Authors: Castle Freeman
“‘Leave it off,’ he says. It’s Blackway.
“Cynthia’s awake, too. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’ she’s saying, but I shush her. Blackway pays her no attention. He’s talking to me, low, not whispering, but talking low.
“‘You saw that owner.’
“‘That’s right.’
“‘What are you going to do?’
“‘I don’t know.’
“‘I heard you were going to talk to Wingate.’
“‘I thought about it.’
“‘You don’t want to do that,’ Blackway says.
“‘Heidi,’ Cynthia says. ‘Where’s Heidi?’ Heidi’s room’s down the hall from ours. ‘Where’s Heidi?’ Cynthia’s crying. I shush her.
“‘You don’t want to take this any farther,’ Blackway says. ‘You see that, don’t you?’
“‘Yes,’ I say.
“‘Where’s my daughter?’ Cynthia says. ‘Where’s Heidi?’
“‘Here,’ Blackway says. He hands something to her. It’s Heidi’s bear, her doll, like a toy she sleeps with. Blackway has it. He gives it to Cynthia.
“‘You see what you’re into, here, don’t you?’ Blackway asks me.
“‘Yes,’ I say.
“‘You going to talk to Wingate now?’
“‘No,’ I say.
“‘Good,’ Blackway says. He gets up off the bed and stands beside it.
“Cynthia’s crying. Blackway doesn’t say anything. He’s standing there looking down at us. I see him turn in the moonlight, or maybe it’s his shadow on the wall, I don’t know, and then he’s gone. Cynthia gets up and goes to Heidi’s room. She’s asleep. Cynthia comes back to bed. We just lie there the rest of the night. We don’t talk, just lie there. That was Monday night — Tuesday morning. Today is — what?”
“Wednesday,” said Lester.
“Wednesday,” said Fitzgerald.
“You didn’t go to Wingate, then?” Lester asked him.
“Are you serious?” Fitzgerald said.
“’Course, the deputy knows all about this,” said Lester.
“I can’t help that,” said Fitzgerald. “All I can do is shut up. That’s what he told me to do. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Sure,” said Lester.
“What I don’t see,” Fitzgerald said, “is how he ever thought he’d get away with just signing the guy’s name and having us go ahead with the job. How did he think he was going to get away with that?”
“He didn’t,” said Lester.
“He didn’t?”
“No,” said Lester. “He didn’t care about getting away with anything. He didn’t care about people finding out. He wanted them to find out. He cared about making trouble. Trouble is what Blackway’s after.”
“He came in here,” said Fitzgerald. “When we were sleeping. He was on our bed. He was in our little girl’s room.”
“You were lucky,” said Lillian.
“Lucky?” said Fitzgerald. “I was lucky?”
“Take it easy, Fred,” said Lester. “He’s gone.”
“What if he comes back?”
“What if he does?” asked Lester. He nodded at the revolver that lay before them on the table. “You going to shoot him?”
“No,” said Fitzgerald. “I got it out. I don’t know why. Cynthia’s scareder of it than she is of Blackway.”
“Put it away, Fred,” said Lester.
“Okay,” said Fitzgerald.
“You know where he is?” Lester asked Fitzgerald.
“Blackway? God, no. Why ask me?”
“Well,” said Lester. “If we’re going to do anything about him, we’ve got to find him. If we’re going to find him, we’ve got to start somewhere. We’re starting with you.”
“What for?” Fitzgerald asked him. “What do you want with Blackway?”
“Nothing,” said Lester. “It’s her.” He nodded at Lillian.
“What’s she want with Blackway?”
“Wants him to go away,” said Lester. “Ain’t that about it?” he asked Lillian. Lillian nodded.
“To go away?” Fitzgerald asked.
“Blackway’s been tailing her around,” said Lester. “Threatening her. Like.”
“Busted up her car,” said Nate.
“Killed her cat,” said Lester.
“He killed her cat?” Fitzgerald asked. “Jesus, why does she wait? Why doesn’t she take off? Get out of here?”
“Don’t want to, it looks like,” said Lester. “Don’t see why she should.”
“Why she should?” Fitzgerald said. “Jesus. How much more reason does she need?”
“Pistol, this one is,” said Lester.
“Jesus,” said Fitzgerald again. He reached for the bottle. “You want another one?” he asked Lester.
“Where would you go to find Blackway?” Lester asked him.
“No place,” said Fitzgerald. “I told you: I’ve seen enough of Blackway.”
“Fred?”
