by A B Guthrie
“Hello, Mr. Beard,” he said, blinking his eyes. “You got a chore for me or something? Want to come in? I haven’t built up the fire yet.”
Entering, I thought he must have had to sleep in the coat. The room was as cold as a frozen-food locker. Our breaths made clouds in it. It held a rumpled bed, a chest of drawers, a mirror and a sagging chair. That was about all save for a cheap, sheet-iron stove. The place smelled clean enough, and Test looked fairly tidy in spite of uncombed hair and that old coat.
I said, “Want a job, Omar?”
“Sure do. Jobs been mighty sceerce.”
“It’s on a ranch.”
“That don’t matter to me. I savvy cows pretty good.”
“The food will be good, and you’ll have a warm place to sleep.”
“Hunkydory, then.”
“I must tell you that the pay won’t be high.”
“It never was, Mr. Beard.”
He didn’t speak in complaint. He spoke a fact. He accepted himself and his place without analysis. I felt a sudden surge of sympathy. He was an unassuming cipher. He always would be, but ciphers had their uses, not just in mathematics.
“And your boss will be a woman.”
“Bosses is bosses. You know me. Just show me what to do and I’ll do ’er.”
“I know that, Omar. I suppose you’ll want to tidy up some before going on the job?”
“Mr. Bob Studebaker, he lets me use that bath tub in back of the bar next door to that big dog he has. I swamp out for him when he needs it.”
“How are you fixed for an outfit? That coat’s worn pretty thin. And how about heavy gloves?”
“I been gettin’ along for years now.”
“But I know you. You’ll want to look nice.”
“I got good boots. The preacher, he gave ’em to me. Bought ’em too small for hisself, and they raised corns on his toes.”
“I got a good idea, Omar. Why don’t you go to the Corral, buy a down coat and some warm gloves or mitts? Charge them to me. I’ll see it’s all right.”
His dull, gentle gaze held a look of puzzlement. “Why you want to do that, Mr. Beard? It ain’t Christmas or anything.”
“Just say I want to. I’ll trust you to pay me back when you can.”
“Well, gee.” He was looking at the floor.
“Can you be ready to go at two o’clock, say?”
“Nothin’ to hold me back.”
“I’ll let you know if the time doesn’t work out.”
“I’ll be settin’ right here.”
“I suppose you’ll need a few things. A new toothbrush, maybe, razor blades, that kind of stuff.”
He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a fifty-cent piece. “I’ll just do without them things until payday.”
I pressed a five-dollar bill on him. “No need to wait, Omar.”
He looked down at the bill. “All right, I guess. Gee, be all right if I got myself barbered?”
“Sure. Just don’t get drunk, Omar.”
His face expressed what indignation it could. “You know I never been drunk in all my born days.”
“That’s why I said it. A joke, Omar. Remember, two o’clock.”
I went to the one outside pay telephone in our town and called Anita Dutton. “I’ve found you a man,” I told her.
“Already? How’s your frostbite?”
“Smarting a little. I haven’t paid much attention.”
“How could you and find help for me so soon?”
“No sweat. He’ll be ready at two o’clock. Can you drive in to get him?”
“Gosh, let me see. Well, I think so. I think I could leave Grandfather with Mr. Linderman.”
“Do that as quick as you can. It would be better for me if you arrived at about noon.”
“I see. You have to work?”
“Not that soon. I was hoping we could go to lunch.”
She hesitated before saying, “That would be nice. I might be a little late, though.”
“Just come along, please.”
I walked to the Corral, told them I would stand good for what Test purchased, and from there called the office, hoping Mr. Charleston was there.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked. His tone seemed blunt. He might be thinking about the car I had had to abandon.
“I’m sorry about that cruiser,” I answered. “I played dumbbell there.”
“If that’s what’s keeping you up, forget it. A deputy has a right to think the cars are in shape.”
“Thanks, but all the same I was stupid. Could I put off towing it in until the middle of the afternoon?”
