Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  “Better carry Linda,” Harper said to his wife. “She’ll get herself stomped on. And for gosh sakes, get past Holdsby before he nails us about Christian Endeavor, or we’ll never get out to the glen.”

  Julia Harper looked at her husband and scowled, but she said nothing. She grabbed three year old Linda, who at the moment was interested in the choir loft, picked her up, rested her on her hip.

  They escaped to the main entrance hall, and headed for the door. Noon sunlight glared on the brick steps.

  “There’s Tom Martin,” Julia said. She held Linda with one arm, jabbed at her hair with her other hand, and looked as if she wanted to smile.

  “Now, for cripes’ sake,” Harper said. “Don’t start gabbing.”

  Julia didn’t seem to hear him. Linda said something about, “Wanna fickle do, Mommy! Fickle do naw!”

  “All right,” Julia Harper said. “We’ll be home in a little while. Then you can.”

  Martin pinned them in a small bottleneck on the steps. “Only got a minute,” he said. “Nan’s waiting in the car. Why don’t you folks stop over this afternoon?” He paused, stripping cellophane from a cigar. “We could have some coffee and sandwiches later on—maybe play a few hands of bridge.” He bit off the end of the cigar, spat it across the church steps, and grinned at Julia.

  Julia smiled back brightly, glanced at her husband.

  Martin snatched the cigar from his mouth and motioned toward Linda. “Bring her along, too—of course.”

  Harper checked his wrist watch. “Sorry as the deuce, Tom. We planned something else. Thanks, though—for asking.”

  Julia patted Linda’s bottom, frowned, and chewed the edge of her lower lip.

  “Oh?” Martin said.

  “Little picnic—out to the glen.”

  Julia spoke suddenly, a shade too loudly. “Why don’t you and Nan come along?” She said it to Martin, but she looked at her husband as she spoke.

  Martin found a match, looked at it. “No—we can’t,” he said. “Feel kind of tired. Just want to lay around, anyways.”

  “We’d better get moving,” Harper said.

  “Maybe next Sunday?” Martin called.

  Harper said nothing. Julia turned and flashed another smile back across Linda’s shoulder. They moved slowly through the sun-dappled church crowds into the parking area, located their Ford sedan.

  “Wow,” Harper said. “Like an oven. Wait’ll I roll the windows down.”

  Julia waited, holding Linda, looking at the bustle of the crowded parking area.

  “Come on, will you?” Harper called with a trace of irritation. “You’re the one wanted to get out to the God damned glen. We’ll no more’n get there, we’ll have to come back. Get the lead out. It’s my only day off—you know that.”

  Julia ignored his whining tone, slipped into the front seat with Linda, then allowed the three year old to climb over into the back.

  Harper savagely started the engine and backed out, heading for the street. Julia adjusted her pale blue skirt over her round knees, patted the small and wilted corsage of flowers she’d made that morning.

  “There’s Brady,” Julia said. “He’s waving, Dell.”

  “Oh,” Harper said, flapping his hand without looking. “I’m hungry as a bear. You?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something’s the matter. I can tell.”

  Julia said nothing. She looked out the window and closed her eyes.

  Linda was bubbling about something in the back seat, her round face mashed against the side window, the fingers of one hand curled into her pale yellow hair.

  Harper turned onto Central a bit too speedily, narrowly missing the side of a city bus. A yellow and chrome hot rod roared past them, loaded with young laughing faces. The driver flipped the cut-out on the muffler twice.

  “Juvenile delinquents,” Harper said. “My God, look how fast they’re goin! They don’t give a damn for anybody. The world’s crazy—I tell you, it’s crazy. Crazy kids. I’d just like to get close enough to one of them sharpies, by God.”

  “What would you do, Dell?” Julia said, her eyes still closed, facing the window.

  “They need a lesson, that’s what they need. A good lesson. Somebody show ’em what for. Drunk, an’ taking dope—like they do.” He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it into a fist. “A good lesson—the old-fashioned way.”

  Julia said nothing. They drove on home.

