“Dan! Stop that! Ouch, goddammit! Stop that!”
I let go. I’d left a pretty good set of teethmarks on her can. “Any more suggestions?” I asked her.
“Of all the—” She rubbed at her bottom tenderly. “Goddammit, that hurt!”
“It was your idea,” I said, taking a pull at the beer bottle.
“Can I have some?” she asked me after a minute or so. She sounded like a little girl.
“If you promise not to throw it at me.”
“I’ll be good.”
I gave her the bottle, and she took a drink. “Oh, Danny, how could you? All that beautiful story about letting them put you in prison for a principle. It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
“Are you ready to listen now?”
“I believed in you, Danny.”
“You want to hear this?”
“I really believed in you.”
I got up and walked on out to the living room.
After a minute she came padding out, still rubbing at her bare fanny. Her little soldiers were still at attention. She was just as cute as hell.
“All right. Let’s hear it,” she said.
“First off,” I said, plunking myself on the couch. “I’m not a GI—not anymore anyway.”
“You’ve deserted!” she squealed, sitting down beside me.
“No, dear. I was discharged—honorably.”
“You mean you didn’t even—”
“Hush,” I said, “I was drafted. I thought it all over, and I went ahead and went in. I spent eighteen months in Germany.”
“Germany!”
I kissed her—hard. Our teeth clacked together. “Now I’m going to do that every time you interrupt me,” I told her.
“But—”
I did it again. It was kind of fun.
“I did not run off to Canada. I did not go to Leavenworth. I did nor go to Nam. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t help anybody kill anybody. I drank a lot of German beer. I looked at a lot of castles and museums. Then I came home.”
“But how—”
I kissed her again.
“Not so hard—” she said, her fingertips touching her mouth tenderly.
“All right. Now, on my first night back from the land of Wiener schnitzels, you and Joan braced me down on Pacific Avenue with a fistful of pamphlets—we chatted a minute or two. That’s how I came to know your names.”
She looked at me, her eyes widening suddenly.
“At the theater last night,” I went on, “there were some people I didn’t want to talk to, so when I saw you and Joan, I just moved in on you with the first silly-ass story that came into my head. After that, things just got out of hand. I did try to get away several times. You’ll have to admit that.”
“Can I talk?” she asked.
“Go ahead,” I told her. “End of explanation.”
“Once we got away from the others—I mean, once we got here, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because, little one, you are an extremely good-looking, well-constructed, female-type person. You are also, and I hope you’ll forgive my saying this, just a wee bit hooked on things political. I wasn’t about to take a chance on losing the old ballgame just for the sake of clearing up a few minor misconceptions. I’m probably as honest as the next guy, but I’m not a nut about it.”
“Danny?”
“Yes?”
“Do you really think I’m—what you said—good-looking?”
I laughed and gathered her into my arms. I kissed her vigorously about the head and neck. “You’re a doll,” I told her.
Later, back in bed, she nudged me with her elbow.
“Hmmm?”
“Danny, if you ever tell Joan that you haven’t been in prison, I’ll kill you. I’ll just kill you.”
“Watch that, my little nasturtium of nonviolence. That kind of talk could get you chucked out of the Peace Movement right on your pretty, pink patootie.”
“Piss on the Peace Movement!” she said bluntly. “This is serious. Don’t ever dare tell Joan. I’d be the laughingstock of the whole campus. Do you know that I turned down a date with the captain of the football team because I thought he was politically immature? I’ve got a reputation to maintain on campus, so you keep your goddamn mouth shut!”
I howled with laughter. “We’ve got to do something about your vocabulary,” I told her.
“To hell with my vocabulary! Now I want you to promise.”
“All right, all right. Put the gun away. My lips are sealed. Whenever I’m around Joan I’ll be an ex-con. I’ll flout my prison record in everybody’s face. But it’s gonna cost you, kid.”
“Well, it’s the only way I’ll be able to hold up my head,” she explained.