“No, Jase, you can’t.”
“No?”
My question brought a small chuckle. “The reason you can’t is that Frazier and Doolittle are on their way out there now. Nothing exciting here. Go get some rest.”
I didn’t need rest. I needed something to occupy my time. Anything. So at last I trudged to the office. Mrs. Vail was on the board. Because of my hours I had seen her only a time or two. She had a face like a camel and a shape to suit it and a brain like an erratic computer.
“Hello, Now and Then,” she said. “I heard the brave deputy landed in clover after a treacherous time.”
“I heard Ike Doolittle talks too much.”
“He confides in those he can trust.”
“And he trusts everybody.”
She laughed. “You’re borrowing from the story about the girl who limited her love to her friends.”
“Yeah, and didn’t have an enemy in town. You can do better than that.”
“Here’s maybe better. If you want to see Mr. Charleston, you better make time. He’s about to go out.”
Charleston was already on his feet when I entered. “Fine way to rest,” he said.
“But I haven’t told you about Coletti. I don’t know where my mind’s been.”
“I won’t guess,” he said, smiling. That damn Doolittle! “But, yes, Coletti and that woman, Erma by name.”
“She gave him a complete alibi, and I believed her.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“And another thing. Marie Coletti has made reservations for tomorrow. I can drive her to the city. On my own time.”
He thought for a moment, pacing, his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid I’ll want you around. Doolittle can chauffeur her. Show up a little early tomorrow if you can.” He went out then.
I sat for a while. We were a long way from finding out who shot Pudge Eaton. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about wolves or strip mining or Coletti or Marie. So I didn’t. Not much. I just sat there until noon.
Where to meet Anita? I hadn’t mentioned a place. Neither would I recognize her car, never having identified it. Some datemaker! I walked the main drag, the seven blocks of it, watching for traffic, and returned, watching. I did the same thing once more. Then, chilled, I went to the office, and there she was, chatting with Mrs. Vail.
“Hi and welcome,” I said. “Seems you two have met.”
“I’ve been giving this pretty girl the lowdown on you, Jase.” Mrs. Vail regarded us with the expectant, rather lubricious look that older women are likely to wear in the presence of a young couple.
“From what I’ve just heard, I must have been out of my mind, asking for you,” Anita said.
“Please don’t come to your senses then,” I answered. “And don’t accept at face value what Mrs. Vail says. She won the liar’s contest last year and is trying for it again. Right, Mrs. Vail?”
“No fun in truth except for cops.” The phone rang. “Run along, you two.”
The Jackson Hotel was in one of its hopeful fits of improvement. The dining room had been redecorated and, so the advertisement said, a new chef employed. I took Anita there for lunch. The Commercial Cafe would have been as private as a political convention. The tablecloths were white, the napkins cloth and, as I found later, the menus new. I hung up Anita’s wraps and my own. We had a choice of tables, improvem
ent not having met its just reward, at least not yet.
I chose a table away from the windows through which the cold crept. She wanted a shrimp cocktail and soup. I ordered a cheese omelet. I guessed neither of us thought it quite decorous to give our appetites full rein. She told me she didn’t want a cocktail. Neither, for that matter, did I. I didn’t need one.
Cold-weather clothing gave the appearance of bulk and heft to all wearers. Now, with her coat hung up, her heavy gloves removed, Anita looked small but still sturdy. She wore a gray woolen suit and a white blouse with a touch of red at the throat. What’s more, the suit had a skirt, not pants. The skirt was not the best of bad-weather protection, but it struck me as more becoming, though she could have worn pants without the plump ladies’ appearance of defiance in front and apology behind.
Once we had ordered, I asked, “How’s your grandfather?”
“Rounded up and safe with Mr. Linderman, but let’s not talk about him. What have you been doing?”
“Finding you a hired man, waiting for you to appear and thinking about a case.”
