Caroline laughed. “Mister Pennington, I love you to pieces, but you’re simply not making any sense. Now about the pocket watch—”
The expression on Peter’s face grew considerably more solemn. “You don’t want another pocket watch. It would be asking for trouble.”
“Nonsense.” Caroline wanted to say that if price was the issue she’d be willing to pay more for the watch, but the look of seriousness stretched across Peter’s face stopped her. “Asking for trouble, why?”
Instead of answering her question, Peter took a gray cardboard box from beneath the counter and fished through it. He pulled a gold wristwatch from the box, held it in his hand for a few seconds, then dropped it back and pulled out a clunky-looking stainless steel watch with a heavy band. “This is what your Mister Washington needs,” he said and handed the watch to Caroline.
“This?” Caroline looked at the watch. It had an oversized face and glow-in-the-dark numbers. “This hardly seems like what Wilbur—”
“It may not be what he wants,” Peter said, “but it’s what he needs.”
Caroline looked at the watch again and frowned.
“Trust me,” Peter said. He reached across the counter and folded Caroline’s fingers over the watch. “Take it and give it to your Mister Washington. Tell him to put the watch on and never take it off.”
“Never?” Caroline asked. “What about when he takes a shower or bath?”
“The watch stays on.”
“Won’t it get ruined?”
Peter shook his head. “Waterproof.”
“Oh.” Caroline stood there with her eyes darting back and forth from the watch in her hand to the serious expression on Peter’s face. “Are you certain about this?”
“Very certain.”
“Okay.” Caroline gave a disappointed sigh. She had hoped to replace Wilbur’s pocket watch with one that was exactly the same or very similar. This was at best a poor substitute. She dropped the watch into her handbag and pulled out her wallet. “How much?”
“Nothing,” Peter answered. “It’s a gift.”
He smiled graciously, but behind the smile was a prayer that this watch would make amends for the way he so recklessly replaced Wilbur’s pocket watch. Some things were not meant to be, and it would have been far better for the first watch to remain lost. When Peter thought of the trouble that lay ahead, a weight of sadness settled in his heart. “Be careful and wary of strangers.”
Rose Hill was a small town, a settled-down place where neighbors knew one another, so such a warning made no sense to Caroline, but then this entire day made no sense. She turned to leave and halfway to the door she stopped and looked back. “I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you about the desk.”
Peter chuckled. “You’re writing again, aren’t you?”
Caroline nodded. “It’s the best work I’ve ever done. It’s the desk. It has some sort of magic, doesn’t it?”
Peter laughed again. “The magic is in you. Oh, it’s a good desk, a strong desk, one that will be with you for years to come. But it’s simply a touchstone that enables you to believe in yourself.”
Caroline rolled her eyes and gave him a look of doubt. “Mister Pennington, you’ve got more secrets than heaven itself.”
Peter stood behind the window and watched Caroline’s car pull away. Not more, he thought, but almost as many.
~ ~ ~
That afternoon Caroline gave Wilbur the watch.
“Thank you,” he said with an expression of puzzlement. “It’s a bit heavy for my taste, but I surely appreciate the thought.”
“Don’t just put it in the drawer,” she warned. “You’ve got to wear it.”
“I will,” Wilbur nodded. “I can use it for when I’m gardening—”
“No, you’ve got to wear it all the time.”
“All the time?”
“Yes. Don’t take it off! Not for sleeping, showering, anything!”
“Well,” Wilbur said, “if it means that much to you…” He pulled the watch onto his arm and snapped the band shut.
“Promise me that you’ll never take it off. Not for any reason.”
Wilbur felt the urgency in her voice and nodded. “I promise.” That the request seemed illogical was of no consequence. It was important to Caroline, and for that reason alone he would do it.
That afternoon Wilbur began checking the time on the clunky wristwatch just as he had done with his grandfather’s pocket watch. At first it seemed an unnatural movement, something he had to stop and think about before doing, but within a day the newness vanished and he stopped fingering the pocket that for so many years had been the resting place of time.