After I drove her back to the campus and made a date for that night, I went on downtown to buy myself some clothes. A lot of my old things that I’d picked up the day before were too tight now—and probably a little out of date, though I really didn’t much give a damn about that. I didn’t want to go overboard on clothes, but I did need a few things.
I had a fair amount of cash, the four hundred from the poker game, three hundred in mustering-out pay, and I’d religiously saved twenty-five a month while I was in the Army—about six hundred dollars there when I got out. I had maybe thirteen hundred altogether. The car and the rent and my share of the hunt and some walking-around money took me down to under a grand, but I figured I was still OK.
It was kind of nice to go into the stores and try on the new-smelling clothes. I got a couple pair of slacks and a sport jacket, some shirts and ties and a couple pair of shoes—nothing really fancy.
About one o’clock, I bagged on back out to the Avenue and dropped into Sloane’s pawnshop. Sloane had a lot of new stuff in it as well as the usual sad, secondhand junk. I thought I could see the influence of Claudia there. I kind of halfway hoped she’d be there so I could see her again.
“Hey, Dan,” Sloane said, “be right with you.” He turned back to the skinny, horse-faced guy he’d been talking to. “I’m sure sorry, friend,” he said, “but five dollars is as high as I can go. You saw the window—I’ve got wristwatches coming out my ears.”
“But I aint tryin’ to sell it,” the man objected with a distinct, whining Southern drawl. “I’d be in here first thing on payday to get it back. I jus’ gotta have ten anyway. Y’see, m’car broke down and I had a feller fix it fer me, and now he won’t give it back to me ’lessen I give ’im at least part of the money. That’s why I just gotta have ten for the watch anyway.”
“I’m just as sorry as I can be, friend, but I just can’t do a thing for you on that watch.”
“I noticed the prices you got on them watches in the window,” the man said accusingly. “I didn’t see no five-dollar watches out there.”
Suddenly I remembered another five-dollar watch not too long ago.
“I’m really sorry, friend,” Sloane said, “But I just don’t think you and I can do business today.”
“That there’s a semdy-fi’-dollar watch,” the man said holding it out at Sloane and shaking it vigorously, “an’ all I want is for you to borrow me ten fuckin’ dollars on it for about ten measly little ol’ days. Now I think that’s mighty damn reasonable.”
“It could very well be, friend, but I just can’t do ’er.”
“Well, mister, I’m agonna tell you som’thin’. They’s just a whole lotta these here pawnshops in this here little ol’ town. I think I’ll jus’ go out and find me one where they don’t try to screw a feller right into the damn ground.”
“It’s a free country, friend,” Sloane said calmly.
“You just ain’t about to get no semdy-fi’-dollar watch off’n me for no five measly fuckin’ dollars. I’ll tell you that right now. And I can shore tell you one thing—you ain’t gonna get no more o’ my business. And I’m shore gonna tell all the fellers in my outfit not to give you none o’ their business neither. It’ll be a cold day in hell when anybody from the H
unnerd-and-Semdy-First Ree-con Platoon comes into this stingy little ol’ place!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, friend.”
“Sonnabitch!” the man growled and stomped out of the shop.
Sloane looked at me and giggled. “I get sonofabitched and motherfuckered more than any eight other businessmen on the block,” he said. “Stupid damned rebels! If that shit kicker paid more than fifteen for that piece of junk, then he really got screwed right into the ground.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Doesn’t do any good. They’d a helluva lot rather believe that I’m trying to cheat them than that somebody else already has. That way they’re smart, and I’m the one who’s stupid.”
“That’s a GI for you.”
“Yeah. He’s got all the makings of a thirty-year man. Chip on his shoulder instead of a head. What can I do for you?”
“I thought I’d look over your guns.”
“Sure—right over there in the rack behind the counter. Gonna decide which one to take on the hunt, huh?”