“Besides suffering chilblains. I suppose the case is that bartender?”
The waitress brought our food and we began on it.
“That’s the case,” I said. “No clues. We know he was shot. That’s all.”
“I hate guns. I hid the only one at the ranch.”
“You might need it, for wolves or something.”
“Then I can find it. Tell me about my new helper.”
“I like him. He’s not smart, but he works. Tell him what to do and, as he says, he’ll do ’er. You’ll have to arrange about wages. He’ll be more than reasonable.”
“You haven’t told me his name.”
“Omar Test.”
“Not Tent?”
“No relation to the Tent Maker, and, besides, he doesn’t drink.”
We grinned at each other, pleased with shared knowledge. Her teeth were as white and even as a dentist’s dream.
We chatted along without purpose, except the prime and unspoken purpose of getting better acquainted.
Over coffee she asked, “When do I pick the man up?”
I consulted my watch. “I hate to tell you he’s probably ready now.”
“Hadn’t we better go, then?”
“After you answer one question. May I come to see you?”
“Not if you’re afraid of Grandfather.” Her eyes were full of mischief.
I said, “I’ll just show him my badge.”
We drove to Omar’s shack in Anita’s car. He opened the door when he saw us pull up. He looked quite presentable. I made them acquainted. Omar got in the back seat. As we rolled away, he said, “I hope it’s all right, Mr. Beard. This new cap—”
“Sure. Sure,” I interrupted. “Everything’s fine.”
Anita looked at me with suspicion but didn’t say anything. I asked her to let me off at home and told her the way.
A wave of a gloved hand was the last I saw of her that day.
14
Ike Doolittle came by the house at noon to pick up Marie and her baggage. Mother wasn’t satisfied to say goodbye to her in the house. She put a coat on over her apron and followed us out to the car, with me carrying three light bags. She and Marie embraced, almost tearfully, and Marie even gave me a kiss.
As Doolittle was stowing away the last of the luggage, Tim Reagan showed up. I supposed Doolittle had told him about Marie’s leaving. He said, “So you’re on the way, Marie.”
“Home, Tim. Home again. I never want to see Tony again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish him well.”
“Forgive and forget, if you can. That’s the thing. Remember me to your folks. I’m hoping to be back there in a year, more or less.”
“That would be nice,” she said. They shook hands in a sort of distant brother-and-sister way, as if remembering childhood days together.
“All aboard,” Ike said, and she and he climbed into the car and took off.
“Mother,” I said, “you haven’t met my friend Tim Reagan.”
Mother brought a hand from underneath her coat and held it out. Reagan, his hand ungloved, took it and looked into her face.
“I like to meet Jase’s friends,” Mother told him.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
“Thanks. I can’t right now.”
“Excuse me, then. I’m getting cold.”
Reagan, looking in her direction, made an approving nod. When she was out of earshot, he said, “I believe you now. Hell, I guess I believed you before. I’m obliged.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
I went back into the house, to be greeted with a question. “What would you like for supper, Jase?”
“Anything. Quit fussing, Mother. There’s more to life than pleasing menfolk. Haven’t you heard of women’s lib?”
“I’ve heard enough. I’m a liberated woman, though the likes of them wouldn’t believe it. I do what I like to do.”
“You ought to take a trip. Do something on your own, for yourself.”
“Answer my question. What do you want for supper?”
“Plovers’ eggs and smoked sturgeon. Something simple like that.”
“I was thinking of stuffed pork chops.”
“Fine.”
It was no use to argue. She was set in her ways, and I suspected she had a point, doing what she liked to do. Yet I felt a little sad and a little guilty. Hers must be a pretty dreary existence.
I went to the phone in the living room and called Anita’s number. On the first ring it struck me that Grandpa might answer the phone, and what would I say to him? Internal Revenue Service calling? County agent? Weather warning?
But Anita’s voice answered, and I asked about the new man. “Just answer questions if someone’s within hearing,” I told her.
