The Throat

'You knew where he had been assigned?'

He peered up at me. 'Took a special interest. Grady came back in 'sixty-two, but he didn't stay long. Went to college in New Jersey and married some Jewish girl, his dad told me. See?' He moved his finger across the line, where he had written NJ.

The finger traveled down the column again. 'Here's a boy for you. Todd Lemon. Used to work at Bud's Service Station here in town, cutest little guy you ever saw in your life. Spunky. I can still remember him at the physical— when the doc asked him about drugs, he said, 'My body is my temple, sir,' and all the other fellows standing in line gave a big laugh of appreciation.'

'You went to the physicals?'

'That was how I met the boys who enlisted,' he said, as if that should have been obvious. 'Every day of the physicals, I turned over the business to my clerks and went down there. Can't tell you what a thrill it was, seeing all those wonderful boys lined up—God, I was proud of all of them.'

'Is there a separate list for the volunteers?'

My question made him indignant. 'What kind of record-keeper would I be if there weren't? That's a separate category, after all.'

I asked to see that list.

'Well, you're missing out on some fine, upstanding boys, but…' He turned over another page. Under the heading enlisted was a column of about twenty-five names. 'If you'd let me show you 1967 or 1968, you'd have a lot more to choose from.'

I scanned down the list, and my heart stopped about two-thirds of the way down, when I came to Franklin Bachelor. 'I think I've heard of one of these people,' I said.

'Bobby Arthur? You'd know him, of course. Great golfer —turned pro for a couple of years after the war.'

'I was thinking of this one.' I pointed at Bachelor's name.

He bent over to peer at the name, and then he brightened. 'That boy, oh, yes. Very, very special. He got into Special Forces, had a wonderful career. One of our heroes.' He nearly beamed at me. 'What a boy. There was some kind of story there, I always thought.'

He would have told me even if I hadn't asked.

'I didn't know him—I didn't know most of my boys, of course, but I never even heard of a family named Bachelor living in Tangent. By God, I believe I even checked the telephone book when I got to my place that evening, and damned if there were no Bachelors listed. I had a feeling this was one of those lads who signs up under another name. I didn't say anything, though —I let the boy go through. I knew what he was doing.'

'What was he doing?'

Hubbel lowered his voice. 'That boy was escaping.' He looked up at me and nodded. He looked more like an owl than ever.

'Escaping?' I wondered if Hubbel had managed to guess that Fee had been avoiding arrest. He wouldn't have even begun to imagine the sorts of crimes Fee had committed: all of his 'boys' had been as sinless as his own ideas of himself.

'That boy had been mistreated. I saw it right away—little round scars on his chest. Sort of thing that makes you sick inside. Idea that his own mother or father would do a thing like that to a handsome little lad.'

'They scarred him?' I asked.

He almost whispered. 'Burned him. With cigarettes. Until they left scars.' Hubbel shook his spotted head, staring down at the page. His hands were spread out over the names, as if to conceal them. Maybe he just liked touching them. 'Doc asked him about the scars, and the boy said he ran into bob wire. I knew—I could see. Bob wire doesn't leave scars like that. Small, like dimes. Shiny. I knew what happened to that boy.'

'You have a wonderful memory,' I said.

'I go over these journals pretty often, being here by myself.' His face hardened. 'Now I got so feeble, I can't get the books down so easy anymore, need a little help sometimes.'

He moved his hands and stared down at the pages. 'You probably want to copy down some of my boys' names.'

I let him read out half a dozen names from the enlisted men and the draftees while I copied them into my notebook. They were all still living in Tangent, he said, and I'd have no trouble finding them in the telephone book.

'Do you think you'd still be able to identify Franklin Bachelor from a photograph?' I asked.

'Maybe. You got one?'

I opened my briefcase and took out the manila envelope. Tom had cut off the caption. I put it on top of the list of names, and Hubbel bent over so that his nose was only an inch away from it. He moved his head back and forth over the picture as if he were smelling it. 'Policeman,' he said. 'He went into law enforcement?'

'Yes,' I said.

'I'm going to write that in my book.'

I watched the top of the spotted head drift back and forth over the photograph. Sparse gray hairs grew up out of his mottled scalp.

'Well, I believe you're right,' he said. 'It sure could be that boy I saw at the induction center.' He blinked up at me. 'Turned out fine, didn't he?'

'Which one is he?'

'You're not going to trick me,' he said, and planted the tip of his right index finger on top of Paul Fontaine's face. 'There he is, right there, that's the boy. Yep. Franklin Bachelor. Or whatever his real name was.'

I packed the photograph away in my briefcase and told him how helpful he had been.

'Would you do me a favor before you leave?'

'Of course,' I said.

'Fetch my journals for 1967 and 1968, will you? I'd like to remember some more of my boys.'

I pulled the books from the shelf and piled them on his desk. He spread his hands out on top of them. 'Tell you what, you honk the horn of that flashy car when you want me to open the gate. I'll push the button for you.'

When I let myself out onto the porch, he was pushing his beaky nose down a long column of names.

4

I still had two hours before the flight back to Millhaven, and Tangent was only two miles down the highway past the airport. I drove until I came to streets lined with handsome houses set far back on wide lawns. After a while, the quiet streets led into a part of town with four-story office buildings and old-fashioned department stores.

I parked on a square with a fountain and walked around the square until I found a diner. The waitress at the counter gave me a cup of coffee and the telephone book. I took the book to the pay telephone near the kitchen and called Judy Leatherwood.

The same quavery voice I had heard at Tom's house said hello.

I couldn't remember the name of the insurance company Tom had invented. 'Mrs. Leatherwood, do you remember getting a call from the Millhaven branch of our insurance company a few nights ago?'

'Oh, yes, I do,' she said. 'Mr. Bell? I remember speaking to him. This is about my brother-in-law's insurance?'

'I'd like to come out to speak to you about the matter,' I said.

'Well, I don't know. Have you located my nephew?'

'He may have changed his name,' I said.

For about ten seconds, she said nothing. 'I just don't feel right about all this. I've been worried ever since I talked to Mr. Bell.' Another long pause. 'Did you give me your name?'

'Mister Underhill,' I said.