by Bill Crider
“I’m sure he’s forgotten all about that,” Sally said, thinking of the painting that Talon had objected to and that had led to a lot of trouble for her and the college a while back. “It was just a simple misunderstanding. He was wrong, and I was right. He knows that, and he’ll cooperate.”
“I’ll bet he will,” Jack said.
“You should be more positive about things. Sometimes that helps.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one Weems is going to put on death row.”
“You’re being overly dramatic again. You’re not in any danger of going to prison.”
“Tell that to Weems.”
Sally thought about doing just that, and she realized that Jack had a point. Weems wouldn’t listen. Which just proved her point. She and Jack had to find out the truth. If they could.
As her mother used to say, it was a mighty big if. She couldn’t tell Jack that, however. She was the one who’d just told him to be positive.
So she said, “We’ll probably figure it all out by morning. Talon might be the one with the key.”
“I’ll bet he will,” Jack said again.
27
Jack sat on his couch drinking Pepsi One and feeling sorry for himself while listening to the Kingston Trio singing about how all their sorrows would be soon forgotten.
He should have known that things wouldn’t work out between him and Sally, he thought. He hadn’t had much personal experience along those lines, but he’d read more than enough books and seen more than enough movies to know that no matter what women said about liking nice, stable guys, when it came right down to it, they really preferred someone who walked a little bit on the wild and crazy side.
Jack wasn’t wild, and he wasn’t crazy. He was not Prince Hamlet, nor was he meant to be. He wasn’t even meant to be Polonius. If he were going to fill a role, he’d probably be someone more like the comic sidekick in an old black-and-white western—Gabby Hayes, maybe, or Smiley Burnette.
Jorge, on the other hand, while he might not be Prince Hamlet, wasn’t the sidekick type at all. He was Marlon Brando in The Wild One, or James Dean in anything.
Jack had never thought of Sally and Jorge as a couple, but it appeared that Sally had. Jack wondered if Jorge knew. He also wondered if Mae Wilkins knew.
Jack himself had never quite seen the attraction that Mae had for men. She was a little too neat for him, a little too precisely turned out. But it was clear that others didn’t feel the same way at all.
The Kingston Trio had moved on to other songs like “Corey, Cores,” all of which were considerably livelier than “All My Sorrows,” and it lifted Jack’s spirits a bit. To really feel sorry for himself, he needed some old-time country music, something by Webb Pierce or George Jones or Hank Williams. Senior, not Junior or the Third. Those guys were experts at self-pity, and a song like “He Stopped Loving Her Today” would probably have sent Jack so deep into the slough of despond that it would have taken him a week to climb out. Or maybe listening to the Kingston Trio sing “I Bawled” would have had him out in seconds. It was hard to be sad when you heard a song like that, even if the title sounded sad.
Jack decided to stop worrying about his virtually nonexistent love life and do something practical. He picked up his little list from the coffee table and tried to think back over everything he’d heard and seen that day. Surely somewhere in it there was a clue as to who had taken his knife and killed Ralph Bostic. He was sure of it. But the harder he thought about it, the less sense he could make of things, so finally he gave it up, took four aspirin, and went to bed, where he slept restlessly and dreamed of being pursued through the oak-lined streets of Hughes by a monstrous figure wearing a welder’s mask. But instead of a ballpeen hammer the monster was carrying a knife of enormous size, swinging it within inches of Jack’s fleeing figure and getting closer with every step.
The next morning Jack woke up feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. He was so tired that it was almost as if he’d actually been running from the swinging knife rather than sleeping and dreaming.
He got up, showered, and shaved. When he was dressed, he went outside and picked up the Houston Chronicle that lay at the end of the driveway. It was going to be a typical day in Hughes. The humidity was so high that Jack felt sheathed in sweat before he was back inside the house.
He sat at the table and read the paper while he ate his breakfast of dry cereal and skim milk. There was a short article about the murders in the metro section, but it didn’t go into details, and it didn’t mention Jack, at least not by name, for which he was thankful.
It did say, however, that the Hughes police were investigating every aspect of the case and that they had a “number of suspects.”
“Sure they do,” Jack said aloud. He thought he knew who the “suspects” were and that most of them were him.
After he finished his cereal, he went outside and put some food in a bowl for Hector, who was nowhere to be seen. He’d wander up later, when he got good and ready. Probably hiding under a car, waiting to sever the tendon of some unsuspecting soul, Jack thought. He changed Hector’s water while he was at it, giving him some filtered water from the kitchen tap. Jack didn’t think Hector cared about filtered water; in fact, he probably preferred water from some muddy puddle. But giving him the semipurified water made Jack feel better.
When Jack went back inside, the telephone was ringing. It was Sally.
“Are you ready to see Roy Don?” she asked.
“I guess so. If you’re sure you want to.”
“I do. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“I can drive.”
“I know that. But your ribs will feel better if you don’t.”
