Pop. 1280

by Jim Thompson

  Then we finished eating and I walked George toward the railroad station, and things weren’t so nice anymore. We were friendly, but it was just one of those have-to-be things. There wasn’t no real warmth or liking in it.

  I reckon that’s the bad part of whiskey, you know?—the bad part about a lot of things. Not the indulging of ’em, but the not being able to indulge. The afterwards, when the ol’ familiar taste of piss is back in your mouth, and you want to spit it out at everyone. And you think, god-dang, why for did I want to be nice to that fella? And I bet he thought I was a god-danged fool.

  George was looking kind of glum and let-down; kind of frowny and thoughtful. Then, Amy Mason crossed to our side of the street, and I introduced her, and George perked himself up again.

  “You have a fine sheriff, here,” he said, clapping me on the back. “A very fine officer, Miss Mason. He’s helped me solve a very important case.”

  “Indeed?” said Amy. “What kind of case, Mr. Barnes?”

  And George told her, adding on that he just wouldn’t have had a case against Ken if it hadn’t been for me.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy thing for him to do, either,” he said. “It’s never easy for one officer to incriminate another, even if they are not friends.”

  “How true!” Amy said. “And I’m sure it will become even less easy as time goes on. By the way, Sheriff, will you stop by my house this evening? I think I’ve seen a prowler around.”

  I said I’d be tickled to death to stop by, and she mustn’t feel like she had to set out no coffee or cake or nothing because I wouldn’t want her troubled.

  She said she wouldn’t be troubled at all, sort of tossing her head at me. Then, she went on, and George Barnes and I went on toward the station.

  Way up river, the train was whistling for the crossing. George shook my hand and gave me a bee’s-ass smile, and thanked me again for my help.

  “By the way, Nick. It’s just a matter of form, of course, but you’ll be receiving a subpoena within the next day or so.”

  “A subpoena?” I said. “Why for will I be receiving one of those?”

  “As a prosecution witness against Ken Lacey, naturally! The chief prosecution witness, I should say. We’d certainly never get a conviction without you.”

  “But what am I going to testify against him about?” I said. “What’s old Ken supposed to have went and done?”

  “What’s he supposed to have done?” George stared at me. “Why—what are you trying to pull, anyway? You know what he’s done!”

  “Well, now I reckon I forgot,” I said. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind tellin’ me again?”

  “Now you see here!” He grabbed me by the shoulders, teeth gritted. “Don’t you go dumb on me, Corey. If you want money, all right, but—”

  “I’m really plumb puzzled, George.” I eased out of his grip. “Why for would I want money?”

  “For stating under oath what you’ve already told me privately. That Ken Lacey murdered Cameron Tramell, alias Curly!”

  “Huh?” I said. “Now, wait a minute, George. I didn’t tell you nothin’ like that.”

  “Oh, yes, you did! You certainly did tell me that, in so many words. You told me—”

  “Well, maybe you got that impression,” I said. “But never mind about that, never mind what I told you. The important thing, I reckon, is what I didn’t tell you.”

  “And what was that?”

  “This,” I said. “The morning after Ken Lacey left, I saw Moose an’ Curly alive.”

  21

  It was Sunday morning. Early-early Sunday morning. Way off somewhere in the country, I could hear a rooster crowing, but I figured he was probably just dumb—or doing it for exercise, because it was at least an hour before dawn.

  Yes, sir, it was plumb quiet, and not a creature was stirring, you might say. Except for me, shifting my buttocks a little on the bed now and then so’s I would stay comfortable. And except for Rose.

  She was out in the kitchen, it sounded like, fixing herself a cup of coffee. Then there was a clattery-clash, and I reckoned she must have thrown the cup against the wall, and then I heard a mumbled string of words that had to be curses.

  I yawned and stretched. I sure was needing some sleep, but I guess I’m always in need of sleep like I’m always in need of food. Because my labors were mighty ones—ol’ Hercules didn’t know what hard work was—and what is there to do but eat and sleep? And when you’re eatin’ and sleepin’ you don’t have to fret about things that you can’t do nothing about. And what else is there to do but laugh an’ joke…how else can you bear up under the unbearable?

