The man rang it up and said, “That’ll be thirty-nine cents.”
Alfred still couldn’t say anything. He froze for what seemed an eternity. He felt like an actor who had forgotten his lines. To cover his discomfiture he reached for his wallet.
“Gonna get some rain tonight.” The man waited patiently for him to produce his money.
Alfred had been driving through light rain part of the day. He nodded and fumbled with his wallet. He pulled out his last dollar bill and handed it to the man. He felt a sense of relief. Maybe he would just pay for the potato chips and leave. The man probably ran the store with his wife. He had a family. He wasn’t rich. He couldn’t afford to lose his day’s receipts. He was just trying to keep the wolf from the door.
The man opened the drawer of the cash register. He took out coins for change. Alfred saw the bills stacked neatly by denomination. There was enough money there to last him for a week. He needed that money.
He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take it all.”
“Pardon?” The man turned his head toward him.
He reached his hand toward Alfred with the coins. Alfred had mumbled, and the man apparently hadn’t understood him-or he had pretended not to understand him. Alfred could still take the coins and get out of there. No harm done. But he was hungry, and it was getting cold outside. He needed to find a place to stay.
He jerked the gun out of his pocket and said, “Give me all your bills.”
The man looked at the gun and then at Alfred’s face. His eyes widened, but he didn’t show any other emotion. He carefully scooped the bills out of each of the containers, his hands trembling a little. He placed them together in a single stack and handed them to Alfred.
That was easy. “Underneath. Lift the tray.” Alfred made a lifting gesture with his hands.
The man lifted the tray. There were checks underneath, but no bills. Alfred didn’t want the checks. He had the cash. He needed to get out of there. But first he would tell the man to lie on the floor and not move for ten minutes, so he wouldn’t see Alfred’s car.
Before he could do that, the man said, “I’ve got more money in the safe under here.”
He stooped, facing the counter in front of Alfred. Alfred hadn’t thought to ask about a safe. He couldn’t see what the man was doing, but he could hear a noise that might be the turning of the dial of a combination lock. He looked nervously at the entrance to the store and hoped the man would hurry.
There was a click and a creak that must be the door of the safe swinging open. The man looked as if he were reaching inside. Then he started to stand up. Alfred leaned forward over the counter and saw a glint of metal. He pulled the trigger of his gun without meaning to. Reflex.
The sharp noise of the shot startled Alfred. His safety had been off. He looked at his gun, not believing that he had really fired it. The man groaned and disappeared from view. For a split second Alfred stood there. Then, heart pounding, he shoved the gun into his jacket pocket. He took two quick steps around the end of the counter and looked down at the man. He was lying on the floor, clutching his chest. Red blood pulsed from between his fingers. His expression as he tried to focus on Alfred was accusing.
Alfred ran for the entrance. He banged his shoulder into the door to open it. He stumbled and then raced for his car, ignoring his sore calves. He opened the door with one hand, slid onto the seat, and threw the bills down with his other hand. He turned the key. The car started with a roar as he depressed the accelerator.
Suddenly he knew he was going to vomit. He opened the door and leaned over the asphalt, heaving his guts out. Some of the odiferous mess didn’t make it to the ground. It ended up in the car. He continued to retch long after his stomach was empty. Sweat poured down his face, and he felt as if he were burning up.
Finally the retching stopped. He sat for a minute, trying to control his breathing and his heartbeat. He closed the door and forced himself to concentrate. He shoved the shift lever into drive and tried to pull forward. The car moved under protest. What was the matter? Damn. The emergency brake was on. He released the brake, pulled out of the parking lot, and roared off into the night.
CHAPTER 16
They had entered Yellowstone National Park at Gardiner, Montana. Now they were in Wyoming at the Mammoth Hot Springs Campground. Snug and warm in their double sleeping bag, while wolves-or were they coyotes-howled on the mountainsides.
Warm even though they were naked, their bodies pressed together like ham and cheese in a sandwich. Penny was especially amorous tonight. Gary had never suspected that married life could be so good. On the eighth day of their marriage he was sold on the institution.
The red light that appeared in Alfred’s rearview mirror was quickly followed by the sound of a siren. Shit. It was a cop. For the last half hour he’d been driving south toward Wyoming as fast as he could navigate the roads at night, hardly slowing down for the villages along the way. He was going through one now.
He considered trying to outrun the cop but quickly rejected the idea. That would bring the whole state of Montana down on him. He needed to get this resolved quickly. He slowed down, pulled off the road, and stopped. The red light stopped behind him. His heart was pounding again. He took a quick look around the car and saw the stack of bills sitting on the seat beside him. He opened the glove compartment and shoved them inside. Then he remembered the gun. He took it out of his pocket, threw it into the glove compartment, and slammed the door shut.
Through his outside mirror he could see the cop approaching, looking large and dark and menacing in his broad-brimmed hat. Alfred cranked down his window and tried to compose himself. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.
The cop came up to the window and said, “Do you know how fast you were going?” He spoke slowly, with a drawl.
“No sir.”
“Thirty miles over the speed limit. May I see your driver’s license?”
Alfred handed it to him. He unhooked his registration from the steering column where he kept it because California law required it to be visible. He gave that to the officer, on request.
The policeman studied the documents. “You Californians think you can come out here and drive any way you like. We got laws here, you know. It’s not just cowboys and Indians.”
His head was right at the window. Alfred heard him sniff the air. He smelled the vomit. Alfred had driven for a while with the window open, trying to get rid of the smell, even though he froze doing it.
“Would you step out of the car please?” the officer asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
Alfred complied. The cop asked him to walk a few steps.
“Have you been drinking?”
“No sir.”
“You don’t look drunk. But that’s a healthy odor in your car. Actually, more of a nauseating odor. I don’t see how you can stand it.”
“I…I was feeling sick. Something I ate.” Actually, he hadn’t eaten. His hunger pangs had returned.
“I’m going to have to ask you to follow me to the station. Here are your options. Since you’re from out of state, we can’t just let you go. You can post bail and then leave. Or you can stay the night and go up before the Justice of the Peace in the morning.”
Alfred knew he’d better be on his best behavior. The officer went back to his car and made a U-turn. Alfred followed him. Five minutes later they were at the police station. Alfred took some of the money from the glove compartment and placed it in his wallet before he got out of the car. The station was located in a small building. Inside, one other officer sat at a desk. The cop who had stopped Alfred explained the situation to the other one.
The second officer grinned amiably and spoke to Alfred. “Well, son, bail is fifty dollars. You can pay that now and go merrily on your way. Or you can stay with us tonight, courtesy of the Bozeman Police Department, and talk to the JP in the morning. We got a spare cot in the room there.”