Money in Mackinaw
For two weeks Max continued his nightly raids, and the more bounty he accumulated the better he felt. Every new trinket or piece of silver he carried to his room gave him greater confidence and power. When he held a watch or serving spoon in his hands, he could feel a surge of strength move through his body. In time he would become invincible; then he would shake loose Caroline and her band of misfits. He would find a way to get what should have been rightfully his.
A triumphant gleam settled in his eyes, and a smile curled his lips.
Laricka was the first to notice. “Ah,” she said eyeing Max across the dinner table. “Look at you. At last, a smile on your face.” Laricka attributed it to the fact that Max had given up his late-night carousing, and he was content to let her stay with that impression.
On the fourteenth day, the excitement of what he’d done became too great for Max to contain. He decided it was time to reap the rewards of his work. Late in the afternoon when Caroline and Rose were busy in the kitchen, Laricka with her grandsons, and Doctor Payne engrossed in the latest dental magazine, Max slipped out of his room with a large bundle tucked under his arm and left the house. This time he would not make the foolish mistake of taking things to Harrison where they could eventually find their way home, nor would he go back to Blue Neck to be cheated by the insufferable Buddha. On this day he’d allowed plenty of time to drive to Mackinaw. It was far enough away for lost things to stay lost, and, given the transient nature of the town, few if any questions would be asked.
Max slid behind the wheel and laid the bundle on the seat beside him, so close that it rested against his right thigh. The touch of the bundle was cool and hot at the same time. It had an energy of its own; it gave life and strength. Holding each object and recalling the moment he plucked it from its nesting place gave Max indescribable pleasure, and for that reason he hated to part with the treasures. But the collection was worth something, enough perhaps for him to spend a full week with Maggie Sue. It was the kind of money he couldn’t afford to ignore.
It was early dusk when Max arrived in Mackinaw. He needed gas for the car and directions. A pawnshop was almost never on the main drag. Places like that were down a darkened side street or tucked in the far end of an alley where people could come and go with anonymity. People who pawned things seldom came back for them, so there was no need for the shop to be located where it was easy to find. Max imagined Ida’s silver serving spoons turning yellow as they waited to be reclaimed, and he laughed aloud.
A short distance from the highway Max spotted a neon sign that blinked “Abe’s Gas–Open 24 Hours.” He pulled in next to the self-service pump, got out, and unscrewed the gas tank cap. He lifted the hose from the pump and stuck the nozzle in the gas tank, but when he pressed the handle nothing happened. Max banged on the side of the pump and shouted, “What the hell—”
The skinny attendant standing in the doorway called out, “If you ain’t using a credit card, you gotta pay first.”
“You’re shittin’ me!” Max said.
“Nope.”
“Stupid way of doing business,” Max grumbled. “In Rose Hill, Harvey lets you pump the gas then come inside and pay what you owe.”
“This ain’t Rose Hill, and I ain’t Harvey.”
Although Max was none too fond o
f leaving his bundle alone in the car, he followed the attendant inside and handed him the money. “Five bucks, regular.”
The attendant took the bills and said, “Pull over to pump two.”
“Two? What’s wrong with the pump I’m at?”
“It’s just high test. You want high test?”
High test was thirteen cents a gallon more, and Max would not be suckered into paying more than he needed for gas. “Nah, I’ll pull over.”
After he’d pumped the gas, Max locked his car and returned for directions to the local pawnshop.
“Two blocks past the pool hall, make a right onto Bucket, and the next left onto Graymoor,” the attendant said. “It’s a block-and-a-half down Graymoor.”
“Thanks.” Max returned to his car and pulled out of the station. The attendant watched the car pull away and breathed a sigh of relief.
When Max had come back toward the station, Joe Mallory thought for sure he’d caught on. So far no one else had. It was an easy scam: charge a customer five dollars, set the pump inside for four-fifty, and pocket fifty cents. Do it twenty times a day, and you had some decent money. Pump two was on the dark side of the station where you couldn’t see squat, let alone the numbers on the pump. People paid their money, pumped their gas, and left.
