The diamond bikini

by Charles Williams

  “A diamond bathing suit,” he says, more like he was talking to hisself. “Imagine that. Where do you swim, you an’ Miss Harrington?”

  “We don’t,” I says. “You told me not to, don’t you remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

  He was quiet for a minute, and then he looked back up the hill again and stirred kind of restless in the seat. “Reckon if it’s made out of diamonds, it ain’t a very big suit, is it?”

  “No,” I said. “Just a little three-cornered patch, sort of, and a string that goes around the middle.”

  “Just one patch?”

  “Yeah,” I says. “Leaves her lots of room to swim in. It ain’t binding her at all.”

  “Ho-ly hell!” he says, like he was choking on the cigar smoke. “You’re sure there ain’t three patches?”

  “No. Just one. Why? Is there usually three?”

  “Oh,” he says. “I don’t rightly know. Seems like I heard somewhere there was three, most generally. But I reckon it don’t make no difference. You see anything of Sagamore?”

  I turned and looked down past the house and across the cornfield, but I didn’t see him anywhere. “Not yet.”

  “Well, he’ll be along pretty soon.”

  “Is something wrong with one of the mules?” I asked.

  “Well, with a mule, it’s kind of hard to tell when something is wrong with him. But he says one of ‘em had been actin’ kind of funny. Like something was worryin’ him.”

  “Oh,” I says. We waited some more. And then, when I looked down that way again, I saw a little feather of gray smoke coming up above the trees down in the bottom.

  “Say, Pop. Something’s burning down there.”

  He turned that way. “Well, by golly, so it is. I reckon it ain’t serious, though. Likely just an old stump or something.”

  Just then there was a racket up the hill. It sounded like a car coming along the old road in a big hurry, I turned and got just a glimpse of it as it passed an opening in the trees. It didn’t turn in at the wire gate, though; it just kept on going on that road that angled down towards the bottom. It was really moving.

  “They was travelling a little like Booger and Otis,” I says. “You reckon it was them?”

  “Hmmmm,” Pop says. “I don’t know. Can’t see why they’d be goin’ down there towards the bottom.”

  “Maybe they seen that smoke. Uncle Sagamore says they keep a sharp lookout for forest fires.”

  Pop took a puff on his cigar. “Reckon that might be it, at that. Well, they’ll likely put her out. Ain’t no cause to worry.”

  He kept on looking towards the timber, and in a minute Uncle Sagamore came out of it on the far side of the cornfield. He was walking pretty fast. He went in the back of the house, and then come on out the front just like he’d walked straight through, but when he came out he had on a pair of shoes. The shoes wasn’t laced, though, and he didn’t have on a shirt. He didn’t believe in dressing up much to go to town. The black hair on his chest stuck up above the bib of his overalls, and it was all sweaty when he walked up to the car and got in the front seat with Pop.

  Pop started the car. “That mule all right?” he asks.

  “Mule?” Uncle Sagamore asked. “Oh. Sure. Looks in pretty good shape. He was just sulkin’, I reckon.”

  “That was likely it,” Pop says.

  “Mules is a lot like women,” Uncle Sagamore went on. “They get to thinkin’ about some triflin’ thing that happened ten, fifteen years ago, an’ then they brood about it for a while and go into a sull an’ won’t have nothin’ to do with you for weeks. An’ the hell of it is you ain’t got no idea what they’re poutin’ about.”

  “I reckon that’s right,” Pop says. He eased the car up the hill, taking it slow and easy across the bumps. Uncle Sagamore got out and opened the wire gate. We went through and he got back in. We started up the sandy road through the pines. Just before we got to the top of the hill the car stalled. It just stopped right in its tracks.

  “Well,” Pop says. “Why you reckon it did that?”

  “Sure is funny.” Uncle Sagamore says. “Mebbe you better try the starter.”

  Pop ground on the starter, but nothing happened. He pulled out the choke and ground some more. It didn’t start.

  I looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Pop,” I says. “I see the trouble. Looks like the key ain’t turned all the way on.”

  “Of course it’s turned on,” Pop says.

