by Jim Thompson
I finished the ale, started to order a third one, and decided against it. I’d had enough. More than enough. Or I never would have. You take just so much from the bottle, and then you stop taking. From then on you’re putting.
I picked up my suit box and crossed the street to the house. Half hoping that Jake was on hand.
He was.
He and Fay and Kendall were all in the living room together, and she was laughing and talking a mile a minute.
I went in, giving them a nod and a hello as I headed for the stairs. Fay turned and called to me.
“Come in, Mr. Bigelow. I was just telling about your train ride—how you went to sleep and rode to the end of the line. What did you think when you woke up?”
“I thought I’d better start carrying an alarm clock,” I said.
Kendall chuckled. “That reminds me of an occasion several years ago when—”
“Excuse me”—Fay cut in on him—“Jake—”
He was bent forward in his chair, staring at the floor, his big bony hands folded across each other.
“Jake…Just a moment, Mr. Bigelow. My husband wants to apologize to you.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said. “I—”
“I know. But he wants to…don’t you, Jake? He knows he made a very foolish mistake, and he wants to apologize for it.”
“That’s right,” Kendall nodded primly. “I’m sure Mr. Winroy is anxious to rectify any misunderstandings which—uh—can be rectified.”
Jake’s head came up suddenly, “Oh, yeah?” he snarled. “Who pulled your chain, grandpa?”
Kendall looked down into the bowl of his pipe. “Your grandparent?” he said, musingly. “I believe that is just about the foulest name anyone ever called me.”
Jake blinked stupidly. Then it registered on him, and he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth like he’d been slapped. All the fight in him, the little he had left, went away again. He looked from Kendall to Fay and then, finally, at me. And I guess mine was about the friendliest face there.
He got up and sagged toward me, a big drained-empty sack of guts. He came toward me, holding out his hand, trying to work up a smile, the sly, sick look of a beaten dog on his face.
And I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, but the flesh crawled on the back of my neck. He’d had too much. He was too beaten. When they get that far gone, you’d better get in the final licks fast.
“S-sorry, lad. Musta had one too many. No hard feelings?” I said it was okay, but he didn’t hear me. He clung to my hand, turning to look at Fay. He stared, frowned puzzledly, then turned back to me again. “Glad to have you here. Anything I can do I—I—I—”
That was as much of his speech as he could remember. He dropped my hand, and looked at her again. She nodded briskly, took him by the arm, and led him out of the room.
They went out to the porch, and the door didn’t quite close; and I heard her say, “Now, you’d better not disappoint me, Jake. I’ve had just about—”
Kendall pushed himself up out of his chair. “Well, Mr. Bigelow. You look rather tired if I may say so.”
“I am,” I said. “I think I’ll turn in.”
“Excellent. I was just about to suggest it. Can’t have you getting sick at a time like this, can we?”
“At a time like this,” I said. “How do you mean?”
“Why”—his eyebrows went up a trifle—“just when you’re on the threshold of a new life. Your schooling and all. I feel that great things are in store for you here if you can just keep your original objective in mind, keep forging ahead toward it despite divertissements of the moment.”
“That’s the secret of your success, huh?” I said.
And he colored a little but he smiled, eyes twinkling. “That, I believe, is what might be called leaving one’s self wide open. The obvious retort—if I cared to stoop to it—would be an inquiry as to the secret of your success.”
We said good night, and he went back to the bakery. I started up the stairs.
Fay had seen Jake off for town or wherever he was going, and was out in the kitchen with Ruth. I stood at the foot of the stairs a moment, listening to her lay down the law in that husky, what-are-you-waiting-on voice. Then I cleared my throat loudly, and went on up to my room.
About five minutes later, Fay came in.
She said there wasn’t a thing to worry about. Kendall and Jake had swallowed the story whole.
“And I’d know if they hadn’t, honey. I was watching, believe you me. They didn’t suspect a thing.”