  “Hurry up and change,” Harper said from the bathroom. “What you wearing?”

  His wife did not reply.

  Something thumped downstairs. “Hope she’s not in the God damned lunch,” Harper said. “You got it all packed, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Dell.”

  Harper came into the bedroom. “Guess I’ll wear these old suntans.”

  “Why don’t you wear shorts?”

  He ignored her, climbing into the tan khaki trousers. He was tall and boney, with reddish-brown hair that was sparse across pink skull. Pale blue eyes regarded the world with suspicion from behind rimless glasses. He buttoned and belted his trousers, yanked a white T-shirt over his head, tucked it in partly, then glanced toward his wife.

  “Hurry up God damn it. Will you?”

  She stood in front of her closet, running her hands through the racked clothes. They had been married six years. They had both been eighteen at the time of the ceremony, and Dell had just landed the job with the paint supply house—a job which he still held, through two promotions and three raises. They had both been skinny kids at the time of their marriage, striking out for the mysterious something.

  Dell hadn’t put on much weight since. Julia had. In brief white pants and brassiere, she was a lush and lovely woman. Thick black hair waved and massed across olive-skinned shoulders. Her waist was strikingly slim and firm, her hips sharply curving out and down to long-thighed, smoothly-rounded legs. Her breasts were large and high-peaked. Her face was sometimes piquant, sometimes sad—often both, the dark eyes a shade too thoughtful, the pouting, red-lipped mouth curiously immobile. She was possessed of a strange, almost electric nervousness that kept her forever on the go.

  “Well, by gosh, I’m going to be cool!” She snatched something from a hook in the closet. She stepped into a pair of white shorts that were high and tight when she got them fastened. She struck a pose, looked at her husband through half-lidded eyes, and grinned. He lit a cigarette, staring at her. She turned, pulled a thin yellow jersey over her head, glanced at the full length mirror on the back of the door, and said, “Let’s go, then.”

  Harper stomped toward the bedroom door. As he passed her, she touched his arm lightly, smiling up at him, a sudden and emphatic flash of crystal invitation. “Like my shorts, huh? You haven’t seen ’em.”

  “Fine,” he said, leaving the room, stomping down the hall.

  She continued to smile for a moment. Then she forgot the smile and looked at herself in the closet mirror again. Her lips were parted and she breathed heavily, her eyes darker than they had been. There was a kind of viciousness in her fingers as she crimped the edges of the shorts still higher, until they bit into the soft swollen flesh of her thighs. She checked herself from the side, arching her back, yanking the jersey down tightly. “God damn,” she said. “God damn! God damn!”

  “We’ll have to stop for gas,” Harper said. “Meant to fill her up this morning. Clean forgot. There’s a place I know down the road. We’ll stop there.”

  Linda was standing on the back seat, staring out the rear window. She wore a blue playsuit, and was jumping up and down, softly chanting, “Hungy . . . hungy . . . hungy . . .”

  “Why don’t you give her a sandwich—shut her up?” Harper said. “You made plenty, didn’t you?”

  “God damn right,” Julia said. “Better if she waits, though.”

  Harper craned his neck, frowning at her. Then he turned hi
s gaze ahead and said, “There’s the station.”

  Harper pulled the car off the main highway into a small country gas station with two red pumps. He stopped the car by the cement island and climbed out as the stocky, overalled attendant strolled out of the paint-peeled office.

  “Fill ‘er up,” Harper said. “Check everything. Battery, water, tires—the works. An’ be sure to wash that windshield. Better catch the rear window, too. All this dust.”

  The attendant began to whistle.

  Julia, sitting in the car, nervously flipped the sun-visor down on her side and arched her back slightly, stretching up so she could see herself in the small mirror. She opened her white-beaded purse, dipped in and brought out a large gold-cased lipstick, and worked on her lips. They were already quite red, but she went over them still more heavily. Finally she sighed, put the lipstick away, folded the visor back with a flip of her hand, and opened her door. She climbed out, glanced at Linda. Linda was occupied watching the cars and trucks whizz by on the main highway.