  “But, look—”

  “Damn it,” Pop barks at me. “I tell you the key is all right.” He went on grinding on the starter, with the choke pulled all the way out.

  “But, Pop—”

  “Will you hush about that key?” he snaps at me. “Look—” He took hold of the key, and sure enough it did turn a little. It hadn’t been quite all the way on, just like I told him.

  “Well, I’ll be dad-burned,” he says.

  “Well sir, the fool thing,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Who would of thought that?”

  Pop pushed on the starter again, “Well, we’ll go now.” The engine turned over, but nothing happened. It wouldn’t start.

  “I think you got it flooded,” I says.

  “Something’s sure wrong,” Pop got out. Then Uncle Sagamore opened his door and got out too. Pop raised up the hood, and they stood looking at the motor.

  “Reckon there could be something wrong amongst all them wires?” Uncle Sagamore asked. “Such a passel of ‘em in there, man wouldn’t never know if they was hooked up right.”

  I didn’t bother to get out. You could see what was wrong. He’d been turning the motor over all that time with the switch of the choke pulled out, and he’d flooded her. As soon as it set for a few minutes it’d be all right. Funny Pop couldn’t figure that out; he knew a right smart about motors as a rule. But it was all right with me. It was nice there, all sunshiny and warm, with the little breeze whispering through the tops of the pines. I just sat there with my feet on the bag of dirty clothes and wondered if we’d get back in time so I could go swimming with Miss Harrington. I sure hoped so.

  Just then there was the sound of another car coming up the road behind us, coming real fast like whoever it was was in a big hurry. They threw on the brakes and slid to a stop in the ruts right behind us. I got out to see who it was. And doggone if it wasn’t Booger and Otis in the sheriff car.

  They got out, one on each side. They had on their white hats, pushed back on their heads kind of free-and-easy like, and their gun-belts, with the bone handled guns hanging down on their right leg. They both had on a little short khaki jacket and a black tie, and they looked real spruce. There was a kind of grin on their faces, like they’d both thought of the same joke at the same time. Booger’s gold tooth just shined.

  Uncle Sagamore straightened up and looked at them, and then he grinned kind of sheepish. “Well sir, by golly,” he says, “if it ain’t the shurf’s boys, Sam. You recollect Booger and Otis, don’t you?”

  Pop looked at Uncle Sagamore, and Uncle Sagamore looked at Pop, both of ‘em like they was uneasy about something and trying not to let on. Then Pop swallowed like he had something stuck in his throat and said, “Why, sure I do. I’m real proud to see you boys again.”

  Booger and Otis walked on around the car real slow, not saying a word. When they got in the road in front of it they just stood there with their thumbs hooked in the gun-belts. They looked at each other in a way that made you think they was going to bust out laughing any minute, but then their faces got real serious.

  “Why—uh—you having a little trouble, Mr. Noonan?” Booger asked, real anxious. He didn’t mean Pop, though, because he was looking at Uncle Sagamore.

  But before Uncle Sagamore could say anything, Otis says, “Why, Booger, I do believe Mr. Noonan’s car has broke down.”

  Booger looked amazed. “Well, is that a fact?” he asked. “Now, ain’t that a embarrassing thing to happen? I mean, right at a time like this.”
/>   Otis nodded his head real solemn. “It sure is,” he says. “But ain’t he the lucky one we come along so we could help him?”

  Uncle Sagamore pulled his right foot out of his shoe and used his big toenail to scratch his other leg with. He looked down at the ground. “Shucks, boys,” he says. “I don’t reckon it’s nothin’ very serious. Likely me an’ Sam can get her goin’, an’ we wouldn’t want to put you boys out none, you bein’ busy an’ all. I think you can get around us all right, by just pullin’ out of the ruts.”

  Booger and Otis stared at each other, like they was horrified just even thinking about it. “Go off and leave you broke down like this? Why, Mr. Noonan, we wouldn’t dream of it,” Otis says. “Good heaven, Booger, how many times you reckon the sheriff has told us? Boys, he always says, any time you can be of any help to Mr. Noonan, you just pitch right in there and give him a hand. Mr. Noonan’s a taxpayer, Otis he tells me. I know for a fact his taxes is paid in full right up through 1937.”

