Cooksin

by Rick Alan Rice

  Py had been asked not to let Pete or Tory know anything about yesterday's gun-toting visitor. Now Jake found Py's acting courageous, because he knew the incident had upset the boy, and pretending like it had never happened wasn't easy. But, by God, Py wasn't letting it show, and was going beyond the pail to shield Pete and Tory from similar concern. Standing watch, Jake couldn't help but admire Py's strength. He wondered if young Py wasn't already more of a man than he could ever be.

  Jake had been avoiding the others since the incident, over-loaded in his brain with worry over how to proceed. Until yesterday he had deluded himself into believing that somehow Pico would find some reason to back off on the Walker job. He had imagined that his appeals would somehow be heard, and that some arrangement could be reached whereby he could pay off his debt and be freed. He had steady work now, a job he imagined himself doing for . . . the rest of his life? He looked back over toward the house, where Tory continued to ready things for their picnic. Yes, the rest of his life, that's what he had been thinking. He hadn't said as much to himself, hadn't thought the phrase through, but those were the right words. Jake was, for the first time ever, starting to think in terms of what he would do for the rest of his life. Before it had always been how to get through today, tomorrow, the rest of the week. He had been living life as if it were an extension of some high school kid's summer job, that however awful it was, it would pass, and he would start a new school year, and somehow everything would be renewed. But the reality of the situation was that it was prison Jake had lasted through to, not education. And it was not a string of aimless summers, but a procession of criminal acts that, rather than freeing him from his indentured servitude, only engorged him deeper in the mouth of the beast. Now there was no deluding himself any further. Decision time was at hand, but how? And what? Going through with what he had agreed to would be ruinous to all that now seemed possible and within his reach. Not going through with the Walker hit would be suicidal, possibly even murderous. He didn't doubt for one second that Pico's hitman would follow through on his threats where Tory, Lily and the others were concerned. Jake had stayed clear of the darkest forces at work in Lorenz Pico's camp, but he had always known they were there. He had heard the stories of things that had happened to those who earned Pico's contempt. One story always came to mind, when Jake allowed himself to think honestly about who Lorenz Pico was. It was about a guy in St. Louis who had filched money from the take on a payroll robbery. Pico had handled the retribution himself. He tied the guy to a chair, castrated him, and then slowly worked an ice pick up through the soft underside of his throat, finally piercing the base of his brain. The story told was that at that point the guy's eyes popped open wide, and he went into a convulsion that he never came out of until death finally brought his relief. It was no wonder Jake didn't like to think honestly about whom he was dealing with. The thoughts alone could be killing.

  But what to do? Jake had considered going to Ben Miller, the sheriff, and telling him about the whole thing: the planned hit on Walker Ranch, the Pico organization everything! But yesterday the gunman had warned him about doing any such thing. The spiders, he had said, were everywhere, and Jake believed it. He doubted even God knew who all might have allegiance to Pico. Besides, if bringing Pico down didn't get him killed, it would most certainly destroy all other personal hopes and ambitions. Jake was as dirty as any of them, and while he might turn state's evidence and plea-bargain himself a shorter term, he didn't like his chances of survival in prison. He knew Pico's feelers reached as far as any correctional facility to which he would likely be exiled. There seemed only one way out, and that was to carry through with the plan. Pico had made him a deal – had said that this one last job would free Jake of his obligations – and Jake had no concrete reasons to doubt him. Sure, Pico could have him killed after the job, making certain that, as a free agent, Jake wouldn't turn him in. But that wouldn't seem to make sense, for someone as suspect as Jake to turn up dead right after a big felony.

  Pico’s security would be better served by having Jake stay alive and quiet, allowed to live out the rest of his life as a citizen in good standing of this pilfered community. Jake could promise to stay mum. Besides, this idea carried the extra benefit of getting even with Frank Walker. Jake hated the bastard, and the thought of him being relieved of his possessions was appealing. If one last person was going to be made to pay for his shortcomings, Jake would just as soon that it be Frank Walker.