Jack didn’t argue. He sat on the couch and read the comics while he waited. He liked to start the day by finding out what Robotman was up to, though he identified considerably more strongly with Monty, Robotman’s hapless human companion, unlucky in love and most other aspects of his life.
Jack heard Sally’s car in the drive, so he dropped the newspaper on the couch and went out to meet her. He got into the little Acura without too much trouble. Maybe his ribs were getting better. Maybe Weems had been lying about how long it would take.
“Feeling better?” Sally asked.
“A little. Did you call Talon to let him know we were coming?”
“No. I thought it would be better to surprise him.”
“I’m sure he likes surprises,” Jack said.
Talon’s automobile dealership was on the outside of town, down the highway toward Angleton. About six blocks from the dealership, the highway was dominated by a huge billboard that depicted Roy Don Talon, in full Roy Rogers regalia, riding atop a bucking automobile. He was waving his ten-gallon hat in one hand and hanging onto the reins with the other. The words TALON TAMES BIG CITY PRICES! were printed in large black letters above Talon’s head.
“Very tasteful,” Sally said.
“Very,” Jack agreed. “And probably effective.”
There were acres and acres of cars on the huge lot, since Talon had in some way or another captured a virtual monopoly on selling cars in Hughes. If you wanted a Toyota, Ford, Chevrolet, Chrysler, Cadillac, Oldsmobile, Jeep, Pontiac, Lincoln, or Mercury, you could find it at Talon’s. If you didn’t, you could drive to Houston or some other nearby town.
It was still early when they arrived at the dealership, but when Sally pulled into the gate at one end of the lot, they could see a double line of cars waiting to get accepted for service that day. Men with clipboards were going to each driver to ask about the problems with the car. When the work order was filled out, the driver would turn over the keys and wait for a ride back to town on the Talon Express, a shuttle bus that would drop people at their homes or at a store. Talon had only recently begun opening the repair service on Saturday, but it was clearly a big success. Jack couldn’t understand why. After his experience with the wiper blades, he had found an independent mechanic he more or
less trusted and had never gone back to the dealership.
“Isn’t that Stanley Owens?” Sally asked.
Jack looked up toward the head of the line and saw Owens watching over all the action. When the cars were driven into the shop in back of the lot, the keys were brought to Owens, who took them inside his office and hung them on a rack, where they would stay until the work was done. Then the keys would be taken with the bill to the business office, where drivers could pay for their repairs, pick up their keys, and retrieve their cars.
“That’s him,” Jack said. “Maybe he could tell us what’s going on out here. I know him a lot better than I know Talon. Of course you know Talon, so we can do whatever you think is best.”
“Let’s talk to both of them,” Sally said. “Starting with Owens.”
“Why not?” Jack said.
Sally parked the car away from the lines, and they got out. Owens was busy with keys and copies of repair invoices and didn’t see them coming until they were fairly close. He smiled at Sally, and then seemed to notice Jack for the first time. His face changed, and for a moment Jack thought he might run.
I guess I’ll have to get used to that reaction, Jack thought. Nobody likes to see a suspected killer coming up to him early in the morning.
Owens recovered quickly. He said, “Jack. It’s good to see you. What can I do for you today?”
Jack introduced Sally and said, “We’d like to talk to you if you have a second or two. I’m in a little trouble, and maybe you could help me.”
“I don’t think so,” Owens said. “I’m pretty busy, as you can see. I can’t afford to stop now. The customers would never stand for it.”
Jack started to tell him that the customers were plainly willing to stand for quite a lot if they were bringing their cars to Talon’s for repair, but he didn’t think that would be very diplomatic.
So he said, “I’d really appreciate it if you could give us just a minute. I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”
Owens looked extremely uncomfortable, but Jack hoped it was just the humidity, not the fact that Owens thought of Jack as a hardened murderer.
“All right,” Owens said after a long pause. “Let me get someone to help out here.”
He called over one of the men with a clipboard and asked him to take over for a few minutes. The man nodded and handed his clipboard to Owens.
“Let’s go inside,” Owens said, and he led the way into his long, narrow office, which had a window that looked out on the lines of cars. When he had closed the door, he put the clipboard on a long counter under the window and said, “Now, tell me what you want from me.”
“We heard that there was some kind of trouble here at the dealership,” Sally said. “We’d like to know what it is.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Owens said. “This is one of the best dealerships in the state. There aren’t any problems here.”
“We’re not talking about your repair department,” Jack said. “It has to do with something else.”
He was about to go on when the man who was taking Owens’s place brought in some keys and invoices. He gave them to Owens, who made sure the keys were with the right papers.
“Now,” Owens said, turning back to Jack when he was finished, “what were you saying about trouble?”
“Just that there’s a rumor going around that Roy Don Talon’s in financial trouble and might get sued.”
“That’s just a lie. Some of the big-city dealers don’t like Roy Don, and they start rumors like that, hoping they can get some of our business. It happens all the time.”
Owens was looking at the floor while he talked, and Jack didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“Come on,” Jack said. “Give me a break. I’m in serious trouble with the police, and I need something to help me get out of it.”