  It was a cinch that cryin’ didn’t do no good. I’d tried that before in my agony—I’d cried out as loud as a fella could cry—an’ it hadn’t done no good at all.

  I yawned and stretched again.

  Sunday in Pottsville, I thought. Sunday in Pottsville, an’ my sweetheart is going to leave me, and I hope it don’t grieve me. My eyes plumb deceive me, an’ no one’ll believe me.

  And I thought, god-dang it, Nick, if you didn’t already have your work cut out for you, you could be a poet. The poet laureate of Potts County, by dang, and you could make up poems about piss tinkling in pots and jaybirds with the bots and assholes tying knots and…

  Rose came in, and stood beside my bed.

  She looked down at me, biting her lip, her face twisted like a handful of clay that a baby has played with.

  “I just want to tell you one thing, Nick Corey,” she said. “And don’t think you’re not getting off lucky, because I’d be doing a lot more than talk to you if I could. I’d see you swinging by your neck, you dirty bastard. I’d tell about you killing Tom, and goddam you, I’d laugh my head off when they strung you up, an’—an’—”

  “I thought you were just going to tell me one thing,” I said. “Seems to me like that’s about a dozen.”

  “Screw you! I’m not going to tell you what I was going to say because I’m a decent woman. But if I wasn’t, you know what I’d say? You know what I’d do to you, you rotten son-of-a-bitch? I’d heist a leg and pee in your ear until it washed out that stinking pile of crap you call brains!”

  “Now, you just watch out now, Rose,” I said. “You just better watch out or you’ll be saying something dirty.”

  She started bawling, and stumbled back out of the room.

  I heard her as she dropped down on the lounge, bawling and sniffling. And after a while she began to mumble to herself. Wondering out loud how anyone—meaning me—could do such a terrible thing.

  And what could I have said except that it wasn’t easy; it sure wasn’t easy. And how could I explain what I didn’t really understand myself?

  Well?

  But this is what had happened.

  22

  After I’d taken George Barnes to the station last Sunday, I stopped by Amy Mason’s house. I knew I’d better explain that I’d just been kidding in front of Barnes—that I didn’t have no intention of letting Ken Lacey get blamed for killing those pimps. But the way she hopped on me the minute I showed up, I hardly had a chance to say anything.

  “I warned you, Nick!” she blazed at me. “I warned you not to do it! Now, you’ll have to bear the consequences!”

  “Now, wait a minute, honey,” I said. “What—”

  “I’m going to send a telegram to the governor, that’s what! Right tonight! I’m going to tell him who actually did kill those two, uh, men!”

  “But Amy, I didn’t—”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. You’ll never know how sorry I am. But I’m going to do it. I can’t allow you to commit a murder—and framing Sheriff Lacey would be murder—that I know about in advance.”

  I finally managed to make her listen to me, to tell her that I wasn’t even halfway planning to frame Ken. “It was just a joke, see? I was just leadin’ Barnes on for a good hard letdown.”

  “Yes?” She looked at me sharply. “You’re sure about that?”

&n
bsp; “Sure I’m sure. You should have seen his face when I told him I’d seen them pimps alive the day after Ken was down there.”

  “Well…”

  She was still sort of suspicious, still not quite convinced that I didn’t have some scheme for framing Ken without getting myself in trouble. Finally, I got kind of impatient, and I said I wasn’t really flattered to have her doubtin’ my word when she didn’t have no reason to.

  “I’m sorry.” She smiled and pecked me on the cheek. “I believe you, dear, and I’ll tell you something else. If I hated Sheriff Lacey like you do, I’d probably want to kill him, too!”

  “Hate?” I said. “What makes you think I hate him?”

  “Now, darling, it sticks out all over you. What did he ever do to you to make you feel that way about him?”

  “But I don’t,” I said. “I mean, I don’t hate him. I mean, it ain’t what I feel about him that matters. It’s what he is, you know; the things he’s done to others. I—well, it’s kind of hard to explain but—but—”

  “Never mind, dear.” She laughed and kissed me again. “You’re not going to do anything to him, and that’s all that matters.”