“It’s all right. They’re eating dinner.” The noon meal was dinner on ranches. “Omar’s all right, Jase. And he and Grandfather get along fine. I’m grateful to you.”
“Don’t be. I’m just glad. And one night soon I’m going to ask for time off and come to see you, if that’s all right. I’ll call you beforehand.”
“Don’t do that. Just come along.”
I ate lunch and loafed around for a while, petting the dog, talking to Mother and reading. In midafternoon I bundled up and headed for the office.
I had to wait for Charleston. After a quarter of an hour he came in, took off his wraps and said, “You’re earlier than need be, Jase, but all right. We’ll get this business over with. Bring in Coletti, will you?”
I took the keys and went to his cell and brought him back, neither of us saying much.
“Sit down, Coletti,” Charleston said from his desk.
Coletti had cured up pretty well, his bruises hardly showing. But he never would look as he had, even if he replaced the missing two teeth. He asked, “What’s up now?”
“We’ve held you without charge, Coletti,” Charleston said.
“Too damn long. Should have got me a lawyer. He’d of sprung me.”
“We’ve held you without charge pending your wife’s recovery or death.”
“Yeah.”
The word wasn’t a question, nor could I see any interest or concern in Coletti’s dark eyes, though he must have been curious at least. All I saw was smolder.
“Now we’re letting you go.”
“So the bitch got well?”
“Well enough.”
“I knew goddamn well she would. I just slapped her around a little.”
“We saw what you’d done.” The marks of dislike showed strong in Charleston’s face. “I wanted her to stay and press charges against you.”
“She’s gone? That what you’re telling me?”
“Flown the coop, as we country bums would say.”
“Where?”
“Where you can’t reach her and we don’t want to try. That’s why we’re le
tting you out. No complaining witness.”
Coletti had a quick mind, too quick. “Four stinkin’ walls,” he said. “Lousy chow.” He was wrong there. Doolittle or Frazier or I had brought him the Commercial Cafe’s best every day. “All that, and you kept me in a cage too damn long and no good reason for it.”
He almost grinned, showing where his two lost teeth had been. “And that son of a bitch”—he pointed to me—“kicks my face in. Man, oh, man. Now you got no case. I know some law. I’ll sue you for false arrest. I’ll burn your ass.”
Charleston nodded toward me, and now I thought I caught the drift. I knew why he had wanted me on hand.
“Look here, Mr. Sheriff,” I said, “what’s the idea, counting me out? I have a grievance. I have charges to bring. What about assault and battery? What about resisting an officer? What about attempted homicide? Throw Coletti back in a cell. Believe me, I want to be a complaining witness.”
Charleston had watched Coletti while I spoke. It was his turn to grin. “I’m not forgetting about you, Jase. Your case is ironclad for a fact. But don’t you think it would be best to hold back for a while?”
“What for?”
“Pending developments. Pending the suit Coletti wants to file. Hold your fire. That’s my suggestion.”
Coletti’s voice was hardly more than a squeak. “You got me by the balls.”
“It looks that way,” Charleston told him. “Now get out.”
“Get out of town, huh?”
“No. I wouldn’t visit scum like you on an unoffending community. We don’t banish bad actors. We watch them. Just get a little on the wrong side of the law, and back in jail you go. I have an idea you better beware of Tim Reagan, too.” Charleston reached in a drawer and brought out an envelope. “Here’s what you came with, barring a bellyful of whiskey.” His thumb moved toward the rack on which we hung our wraps. “Your coat and stuff is on that peg. There’s the door. Get!”
Coletti went out, giving us one baleful but defeated glance.
Charleston took a deep breath, as if the air had cleared with his going. “Nice acting, Jase. You picked up the ball fast. Now go on home, eat supper and come back later. Make it a short shift tonight if you can.”
The shift not only was short: it was dull. Hardly a call came in except for routine reports. Sooner than I could imagine, I was to wish for dull times again.