  Harper was discussing oil grades with the attendant. Julia looked around, then wandered over to the map rack on the wall of the office, beside the doorway. Georgia. Florida. Mississippi. South Carolina. North Carolina. Virginia. Delaware. Oregon . . . she withdrew the Oregon roadmap from the black metal rack, opened it, her face quite sober.

  A gleaming yellow and chrome car, not more than three feet high all around, shot roaring off the highway and slid to a grinding stop on the gravel just off the cement, inside the gas station area. There were five young men in the car. The hood of the engine was off, and chrome and nickel furnishings sparkled with a hard brilliance in the sunlight. It was as clean and sparkling as an expensive china steak platter.

  Julia turned, holding the road-map.

  The driver of the hot-rod, a tall, broad-shouldered, yellow-haired youth with a violent sunburn, wearing khaki shorts and moccasins, gunned the engine loudly. They all roared with laughter.

  The driver shut the engine off, leaped over the side of the car and crouched low and yelled, “Look at that!”

  “Va-va-VOOM!”

  “Hot rivets!”

  “Bite me!”

  Shrill whistles soared crazily into the sunlight, cutting through the afternoon with that same hard brilliance the car itself possessed—edged, clean, glasslike.

  “Oh—daddio!!”

  “Hit me!” one of the boys yelled. “Bash me—sock me—hit me!” He leaped from the car, ran around to where the yellow-haired youth stood and stuck his chin out. “Knock me cold!”

  The yellow-haired youth rapped his chin with a big fist, laughing. The other faked a backward stagger, turned fast and looked at Julia, eyes bugging. Then he ran around the side of the car, yelling like an Indian. He reached over the side of the car, came up with a brown pint bottle and gulped from it. He sprawled against the side of the car, gasping.

  “I’ll never make it now, boys. Never make it now. I seen the light.”

  Julia turned and tried to fold the roadmap, so she could put it away. It wouldn’t fold right. Each time she moved, the round flesh of her hips bunched under the tight shorts. She gave up trying to fold the map and jammed it at the rack, her hands trembling.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Harper said, walking toward Julia.

  The yellow-haired lad pulled himself erect, then went very loose all over, like a released sack of potatoes, and lurched in an affected stagger toward Julia. He came up close to her, ignoring Harper. He looked Julia up and down beadily, his mouth hanging open. The rest of the young men in the glinting hot-rod vaulted out and formed a pack behind the yellow-haired driver.

  “Baby,” he said in a stage whisper. “I can’t stand it. Do something before I shoot myself.”

  The roadmap fell out of the rack. Julia Harper’s face and throat had become violently red. She tried to walk away. The yellow-haired youth blocked her path.

  Harper shouted, “God damn! Get away! What you doing there?” His voice lowered. “What is this?”

  The yellow-haired one turned abruptly, ran over to the others, spoke quickly, and they all formed a straight line across the front of the gas station. They stared at Harper.

  “Dress right,” the yellow-haired one snapped. “Dress!”

  The line straightened.

  Julia hurried to the car, got in and closed her door.

  “What the hell’s going—?” Harper broke off his question.

  He stared at them. They returned his stare. They stood very straight, lips tight, watching him.

  The attendant came over to Harper. “Bring you your change,” he said, then went around the line of boys and inside the office.

  Harper stood furiously in front of the line, his mouth faintly moving, but saying nothing. The attendant returned and handed Harper some change, then went quickly over to the gas pumps.

  “All right, men,” the yellow-haired one said, jumping lightly out in front of the other four. “Atten—shun! Pre-e-e-e-e-sent—arms!”

  The yellow-haired leader turned and they all held their arms out toward Harper. Each face was emphatically sober and deeply sincere.

  Harper wheeled and stalked stiffly toward the car, jamming the change into his pocket. He turned suddenly toward the stocky attendant.

  “What’s going on around here?” Harper said, making his lips tight, scowling. “Who are they? What the hell’s the idea?”

  The attendant glanced at him swiftly, then headed for the office, making it clear that he didn’t want to get mixed up in what was brewing.