“No, I thought I might buy one, if we can get together.”
“Well, now. A real cash customer.” He hustled on ahead of me to the rack. “Here’s a good-looking .270,” he said, handing me a well-polished, scope-mounted job.
“Little rich,” I said, looking at the price tag.
“I can knock fifteen off that,” he said.
‘No. Thanks all the same, Cal, but what I’ve really got in mind is an old Springfield .30-06 military. That’s a good cartridge, and I’ve got a little time to do some backyard gunsmithing.”
“Just a minute,” he said, scratching his chin. “I think I might have just the thing.” He led me back into the storage room and pulled a beat-up-looking rifle down off the top shelf. He looked at the tag attached to the trigger guard and then ripped it off. “I thought so,” he said. “It’s two weeks past due. That bastard won’t be back.” He handed me the gun. “I’ll let you have that one for thirty-five dollars. It’s a real pig the way it sits, but if you want to take a little time to fix it up, you’ll have a good weapon.”
I took it out into the shop where the light was better and checked the bore. It looked clean, no corrosion. The stock was a mess. Some guy had cut down the military stock and then had painted it with brown enamel. The barrel still had the lathe marks on it. I glanced at the receiver and saw that it had been tapped and drilled for a scope. The bolt and safety had been modified.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll take it.”
Sloane had been following my eyes, and his smile was a little sick. He hadn’t noticed the modifications before he’d quoted me the price. I wrote him a check and tucked the gun under my arm. “Pleasure doing business with you, Calvin,” I said.
“I think I just got screwed,” he said ruefully.
“Win a few, lose a few, Cal baby,” I said, patting his cheek. “See you around. Don’t take any semdy-fi’-dollar watches.”
A man creates a certain amount of stir walking up the street with a rifle under his arm, but I kind of enjoyed it. I put the gun on the floor in the back seat of my car and went on down a couple blocks to the gunsmith’s shop. I bought a walnut stock blank, scope mounts, sling-swivels, a sling, a used four-power scope, some do-it-yourself bluing, and a jar of stock finish. Altogether, it cost me another forty dollars. I figured I’d done a good day’s business, so I went into a tavern and had a beer.
About an hour or so later the phone rang and the bartender answered it. He looked up and down the bar. “I don’t know him,” he said, “just a minute.” He raised his voice. “Is Dan Alders here?”
It always gives me a cold chill to be paged in a public place—I don’t know why. It took me a moment to answer. “Yeah,” I said, “that’s me.”
It was Jack. “You gonna be there a while?” he asked.
“I suppose.”
“Sit tight then. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. I got somebody I want you to meet, OK?”
“Sure,” I said. “How’d you find me?”
“I called Sloane. He said he could see your car, so I figured you might be at a water hole. I just called all the joints on the Avenue.”
“Figures,” I said.
“Say,” he said, his voice sounding guarded, “didn’t you have a tomato over at your pad last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Pick her up at that foreign flick?”
“Sure,” I said. I thought I’d rub him a little. “There was one there for you, too—a blonde, about five eight, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six, I’d say. I threw her back.”
“You son of a bitch!” he moaned. “Don’t waste ’em, for Chrissake.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t like foreign flicks,” I told him.
“Not a word about any other women when I get there with this girl, OK?”
“Sure.”
About half an hour later, Jack came in with a tall, very attractive brunette. He waved me over to a booth and ordered a pitcher and three glasses.
“Dan,” he said, “this is Sandy. You remember—I told you about her. Sandy, this is my long-lost brother, Dan.”
“Hello, Dan,” she said quietly, not really looking at me. She seemed frozen, somehow indifferent to everything around her. She concentrated on her cigarette.
“Hey,” Jack said, “I hear you broke it off in Sloane.”
“He quoted the price,” I said a little smugly, “I didn’t”
“He claims he could have got fifty bucks for that gun.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “It’s a pretty butchered-up piece.”
