by John Lutz
“Want to get out of here and have some supper?” he asked. There—that was a normal thing to suggest.
“No. I mean, yes, I wouldn’t mind getting out for a while, but I’m not really very hungry.”
He wasn’t either, but he needed something for them to do. “Want to watch me eat? Might give you an appetite.”
“I can fix you something here if you’d rather.”
“Naw, let’s drive up to White Castle, get me some miniature hamburgers and a milkshake.” He knew she was addicted to the peculiar White Castle fare. “You’ll smell the food and change your mind, have something to eat.”
She fought to create a smile. It reached her face and lasted half a second, not with much wattage. “Maybe.” She stood up and left the room.
He heard water running in the bathroom. She was working on her eyes so she wouldn’t look as if she’d been crying.
Nudger sat in the quiet apartment, listening to the street noises filtering in. Claudia’s fear was his own. He felt older, vulnerable. Cancer. Nothing definite, but more tests were warranted. Cancer. He couldn’t shake the thought, the terrible word, from his mind. A car passed outside, going too fast, its tires swishing on the wet pavement. Cancer.
After a while Claudia came back into the living room. She looked better. As if nothing were wrong. But she shivered. She said, “The sooner this is over and I know, the better. Even if it is cancer.”
“And if the conization result is positive, then what?”
“At the least, it means a hysterectomy. At the most, who knows?”
Nudger knew. Didn’t say it. For the moment, the dread C word was enough to have hanging heavy in the air. It would follow both of them everywhere, grant them no peace. Part of them now. He stood up and tucked in his shirt, ready to leave.
Claudia said, “You’ll stay with me?”
“Through supper at least.”
He’d been joking, his way of holding back the darkness, but his heart lurched when he saw the flare of fear in her eyes. Hurriedly he said, “I’ll stay.”
He didn’t mean only tonight, or until the results of the conization were known.
In the past few minutes he’d made up his mind to see Bonnie only once more, to tell her that what was between them couldn’t work.
That it was ended. Over. Forever.
Claudia said, “Let’s not go out. I’ll fix some supper here, if you can put up with a microwaved frozen dinner.”
“You’re a fickle woman.”
“Sometimes.”
“Here sounds fine, if that’s what you want to do.”
“It is. Stay in with you.”
The sky had cleared, then become cloudy again, though it wasn’t raining. The dusty evening light lay like gently swirling gas over the floor near the window.
Nudger kissed Claudia. Switched on a lamp and chased the gloom. Illuminated the apartment and made it the entire world. Nothing outside its walls existed. Not cancer, not wayward politicians and secretaries and stolen money, not Jack Palp. Not a waiting cold hospital operating room.
Nothing.
It would work for a while.
28
He awoke lying on his stomach with the warmth of her nestled against his side. Thought immediately how Claudia felt so familiar, and how she’d feel that way even if they were apart for decades. Her distinct way of draping an arm lightly over him, and of barely touching his leg with her knee, as if to maintain tenuous contact even in sleep.
Nudger had a terrible taste in his mouth, and his tongue seemed to have grown fungus. His head was turned sideways at a sharp angle, his face mashed into the pillow.
He opened his exposed eye, which seemed to have grit beneath its lid, and let its hazy gaze roam until it found the clock near the bed and focused on it. Seven-thirty. Early. But he’d crossed the line into wakefulness and knew he might as well force himself to get up, take a shower, and get dressed. A hot shower didn’t sound so bad, did it? Loosen up the oil between the joints.
He tried to ease his body out from beneath Claudia’s arm without waking her. He failed, but she merely opened her eyes, smiled at him, and then made a sort of cooing sound and appeared to fall back asleep.
In the old tiled bathroom, he stood in the claw-footed tub and rotated the hot water tap handle, then gave the porcelain cold handle a squeaking half-twist so he wouldn’t be boiled when he turned on the shower.