  But it wasn’t all, you know? Not by a long shot. I’d’ve sworn that I never held no malice toward no one, never a speck of hatred. Or if I ever had felt sort of a teensy twinge of dislike, it hadn’t been the motivatin’ factor in whatever I’d done.

  That’s the way I felt about myself, anyways, until Amy’d said what she’d said. And now I was kind of worried. I could put Ken Lacey out of my mind, since I wasn’t going to take any action against him. But the others, well, they were all part of the same pattern, weren’t they? And if I’d been showing spite toward Ken, then maybe I’d been doing the same thing with them.

  And maybe, in the case of what I was about to do, the people I was about to take care of…

  But it had to be done, I reckoned. It had to be, and I didn’t have no choice in the matter.

  I was willing to let things ride; I’m long sufferin’, you might say. But they wouldn’t have it that way.

  Rose was callin’ Myra every day, hinting that she needed me to do this or that for her. And Myra kept naggin’ at me to go out and do what Rose wanted done (which wasn’t what Myra thought it was). And Amy was insistin’ that I couldn’t see Rose but one more time—no more, or else. And Lennie had taken one of his spells of tagging after me, and spying on me. And—

  And finally it was Saturday night, last night, and I couldn’t hold out no longer. They were all asking for it! And like the Good Book says, Ask and ye shall receive.

  It was about eight in the evening, about an hour after sunset.

  I came running down the cotton rows, half-stooped, which didn’t conceal me much because it was a low stand of cotton. In the dusk, just about anyone nearby could see me, and they didn’t even have to be too nearby. And that was the way I wanted it.

  Lennie didn’t like to walk. Ordinarily, he’d never go outside the town limits. It had really been a job to act sneaky and creepy enough to tote him way out here to Rose’s place.

  I came out of the cotton, and made a dash toward the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lennie rising up in the field. Gawking openly, as I reached the house and pounded on the door. He really thought he had me now, Lennie did; he had me and Rose. He’d caught me sneaking into her house at night, so pretty soon now he was going to do some peeking. And then he’d go back to town with a fine story to tell Myra. A real juicy story about her own husband and her best friend.

  That was just the way I wanted it.

  That was the way I’d planned it.

  Lennie was going to get a story for Myra, all right, but it would be a lot nastier than he figured on.

  “Nick—” Rose opened the door. “What—where have you been, anyway? Why didn’t you come out last—”

  “Later.” I squeezed inside and closed the door. I kissed her, keeping her mouth closed until I knew she was ready to listen. “I couldn’t come any sooner, honey, because I been workin’ on a plan. It’s a way to get rid of Myra and Lennie, and I’ve already taken the first step an’ now I’m goin’ to need your help. So here I am, askin’ for it. You don’t want to give it, you just say so and we’ll just forget all about gettin’ rid of ’em and go on like we been doin’.”

  “But, by—what—” She was willing but confused, puzzled. I’d talked fast, acting excited and running my words together, and I had her nodding even while she was frowning and wondering what the heck it was all about.

  “Well, forget it,” I said, turning toward the door. “Just forget I asked, Rose, an’ I’m sorry I troubled you.”

  “No, wait! Wait, honey!” She grabbed onto me. “I just wondered what—why—but I’ll do it, honey! You just tell me what it is!”

  “I want you to wait a couple of minutes,” I said. “Then, I want you to go outside and grab Lennie an’—”

  “Lennie!” She let out a frightened gasp. “D-Did he—”

  “He followed me out here. I egged him into doin’ it, because that’s part of the plan. So you grab him and haul him inside, and then you tell him what I tell you to.”

  I told her what to say, the gist of it, that is. She turned pale, lookin’ at me like I’d gone out of my mind.

  “N-Nick! That’s—that’s crazy! I couldn’t—”

  “Sure, it’s crazy,” I said. “It’s got to be crazy, don’t you see?”

  “But…oh,” she said, and her eyes narrowed a little. “Yeah, I can see how it might—but, Nick, honey, what about the rest? How does—”

  “There ain’t time to tell you, now,” I said. “You just go on an’ take care of Lennie, an’ I’ll explain everything afterwards.”