  The conduit was Lily, and here he had to pause to think again. Pretty Lily, who had no idea what the world was about, and who saw in him a replacement figure for her father, who could hold and protect her, and fulfill her physical needs in ways beyond what a father could, or should. Hell, Jake knew what it was about. She was a kid – a lubricious child, to be sure – but a kid! Jake almost cried over her emotional starvation, and the depths of her innocence. It wasn't like Py's, of course, because a woman's never is. Bound by earth and motherhood, they were never as far off the ground as young boys, or at least that was Jake's impression. They never expected to find their dreams outside of the standard company of other human beings. But Lily was naive. Jake could hardly face himself at the thought of exploiting her to save himself, or even others. The very thought was mean and cruel, mostly because Jake knew she would let him, that she would allow herself to be debased to be with him; that somehow she would find the proposition more favorable than the alternative, which was to live in loneliness and despair, choosing companionship from among the other available rabble, the cowboys and the tradesmen.

  And she would, of course, choose someone. It was not in her nature to be alone, only to feel that way. That crossed Jake's mind, too, and the selfishness in his head and heart ached for her, and didn't want to think of her with anybody else. Damn his devil's soul, he lusted for the girl – for every inch and ounce of her! He wondered at himself with shame, as he thought of Lily and watched Tory. It was the latter that he loved, the former that he yearned for. And he did it knowing it could lead to no good, either way. A demon of lust had gripped his being and was ripping his judgment to tiny shreds.

  * * * * *

  "Isn't it kind of late for you to be going out?" Tory asked. "Not really," said Jake, innocently. "Not really."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Jake continued readying himself, glancing in the little mirror that hung above his bunk, pulling a comb through his hair a couple times. "I'm just gonna go into town and have me a beer – probably go the Plainsman, or maybe the Stockman's Diner. Nothin' big. I won't be gone long."

  Tory seemed puzzled by the whole thing. She and Jake hadn't known each other long – still less than six weeks – but never before had he ever expressed any desire to go to town for a drink, either by himself or otherwise. "Are you going to take Py with you?" she asked.

  "He's too young," Jake said, stating fact.

  Tory thought for a moment. "I guess you don't want me to go along with you either."

  Jake glanced at her, but quickly looked away and continued to dress. He pulled a cotton shirt on over his undershirt and started buttoning up from the bottom. "It's not that I don't want you to come along," he said, sounding just agitated enough to discourage additional investigation. "I’d just like to have a little time to myself – you know, think things over, and relax with my thoughts."

  "Relax with your thoughts?" Tory grinned, repeating the words. Jake and deep thoughts had never exactly been an item and she mulled the concept over with mixed emotions, part suspicion and part glee. Maybe she shouldn't have made him read those magazines. Maybe she just should have read them to him.

  "Does it surprise you that I may have a thought or two racin' around in my head?" Jake asked, knowing he was leading her into a box canyon from which there could be no graceful escape.

  "No, it doesn't surprise me," she said innocently. "I guess we all have them."

  Jake gave a sidelong look, wondering what she was implying. "Besides, aren't there ever times
where you just feel like you'd like to get off by yourself, and . . ."

  "And relax with my thoughts . . . sure, I guess there are," she said. "How late do you plan on staying out?" As soon as the words escaped her lips a strange expression came over her face, as if the words had somehow been relayed through her from some external source, and she couldn't believe what she had said.

  Jake couldn't believe it either. "You sound just like a wife, you know that?" he said, as if it were an accusation of the first order, like racial prejudice or treason.

  Tory seemed rueful. "I do sound that way, don't I?" She seemed to collect herself before his eyes, her facial expressions changing a half-dozen times, all in the course of a few seconds. Then she nodded her head in a way that seemed to forgive herself. She'd had a little inner dialogue and arrived at an agreement. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. Forget I ever said anything. Go and have a good time and come home . . ." She seemed to rest on the word for a moment. ". . . when you're good and ready." Then she smiled a small, dutiful smile and turned to leave, allowing Jake to go about his business.

  Jake grabbed her arm as she turned away. "I won't be gone late, I promise," he said. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her fully on the mouth. Tory rushed to him as if drawn by necessity, pulling in so tight that she had to crane her neck back to put her lips to his. Then Jake pulled away, and she stood breathless, looking into his mahogany eyes, amazed by how he controlled her. It had never been this way for her before, not with any other man. The others had all been just men, some strong and willful, others talented and clever. Others dumb, but pretty. But Jake . . . Jake was the only one to have ever knocked her off her guard, to have screwed up her equilibrium and made her unsure of herself. She had sought confidence, in other men. Now she found something world shaking in Jake. It was unnerving and addictive.