The bathroom was chilled and drafty, but that soon changed. He stood inside the shower curtain, beneath the beating hot needles of water, while steam rose and the kinks left his back and shoulders. What would it be like, he wondered, to follow the swirling water down the drain and be free of all his problems, like death in a Hitchcock movie?
But he knew that death, like life, wasn’t the way it was portrayed in the movies. He’d seen death. It was painful, distressingly banal, and final. There were few if any bizarre reprieves.
He turned off the water, swept the plastic curtain aside and admitted cool air, then stepped out of the tub.
After toweling dry, he located a disposable razor (Archway’s?) and shaved. He nicked himself a couple of times with the dull blade, once wickedly just beneath his nose. Took him a few minutes to stem the flow of blood with toilet paper. He combed back his wet hair with his fingertips. Reasonably neat. It would have to do until he got his comb from his pants pocket.
When he went back into the cool bedroom Claudia was awake. She got out of bed quickly, gracefully, as if she hadn’t a care, and touched him on his damp shoulder as she walked past on her way to the warm bathroom. Her bare feet made soft, padded sounds on the floor.
He found his underwear and socks and started to get dressed. Pipes clattered in the old walls and the shower began to roar. Sometimes Claudia sang in the shower, but not this morning.
When he was dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed until she emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. Steam from the shower swirled in the doorway behind her like show-biz manufactured fog, the kind rock singers cavorted through.
He said, “You could’ve slept in this morning.”
She shook her head, not violently, but hard enough to send glistening drops of water flying, fragmenting the morning light. “I’m going to work.” She gave him a don’t-question-me look.
He didn’t say anything. Understood that this was her way of maintaining normalcy and sanity until her precariously balanced fate tilted one way or the other with the weight of the medical report.
She got dressed methodically, putting on panties and bra, a dark skirt. She blow-dried her hair and combed it before slipping into a pale green blouse and buttoning it deftly with her odd elegance. A touch of makeup and she was beautiful—ready to have a go at life. She looked so healthy that a lump formed in Nudger’s throat. He wasn’t fooled; cancer was a wily saboteur.
He helped her prepare eggs, toast, and coffee for breakfast. She’d had only a roll and a glass of red wine last night, and she was hungry.
“I better fill up now,” she said. “I’m not supposed to eat anything after six this evening. Because of the surgery.”
“What time you scheduled for tomorrow morning?”
“S’pose to be at the hospital at seven-thirty,” she said around a mouthful of toast.
“Early.”
“Fine with me. Get it done.”
“Sure you wanna go to work today?”
“I’m sure. I overreacted last night.”
“You did great.”
“You’re prejudiced.”
“Damned right.”
When they were finished eating he told her he’d take care of the dishes or she’d be late. She didn’t argue. Kissed him good-bye and left.
He looked down at her from the window as her foreshortened figure crossed the street and climbed into her car. The Chevette started immediately this morning and she drove away.
How many more times would he be able to say good-bye to her?
Or hello?
<
br /> After rinsing the breakfast dishes and wedging them into the dishwasher, he left the apartment and drove toward Bonnie’s house.
He wanted to resolve things between them while he still carried the emotion and determination to get it done as cleanly as possible. He suspected that Bonnie had sensed why he’d come to see her yesterday, and had used sex to fend off the moment. She’d be expecting what he had to say. The end of their affair had lain sad and mocking like a foregone conclusion between them in Bonnie’s bed, but in their passion they’d refused to acknowledge it.
When he steered the Granada into her driveway, he realized he should have phoned to make sure she was home. The garage’s overhead door was open to reveal nothing but assorted junk, a lawn mower, and bright plastic toys. The Nora Dove station wagon was gone.
His hopes rose, however, when he straightened up out of the car. The high-pitched whooping that was seeping from the closed-up house was unmistakable: James at war.
Nudger’s knock on the door was answered by a short, heavyset woman with graying brown hair worn in bangs that almost totally concealed her narrow dark eyes. She was wearing red slacks and a tentlike blouse that was stained down the front and gave off an odor of sour milk.