“What do you want it for if it’s such a junker?”
“I’m going to rework it. New stock, dress down the barrel, and so forth, and it should be a pretty fair-looking rifle.”
“Sounds like a lot of work to me,” he said dubiously.
“I’ve got lots of time.” I shrugged.
We went on talking about guns and the hunt. Sandy didn’t say much. I glanced at her from time to time. She seemed withdrawn and seldom looked up. She was quite a nice-looking girl. I wondered how she’d gotten tangled up with a son of a bitch like my brother. Her hair was very dark and quite long—almost as long as Clydine’s, but neater. She had long lashes which made her eyes seem huge. She seemed to smoke a helluva lot, I noticed. Other than lighting cigarettes, she hardly moved. There was an odd quality of frozen motion about her—as if she had just stopped. She bugged me. When I looked at her, it was like looking into an empty closet. There wasn’t anything there. It was like she was already dead.
“Hey,” Jack said, “did you pick up that pistol the other day in Seattle?”
“Yeah, it’s over at the trailer.”
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to take along a handgun, too. There are bears up there, and you know what Mike was saying.”
So we kicked that idea around for a while. We had another pitcher of beer.
Sandy kept smoking, but she still didn’t say much.
9
I worked—off and on—at the gun all the next week, and by Saturday it was beginning to take shape. I did most of the work over at Mike’s since he had a vise and a workbench in his garage. Also, it was a good place to get away from Clydine’s three-hour-long telephone calls. I began to wish that classes would start so she’d have something to keep her busy.
I had the shape of the rifle stock pretty well roughed in, and I was working on the metal. I’d filed off the front sight, and now I was taking the lathe marks off the barrel with emery cloth—a very long and tedious job.
Betty was feeling punk, and I was checking in on her now and then to see if she was OK. She had a recurrent kidney problem that had Mike pretty worried. She’d had to spend a week in the hospital with it that spring, and he was afraid it might crop up again.
I was about ready to start polishing on the barrel with fine-grade emery cloth when Betty called me from the back door. I made i
t in about two seconds flat.
“Are you OK?” I demanded breathlessly.
“Oh, it’s not me”—she laughed—“I’m fine.”
“Please,” I said, “don’t do that anymore. I like to had a coronary.”
“You’ve got a phone call.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! How did she find the number?” I grabbed up the phone. “Now look, you little clothhead, I’m busy. I can’t spend all day—”
“Hey.” It was Jack. “What’s got you so frazzled?”
“Oh. Sorry, Jack, I thought it was that dizzy little broad again. I swear she spends at least six hours a day on the horn. I’m starting to get a cauliflower ear just listening to her.”
“Why don’t you do something about it?”
“I am,” I said, “I’m hiding.”
He laughed. “Could you do me a favor?”
“I suppose. What?”
“I’m over here at Sloane’s pawnshop sittin’ in for him. He said he was going to be back, but he just called and said he was tied up. I’ve got some stuff at the cleaners on Thirty-eighth Street—you know the place. They close at noon today, and if I don’t get that stuff outta there, I’ll be shit out of luck until Monday. You think you could make it over there before they close?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m about due to take a beer break anyway. Will you be at the shop?”
“Yeah, I’ll stick around till you get here. Sloane ought to be back before then, but you can’t depend on him.”
“OK,” I said, “I’ll crank up and bag on over there—on Thirty-eighth Street?”
“Yeah—you know the place. Right across from that beer joint with the shuffleboard.”
“Oh. OK.”
“Thanks a lot, buddy. You saved my bacon.”
“Sure. See you in a bit.”
I made sure that Betty was feeling OK and then took off. My hands were getting a little sore anyway.
The weather had begun to break, and it was one of those cloudy, windy days we get so often in Tacoma. It’s the kind of day I really like—cool, dry, windy, with a kind of pale light and no shadows. I made it to the cleaners in plenty of time and then swung over onto South Tacoma Way.