  Uncle Sagamore took out his big red handkerchief and mopped his face, and then rubbed it around on top of the bald spot on his head. “Well sir, you boys make me feel real proud, talkin’ like that, an’ it’s downright neighborly of you to offer to help, but me an’ Sam ain’t in no hurry an’ we’d be just mortified at causin’ you any sort of trouble.”

  Booger held up a hand. “Not another word, Mr. Noonan. Not—another—word. Pu-leese! What kind of men you think is in the sheriff’s department, if they can’t help out a fine up-standin’ citizen like you when they see him in trouble?” He stopped then and looked at Otis. “I say there, Mr. Sears, you know a little something about motors, don’t you?”

  “Why, yes, Mr. Ledbetter, a little,” Otis says.

  Booger nodded. “Well, that’s fine. Now. What would you says might be causin’ the trouble?”

  Otis put his chin in the palm of his right hand and sort of frowned. “Hmmmm,” he says. “Now this here is just a guess, mind you, but offhand I’d say they’s a pretty good chance it’s a plugged gas line.”

  “Well, is that a fact?” Booger asked. “Now. Where would you start to look for a thing like that?” Otis scratched his head and looked real thoughtful. “Well, there’s a number of places she might be clogged up. We might look in the trunk, or under the back seat, or in the upholstery, or even underneath, along the frame.”

  “But wait a minute,” Booger interrupts him. “Wouldn’t you need a search warrant to go poking around in somebody’s car like that?”

  “Why, shucks, no, I wouldn’t think so,” Otis says. “Not to look for a clogged gas line.” He turned to Uncle Sagamore. “Ain’t that your opinion, Mr. Noonan?”

  Uncle Sagamore mopped his face again. “Why-uh-” He says.

  “Why, of course not,” Otis says. “It’d just be silly. A neighborly gesture like that?”

  So they walked along on each side of the car. Booger come to the back door I had left open when I got out. He stuck his head in and hefted the bag of clothes.

  “Well, well,” he says. “What have we got here? Looks like a whole passel of laundry. And, by golly, here’s a cardboard box under it, where you wouldn’t hardly notice it if you didn’t happen to be looking for a clogged gas line. Box just settin’ there, all covered up.”

  Otis came around to that side too. They looked at each other, real puzzled.

  “What do you reckon is in there?” Otis asked.

  Booger shook the box a little.

  “Well, heavens to Betsy,” he says. “Listen. It sort of gurgles. You reckon it’s surp, or perfume, or something? Maybe it’s Channel Number Five he’s taking to one of his lady friends.” He thought for a minute, and then slapped his hands together. “No. I know what it is. I bet Mr. Noonan has got some spare gasoline in this here box.”

  Uncle Sagamore scratched his left leg with his right toenail again.

  “Why, shucks, boys,” he says. “That there’s just some of my tannery solution. I was gonna send it to the Gov’ment to have it analyzed.”

  Booger and Otis straightened up. “Well, what do you know about that?” they says. “Tannery solution. Who would of thought it?”

  “Sure,” Uncle Sagamore says. “That’s all it is, boys.” Then he looks down inside the hood at the motor again and points a finger and says to Pop, “Hey, Sam, how about that there loose wire? You reckon that could be causin’—”

  “Well, I’ll be dad-burned,” Pop says. “That’s it for sure. Now, why didn’t I see it before?” He bent over the fender and reached in under the hood. Then he straightened up. “Well, she’ll run now.”

  Uncle Sagamore patted the bald spot on his head again with the handkerchief. “Well, we’re sure obliged to you boys for stoppin’ to help,” he says. “Reckon we’ll run along.”

  “Oh, don’t rush off, Mr. Noonan,” Booger says. He winked at Otis and they both grinned.

  Otis reached into the cardboard box and brought out one of the jars of tannery juice. He held it up to the light and squinted at it.

  “Hmmmm,” he says. “Sure is a purty color. I reckon Mr. Noonan has been puttin’ a little burnt sugar in his tannery solution, Booger. Gives it that aged-in-the-wood look, just like Old Grandpaw.”