  Tory looked and him and forced a smile. "Have a good time," she said, then turned on walked back toward the main house.

  * * * * *

  "HI, Jake."

  Lily had been waiting for him for over two hours, having left her house early, telling her father that she was meeting her friend Betty Wilkerson for sodas. Longmont had recently sprouted an ice cream parlor that opened mid-afternoon, for the after school business, and stayed open until ten p.m. Now it was past time for it to have closed, and she was already later getting home than she had promised to be, given that it was a school night. But she had waited patiently for the adult hour to roll around, when swains like Jake entered the night.

  She had been thrilled to receive his invitation, which arrived in the way they had worked out many weeks earlier for planning their nocturnal liaisons. There was an intersection a quarter mile east of the Walker home, where two county roads crossed, and where traffic was halted at a four-way stop. A quartet of trees stood there, and in the trunk of one there was a hollow, where items could be placed out of sight of passers-by. Lily had been religiously stopping there, once a day, though it had been weeks since anything had been left for her, and it had started to seem like a labor of lost love. The medium of communication was always a small, flat rock that would not attract much notice of anyone who might have happened to discover it, though a careful observer would discern a number, scratched upon the surface. Usually it would be an eight or a nine, indicating the hour that they were to rendezvous that evening. The location needn't be described, because it was always the same. There was a temporarily abandoned farmhouse about five miles on east of the intersection, set back away from the main road, out of sight of county travelers. It was the former home of a recently deceased dowager, and most of her possessions were still in the house, while dispensation of the estate was being finalized. All the antique furnishings were still in place, the fine curtains were still on the windows, and the lace doilies still on the arm chairs. The bed was still there, with its crepe and chiffon-draped canopy, its cushy comforter and its over-stuffed pillows. It was a charming setting for secret lovers, and an especially toney stage for the deflowering of young maidenhood, typically hopeful for an aura of romance that might chip away at the sharp edges of their shrouded union.

  "HI, Lily."

  Jake had been distracted on the way over, bumping along the backroad in Pete's old beaten pickup. Every last ounce of him told him that this was wrong, that what he was doing was infradig, even for him, and he had gone on about his business with the determination of an undertaker, meeting the challenge, if not exactly enjoying it. But then he saw Lily, standing there in the little setting room, waiting for him with all the joy and anticipation of a loving wife. She was beauty beyond compare, dewy youth and fragrant skin. She had bided her time brushing her hair, dreaming about what the night may hold, and now it shined radiant and full, and fell handsomely over her bare shoulders and down upon her bodice, that dipped alluringly low over her breasts.

  "I was beginning to get scared you weren't going to come," she said. Jake seemed a little dumb struck for a moment, intoxicated by her vision, manipulated for just this effect. "I hope you didn't have to wait long," he said, holding his hat humbly before him, more like a bashful boy caller than a middle-aged lothario. "Not long," she said, deflecting any hint of anxiety, or any feeling that might steal from the scene. Jake tossed his hat onto the seat of a high-backed chair and ambled a little closer toward her, seeming ill at ease and awkward.

  "I can get you something to drink," Lily said. "There's brandy. Would you like some of that?"

  Jake made an expression that seemed to say it sounded fine. "Sure, I'll take a little," he said, and Lily moved quickly to a cabinet to retrieve the liqueur and some appropriate glasses. She poured them both with aplomb, including a tasteful sense for measures, acquired from countless nights watching her father at his evening toast. She handed Jake a glass, and then the two of them touched their drinks together, and each sipped. It was peach brandy, and the sweetness of it set heavy on Jake's tongue. It was right for Lily, however, who swirled it in her mouth, and then felt it go down, warming her up inside along its way. She felt its affects and took a long, deep breath to balance the sensation. Alcohol was not her natural aphrodisiac, but she'd make do. She knew Jake's tastes ran to whiskey, and having none to offer she wanted to at least be a sport about getting things started. Again, she was willing to go to great pains to make this night seem seamless, whatever it was going to take to make it happen.