She was feeling pretty proud of herself. I told her she’d done swell. “Where’s Jake gone?”
“To the liquor store. He’s going to get a fifth of wine, and he’ll probably pick up a couple of drinks in a bar. He damned sure won’t get any more than that. I got all his money away from him but two dollars.”
“Swell,” I said. “That’s my baby.”
“Mmmmm? Even if I do snore?”
“Ahhh, I was kidding. I was sore about that goddamned train ride.”
“We-el, just so you’re sorry—” She leaned against me.
I gave her a poke and a kiss, and pushed her away. “Better beat it, now, baby.”
“I know. I’m just as anxious to be careful as you are, honey.” She reached for the doorknob, then she clapped her hand over her mouth suddenly, stifling a giggle. “Oh, Carl! There’s something I just have to tell you.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Don’t take too long about it.”
“You’ll die laughing. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but she’s just not the kind of person you pay much attention to and—And of course it may have just happened. I—You just won’t believe it, honey! It’s just so—”
“That is funny,” I said. “Better not tell me any more or I’ll be laughing all night.”
“Stinker! Just for that…It’s Ruthie, honey. Would you believe it? I swear to God someone’s gotten to her.”
12
I laughed. I did a pretty good job of it, considering. “No fooling. How did she happen to tell you about it?”
“She didn’t, silly. You can see it. It sticks out all over her.”
“That should be something to see,” I said.
“Crazy!” She buried her head against my chest, giggling. “B-but—but, honestly, Carl! Who in the world would want to…Carl! I bet I know.”
“Yeah?” I said. “I mean, you do?”
“Why, of course. It couldn’t be anyone else. She went home last night. I’ll bet it’s someone in her own family.”
I swallowed. I was relieved, in a way, but I wished she hadn’t said it. I felt shamed, embarrassed.
“They’re…they’re that kind of people?”
“They’re trash. You ought to see how they live! They’ve got about fourteen kids, and—”
“Maybe I ought to tell you,” I said. “There were fourteen children in my family.”
“Oh—” She hesitated, uncomfortably. “Well. Of course, I didn’t mean that—that—”
“Sure. Forget it,” I said.
“But it isn’t the same, Carl. You didn’t just put up with it like they do. You did something about it.”
“Well,” I said. “Isn’t she doing something?”
“Oh, pooh! What good will it do her if she does manage to squeeze through college? Who’s going to give her a job that’s worth having?”
I shook my head. Ruthie looked pretty good to me, but she’d just about have to. She was me, in a way, and I was seeing myself in her.
“…you know I’m right, Carl. She’s trash, stupid, like all the rest of her family. If she really had any brains or guts, she’d—she’d—Well, she’d do something!”
“Well, maybe she’s working on it now. Maybe she’s going to grow herself a gang of kids and put them all out to picking cotton.”
“All right,” she laughed good-naturedly. “I guess my own family didn’t amount to much, for that matter, but I did do—”
/>
“You’d better start doing something else,” I said, “before someone catches you in here.”
She kissed me, patted me quickly on the cheek and slipped out of the room.
I went to bed.
It was only a little after nine when I turned in, and I couldn’t have slept better if I hadn’t had a worry in the world. I woke at six with nine good hours under my belt, the best night’s sleep I’d had since I left Arizona. I had a hangover, but nothing bad. I coughed and spit blood, but nothing bad. That rest had done me a world of good.
Well, anyway, I’d had that much.
I smoked a couple of cigarettes, wondering what I’d better do. Whether I’d better get up and get out on the town—stay away from the house until the others were up. Or whether I should just stay here in my room until they were up.
It would have to be one way or another. Otherwise, unless I missed my guess, I’d have Ruthie on my neck. And all Ruthie was getting from me, from now on, was the cold shoulder. I wasn’t going to get caught alone with her. Any time I saw her, there’d be someone else around. Pretty soon she’d get the idea, and then maybe it would be safe to be friendly with her…just friendly.