“I’m looking for Bonnie,” he said.
The woman smiled and shook her head. The smile made her nose turn up something like Bonnie’s. “Not home. I’m the babysitter.”
“You a relative?”
“Nope.”
Maybe being around the kids somehow did that to noses. “You’re Nyla?”
She looked closely at him through her bangs. “How’d you know?”
“I was here yesterday afternoon when you came by to pick up James and Belinda.”
Something struck Nyla from behind, causing her to grunt and move forward a few inches. She didn’t change expression, however, as if she were used to being buffetted around. James peered from behind the tail of her baggy blouse. He was wearing his helmet with camouflage netting and had his commando black streaks beneath his eyes. Nudger could hear Belinda crying in the depths of the house.
Nyla turned her head and glanced down at James. “You wake up your sister?”
James said, “Shot her.”
“Shouldn’t shoot people,” Nyla told him sensibly.
Nudger said, “When will Bonnie be home?”
“She told me she couldn’t be sure,” Nyla said. “She’s out delivering Nora Dove, so it’s kinda hard for her to know when she’ll be done. You know, gossip’s part of the game. Customers wanna sit and talk forever. Try out the new stuff and see how it smells. You can leave a message for her if you want.”
“Just tell her Nudger was by.”
“Okay. Nudger.” Nyla’s eyes widened beneath the bangs. “Hey, wait a minute. Something here for you. Bonnie said if you was to come by I should give it to you.”
She disappeared into the house.
James stood his ground in the doorway and assumed a stolid martial arts fighting stance. Horatius at the bridge.
A plump arm knocked him aside and Nyla was back. She handed Nudger a small white paper sack.
He thanked her, opened the sack, and pulled out a black glass bottle with a label that resembled a silver hawk in flight. Very dramatic. Large black letters on the label said FOR THE BOLD. Nudger read the small letters molded on the glass beneath the label aloud: “Max Hawk cologne. Wild Brawn.”
“That’s right,” Nyla said. “New stuff on the market, she told me. For men only. Nora Dove and Max Hawk—could be birdshit.” She grinned, then looked a bit worried. “Hey, don’t mention to Bonnie I said that. Didn’t mean anything, but she might not understand.”
“My beak is sealed,” Nudger assured her.
He slid the bottle of Max Hawk, still in its sack, into a side pocket of his sportcoat and stepped down off the porch. He felt slightly guilty accepting it. A going-away present, even if Bonnie didn’t know it. Wild Brawn. He guessed she thought that was exactly the scent for him; must have understood him a little, anyway.
He drove away from the house and made a left turn off Pleasant Lane, intending to go to his office. Then it occurred to him that he’d be spending the next several nights at Claudia’s apartment, and the breakfast they’d had this morning had about depleted the refrigerator.
Claudia was in no condition to cope with supermarkets, so Nudger decided to stop and pick up some groceries, maybe even surprise her and thaw out something for an early supper, since she couldn’t have anything to eat after six o’clock. Or maybe she’d rather go out to eat. Whatever she decided for tonight, she’d need food supplies over the next week.
He drove east on Manchester and stopped at a Schnuck’s supermarket. It was one of those newer stores that sold everything from apples to motor oil and did a thriving side business renting home videos.
The place didn’t seem to be crowded, judging by the relatively few cars in the lot. He latched onto a wire shopping cart near the door and pushed it inside. It had a flat spot on one wheel that ticked rhythmically. Every grocery cart he’d ever pushed had a flat spot on a wheel. Maybe they were manufactured that way so other shoppers could hear them coming and get out of the way; some Ralph Nader edict.
He rolled the cart parallel to the line of checkout counters, then made a ninety-degree turn, wound through the produce section, and began selecting items from the shelves.
In the frozen food department, he met the last person he expected to see, standing with arms crossed next to the brussels sprouts.
Jack Palp.
29
Palp said, “Stocking up on greens?”
