And if the job didn't go right…
It didn't make much difference. I couldn't win.
19
It was Sunday when Fay had given me the bad news.
We set Jake up for Thursday night.
So there were four days there, between the first thing and the second. Four whole days. But it didn't seem that long. It seemed like I'd walked out of the bar, after I'd talked to The Man, and stepped straight into Thursday night.
I was through, washed up. I wasn't living; I was just going through the motions.
Living is remembering, I guess. If you've lost interest, if everything is that same shade of gray, the kind you see when you look into light with your eyes closed, if nothing seems worth storing away, either as bad or good, reward or retribution, then you may keep going for a while. But you don't live. And you don't remember.
I went to school. I worked. I ate and slept. And drank. And… Yes, and Ruthie. I talked to her a few times on the way to and from school. I remembered-yes, I
But aside from Ruthie, nothing.
Except for the few minutes I was with her, I moved straight from Monday into Thursday. Thursday night at eight o'clock.
I snapped out of it then, and came back to life. You have to at a time like that whether you want to or not.
It was a slow night on the job, one of the slowest in the week. I was all caught up on my work, and no one had any reason to come into the stockroom.
I stood in the outer storeroom with the light turned off, watching the other side of the street.
Fay went by, right on the dot at eight.
I studied my watch, waiting. At eight-fifteen, Jake went by.
I unlocked the door and stepped out.
It was a good dark night. He was moving in a beeline for the house, not looking to right or left.
I sauntered down the side of the street the bakery was on, until he'd passed the intersection. Then I crossed over and followed him, walking faster because he'd got quite a way ahead of me.
I was about fifty feet behind him when he started across the parallel street to the house. Just about the right distance, allowing for the time he needed to open the gate. He fumbled with it, unable to find the catch, and I slowed down to where I was barely moving. At last he got it open, and I..
I froze in my tracks.
He-this guy-was a drunk, I found out later, He'd come out of that little bar catercornered to the house and wandered across the road, and I don't know how the hell he'd managed it but somehow he'd fallen over inside the fence. He was lying there whenjake came along, inside and up against the fence. As Jake opened the gate, he rose up and sort of staggered toward him. And Jake let out a yell.
And that front yard was suddenly as bright as day.
Two big floodlights struck it from the vacant lots on each side of the house. Cops-deputy sheriffs, rather-swarmed up from everywhere.
I stood frozen for a second, unable to move. Then I turned around and started walking back to the bakery.
I'd gotten almost to the corner when I heard a yell from the sheriff rising above the other yells. 'Wait a minute, dang it! This ain't the right-'
I kept right on going, and I was crossing the street to the bakery before the shout came. 'You there! Halt!'
I didn't halt. What the hell? He was almost two blocks away. How should I know he was hollering at me?
I went right on into the bakery, locking the door behind me. I went into the main stockroom, closed the connecting door, and sat down at my work table.
I picked up the batch cards for the night, and began checking them off against my perpetual inventory.
Someone was banging on that outside door. I stayed where I was. What the hell again? I couldn't let anyone in that door this time of night. Why, it might be a robber, someone trying to steal a sack of flour!
The banging stopped. I grinned to myself, flipping through the cards. I was alive again. I'd have laid down for them, but since I couldn't do that, I'd make them lay me.
The door to the baking room slammed open. Kendall and the sheriff and a deputy came in, the sheriff in the lead.
I stood up. I went toward him, holding out my hand.
'Why, how are you, sheriff?' I said. 'How is Mrs. Sum-'
He swung his hand, knocking mine aside so hard that it almost spun me around. His fingers knotted in my shirt, and he yanked me clean off the floor. He shook me like a dog shakes a rat. If ever I saw murder in a mug it was his.
'You snotty little punk!' He shook and swung me with one hand and began slapping me with the other. 'Think you're cute, huh? Think it's smart to go around so danged nice an' lovey-dovey, gettin' people to trust you and then-'
I didn't blame him for being sore. I guess no one can ever be as sore at you as the guy who's liked and trusted you. But that hand of his was a hard as a rock, and Kendall couldn't get past the deputy to stop him like he was trying to do.
I passed out.
20
I wasn't out very long, I guess, but it was long enough for Dr. Dodson to get there. I came to, stretched out on the floor with my head on some flour sacking and the doc bent over me.
'How are you feeling, son?' he said. 'Any pain?'
'Of course, he's in pain!' Kendall snapped. 'This-this creature beat him within an inch of his life!'
'Now, wait a minute, dang it! I didn't-'
'Shut up, Summers. How about it, son?'
'I-I feel all right,' I said. 'Just kind of dizzy, and-' I coughed and began to choke. He raised my shoulders quickly, and I bent over, choking and coughing, and blood spilled down on the floor in a little pool.
He took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped my mouth with it. He lowered me back to the floor again, and stood up, staring at the sheriff.
The sheriff looked back at him, sullen and sheepish.
'Kinda lost my temper,' he mumbled. 'Reckon you would've, too, doc, if you'd been in my place. He was all set t'do Winroy in, just like the note said he'd be, and then this danged drunk gets in the way an' he comes saunterin' back here, just as pretty as you please, and-'
'You know,' the doctor cut in, quietly. 'You know something, Summers? If I had a gun I think I'd blow that fat head of yours right off your shoulders.'
The sheriff's mouth dropped open. He looked stunned, and sort of sick. 'Now, now looky here,' he stammered. 'This- you don't know who this fella is! He's Charlie Bigger, Little Bigger, they call him. He's a killer, an'-'