…I found a little lunchroom open down near the railroad station and got some coffee. Afterwards, I sauntered back up the street.
It was Sunday—somehow that fact kept slipping in and out of my mind. You know how that is, maybe, when a lot’s been happening to you, and you lay off on days you’re used to working and so on. The church bells were starting to ring, booming out over the town. Practically every business house was closed; nothing was open but a few cigar stands, lunch counters and the like. I began to feel kind of conspicuous.
I stopped at an intersection to let a car go past. But instead of passing it pulled even with me and stopped.
Sheriff Summers rolled the window down and leaned out.
“Hey, there, young feller. Give you a lift?”
He was all duked out in a hard-boiled collar and a blue serge suit. There was a hatchet-faced dame with him—a dame in a stiff black satin dress and a hat that looked like a lamp shade. I took off my hat and smiled at her, wondering why some dairy hadn’t snapped her up to sour their cream for them.
“What about the lift?” he said, shaking hands. “ ’Spect you’re headin’ for church, eh? Glad to take you t’ any one you say.”
“Well,” I hesitated. “As a matter of fact, I’m not a—I’ve never affiliated—”
“Just lookin’ around, huh? Well, come on and go with us.”
I went around to the other side, and he started to open the front door. I opened the back door, and climbed in…How dumb can you be anyway? How little can you know about women? Muss ’em up when they’ve got their clothes off, that’s my motto. When they’re dressed up—maybe in the only good thing they’ve got—give them room.
He drove on. I cleared my throat. “I don’t believe I’ve met your—is it your daughter, sheriff?”
“Huh?” He looked up into the rear-view mirror, startled. Then, he gave her a poke in the ribs with his elbow. “You hear that, Bessie? He thinks you’re my daughter.”
“And who am I, pray tell?”
“Why—uh—my wife.”
“Thank you. I was afraid you’d forgotten.”
She half turned in the seat, brushing at the place where he’d poked her, and the way she looked then she wouldn’t have stood a chance at that milk-souring job.
“Thank you for the compliment, young man. It’s about the first one I’ve had since Bill came home from the war. World War One, that is.”
“Aw, now, Bessie. I ain’t that—”
“Be quiet. Mr. Bigelow and I are thoroughly disgusted with you, aren’t we, Mr. Bigelow? There is nothing he can say that we care to hear.”
“Not a thing,” I grinned. “That’s an awfully pretty hat you’re wearing, Mrs. Summers.”
“Do you hear that, Your Highness? Did you hear what this gentleman said about my hat?”
“Well, heck, Bessie. It does look kinda of like a lamp—”
“Hush. Just be quiet, and Mr. Bigelow and I will try to ignore you.”
They kept it up all the way to church, and practically up to the door. And they seemed to enjoy it in a way, but I wondered if they wouldn’t have enjoyed some other way better. I mean, arguing is arguing, and quarreling is quarreling, and it’s still that regardless of how you laugh and kid around about it. You don’t do it unless something is eating on you. You don’t do it when things are like they should be.
I opened the car door for her and helped her out…and she looked at him. I took her elbow and helped her up the steps of the church…and she looked at him. I stood aside at the door and let her go in first…and she looked at him.
We stayed through Sunday school and church, and you probably know a lot more about those things than I do, so I won’t describe them to you. It was better than wandering around the street. It was as good a way as any of killing the morning. I felt safe and peaceful, like a guy has to feel if his brain is going to work at its best. I sang and prayed and listened to the sermon—just sort of letting my mind wander. Letting it go where it wanted to. And by the time church was over, I had it. I’d figured out how I was going to kill Jake Winroy.
Not completely, you understand. There were a few details to iron out, my alibi and setting him up and so on. But I knew they’d come to me.
Mrs. Summers glanced at me as we went back up the aisle together. “Well, young man. You’re looking very happy.”
“I’m glad you let me come with you,” I said. “It’s done me a lot of good.”