  “You check everything I told you?” Harper called.

  The attendant did not reply.

  “Hey, you! Did you check everything?”

  Linda called, “Hungy . . . hungy,” from the rear seat.

  The young men still stood at attention with their arms held rigidly out.

  “Please, Dell,” Julia said. “Come on—let’s go.”

  Harper said, “I’d like to—”

  Angrily, he climbed beneath the wheel of the car, started the engine, and they drove off. As they swung into the highway, a loudly shouted chorus of laughter roared into the early afternoon.

  “My God!” Harper said.

  Julia Harper stared straight ahead through the windshield, her face strained and slightly pink. Her legs were close together and she held her hands clasped tightly around the white-beaded purse in her lap.

  Harper started to speak but there was something in his throat. He tried to clear it away. He gripped the steering wheel very hard, his shoulders rigid.

  “That attendant ignored the whole God damned thing,” he said. “He acted like he was scared of those hoodlums.”

  Julia said nothing.

  “Hungy,” Linda said, jumping up and down on the rear seat. “Hungy . . . hungy!”

  Harper turned sharply to his wife. “I should’ve—what’d you do? What did you do?”

  “How do you mean, Dell?”

  “Listen to me. You must’ve done something. You heard them. My God, I never saw—I felt like really letting them have it. That’s the God’s truth. I didn’t know what to do, I tell you.”

  Julia drew a deep breath and let it out. “It was nothing, really. They’re just kids, Dell. They weren’t really mean and they wouldn’t really start anything.”

  “You’re right, there. No guts. No guts in the pack of ’em. Kids.”

  They drove for a time.

  “It was like you could feel it,” Harper said.

  Julia had her eyes closed. She opened them. “What?”

  “I don’t know. Like—something. Like there’s no law, no—nothing. Gutless kids—doing a thing like that. What could I do? Tell me that?” He looked at his wife again. “I wish you’d tell me what it was you did, God damn it.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Dell. I just stood there. That’s all. I was just standing there, looking at a map. That’s all.”

  They drove for a time.

  “I didn’t do
a thing. Just stood there.”

  “Yeah. You think I should report them?”

  “What could you report?”

  “You’re right. They’re gone now.” He sighed, moved his shoulders around. “They got my goat, I’ll tell you that, though. I should’ve grabbed that one, that ringleader.” He clenched and unclenched his fist on the steering wheel. “Brassy little bastard.”

  Julia said nothing. She turned on one hip, tugged at her shorts, rested her chin in the cup of her hand, looking out the window. She closed her eyes again.

  The sound of a horn blaring came along swiftly behind them, wailing, growing louder with a frightening speed.

  “It’s them again,” Julia said.

  “What?” Harper said. “Who?”

  She did not answer. The roar of an engine and the scream of a horn was upon them. It swept past, yellow-bright, screaming laughter, shouting, horn blatting. The yellow hot-rod careened in front of them, then leapt away and was soon out of sight.

  Nobody said anything.

  Finally, they reached the stone-vaulted entrance to the park in the glen. There was no sign whatever of the yellow car.

  “Hungy,” Linda said, and began to cry.

  “This is a good spot,” Harper said. “I just don’t want to be down there in the main park with all those damned people.”

  They were on a dirt road that wound high above the park. They had come through pine woods, and were opposite the top of a waterfall. It was a pleasant, completely isolated site, and Harper drew the car in beneath the shade of a young elm and some pines, beside a stone fireplace.

  “We should’ve brought hamburgers,” Julia said, climbing from the car. She stood there a moment and tugged at her shorts with both hands, then opened the rear door and let Linda out. Linda ran toward the stone fireplace and began slapping it with both hands.

  “Not so hungry, anyway,” Harper said. Then he said quickly, “I will be, probably. How about waiting awhile, huh? O. K.?”

  “I’m starved, Dell—really. Let’s eat. If we don’t, we’ll have trouble on our hands.”

  He looked at her suddenly.

  “I mean, Linda’s full of the dickens this afternoon.”