She put the paper in her lap. “How big was it, Hank?”
“It was just big. You know? Big.”
Beverly stared at me until I felt uncomfortable. Poker wasn’t my game.
“That’s interesting,” she said. “Maybe we can compare this one to future shits. There might be a world record at stake.”
“I didn’t mean to stir you up,” I said.
“I’m not stirred up. Not yet, anyway. Just go clean it up, would you?”
I went out back and got the stuff out of my pockets and put it in the truck under my Dad’s old coat, got the poop shovel out of the garage, and cleaned up after Wylie.
So far, so good.
Clothes gathered.
Toilet goods gathered.
Dog crap cleaned up.
I went inside just as Beverly was carefully folding up her newspaper to go into the recycling bag.
“You too full for popcorn?” Beverly asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “but pop some anyway.”
She did. We took the corn and drinks upstairs and watched the movie. Between video pauses long enough to yell at the kids to stop fighting, talking, and picking at one another, it took about two-and-a-half hours for us to see a ninety-eight minute movie.
That was about standard.
I don’t remember what the movie was about. I was too nervous thinking about Bill, trying to figure what the hell the right moves were in a situation like this, and knowing damn good and well that no matter how long I thought about it, no perfectly correct answer was going to jump out at me.
When the kids went downstairs to have their bedtime snacks, I kept Bev upstairs a moment. I said, “Honey. That fifty dollars. I didn’t have it on me, and I told Bill I’d go back over there a s ovtaind give it to him tonight. He wants a little advice about some things too.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. I promised.”
“Can’t you call him and tell him you’ll do it tomorrow? I wanted to get in bed early. You got to get up and go to your mother’s tomorrow. You could drop it off then.”
“He really needs it before then,” I said.
“What could he do with it tonight?”
“It would make him feel better to have it. I understand how he feels. I’m like that myself. I got something on my mind, I want it solved as soon as possible.”
“What happened to the twenty you had?”
“I gave it to him, but he needs fifty beyond that.”
“Now the fifty is actually seventy.” She eyeballed me for a long suspicious moment, said, “But, I guess it’s cheaper than an emu farm.”
She got her purse from the bedroom and gave me fifty out of it, like it was an allowance. “I know you earned this money,” she said, “but I figure I earned it from you by dealing with our heathen kids while you went off to bring home the bacon.”
“No question,” I said. “In fact, you deserve a raise.”
“And since I earned mine the hard way,” she said. “I’d like to think this isn’t being spent foolishly.”
“Only a little foolishly,” I said. “He’s going to use it to eat with.”
“Well, I hate to think I’m helping keep him alive,” she said.
Any other time I would have thought of that as a joke, but this time it struck me hard, and I guess it showed on my face.
“Honey,” Beverly said, “is there more going on here than you’re telling me?”
“Some. Yeah. But I’ll explain later, okay? I got to think some things through, and I really need to get on over there.”
“He ought to start doing some of his own thinking… Never mind. Neither of you ever change. He’s always in need, and you’re always going to be there.”
“That’s why you love me though, right?”
“No, actually it bothers the hell out of me. But what’s the use, huh? Go on… and honey, don’t stay late.” She smiled. “I’m a little itchy, you know?”
I tried to keep things light. “I’m feeling a little itchy myself,” I said.
“When aren’t you?”
“Actually I can’t seem to recall. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we’ll do some major scratching.”
“Not after midnight we won’t,” she said. “You want to get scratched, you got to be back here before Cinderella goes to sleep. Actually, sp. idth='1emI’m more like the coach in the story. After midnight, I turn into a pumpkin.”
“But a pretty pumpkin,” I said.
“Goddamn gorgeous,” she said.
I drove over to where Bill lived. Red Vine Street. It was as dark as Bill had said. The street light I passed appeared to be greased over. I didn’t know which house was his, but I remembered he said it had oaks in the yard.
I drove slowly down the street and noted all the houses had oaks in their yards. But only one had an orange ribbon across the front porch with, CRIME SCENE/DO NOT CROSS, written on it in bright, white letters. And only one had a carport with Bill’s car in it, and another car, a sporty model I didn’t recognize, parked behind it.
Bill told me he left his car at Dave’s, that he walked home, and when he got here the carport was empty, except for shadows. If that were the case, what were these cars doing here now? They were considerably more substantial than shadows.
I killed my headlights and drove on by the house with just my parking beams on. I turned around at the end of the street and came back up. I pulled over opposite Bill’s house and parked. I got my Dad’s revolver and put it in my coat pocket and got my flashlight and climbed out of the truck quietly and crossed the street and walked along the edge of Bill’s yard. I went around back of Bill’s house, onto the back porch.
There was an orange ribbon stretched across the back screen door. I stood there staring at it, listening. I didn’t hear anything that made me nervous.
I used the flashlight to break loose one end of the crime scene ribbon and let it drop. I slipped the flashlight into my coat pocket, crooked my finger through the hole in the screen, lifted the latch, and elbowed the screen open. I put my hand in my coat pocket and grabbed the back door knob with the coat and pushed up on the knob and leaned into it.
I heard the latch pop, and the sound was as loud as a firecracker. I stood for a moment wondering if anyone was going to rush out of their house and see what the sound was about, but nothing happened.
I twisted the knob, and the door came open. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and brought my Dad’s revolver out with it. I slipped inside and got the flashlight with my free hand and turned it on. Nobody moved in the light. I put the gun back in my coat and left my hand there and used the coat to pull the door shut behind me. Then I brought my hand out with the gun in it again.
I played the light around the room. I crossed the room, into the hall. I shone the light on the floor next to the front door. There was a dark stain there. I knelt and touched the floor with the side of my hand. It was also sticky. That would be the blood Bill had described. It smelled rank and rusty.
I looked into the kitchen. There was a white taped outline on the floor where Dave’s body had lain.
I turned around and went back through the living room and over to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I gave it a light kick with the toe of my boot, went inside, probing the darkness with the flashlight.
The bed had been stripped of its covers an sits0em'›
I flashed on the chinning bar. There was white tape on the wall and there was writing on the tape. I didn’t go over and look at it. I flashed the light behind the door and saw the tape outline of where Bob had been leaning against the wall, the outline of his butt and legs on the floor. It didn’t look as if I were going to have to shoot anybody, or be shot at, which pleased me considerably. I put the revolver in my coat pocket.
