped down resolutely on the accelerator.

  “What are we going to do, Lou?”

  “We’ll stop at the next place we see where there’s a big store or shopping center and buy some fishing gear, then we’ll go back to Lake Chippewa and look over those cabins.”
r />   They stopped at Millbrook, fifteen miles farther down the highway. There was a good-sized department store there, with a big sporting goods section. Roebuck and Ellie were examining some casting rods when a smiling sales clerk approached them.

  “Those are the best for the price,” the clerk said earnestly. He was a middle-aged man with a seamed face and horn-rimmed glasses.

  “I like this one,” Roebuck said knowledgeably, choosing another rod. “Plenty of whip to it. We’ll take two of these.”

  The clerk beamed. “All right, sir, anything else?”

  “Some fishing flies,” Roebuck said, “and a tackle box—and I’ll take one of those hats with the mosquito net hanging from the brim.”

  “Yes, sir! That’ll keep the pesky devils away from your face and neck!” The clerk rushed to gather things up and display a case of colorful flies to Roebuck.

  “Now this is the bait that gets results,” he said, pointing to a particularly repulsive one. “Wonder Worm! We’ve had nothing but raves from our customers who’ve tried it. It’s especially good for trout.”

  “I’ll take two,” Roebuck said, “and two of the spotted dragonflies, and one of the minnows that you put the little pill in to make their tail wiggle.”

  The clerk stared through his horn-rimmed glasses. “Do you do much fishing, sir?”

  “Not freshwater,” Roebuck said casually, “mostly sword-fish.”

  The clerk hurried to get the flies Roebuck had requested.

  Roebuck paid cash and watched as everything was wrapped. “Tell me,” he said, “where’s the best fishing around here?”

  “There’s Lake Manitoshi,” the clerk answered, busily fighting the rustling brown paper. “Then there’s the Great Horney River and Lake Chippewa about fifteen miles east of here.”

  “Where’s Lake Manitoshi?” Roebuck asked. “I think we’ll go there.”

  “It’s about five miles west,” the clerk said. “Good bass this time of year.”

  “Thanks,” Roebuck said, taking the wrapped packages. Ellie carried the rods and he took the tackle box.