“You might try over on Diamond,” Fitzgerald said. “There’s a crew just getting done over there. They’re all in with Blackway. If he’s not there, they’ll know where he is.”
“Okay, then,” said Lester.
He rose from his chair. Lillian did the same. Nate had remained standing. When Lillian stood, Fitzgerald’s dog began barking again. Fitzgerald sat at his table, staring at the bottle, at the revolver. He looked like he’d forgotten where he was. His dog yapped and yapped.
“Shut up,” Fitzgerald told the dog.
5
THE ARGUMENT
Nate slammed the truck’s door. He started the engine and looked at Lester.
“We’ll swing by my place,” said Lester.
“Wait a minute,” said Lillian. “I thought we were going after Blackway.”
“We are,” said Lester. “We’ll make a pickup first.”
“What pickup?” Lillian asked. Lester said nothing. “What pickup?” she asked Nate.
Nate didn’t answer. He turned the truck around in Fitzgerald’s yard and started back out his lane to the road.
“Can’t he talk?” Lillian asked Lester.
“Don’t know,” said Lester. “Can you talk?” he asked Nate.
“No,” said Nate.
“How I hate a yappy little dog like that thing Fred has,” Lester said. “Won’t shut up. Good for nothing but noise. Thing is, how did that dog come not to bark at Blackway, I wonder. He barked at us. He barked all the time. He wouldn’t shut up. How did he come not to bark and wake Fred up when Blackway broke in the other night?” He looked at Nate.
“Who?” asked Nate.
“The dog.”
“Don’t know.”
“Well,” said Lester, “everybody says Blackway’s got plenty of moves. Poor Fred, locked up in there drunk as a skunk, with the old warden’s forty-four. What did he think?”
“Blackway won’t be scared off by a gun,” said Lillian.
“I ain’t scared of Blackway,” said Nate.
“You should be,” said Lillian.
“You don’t think we’re up to Blackway, do you?” Lester asked her. “You ain’t got the confidence.”
“You could say that,” said Lillian.
“Confidence,” said Lester. “That’s why we’re going to swing by my place.”
“After that, we go to Blackway?” Lillian asked.
“Well,” said Lester, “by and by.”
“What does that mean?”
“I ain’t worried about Blackway,” said Lester, “much as I’m worried about getting to Blackway.”
“I thought he’s with the loggers,” said Lillian. “In the woods. We’re going there, right? We’ll find him there.”
“We might,” said Lester. “Likely there’ll be a bit more to it than that, though.”
“What more?”
“Well,” said Lester, “Blackway’s got friends.”
“Friends?”
“Call them that.”
“Look,” said Lillian, “I don’t want anything to do with any friends of Blackway’s.”
“You’re the one wants us to take care of Blackway, ain’t you?” Lester asked her. “To take care of him we got to find him. To find him we got to go through them others.”
“What others are you talking about?” Lillian asked him, but nobody answered her. Nate was bringing the truck into the driveway beside Lester’s house.
Lester lived in a tiny hamlet called Boyceville. Boyceville was strung out along the road, seven houses and a barn, nothing else: no post office, no school, no store. The settlement had grown up over the years around the old Boyce farm, as sons and daughters, nephews and nieces, had put up their own places. Evidently the Boyces didn’t like to travel far. In time they learned, however. They were long gone, except for Elvira Percy, a great-granddaughter of one of the Boyces who’d had the farm. The farm was extinct, the barn falling down. There remained the seven houses. Of them, the last one in the collection before you reached the town line was Lester’s.
It was a small bungalow, a flimsy house built on the cheap not quite long enough ago for cheapness to be reliably consistent with quality. Lester and his wife, Irene, had bought it thirty years earlier. He was working in the woods at the time and didn’t put in a lot of effort on his own place. Irene and their girls were the ones who kept the house up. Then more recently, when Irene had at last had enough of Lester and had moved to Florida to live with their older girl, Lester had pretty much let the house go. He didn’t clean, he didn’t paint. He did, however, keep Irene’s little picket fence along the road in good repair. And he kept up, and added to, the collection of whirligigs in the front yard.
These were tin and wooden pinwheels — toys, really — set up on poles to turn in the wind, imitating different actions. There was a flying goose, a flying bumblebee, a man chopping wood, a man rowing a boat, an Indian paddling a canoe, a dog with a wagging tail, a running horse. Clever rigs, in their way. Lester had even contrived a whirligig of a man who dropped his trousers to show his pink behind to the passing motorist. Fifteen or twenty whirligigs stood about Lester’s yard, flailing and jumping in the wind, clattering. Lester made them in his kitchen with a jigsaw he had set up in there. The whirligigs were for sale, and from time to time somebody bought one, but Lester made the things mainly because Irene and their girls had liked them. He was sentimental about Irene and their girls.
