“How dare you threaten me!”
“Oh, I’m not threatening you, honey. Not at all. I’m just telling you the cold, hard, cruel facts of how all this is going to be.”
“I see.” Her voice was hushed. “Well. Do I walk over to my parents’ old homeplace, or will you allow me to take the station wagon?”
Martin knew then that he had, at least for the moment, won. Alicia did not like confrontation. And, he felt guilty even thinking it, he knew that she was slightly afraid of him when he lost his temper. Even though he had never given her the slightest reason to think he would do physical harm to her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alicia. Take the car. Keep it. Take anything in this house that is yours, or was,” he said sarcastically, “ours.”
The sarcasm was not lost on her. Her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. He knew that she knew that when he made a decision, there was no turning back. That if she walked, keep walking. For that was the end of it.
She said nothing.
“Take anything you want except the kids. But get it all out and be clear of here today, Alicia. I’ll arrange for a couple of hands to help you and get some company trucks over here. And I’ll have a man to open up and air out your parents’ old place. Now you tell me firm, right up front: is this what you want?”
“Can’t we be civil?”
“Just answer the question.”
“You seem to be doing all the talking, Martin. Carry on.”
“That’s no answer from you. And you’re still holding back from me. I don’t like that one bit. I have never lied to you. Nor has there ever been another woman. Not even in ’Nam. I always assumed I was getting the same kind of respect from you. Now I’m not so sure of that. Is there another man, Alicia?”
She stood in the room, holding a folded blouse, saying nothing. Aloud, that is. But the silence told it all.
“Say it, Alicia. Is this what you want?”
This time there was no hesitation. “Yes, Martin. I think that it’s best.”
He picked up the phone.
And nearly eighteen years of marriage went down the drain.
TEN
Martin left the house just seconds after arranging for the men to come help his wife move her things out and to have another man open up her parents’ old home just a few blocks away. Martin checked in at his mayor’s offices, did some paperwork, and then spent most of the rest of the morning at his business offices. His people—who had all heard the story about the fight with Steele—took in his bruised face and slightly swollen hands and the cut on his lip, and said nothing.
After about an hour of the silence and of feeling the curious looks of his office staff, Martin glanced up, a smile forming on his lips, and yelled through the open door to his office, “Well, at least I whipped the bastard!”
That broke the tension and after the laughter died down, work flowed smoothly.
Martin, from his glassed office, would study his people from time to time. They all appeared normal—at least for now.
At 11:30, unable to keep his mind on his work, he packed it in and went home, fixing a couple of sandwiches and a big glass of milk, taking his lunch into the den.
Alicia had been busy. She had cleaned out her closets and taken what furniture she’d wanted, moving everything over to her parents’ old place, which had been deserted ever since the death of her mother, several years back.
Martin sighed heavily. He did not look forward to telling the kids.
The day was pleasant and Martin had left the front door open. The slamming of a car door turned his head. He could tell by the fast footsteps up the walk that it was Gary.
“Martin?” the doctor called from the front porch, through the screen door.
“Come on in, Gary!”
The doctor entered and looked around him, his eyes picking up on the few pieces of missing furniture and the assorted bric-a-brac Alicia had taken with her. He muttered something terribly obscene under his breath and said, “I almost called the man who told me about this a liar. Glad I didn’t.”
“Small town, buddy. News travels fast. It’s true, as you can see. You had lunch?”
“No. Janet’s over with Alicia, at the old homeplace. Been helping her get settled in. I’ve been busy patching up a few more of those who were involved in that hotel fight yesterday. None of them remember a thing about it. Damn place is getting stranger and stranger.”
“I won’t argue that. Fix yourself something to eat and join me. We still have some planning to do. Alicia and me splitting the sheets aside, the problems that faced us yesterday—the town, the carnival—are still with us. And I’m just as confused as ever.”
Gary fixed a sandwich and poured a glass of milk, joining his friend in the den. “I won’t press you to talk about you and Alicia, Martin. But whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”
Martin chewed reflectively for a moment. “Tell you the truth, Gary—and this is going to sound awfully stupid on my part—I don’t really know what happened. Right before I went to work—and yes, I went dressed like this—Linda called me funky-looking and Alicia said I looked positively dreadful...”
“Your reaction to that?” Gary was studying his friend closely.
“... No reaction. Anyway, Alicia said that she guessed love had died somewhere along the way. She said that she felt I was holding her back.” He arched an eyebrow, looking at his friend. “The actress bit.”
Gary groaned. “Oh, no, Martin! Even Janet, her best friend all her life, will tell you that Alicia is a terrible actess.”
“Oh, I know. Anyway, she said that I was stagnant; and she was angry because I refused to take part in the theatre group.” Martin laughed. “Hell, I can’t sing, I can’t dance, and I sure can’t act.” He sobered and shrugged. “I guess it’s all going to hit me later on. But right now, all I’m feeling is terrible about having to tell the kids.”
Then Gary took some of the load off his shoulders. “They already know, Martin. Right after I was told, Susan called me from school. The kids know, and they’re taking it well, Susan said. And—” He paused.
