'Well, I lost some of Nancy's savings.'
'How much?'
'See, I knew I could afford to lose because I had the money from the plane coming, so I put some big bets on a couple of long shots. I thought that even if I got just one, I'd be all right.' He gave a little, nervous-sounding laugh. 'I didn't get one, though. I lost it all.'
'How much?' I asked again.
'Seventeen thousand. A little more. It was from her mother's will.'
I was stunned, silenced. I couldn't imagine betting that much money on a horse. I watched him finish off Jacob's beer.
'We're broke, Hank. We don't have anything. Not to buy food, not to pay the rent, not anything till I get ahold of those packets.'
'You're saying you would've told?'
'I needed the money. It didn't seem fair, your keeping it all this time when it's obvious no one's looking for the plane.'
'I want to know if you would've told,' I said, leaning across the table toward him.
'If I say no' -- he smiled--'you might back out on your promise.'
'My promise?'
'To split it up.'
I didn't say anything.
'I need the money, Hank. I can't get by without it.'
'But let's say you hadn't found out about Pederson. What would you've done then?'
Lou pursed his lips. 'I guess I would've begged you,' he said. He thought about this for a second; then he nodded. 'I would've gotten down on my knees and begged.'
The bar was crowded now, pulsing with voices and laughter. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the air, mixing with the sour smell of beer. I could see Jacob across the way, paying the bartender.
'You think that would've worked?' Lou asked.
I tried for a second to imagine him down on his knees before me, begging for the money. In many ways it seemed more threatening than the idea of him blackmailing me. It would've called on things I considered virtues -- pity, charity, empathy -- rather than simple fear, and thus, when I refused him, as I would've had to, it would've been a judgment not of him but of me. It was what he was probably going to do after we got the tape, I realized, and the thought of this gave me a tired feeling in my head.
'No,' I said. 'Probably not.'
'Then I guess it's a good thing I found out about Pederson, isn't it?'
My brother was returning to the booth, so I didn't answer. I just pushed the empty glasses off to the side of the table and said, 'Here come the drinks.'
Lou reached out and touched my wrist. His fingertips were cold from holding Jacob's glass. 'I had to get the money, Hank,' he whispered quickly. 'You understand that, don't you? It's nothing personal.'
I stared down at his hand. It was gripping my arm like a claw, and I had to resist the temptation to pull myself free. 'Yes,' I said. It seemed like a small thing to give him. 'I understand.'
Around nine-thirty, Lou rose to his feet and headed off, a little unsteadily, to use the bathroom again. I watched him until he was safely out of earshot. Then I turned to Jacob.
'Can you tell when he's solidly drunk?'
My brother's nose was running; the skin above his lip was shiny with snot. 'I guess.'
'I want him drunk enough so that he's not thinking straight, but not so much that he slurs his words.'
Jacob sipped at his beer. His glasses were fogged up, but he didn't seem to notice.
'When he looks like he's going to start slurring, stand up and say you want to head back to his house, that you've got a bottle of whiskey in the truck.'
'I still don't think--' Jacob started, but I silenced him with a touch of my hand. Lou had emerged from the bathroom, swaying a bit. He stumbled against a barstool, and when the young man on it glanced over his shoulder, Lou loudly accused him of trying to trip him.
'You think that's funny?' Lou asked. 'You think you're some kind of comedian?'
The young man, full bearded and twice Lou's size, stared in astonishment at him. 'What's funny?' He was too surprised to be angry yet.
Lou hitched up his belt. 'Tripping people coming back from the can. Sneaking up on them for laughs.'
The young man turned all the way around to face him. The bar started to quiet.
'Sit down, Lou,' someone said from one of the nearby stools. 'You're gonna get yourself killed.' A few people laughed.
Lou glanced around the bar. 'Mocking me,' he said. 'I could've fallen and cracked my head.' He pointed his finger at the young man. 'You'd have gotten a kick out of that, wouldn't you? A big kick.'
The young man didn't say anything. He stared down at Lou's finger.
'I'll give you a kick,' Lou said. 'You want a kick? I'll give you a good solid kick.'
'Listen, buddy,' the young man said. 'I think maybe you've had a few too--'
'Don't buddy me,' Lou said.
The young man started to climb off his stool. Simultaneously, Jacob stood up.
'You're not my buddy,' Lou said.
Jacob, given his size and relative lack of sobriety, moved with surprising agility across the room. I watched from the booth as he rested his hand on Lou's shoulder. Lou turned, his scowl changing instantly to a beaming smile. 'You're my buddy,' he said to my brother. He glanced at the bartender. 'He's my buddy,' he shouted. Then he waved over toward me in the booth. 'He's my buddy, too.'
Jacob shepherded him back across the bar. I ordered another round of drinks.
IT WAS eleven o'clock before my brother stood up and suggested that we head back to Lou's house.
The dog was waiting for us in the cab of the truck, looking cold and dejected. He didn't seem to want to climb into the rear, so Jacob had to pick him up and shove him, whimpering, back through the torn plastic window. Lou urinated against the side of the building, a long, steady hissing in the darkness.
I drove. I'd bought a bottle of whiskey that afternoon at the liquor store, and now I told Jacob to take it out and offer it to Lou. Lou accepted gladly.
It was one of the coldest nights of the year. There were no clouds. The moon was just rising, a thick, white sliver, like a slice of cantaloupe, sitting cocked against the edge of the horizon. Above it hung a brilliant infinity of stars, high and bright in the deep blackness of the sky. The road out of Ashenville was empty of traffic, and Jacob's one functioning headlight, the left one, made it look narrower than it actually was. As we drove, the wind whipped through the cab, buffeting us, tugging at our jackets, and cracking the plastic window back and forth behind our heads like a bullwhip.
I turned off the lights before I reached the house so that I wouldn't wake Nancy. I parked at the bottom of the driveway.
'Well?' Jacob asked. He was on the passenger side. Lou was sitting between us, slouched over a little, one hand on the dashboard. Jacob had to lean forward to see me.
'Let's go inside,' I said. 'Bring the bottle.'
'That's right,' Lou said. 'Bring the bottle.' He slapped me on my leg. 'You're okay. You know that? You're not half bad.'
We climbed out, leaving the dog in the truck, and walked up the driveway to the house. Jacob and I went into the living room and sat on the couch while Lou used the bathroom. We could hear him urinating through the open doorway. It seemed to go on for several minutes.
The living room was down a step from the entranceway. It was wide and shallow, with a dark green shag carpet. There were two upholstered chairs in it, a black leather couch, an old-looking TV, and a long, low coffee table cluttered with magazines. It was nicer than I would've expected, but not by much.
Lou went into the kitchen after he finished peeing and got us some glasses. When he returned, Jacob poured the whiskey. I wasn't used to drinking hard liquor, especially not straight, and it burned my throat as it went down.