Lester left the truck and went to the door of the house and in. Lillian and Nate sat in the truck and waited for him. After a moment Nate reached forward and turned off the engine.
“I’ve always wondered who lived here,” Lillian said.
Nate didn’t say anything.
“Does he have a wife?” Lillian asked him. “A family?”
“Who?” asked Nate.
“Him.” Lillian nodded toward the house. “Lester.”
“Les? Don’t know.”
They watched Lester’s whirligigs pivoting and jerking about in the yard like a clockwork kindergarten.
“Did he make all these things?” Lillian asked Nate.
“Don’t know.”
“If he does have a wife, I feel sorry for her,” said Lillian. “Look at this place.”
Nate didn’t respond. They listened to the whirligigs clacking in the wind. After a moment Lillian asked him, “How old is he?”
“Who?”
“Lester, okay? Your partner. Lester. Lester. Who have we been talking about?”
“Les?” said Nate. “Don’t know. Pretty old.”
“Right,” said Lillian. “Look: Tell me the truth. Can he, can you do this, with Blackway? Really do it?”
Nate didn’t answer her. He watched the whirligigs. After a couple of minutes he spoke again.
“I ain’t scared of Blackway,” said Nate.
Lester came out the side door of his place and around to the truck. He had a long parcel wrapped up in a black plastic trash bag under his arm. He opened the truck’s door, laid his parcel carefully on the floor behind the seat, and got in beside Lillian.
“What’s that?” Lillian asked him.
“Curtain rods,” said Lester.
“Curtain rods?” said Lillian. “It’s a gun, isn’t it? That’s some kind of gun.”
Nate started the truck’s engine and backed it out of Lester’s driveway into the road.
“Curtain rods,” said Lester.
“Wait a minute,” said Lillian. “No guns. Nobody said anything about guns. I don’t want any guns in this.”
“Hold it,” Lester said to Nate.
Nate stopped the truck.
“Turn it off,” said Lester. Nate shut off the engine. They were stopped in the middle of the road. Lester turned to Lillian.
“Okay,” he said, “what is it you want, here?”
“What do you mean, what do I want?”
“From us,” said Lester. “What is it you want us to do for you? About Blackway?”
“Get him to stop what he’s doing,” said Lillian. “Get him to leave me alone.”
“And how do you think we’re going to do that?” Lester asked her. “Are we just going to talk to Blackway? Talk to his friends? Reason with them, with him? Argue Blackway into leaving you alone? Can we do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Lillian. “No. No, you can’t.”
Lester grinned at her and slapped his thigh. “Yes, we can,” he said. “We can reason with Blackway.” He turned to Nate and nodded. Nate started the engine, put the truck in gear, and got them headed around in the road.
“We can so argue with Blackway,” Lester said. He reached down behind the seat and patted the parcel he’d laid on the floor back there.
“This here’s the argument.”
6
SHE LIKES IT HERE
“Kevin Bay,” said Whizzer. “She was Kevin’s girl. She and Kevin lived in a trailer there behind his folks. Past Dead River.”
“She worked,” said D.B. “Where did she work? At the inn, didn’t she?”
“Waiting tables,” said Coop.
“Holds herself pretty high for a waitress, don’t she?” said D.B.
“It seems as though she worked at the school, too, for a while,” said Whizzer.
“She was a teacher?” Conrad asked.
“No,” said Coop. “Some kind of teacher’s helper.”
“Her and her
You people. What’s the matter with you people?
” said D.B. “She’s coming in pretty high for a girl wipes the little kids’ asses at school.”
“She’s a bright girl,” said Whizzer. “She worked at the nursery, too. Worked for Edie, there. Edie thought the world of her. No, she’s a bright girl. Hard worker. Good thing, too.”
“Good thing, with Kevin,” said Coop.
“What I meant, wasn’t it?” said Whizzer.
“Her boyfriend?” asked Conrad.
“Kevin was no prize, put it that way,” D.B. said.
“I don’t know about that,” said Whizzer. “In school he was. Nobody ever said Kevin wasn’t smart. Quick. Teachers wanted him to apply to college.”
“Can you go to college in jail?” asked Coop.
“That’s the thing,” said D.B. “Kevin was smart, all right. He was too smart. He was the kind of smart that thinks everybody else is dumb.”