  Ten

  They looked at each other real solemn, but you could see they was having trouble keeping their faces straight. Then Otis snickered. And then Booger snickered. They busted into a regular guffaw. Next thing, they’re having to hold each other up, they’re laughing so hard.

  Booger wiped the tears out of his eyes. “Tannery solution!” he says, and then doubled up and started to howl again. They both leaned against the car, just whooping. You could of heard ‘em a mile.

  At last they get control of theirselves again, and Booger says, “Well, I reckon we better get going. We’ll leave her right in there so they can confiscate the car too. You get in the back seat and ride in with them, Otis, and I’ll foller in the other car.”

  Pop jumped up like he’d been stung. “Hey what are you fellers talkin’ about? Confiscate the car? This is my car.”

  Otis stared at him. “Well, mister, you sure picked a hell of a poor time to say that.”

  “Now, look, boys,” Uncle Sagamore says, “you’re makin’ a big mistake. I tell you that’s just tannery solution I’m sendin’ to the Gov’ment.”

  Booger just shook his head. He was too weak to laugh any more. “Wait till the sheriff hears that one,” he says. “Boy, I can hardly wait to see his face when we drive up. All these years he’s been tryin’—”

  It seemed to me like the joke had gone far enough, whatever it was. I couldn’t figure why they wouldn’t believe Uncle Sagamore, but somebody ought to straighten ‘em out. “But, look, Mr. Booger,” I says, “it is tannery juice.”

  Pop and Uncle Sagamore whirled around real fast and looked at me. “That’s right, Billy,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Maybe they’ll listen to you. Tell ‘em just what I told—I mean, how you seen us take that right out of them tannery tubs. You rememeber.”

  “Why, of course, I remember.”

  “You see there?” Uncle Sagamore says to Booger. “This here boy hisself had just told you. He seen us take it out of the tubs.”

  Booger and Otis stared at me and then at each other, sort of disgusted. “Ain’t it awful?” Otis says. “A young boy like that. They ort to take him away from ‘em.”

  “You’re makin’ a mistake, boys,” Uncle Sagamore says, but it didn’t do any good.

  They just motioned for us to get back in. Otis climbed in the back with me. When Pop stepped on the starter this time, the motor started right up, and we took off. Booger followed right close behind us in the sheriff car.

  When we passed Mr. Jimerson’s house he was lying on the front porch in the shade with his bare feet sticking out towards the road. He raised his head up and stared at the two cars and then at Otis in the back seat of ours, and he rubbed his eyes. Then he bounced right straight up like he’d been stung by something, and sta
rted yelling, Trudy! Trudy! They got him! They won’t run over no more of our hawgs!”

  He disappeared inside the door just as we went around the bend in the road.

  Pop and Uncle Sagamore were real quiet all the way to town. When we got there, Otis says, “Go on around the square and park right in front of the courthouse.”

  It was about noon by this time and the streets was pretty quiet. That is, they was at first. That sure changed in a minute. But right now there was just a few people sitting on benches under the trees, and some birds making cooing sounds high up under the roof of the courthouse. We stopped at the curb, and Booger pulled up right behind us in the sheriff car.

  There was another man with a white hat and a pistol-belt sitting on the steps leading up to the big door. Otis stuck his head out and says to him, “Pearl, tell the sheriff to come down. We got something for him.”

  Pearl jumped up and his eyes got big. He stared at Uncle Sagamore. “You got him? You —you mean—him?” He stood there then, with his mouth open, just pointing.

  Otis grinned. “I hope to tell you we got him. We got him but good.”

  Pearl whirled around and ran up the steps like a bear was after him.

  Otis got out, and Booger come up from the other car. They was grinning from ear to ear.

  I heard somebody running along the street yelling, “They got Sagamore Noonan. Caught him with it!”

  People began to come out of the door of the courthouse and down the steps. They crowded around. More was running this way from the stores around the square. You couldn’t hardly move. Pop and Uncle Sagamore and me had got out, but now we was pressed back against the car by the crowd.

  “I don’t believe it,” somebody says in all the jam pushing around us. “They won’t never catch Sagamore Noonan dead to rights. He’s too smart for ‘em.”