CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HIS RELIEF WAS SO INTENSE, IT SWAMPED HIM. HE COULDN’T believe it. He just stood there staring at two new tires, grinning. Todd broke into a grin in return.

“How long will it take to get them on the car?” Ron asked.

“Well,” he said rubbing his chin, “my man just went out for lunch. But as soon as he gets back, I’ll send him right over. I’d say no later than three o’clock.”

“Fine,” Ron breathed.

“If you’ll step inside, I’ll write you out a bill. Save you some time that way. You pay my man after the job’s done.”

“All right.”

Todd shifted the heavy gasoline can he held from one hand to the other and walked. He held the screen door open with his leg as he turned the heavier inner doorknob; the door disengaged and swung open. “Come on in.”

Ron stood before the door, unable to move; a cot was now sprawled open in the center of the office, sheets and pillows were tossed sloppily on the floor; at the edge of a chair hung shirts and a pair of trousers; the office reeked of rotting flesh.

“Had a fight with my wife,” Todd said. He put the gasoline can down beside the desk. “My new home for a while.”

Ron bravely stepped inside and looked at the empty cot. The foul odor dissipated quickly, mixed with the pungent aroma of gasoline. He moved forward and hesitantly stood before the desk.

“Sit down, for Chrissakes!” Todd laughed.

Almost before Ron had settled into the chair, Todd handed him an ice cold beer. “Heard from Mimi today?”

“What?” Ron looked up.

“Helen Hager, she’s got a tongue like a snake. Keeps wiggling. We thought about cutting her head off, but she’d probably keep on talking through her ass. You know how telephone operators are.”

“Yeah.”

“This Mimi sure seems anxious to reach you.”

“I know.”

“Bet that Girl Friday of yours has got you near bankruptcy by this time.”

Ron shook his head. “Not really. She does a good job.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Todd laughed. “Comes that time of the month when they get the curse, all women get crazy. You can’t trust them. Any of them.”

Both men paused to drink. The beer felt strange in Ron’s throat and tasted like... what? He looked at Todd’s smiling face.

“A little scotch never hurt no one. Adds to the flavor. Well, over the river and through the trees, as they say.” He took a large swallow.

Ron merely sipped, then put the can down on the desk. “I, ah—it’s late. I have to be getting back to the house.”

“What’s your hurry? Stick around for a while.”

“I really can’t. I still haven’t packed.”

Todd sighed heavily. “Well, if you can’t, you can’t.”

“I’m sorry to be in such a rush.”

“Ya,” he said shortly.

Ron got the message. Todd was pissed that he was leaving so soon. Bad etiquette, no doubt, something that good old boys did not do: sip a cold beer on the house and finish it on the run. He watched Todd drop into the chair behind the desk where he started scribbling on a pad, his head lowered.

“Your wife ever ask you about Cynthia Harris?” Todd mumbled without looking up.

“No, why should she?” Ron replied evenly without missing a beat.

“Well...” The man’s lips broke into a tight grin. “Cynthia and you—it was pretty obvious.”

“What was obvious?”

“That you two rolled in the hay a few times together. Oh, don’t worry about it. Lou doesn’t suspect anything. None of us thought we should tell him. Shit, if he can’t keep track of his daughter, it’s none of our business.”

Ron, who was now really unable to sit still or to pretend any longer that he was unaffected by Todd’s words sprang to his feet. “What are you?” he asked.

Todd stared at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, sure—you don’t understand. No one in this goddamn town seems to understand anything when asked a question. What is it you want from me?”

“Funny,” Todd said rising to his feet. “Funny how I never thought of that before, somehow. I thought you wanted something from me.”

Without warning he jerked a small fish-knife from the rack and, reaching into the cooler, lifted out a plastic bag of fish. Almost before Ron knew what Todd was doing, it was done. Todd had beheaded one of the fish and had ripped it open to the vent and had begun cleaning it with short, skillful strokes.

Now he cut off the tail and, drawing the blade toward him with little vicious strokes, severed the fins. “You like fish?” he asked.

“Look, I’m sorry. All I want to do is get on my way.”

“I can understand that,” he said, scraping the scales off the fish. “So, you’ve lost a few days’ vacation. Not my fault, is it? People always taking their troubles out on other people.” He turned and dropped the fish into the sink in the bathroom. “Your bill’s on the desk. Like I said, pay the man when the job is done.”

Ron couldn’t resist asking, “What makes you so positive I was with Cynthia Harris?”

“Well,” he said simply, “that’s what the sheriff said. Now if you’re calling Earl Nash a liar...”

“Just what is it he told you?”

“You want it word for word? Okay. He said Cynthia came and got him. Told him you were passed out in the small room behind the pavilion. When he got there, sure enough—you were out cold on the couch. Naked as a jaybird. When he asked Cynthia about it, she told him you two were... making love,” he said with a cynical smile, “and then, right in the middle of it, you passed out.”

Ron peered at him closely, at the leathery lines in his face. “How was that possible? I’d only gotten into town that night. I didn’t even know Cynthia Harris then.”

“Then? So you admit, at least, that you did get to know her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s plain to see.” He shrugged. “Look, you don’t have to defend yourself to me, Mr. Talon. All the rest of the world goes after things, hog-wild and feverish. It’s a disease—and everyone is sick with it, with generations of it. The trick is not to feel guilty about it... enjoy it. As long as you can still get it sweet and tender, why not enjoy it?”

Ron turned with a start when the screen door slammed sharply behind him.

“Oh, you’re back,” Todd said. “You bring me anything?”

“Burger,” the boy answered, chewing. He was small boned, thin, no more than twelve. His jet black hair fell limp and greasy over his forehead. His eyes, a deep brown, fixedly stared at Ron.

“What are you eating?” Todd asked.

“Chilidog.”

“You little prick. You know I like chilidogs!”

“Ahhh, I’m sorry; I forgot...”

“Well, don’t forget it again. You’re always forgetting.”

“All right, all right.” He slammed the paper bag down on the desk and dashed into the work area.

“Get those batteries charged!”

“Yeah, yeah...”

Todd shook his head. “Just like his goddamn mother. Hasn’t got the sense he was born with.” He tore the top page from the pad. “I didn’t charge you for changing and mounting the tires. Only for the tires themselves.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, and eased himself out the door. “Thanks again.”