Nudger stopped so his shopping cart was a barrier between him and Palp. A woman at the far end of the aisle tossed a frozen dinner into her cart and then wheeled it around the corner, leaving them alone. Nudger noticed it was cool here in the frozen food section.
Palp uncrossed his arms and assumed a loose, relaxed position with his hands dangling at his sides. The big man could move fast in any direction from such a stance.
“Us running into each other here by the stiff veggies has to be more than coincidence,” Nudger said.
“Sure. I saw you over in jams and jellies.”
Nudger was glad to notice a large black woman in a flower-print dress roll her cart into the aisle and stand studying the fish section. A witness who might keep Palp from trying anything fishy. Stay around, lady; don’t make up your mind between salmon and flounder too soon.
Palp paid no attention to the woman and said, “Mr. Kyle wants to know if you plan on accepting his offer.”
“Offer?”
“You know. Sun, sandy beaches, luaus.” Palp seemed to come nearer without actually moving his feet. How’d he do that?
Nudger’s stomach did some intricate gymnastics. “I need more time to think about it.”
Palp gave his undertaker’s smile and shook his head. “Sorry, time’s up.”
“Why’s there have to be such a rush to decide?”
“‘Cause Mr. Kyle says so, jerkoff. That bother you?”
“Somewhat. Like it bothers me that Skip Monohan was found dead in my car’s trunk.”
“This bothers you, that bothers you. Maybe you should read Dianetics. Now, I wouldn’t know a thing about this Monohan fella, having been out of town.”
“Are you forgetting our conversation at Scullin Steel?”
“The important thing is for you not to forget it, Nudger. Which brings us back around to whether you’re going to accept Mr. Kyle’s generous offer. You go to Hawaii, who knows, you might stumble across Hiller and his secretary frolicking on the beach. Get a paid vacation, solve a mystery, make your pretty client happy.”
The thought of Adelaide Lacy made Nudger wonder if Kyle and Palp had leaned on her in an attempt to get her to drop the search for Mary. He decided probably not. She might report it, and that would tie them in too closely to the Hiller disappearance for even the police to ignore. Besides, Nudger was sure Adelaide would hav
e told him about any further contact with Kyle, or any conversation with Palp. Anyone would think a conversation with Palp worth mentioning.
“Gonna be yes or no?” Palp asked impatiently. “Tell me so I can buy a dozen eggs and get outta here. They’re on sale, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
Two more women pushing shopping carts rounded the corner into the aisle. One of the carts contained a small child waving a celery stalk as if it were a Fourth of July sparkler.
Encouraged by the sudden company, Nudger said, “Tell Arnie Kyle I said no thanks.”
“I got instructions to see you’re absolutely sure,” Palp said. “Think about it, asshole. You’re turning down Hawaii. Not to mention fifty thousand dollars. That’s a lotta dead presidents.”
Something deep in Nudger’s mind sparked to life, stirred.
“You listening?” Palp asked.
Nudger said, “Reagan.”
“Reagan who?”
“You said I was turning down a lot of dead presidents.”
Palp said, “I meant folding money, bills with their pictures on them.”
“I know, but I thought of Ronald Reagan.”
“Reagan’s not dead. Not president anymore, either. Enough about politics. This isn’t Meet the fuckin’ Press. You taking up Mr. Kyle’s offer, or you standing by your decision to turn it down? Last chance, sweetheart.”
Nudger glanced up the aisle to make sure he wasn’t alone with Palp. Good. He was still in the reassuring presence of other shoppers.
He said, “I’m sure. My answer’s still no.”
The large black woman decided against buying frozen fish and abruptly rolled her cart around the corner and out of sight. The two other women each hurriedly reached into the freezer, plunked containers of frozen strawberries into their carts, then followed her. The child in the cart dropped his celery stalk and waved to Nudger before disappearing around the comer. So much for safety in numbers. Nudger and Palp were by themselves in the cold aisle.
Palp’s face eased into its toothy, grim reaper grin. “Your mistake is my treat.”