  I turned and went into the bedroom, seeming to take it for granted, you know, that she’d do what I told her to.

  She stayed where she was for a moment, fidgeting uncertainly. Frowning and maybe a little frightened. She took a step toward the bedroom, on the point, it looked like, of calling out to me. Then she suddenly faced back around, crossed to the door, and went outside.

  Dimly, I heard running sounds. The fast scuffle of footsteps on the hard-packed clay of the yard. I heard a holler as she grabbed hold of Lennie, and I heard him burbling and giggling as she dragged him into the house. Tickled pink with himself, but just a mite scared along with it.

  They came into the kitchen. I stood back out of sight, watching and listening.

  “All right,” Rose said, her eyes pure poison as she looked at him. “What were you doing sneaking around here?”

  Lennie giggled and smirked, putting his hands over his mouth, lattice-like. Then, he said me an’ Rose was really going to catch it.

  “You just wait, I’m gonna tell Myra on you! I seen him! I seen ol’ smarty Nick! He come sneaking out here so’s you ’n’ him could do somethin’ nasty!”

  “You mean screwing?” Rose said. “What’s nasty about screwing?”

  “Ooh!” Lennie pointed a shaky finger at her, his eyes popped as big as saucers. “Now, you done it! You’re really gonna catch it now! I tell Myra you—”

  “What’s the matter?” Rose said. “You screw Myra all the time, and don’t tell me you don’t, you stupid-looking jackass! That’s what makes you goofy, banging her so much. You’ve tossed it to her so often you’ve thrown your ass out of line with your eyeballs!”

  I almost busted out laughing.

  That Rose! There just wasn’t no one like her, god-dang it! In less than a minute, now, she’d got Lennie so mixed up that he couldn’t have found his butt if it’d had a bell on it.

  He pointed his finger at her again, shaking all over. Rubbing his eyes with his other hand as he started to blubber.

  “I deed not! I do not! I never done nothin’ like that, an’—”

  “The hell you didn’t! You’re not her brother, you’re her boyfriend! That’s what she keeps you around for, to diddle her fiddle. Because you’re low-hung and she’s
high-strung!”

  “It a-ain’t n-neither! I de-ed not! You—y-you’re just a m-mean ol’ storyteller, an’—”

  “Don’t lie to me, you liver-lipped bastard!” Rose shook her fist in his face. “I’ve seen you pouring it on her! I climbed up one of those ladders the painters are using and peeked in the window, and goddam, you were pounding it like a drum. The way you were banging the bunghole, you damned near fell in!”

  Well, god-dang. It was better than a circus. And it just went to show what a fella could do when he really put his mind to it.

  Here you take a common everyday thing like fornication, which, like the fella says, can be a pretty fleeting pleasure. But if you can just take the idea of it, you know, and start tossing it around amongst the right people, or the wrong ones, dependin’ on your viewpoint, why then you can get something pretty god-dang unusual. Something like what was going on here.

  A heck of a lot of laughs—plus the means of getting some people to get rid of themselves, when there ain’t no way for you to get rid of them.

  “I’m g-gonna tell M-Myra!” Lennie blubbered. “I’ll tell jus’ what you said about her, every dirty m-mean word an’—”

  “Cow’s ass?” said Rose, like she was sayin’ “How’s that?” and, “Suck which?” Like she was sayin’ “Says which?” “You and Myra better stop playing tickle the pickle, boy, before you bat your brains out with your balls.”

  “I’m gonna tell Myra!” Lennie bawled, stumbling toward the door. “You’re gonna get it!”

  “Tell her she may be a hole, but you’re no post,” Rose said. “Tell her you’ll tickle her ass if she’ll whistle ‘Old Black Joe’.”

  She gave Lennie a shove. It knocked him clean out the door and off the porch, and he landed sprawling in the yard.

  He picked himself up, blubbering and rubbing his eyes. Rose gave him a final cussing, accusing him and Myra of a whole blast of dirty things. It kind of made me wince to listen to her, it was that dirty. What she’d said before sounded downright complimentary by comparison.