Joe Mallory watched the taillights of Max’s car disappear; then he turned and went back inside the station. It would be another seven hours before he’d get off duty.
~ ~ ~
Edgar’s pawnshop was easy enough to find, and with its brightly lit interior it bore no resemblance to Buddha’s place. The window was filled with things like saddles, boots, and coffee pots. Max climbed out of the car and carried his bundle inside.
He set the bundle on the counter and removed the items from the pillowcase one by one. A tinkling bell over the door had announced his arrival, but no one was behind the counter. Max waited a few minutes then called out, “Anyone here?”
“Keep yer’ shirt on,” a voice answered. “I’m coming!”
It was yet another minute, perhaps two, before an extremely tall man with graying hair came through the door. “Everybody’s in a hurry,” he said with an air of impatience.
“I thought maybe you didn’t know I was here,” Max replied. “Sorry.”
“I ain’t deaf. I heard the bell.”
On the inside of Max’s brain he was thinking, Then why didn’t you answer it, asshole? but his response was simply a soft chuckle and another, “Sorry.” The thing about Max was that when he wanted to, he could be pleasant, charming even. It came and went at his discretion. He used it to elicit a favor or a free ride, then tucked it back inside until he had another such need.
Max spread the array of items across the counter. “What’ll you give me for the lot?”
Edgar made no move to pick up anything. He eyed the merchandise, then pulled the right side of his nose and mouth into a skeptical look of doubt. “I don’t get much call for stuff like this. I could maybe go sixty or seventy.”
“You’re kidding,” Max replied. “The watch alone is worth that.”
“It’s only worth what I can get for it, and I done told you I ain’t got much call for stuff like this.”
“The watch is solid gold, and these spoons sterling!”
“Don’t matter none. People ’round these parts ain’t looking to buy stuff like this. You got a saddle or cooking pots? Them things sell. Fancy stuff don’t sell.”
“Cooking pots?” Max repeated. “That’s used junk. What I got here is valuable merchandise that’s worth something.”
“No.” Edgar leaned across the counter and glared down at Max. “What you got here is a bunch of stuff you’re looking to sell, the kind of stuff that starts me thinking you might’ve come by it dishonestly.”
Max started to sputter a response, but Edgar held up his hand. “Don’t bother. I ain’t in the asking questions business.”
“Well, if you’d let me explain—”
“I don’t much care for explaining either,” Edgar said. “Seventy bucks, no questions asked. Take it or leave it.”
Max took it.
Seventy bucks would show Maggie Sue a good time for three, maybe four days. After that Max would start rethinking his strategy of what to take and what to leave. “Bunch of crackpots,” he grumbled as he climbed back into the car. “Don’t know good from worthless.”
~ ~ ~
It was after ten when Max arrived back in Rose Hill and rather than stop by the Owl’s Nest, he went straight to Maggie Sue’s apartment. From the street he could see a light in the bedroom. He walked up the single flight of stairs whistling “I’m in the Money” then eagerly rapped on Maggie Sue’s apartment door.
She was listing to music. He could hear it coming from inside, but she didn’t open the door. Max knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. He rattled the doorknob and called out her name. No answer.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Max thought about the last time they were together. He remembered the feel of Maggie Sue’s hot breath as she whispered how she was crazy for him. It had been ten days since he’d seen her. But you don’t stop being crazy for someone in ten short days. He rattled the doorknob again.
As Max stood there listening to the music coming from inside the apartment, layers of possibilities stacked up inside his head. Maybe Maggie Sue was sick. Maybe she’d fallen and lay on the floor unconscious. Maybe an intruder had gotten in and…anything was possible. Growing more concerned by the second, Max left the building, walked back to the Owl’s Nest, and dialed her number. No answer.
He returned to the building and banged on the door with both fists. “Are you okay Maggie Sue?” he yelled. When there was still no answer he slammed his shoulder into the door and tried to force it open. The door didn’t budge, but Max’s shoulder screamed in pain.
