And everybody would be dead.
Anybody could be on the other side of that hill, I thought, as we approached it now. If he’d heard what I said, he didn’t let on.
We were going far too fast for me to jump. And if I reached over for the key he might flip the car, accidentally or on purpose, it didn’t matter.
For the first time, as the Edsel started up the base of the hill, the stroke of the motor sounded slightly labored.
“Get on the right side of the road!” I screamed at him.
He glanced at me. No expression. None at all. Then a grin. “Hang on, Sam. Hang on!”
We went up the hill at 106 mph, all he could get out of the car on this steep a climb.
Still the wrong side of the road. Still the grin on his face. For just this moment, he was his Uncle Ken.
No boring Chamber of Commerce luncheons. No more high school football booster-club meetings. No more slavish ass-kissing of old money who felt he’d married his way into respectability. He was his own man now, and a dangerous man at that. I could sense the power in his hands and arms, muscles clawing and stretching just below his skin. Certainly that power was in the madness of the sharp blue gaze and the burry rasp of the voice.
I saw the car before he did. At least, I was the one to scream first.
Coming right at us. Doing a good 70 or itself.
Long drab Buick.
Wind-numb face. Heart tearing at the prison of my chest wall. Feeling five years old. Totally helpless.
Head on, it was going to be.
We were close enough now to see the Buick driver’s face. Neatly combed white hair.
Rimless eyeglasses. Small white hands on the steering wheel. Panic just starting to explode his facial composure.
“Keys!” I yelled. “Get over! Get over!”
He screamed.
The moment was gone. He was no longer his Uncle Ken.
He was the somewhat silly, somewhat stuffy man who always said way too much and way too little, who always told the corniest of jokes and found no setting inappropriate to selling you a car. I’d seen him whip out his deal notebook in the back of a funeral home while a wake was in progress.
He was that man again, and he was scared shitless.
He yanked the car into the proper lane. He was a good driver. He knew not to even touch the brakes. To simply put all his strength and concentration inffcontrolling the passage of the car at this speed. His foot lifted off the accelerator.
We were coasting. At around 100 mph.
Neither of us said anything. I don’t think I could have. My entire body was shaking. I very badly needed to deal with my bladder. I was relieved and angry, and then-z the car began to slow significantly, as the shapes all around me fell into familiar place again-I was just relieved.
When we were at 60, he said, “I’m sorry.”
I just stared out at the countryside. I wanted to spend the autumn-smoky afternoon up in the hills with the horses. Maybe take Mary up there on a picnic.
“You hear me, Sam? I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
“I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“I’ve always wanted to be reckless like that.”
“Well, you made it.”
We were coming into a small town named Byrum.
A Texaco station was just ahead. “I could use a pit stop.”
“So could I.”
He pulled into the station. It had recently been painted. You could still smell the paint. It was a friendly smell. He used the can first. I went inside and bought some Luckies.
The station man was a balding wiry guy with a pair of gleaming false teeth. “Mind if I go check out the car?” he said, as he gave me my smokes and change.
“Fine.”
“Didn’t get over to see one. I hear old Henry Ford’d be shittin’ bricks if he ever seen a car like this one.”
He went out and started inspecting it.
Keys came out of the john, which was located on the side of the station. He walked up to the front door and said, “Your turn.”
“I need your keys.”
“My keys?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Then his face showed recognition. “You think I might drive off?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“I could’ve killed us back there. And I didn’t.”
“I still need the keys.”
“God, I don’t believe this.”
“The keys, Dick. Now.”
“I just don’t believe this!”
“Yeah, I know. You said that already.”
“You think you know somebody and then look what happens. The guy don’t even trust you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You think you know somebody and he ends up killing two people.” I lit a Lucky. Put out my hand palm up. “The keys.”
He shoved his hand in his trouser pocket. I expected to see the keys. What I saw was a small. 38.
The station man was back. Keys stood off and waved him inside.
“I got about twenty-three bucks in there is all, mister,” he said to Keys.
“Shut up,” Keys said.
“You never told me why you killed them, Dick,” I said.
“Why?”
He shrugged. He looked sad and scared.
Panic had taken over. “He’d misspent his inheritance and needed money badly. He was my lawyer. He knew about the girl. He knew if it got out it would destroy my marriage and my career. He wanted more and more money.” I noticed he used pronouns instead of specific names.
“What’s he talking about?” the station man said.
“Just let him talk,” I said.
“His wife was the real mother. She started sneaking out to see the girl. You know, just as a friend.
I knew she’d tell her the truth someday. And my wife would find out.” His tears were shocking.
“All that woman wanted from me was to love her, and I couldn’t do it. It just wasn’t in me. I respected her and liked her and even probably cherished her in a way. But I couldn’t love her and I’ve made her miserable. I just couldn’t disgrace her too.”
“You kidnapped Mary?”
“I didn’t have any choice. Susan had her send off for Ellie’s birth certificate-Susan didn’t want her name involved-and after I killed Susan, Mary figured things out.
She brought me the birth certificate and said I should turn myself in. So I grabbed her. I was going to kill her too-but I couldn’t, somehow. I just couldn’t.”
“Give me the gun, Dick.”
“Save your breath, Sam. I’m leaving.”
“The gun.”
I saw the station man glancing at the cash register. Probably had a small handgun of his own in there. I said, “Forget about it.”