“And ... what?”
“Well, reading between the lines of Susan’s comments, I got the impression they both knew it was coming.”
Martin nodded, not terribly surprised. “I’ll talk to them later about it.” He frowned. “Small town. Well, maybe I’ll get to the bottom of it all someday. Have you seen Audie today?”
“He called earlier. Said he and that state man, ah, woman, were going out to the cabin where Red was killed. He said they’d be here, at your place, about 12:30. I said I’d close at noon and meet them here. I got so busy I forgot to call you. And all that took place before I learned about you and Alicia. I’m sorry. You want to postpone the meeting?”
“No. Forget it. No harm done. It might be the best thing for me, get my mind off my troubles for a time.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be coming along at any moment, now.”
“I have to hand it to you, Martin. You’re taking this situation a lot better than I would. And I mean that.”
“Well, maybe I’m in some sort of mild mental shock, or something like that. Perhaps later on I’ll throw a tantrum or get drunk or do something equally stupid—but I doubt it. You want to hear a truth, Gary?”
“Lay it on me.”
“My overriding, or primary emotion is, so far, pure relief. Just before you got here, I was realizing that what Alicia said was true. But unknowing to her, and to me, until this morning, was the fact that it was working both ways. Actually, we are complete opposites, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Gary eyeballed Martin’s attire for a moment and then busted out laughing.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Martin . . . you do look funky!”
* * *
And Martin instantly regretted his funkiness when he met Sgt. Frenchy McClain. The emotion came as quite a surprise to him. Then he realized tha
t the relief he had spoken of was real. He realized with a slight jar, that Alicia had been right all the way down the line: theirs had turned into a marriage of routine and convenience.
And he also realized that unless he wanted to go celibate—which he sure didn’t—he was back in the dating game. And that realization was real.
Martin pegged Frenchy as in her early to mid-thirties. Short black hair as shiny as sunlight off a raven’s wing. Deep blue eyes. About five-five, a great figure. Perhaps a touch of Latin or Indian in her veins.
“You have a lovely home, Mr. Holland,” Frenchy said. If his manner of dress shocked or amused her, her eyes did not show it.
“It’s Martin. And thank you. The house is a bit bare, I’m afraid. My wife just left me this morning.”
That shocked her. She blinked and stared at him for a moment. “Then we’ve sure picked a rotten time to meet with you, Martin.”
He waved that off. “Not really.” He looked at Audie. “You should have warned her.”
“I didn’t know myself until right now! We’ve spent all morning out at Red’s cabin and then over at Hank’s house. I’m sorry, Mr. Holland.”
“It happens, Audie. But at least it was an amiable parting of the ways. More or less,” he added drily as he met Frenchy’s eyes. “Have you had lunch?”
“No. But—”
Martin held up a hand. “I’ll fix some sandwiches and put on a pot of coffee. Then we’ll get down to business. Please, both of you, make yourself comfortable.”
“I’ll help with lunch,” Frenchy volunteered.
“That would be ... nice.” Martin looked into the deep blues. “Yes. Thank you.”
* * *
“How you feelin’, Boss?” a hand asked.
“Not worth a good goddamn!” Lyle snapped. His words were slurry, spoken through swollen, puffy lips. He sat on the front porch of his ranchhouse, leaning against a pillow, easing his battered ribs on that side. Nothing was broken, but he sure hurt. One eye was still closed and his face was swollen and cut and bruised. His nose, while not broken, was sore as a boil.
The ranchhand didn’t know what to do or how to respond to that.
“Forget it, Ned,” Lyle told him—as close as the hand would ever get to an apology from his boss. “None of it was your fault.” He wasn’t about to say it right out loud, but that Martin Holland could hit like the kick of a mule. “Ned? Tell the boys that Thursday is gonna be a day off for everybody. We’ll leave early, all of us, and head into Holland. We’re gonna make sure that this fair is one that ever’body is gonna remember. And the treats is on me. Pass the word.”
Ned grinned. “Yes, sir!”
Lyle leaned back and mentally wallowed in his dark hatred for Martin Holland. He had a plan to get back at Martin for the beating he’d taken at his hands. And it was through Martin’s daughter, or into Martin’s daughter was a better way of looking at it. And after Lyle got through with her, he’d give her to his men for some fun.
He chuckled softly. He couldn’t laugh too much. His ribs hurt.
* * *
Jim Watson was, like Clark and Cameron were doing, informing his men that Thursday was going to be a holiday for everybody. They were all, en mass, going to the Holland Fair. Free booze for everybody, as much as they wanted.
By God! Jim thought, I’ll show that Martin Holland a thing or two—always did want to get into Alicia Holland’s pants. And it’d be one more good excuse to get away from his own old lady and them squallin’ useless kids.
“Are you going to take me to the fair, Jim?” his wife asked from the screen door of the front porch.
“No!”