  Jake held his glass up to eye level, as if contemplating his objective, and then put it to his lips and threw it back, downing the remaining liquid in a single gulp. Lily giggled. "I guess that means you like it," she said, to which Jake just smiled slightly. He was still feeling uncomfortable, and looked around for something about which to make small-talk. "There sure is a lot of nice stuff in here," he said, "a hell of a lot of nice stuff to leave abandoned out here like this."

  Lily looked around her, her eyes big and bright. "Sometimes I dream that it's all been left to me," she said, following with a self-conscious giggle. "It'll all go to somebody in Mrs. Douglas' family . . ." "Mrs. Douglas?" said Jake. "She's the lady who died, who used to live here," Lily explained. "Anyway, it's just a fantasy, but if I were going to have a home of my own, it'd be just like this one."

  "Well, you can sure tell it's a woman's place," Jake said. "I mean, with all the frills and all."

  "I suppose," Lily said, "but I like it this way, all delicate and sweet. This lady had great tastes."

  The conversation lulled for a moment, and Jake shifted nervously on his feet, and then chose a place on the settee and put himself down. Lily quickly sat down beside him, but as soon as she did she was struck by a thought. "Would you like to hear the phonograph?" she said. "Mrs. Douglas has a Victrola."

  "Sure," Jake said, "don't mind if I do."

  Lily quickly jumped up and moved across the room, opening the top of the Victrola, revealing the turntable, then the little drawers along the front. Inside there were recordings on thick, heavy plastic. She found a disk of Bing Crosby and the William
s Brothers Quartet singing "Swinging On A Star," and after cranking the handle a few times, she placed the platter on the turntable and set the needle in the groove. The sound of the big band crackled through the open speakers on the front of the cabinet, and Crosby’s rich croon wafted through the room. "Do you like it?" Lily asked, excited.

  "It’s fine," said Jake, smiling sappishly, tapping his feet a few times to prove he had the beat. Lily rejoined him on the sofa. "Would you like another drink?" she asked, and when he nodded that he would she poured from the decanter, there on the coffee table before them.

  Lily drank down her first glass, then poured herself a second, and quickly drank that down too. There was some thought on her part to move the evening along, for across the room there was a sturdy old grandfather clock that looked down on her with the weight of passing minutes, urging her to not be wasteful. It was a school night, and already it was moving in on ten-thirty. She felt the heat of the brandy coursing through her body, causing a tingling sensation in her fingers and toes. The muscles across her forehead tightened slightly, and again she had to take a deep breath to right her natural balance. Flushed, she looked at Jake and smiled, hoping he wouldn't notice her mild distress, but there was no danger there. Jake seemed distracted, sometimes staring blankly into space, as if there were a picture screen he alone could see, then in the next minute looking at her with unabashed appreciation, openly awestruck by her youth and loveliness.

  Lily picked up a small, decorative fan that lie on an end table, close at hand, and fanned herself a few times, trying to quell the fire inside her. Small beads of sweat broke out on her cheeks and forehead, and the dew only heightened the sensuality she exuded. Jake saw it and put his glass down. He looked at her for a brief moment, almost as if hoping to see some sign that he shouldn't go ahead and take what he wanted, but it didn't show. Instead Lily smiled at him and inhaled deeply, causing her breasts to swell seductively, and Jake saw it and couldn't wait. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, and she went willingly, wrapping into him like a gooey cinnamon, entwining herself around his trunk. Conscious thought abandoned him, and he explored her wanton lips and mouth with his tongue, which she accepted fully, sucking him inside her with relish, a promise of more to come. She kissed him passionately, withdrawing only long enough to find another wet, deserving spot, and then she kissed him some more. She adeptly undid the buttons of his shirt and spread it open wide, disappointed to find still more material underneath, but undaunted. She wanted to feel his skin, to know that he was real, right there with her in this way, a flesh-and-blood lover, and she pushed her hands up under his undershirt, reaching to feel his nipples. Jake looked to the ceiling – looked, perhaps, for God – but he couldn't control himself any longer. He pulled Lily from the sofa and up into his arms, lifting her up off the floor, and he carried her to the next room, and the bed.