innocence, a man who could teach the world.
He knew the truth about people. He knew the words that could move a person to action. He read the hearts of people even if their words masked their intentions.
He could lead people to a crossroads and show them how to let go of their fear. In five minutes, sometimes in five seconds, Tubs could tell you who made the decisions in a marriage, the small ones and the big ones. He could wreck the tranquillity of the happiest couple without them understanding what he had done, if it would move them to a decision. He could neutralize the brother or cousin or meddling aunt if one or all of them were sitting in the closing booth and stopping a couple from making a decision. He could tell you a story and make you want to drive a brand-new Ford because of it, or even a used Chrysler if that was your heart’s desire. He had that power, and the only thing Tubs wanted from it was to settle his fat ass in front of all the pie he could eat and not have to pay retail for it.
The man’s fantasies broke my heart. I thought he didn’t love his talent, and it was a talent. I never saw the like of it, but if it was only to keep his fat belly full, as if he thought he might really go hungry if someone walked away from him, it was a waste of genius.
It was against family policy to defend Tubs. We had it written in the family handbook. He had left the house early every morning and come home late every night. Saturday was a workday. Sunday he went to church to pray to God to keep the Bogues away. When he bothered to deal with any of us at the house, it was usually something that got us fighting among ourselves so we would leave him alone. What worked at the lot worked at home. All Tubs wanted was to have his own way.
Old habits kicked in. I couldn’t tell my brother he was wrong about Tubs. I was not going to say Tubs did what he loved until the day he died, but I could disagree with the cause of death. ‘It wasn’t the car lot that killed the old bastard. It was the pie!’
The next day, Saturday, I wandered out to the Ford dealership. Milt was still the manager, the only face on the lot I knew. Though it had been a while, Milt recognized me at once and broke into a smile. ‘You need a job,’ he called out to me as I walked up, ‘I’ve got one for you! All I’ve got here are order-takers!’ A few heads turned, salespeople bristling at the insult or maybe just checking out the competition.
I shook his hand. Not today, I said. ‘I just came by because I wanted to give you something.’ I handed him an autographed copy of Jinx. Milt handled the book with the enthusiasm of a boy who has just received a pair of socks on Christmas morning.
His words were kinder. ‘Well that’s… that’s real thoughtful, David. I don’t read much, but I’ll give it a shot.’
‘It’s about us,’ I said.
Milt looked at me without quite getting it.
‘Life in the wastelands,’ I said, gesturing toward the lot, using Milt’s own phrase.
He flashed his big yellow horse teeth at me. ‘You wrote a book about us? Is it X-rated?’
‘You remember Debbie?’
‘Debbie does DeKalb? You put that in?’
‘Her name is Connie Q.’
‘What’s the page?’
‘Start at the beginning.’
‘Is Tubs in it?’
‘Tubs is Jinx. You’re Stitch, and Larry the Liar…well, he’s Larry the Liar.’
‘Hey! That lopsided set of duck nuts has himself a little church down in Peoria! Can you believe it?
Preaching Jesus once a week and raising hell the rest of the time!’
I shook my head for Milt’s sake, but I wasn’t surprised. Larry had always had a soft spot for the Baptist girls.
We talked about the car business. Milt asked me about school. I expect we both lied. While we talked, different sales people approached with deals or troubles. Milt ran the place and never lost track of what he was telling me, but it was obvious he was busy. I said that I had better go. I had a plane to catch. Milt kicked the tire of one of the cars in the showroom.
‘Ol’ Tubs,’ he said nostalgically, the first mention of my dad since I had handed him my novel. ‘I mean but that man could sell cars!’
‘Did he like it, you think?’ I asked. I wanted to believe Tubs knew the gift he possessed. I wanted assurance that the thing with pie, that was just a moment of weakness.
Milt grinned at me with his horse teeth. ‘You remember the first time you turned a hard case around, David? The very first tough sale you brought in with no one’s help?’
‘The first sale I made,’ I answered.
Milt nodded. I knew he wasn’t thinking about my first sale, though he had been there. He was thinking about his own. ‘Every sale was like that for your dad.’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘The day he died he said to me, “I got some folks coming in tomorrow, Milt. If I’m not here, you take them yourself. They’re buyers. I don’t want them to get away!” So I asked him why he wouldn’t be here. Tubs never missed a day of work in his life. He said he thought he had a touch of the flu. Hadn’t felt good all day. David, your old man sold three cars for me thinking he had the flu. Turned out he’d had a heart attack that morning!
Most people can’t sell three cars on their best day.
And all he could think about was making sure we got the next one. Did he like it? He lived it, brother! You had his talent, too. Tubs said so himself.’ Milt shook his head with a bit of sadness. ‘But I could see after the first couple of summers you weren’t going to stay with it. Your skills got better but your heart wasn’t in it!’
‘I guess I just realized I was never going to be as good as the old man.’
Milt shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing with me. ‘Tubs used to say God calls the preachers, but the Devil calls the salesmen, and the worst of us peddle cars. You don’t spend your life out here in the wastelands unless it’s your calling. Not that I wouldn’t trade places with you! You go into that classroom and even if you’re not having a good day they hand you a pay check! Huh? Am I right? They ever cut your check back for a bad lecture?’
‘It’s a hell of a gig,’ I said.
‘Just don’t let it turn you soft, friend. You lose the edge, you lose everything. Your dad taught me that!’
Chapter 19
I got home from dekalb late Saturday afternoon. The horses were already in the barn. I walked down the hill and went across the road to the little house where Billy Wade lived. Wade was in a cheerful mood as usual. He got in a better mood after I handed him the money for taking care of Ahab and Jezebel.
‘Any problems?’ I asked. The giant shook his head.
‘You see that Mercury Marquis drive by?’
‘He came out every day!’ I reached for my wallet.
‘Naw, Dave. I’m funning you! He only came out one time!’
I handed Wade another twenty. ‘What did he do?’
‘It was after dark. I walked out to that service road way on out there. It was that Merc you was asking about, all right.’
‘You write down the license plate number?’
Wade seemed embarrassed. ‘I sure didn’t. You didn’t tell me to, did you?’ I told him it was my mistake. I said to go on. ‘Nothing more to tell. I went back to the house and watched. He drove away maybe an hour after that. Maybe an hour-and-a-half in all.’
‘Next time, you come up to the house and let me know while he’s still here. Can you do that?’
Wade slapped my shoulder. He told me not to worry.
The house was cold, and I nudged the thermostat up and surveyed the house for some evidence of a break- in. The windows and doors were all secure. My papers were all in place. Nothing had changed, but I had the feeling