“Even if Roy Don’s business was in trouble, it wouldn’t help you any,” Owens said. “You have big-time problems of your own. They don’t have anything to do with us.”
“We don’t know that,” Sally said. “It could all be tied together somehow. That’s why Jack needs your help. You were his teacher, after all.”
“I didn’t teach him to take a knife he made in my class and stick it in somebody’s back,” Owens said. “If I’d known what he’d do, I’d’ve never let him near me.”
The assistant came back in with some more keys, and after Owens took them, he said, “I have to get back to work. We’re swamped here today. You two should just go home.”
He followed his helper outside. Jack looked at Sally, who was staring thoughtfully at Owens’s back.
“He wasn’t much help,” Jack said. “I don’t think Talon will tell us anything, either.”
“You never know,” Sally said.
“Positive attitude,” Jack said. “I forgot.”
“Don’t forget it again,” Sally told him.
28
There were three large buildings in the Talon Auto Complex, and Roy Don’s office was located in the one in the center. When Jack opened the big glass door of the building, he felt a blast of frigid air that might have come direct from the North Pole.
“He must have the air conditioner set on stun,” Jack said.
“It feels just fine to me,” Sally said as they walked past the salesmen sitting at desks in their cubicles while they smoked filtered cigarettes and worked the phones with prospects they hoped to talk into buying cars similar to those sitting on the showroom floor, a bright red Toyota Celica and an equally shiny blue Corolla. The whole place smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and strongly of new rubber tires, leather upholstery, and whatever else made up that indefinable but highly seductive new-car smell. Jack felt an urge to get behind the wheel of the Celica and take off right through the plate-glass window and keep on going down the highway until somebody caught him. But he was in enough trouble already.
There was a semicircular counter in the middle of the large showroom, and a secretary sat behind it at a desk and switchboard. Before Jack and Sally could get to the secretary, however, they were accosted by a young man with slicked-back hair, tiny gold-rimmed oval glasses, a goatee, and a wide smile that was as bright as the cars. In a voice dripping with sincerity, he informed them that his name was Larry Hensley and that he was there to help them find the car of their dreams. Just exactly what were they interested in?
“We don’t want a car,” Jack said. “We’re here to see Mr. Talon.”
Larry’s face changed. The smile disappeared, and when he spoke his voice had lost ninety percent of its sincerity. If he couldn’t sell them a car, Jack thought, they might as well be a homeless couple who’d just come in from living in a culvert under the highway, for all the consideration Larry would give them.
“Mr. Talon’s office is back down that hall,” Larry said, nodding to a doorway on the far side of the semicircular counter.
“Thanks,” Jack said, but Larry had already turned away, headed back to his cubicle.
“Nice guy,” Jack said.
“Reminds me of a college administrator I once knew,” Sally said. “No one at Hughes, of course.”
“Of course,” Jack said.
They walked up to the counter and got a brilliant smile from the secretary. Jack wondered if everyone who worked for Talon had naturally white teeth or whether they’d all had laser work done on them.
“How may I help you?” she said.
Jack looked at Sally. He could tell that she was as impressed with the may as he was.
“We’re here to see Mr. Talon,” he said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Jack said. “But I think he’ll see us. Just tell him it’s two teachers from the college.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “I thought I recognized you. You’re Mr. Neville.”
“That’s right,” Jack said. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Were you in one of my classes?”
&nbs
p; “It was three years ago,” she said. “My name’s Jennie Fredrick. I had you for composition my first semester. You liked my paper on ‘A Rose for Emily.’”
“I remember,” Jack said, and he did. He had a better memory for good essays than he did for faces. “You made the only A in the class.”
“I was so happy with that grade,” Jennie said. “I was afraid I wouldn’t do well in college, but after that A I knew I was going to be all right.”
Jack felt a warm glow, not because of anything he’d done, but because Jennie was a reminder of one of the good things about being a community college teacher. A lot of students came and went, and sometimes they went before their first semester had hardly begun, never to be seen again. But sometimes they stuck around, even the ones who were doubtful at first, the ones who would have been lost at a big state university, and they found out that they could do the work. Not only could they do it, but they could do it well. All they needed was a chance.
“I’m going to graduate in the spring,” Jennie said. “Then I’m going to the University of Houston.”
“That’s great,” Jack said, meaning it. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“I am, too,” Jennie said. “I’ll tell Mr. Talon that you’re here.”
She said something into the mike of a headset so tiny that Jack hadn’t really noticed it until that moment.
“You can go on back,” she said to Jack and Sally after getting some instructions through the headset. “It’s the last door on the left.”
“Success story,” Sally said as they walked down the hall. “Makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Jack said. “It also makes me feel bad that I won’t be in class on Monday. I guess Jennie hasn’t heard the news about me yet.”
“What kind of positive attitude is that?” Sally asked.
“I keep forgetting.”
“I told you not to do that.”
“I’ll do better,” Jack lied.