Max left the building, got back into his car, and headed home. Once back at the house he retrieved the crowbar he’d hidden in back of the garage, then returned to Maggie Sue’s apartment. He walked up the stairs and with the first swing of the crowbar sent the doorknob flying across the hall. Seconds later he had pried the door open.
A startled Maggie Sue stood there wearing nothing but a skimpy black brassiere. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“You didn’t answer the door,” Max stammered. “I thought maybe you was hurt or in trouble.”
“I didn’t answer the door ’cause I was busy.” Maggie Sue looked like she could run a dagger through Max. “Now get on outta here, and leave me be.”
Max felt the heat of shame spreading through his body. As he turned and walked down the stairs, he felt smaller than he’d ever felt before. “Screw you, Maggie Sue,” he said. “There’s plenty more pebbles on the beach.”
Max drove back to the Owl’s Nest, paid the outstanding tab, and bought drinks for the house, which was only Freddie and the two drunk fellows standing at the end of the bar. He drank until closing, then bought a bottle of bourbon and went home.
Max Sweetwater
Maggie Sue’s a tramp. A flat-outt, no-good tramp. If I had a shred of dignity I’d cut a wide circle and stay clear of the woman, but I can’t. I know she’s trash, I know she sidles up to whoever’s got money in their pocket, but when I’m with Maggie Sue she makes me feel like a man. Nobody else ever done that.
I ain’t like Jim; I never had stuff handed to me. Everything I got I had to work for or steal. Know why? Because I’m Jim’s brother, that’s why. People called him Big Jim, like he’s some kind of god. Me they called Short-shit, thinking it was funny. Well it wasn’t funny to me. Pork Berger used to say I was made outta scrapings leftover from Big Jim, and then the big jerk would double over laughing. You know how it feels to always be hearing stuff like that? Shitty, that’s how it feels. Live a life like that, and pretty quick you learn you gotta grab hold of whatever fun you can get.
The truth is Big Jim owes me. He could’ve stuck up for me more. He could’ve told Pork
he’d knock the bejesus out of him if he called me Short-shit again, but he didn’t. You know what he did? He slapped Pork on the back and said, Stop picking on the kid. That’s it. He don’t never say nothing to Pork, but me he takes aside and says I ought to just ignore such name-calling. Yeah, like he’d ignore it if they did it to him. If you don’t get your feathers in such a ruffle, Pork would stop doing it, Jim says. Sure he will, I’m thinking. When hell freezes over.
I just gotta forget about people like Pork and concentrate on Maggie Sue. She’s what makes me feel good. All I need to keep her happy is the jingle of money in my pocket, and I’m gonna get it one way or the other. I can almost see Maggie Sue’s eyes popping wide open when I tell her this house is mine. Knowing her, she’ll be wanting to move in. Maybe me and her will take that big master bedroom. She’d like that.
Since day one Big Jim got everything, and I got scraps. Well, he’s dead now, and I’m gonna take what’s rightfully mine.
You’ll see. When I get hold of this house, people’s gonna respect me same as Big Jim. Ain’t nobody gonna be calling me Short-shit then.
A Chance Meeting
Two days passed before Max came out of the room again, and when he finally did it was in the wee hours of the morning when darkness shrouded the house and people were lost to their dreams. During those two days he drank glass after glass of bourbon and spent endless hours recounting the misery that had been handed to him.
It began the day he was born. A tornado tore through town and blew out half the windows in the house. Bertha Sweetwater was in her early twenties at the time and expecting her second baby. She’d gone to the basement with a third load of laundry when the tornado hit and shook the house to its foundation. Furniture was tossed from one room to another, and the living sofa came to rest smack in front of the basement door. Bertha was trapped down there for six hours, and by the time a rescue team worked their way through the rubble Max had arrived. He weighed less than three pounds and was barely breathing. For months Bertha went around telling people that Max was good as dead until she found a stack of newspapers and bundled him inside the Help Wanted section.
Previously Loved Treasures Page 19