Fine, she thought. While you’re at the fair, I’ll just take me a tippy-toe over to Joe Carroll’s spread and have me a good old time. More fun than riding the ferris wheel anyway.
No truer words had she ever thought.
* * *
Alma Sessions, the little girl who had been stricken with seizures and the unknown tongue a couple of days back, thought she just about had it all figured out. If she could get the Dennison girl to take just one more step, and she put just enough power behind the playground swing, the seat should catch the girl right in the face. All the others in her little circle of friends, Bette and Virginia and David and Norm, all thought that would be a fun thing to see and do.
“Oh, Shirley!” Alma called sweetly. “Look here!”
Alma had shoved the seat just as the last word left her mouth. The wooden seat caught Shirley flush in the mouth and knocked her sprawling, busting several teeth and smashing her lips. She fell to the hard-packed earth of the playground, half-knocked out, bleeding and crying.
Alma and her friends thought it all hysterically funny.
* * *
Down at Matt’s Meat Market, Matt Horton whistled as he worked, preparing an order. Of fresh ground pork.
“Where’s your wife, Matt?” the customer asked. “I haven’t seen her around for a couple of days.”
“Oh, she took a little vacation. Gone to visit some friends down in Texas. She’s had nerve problems for years, you know. This last attack, well—” He smiled with his back to the customer, “—might say she just went all to pieces.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that, Matt. When you talk to her, give her my best, will you?”
“I sure will do that. And you might say a little prayer over her . . . at supper. She’d like that.” He wrapped the pork and handed it over the counter.
“I’ll sure do that little thing, Matt. Sure will. You take it easy now.”
“Thank you.”
When the front door had closed, Matt stepped into his freezer and moved a couple of sides of beef. And there hung his darlin’ Ruth. Naked, frozen, blue, from a meat hook. She was minus part of one leg. Everybody that had taken advantage of Matt’s sausage specials that day would find their sausage tasting just a tad sweeter than usual. Matt told them it was his secret combination of spices and herbs.
He reached down and tickled his blue baby’s toes. On the leg that remained, that is. “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home!”
Matt laughed and laughed, his breath frosty white in the freezer.
Then he picked up a meat cleaver and buried the blade in his wife’s head.
“Old bang!” he said, just as the buzzer sounded, signaling that someone had entered his shop. He rearranged the sides of beef and stepped back into his shop, carefully closing the door. “Hello, Mrs. Johnson!” Matt called cheerfully. “Come for some of that good fresh seasoned pork I have on special?”
* * *
Chief Kelson watched as patrol-person Nicole Jordan bent over, her uniform pants stretching tight. He licked his lips and felt himself become aroused. “Nicole, baby, did anyone ever tell you that you got the finest-lookin’ ass in this whole county?”
She straightened up, amazement mirrored in her face and eyes. She knew that Kelson was just about as crude as they come, but she thought they’d straightened all that out a year or so back.
She turned, facing him, brushing back a lock of auburn hair. “Have you lost your mind, Chief?”
“Nope.” He grinned at her. She could smell his bad breath clear across the room. “But I got me a hard-on that you wouldn’t believe, baby.”
“How’d you like a sexual harassment suit filed against you, Paul?” Nicole’s face was crimson, and she could feel the heat of it.
He laughed at her. “Your word against mine, baby. Aw, come on, Nicole. What’s a little lovin’ between friends?”
She slammed the file drawer shut and stalked out of the office, Kelson’s laughter following her. She slammed the door and got into a city unit, driving off, thinking: What is happening in this town?
* * *
Old Doc Reynolds sat in his office chair and stared out the window. He was not open for business and had a pretty strong feeling that he would never reopen. But he enjoyed sitting in his chair and gazing out at the quiet neighborhood wh
ere he’d practiced medicine for more than fifty years.
Today was not a good day, he thought. And tomorrow will be even worse. And the next day and so on until the town finally looked the devil right in the eyes. All anybody ever had to do to learn about Nabo’s Show of Shows was to come to him—he knew. But no one ever did, and he didn’t expect them to. Until it was too late.
Just an old country doctor.
Who had the insight.
His old friend Martin had the insight, too. He knew he was going to die that day—came by and told Doc Reynolds so. He wasn’t afraid to die. Death is something we all have to face, he’d said, and quite calmly too. It was the way he was going to die that had bothered him. The two men had sat and talked for a long time about various things. Talked without ever mentioning that each knew the other had the insight, and knew that insighted people, once gone, did not necessarily step through that misty veil and paddle placidly across that Dark River.
Insighted people, and others with a strong will, had a habit of returning to settle old scores.
Doc Reynolds turned in his creaky old wooden desk chair, thinking: Like that carnival in town had just returned. To the date. He smiled grimly, remembering. He’d been a young buck of only fifty, still full of piss and vinegar when that awful night had erupted. He could still see those flames leaping up into a dark and seemingly angry sky. Could still hear the cries of those being burned alive, heard and was shamed by the pitiful cries of the helpless animals as the flames turned their hair-coats into pyres.
He and Martin and Tressalt had gotten there too late to be of much help.
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