They stopped at the door to shake hands with the minister, and she introduced me. I told him his sermon had been very inspiring…which it was. I’d doped out the plan for Jake while he was spieling.
We started on out to the car, she and I walking together and the sheriff trailing along behind.
“I was wondering, Mr. Big—Oh, I think I’ll call you, Carl. If you don’t mind.”
“I wish you would,” I said. “What were you wondering, Mrs. Summers?”
“I was going to ask you if—” We’d reached the curb, and she turned and motioned impatiently. “Oh, do come on, Bill. You’re slower than molasses in January. I was about to ask Carl to come home to dinner with us.”
“Yeah?” he said. “How come? I mean—uh—you were?”
Her mouth tightened. Untightened. I think she was just about to open up on him when he headed her off.
“Well, fine, great!” He clapped me on the back. “Tickled to death to have you, son. Meant to ask you myself.”
He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even halfway like the idea. He could take me to church, sure. But to take me into his home—pal up with me—when there was any kind of a chance that I might mean trouble…
There was something about me that bothered him. There was something he wasn’t quite satisfied about.
“Thanks very much,” I said. “I don’t think I’d better today. They’re expecting me at the house, and I’ve got a lot of things to get ready for school and—and all.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” he nodded. “Well, if you can’t make it, you can’t…guess we’ll have to eat by ourselves, Bessie.”
“You,” she said. “I’ll swear, Bill Summers, I—I—!”
“Now, what’d I do? I asked him, didn’t I? You heard him say he couldn’t come. Didn’t I”—he turned to me—“Didn’t you say you couldn’t come?”
“Hush. You’re impossible. Utterly impossible…Carl, I’d ask you to let us drive you home, but I imagine His Highness would find some way to keep you from accepting.”
“Now, I wouldn’t neither! Heck, I—why’d I do a thing like that?”
“Why do you do anything, pray tell?”
It was getting embarrassing. I put a stop to it. I said I honestly couldn’t take dinner with them today—maybe some other time—but I would appreciate a ride home.
Neither of them said an
ything until we reached the house. Then, while I was thanking them and saying good morning, he squinted at the coupe pulled in at the gutter.
“Hey,” he frowned, “that’s Doc Dodson’s car, ain’t it? You got some sick folks here, son?”
“Not that I know of,” I said. “I left the house before anyone was up this morning.”
“Must be someone sick. Doc wouldn’t be payin’ no social calls on the Winroys. Wonder who it could be?”
“Why don’t you go in and ask?” Mrs. Summers glared at him. “Shake hands with all of them. Call them all by their first names. Ask about their families. Never mind about me, or how I—”
He jammed the car into gear, cutting her off. “I’m goin’, ain’t I? Doggone it, can’t you see I’m goin’?…son, I’m—I—”
I hopped out fast. He drove off, the engine roaring, and I went up the walk and into the house.
Fay met me in the hall. She was breathless. The reddish-brown eyes blazed with fear against the dead white of her face. I looked past her, into the dining room.
Ruth was in there. Ruth and Kendall and Jake and a potbellied, bald-headed little guy I knew was a doctor. Jake was sprawled on the floor on his back, and the doctor was stooped down over him, holding a stethoscope to his chest.
Fay whispered to me, her lips barely moving.
“His wine. Poisoned. Doped. Did you—?”
13
I pushed past her, flipping my fist against her groin. Goddammit, of course she was scared, but she didn’t need to hang a sign on me. She followed me into the dining room and stood beside me. I moved away from her, over between Kendall and Ruth.
Jake’s eyes were closed. He was mumbling, rolling his head from side to side. The doc leaned back, letting the stethoscope swing free, and frowned down at him.
He picked up Jake’s wrist and felt the pulse. He let the hand drop back to the floor.
“Hold still,” he said curtly.
“…Slee-py…s-so—” Jake kept on rolling his head, breathing in great shuddering breaths “…S-save me…l-lookit…w-wine—”