by Martin Clark
“I suppose that I’m going to have to finish undressing, my pants and all?”
Evers remembered that he did not have his seat belt on, and he reached up and pulled the belt and harness across his lap; the metal ends made a clicking noise when they caught. “Sorry.”
Ruth Esther put her bra and shirt back on and gave Evers her slacks to search. She pulled down the front, rear and sides of her underwear, but did not take it all the way off.
“Thanks,” Evers said. He had begun to feel embarrassed and shabby. “I feel better.”
Ruth Esther didn’t acknowledge his contrition. She closed two air vents in front of her and put her head and back against the seat. “About four years ago, my brother Artis, my father and I took one hundred thousand dollars from a man named Lester Jackson. He owns an antique store on Cherry Street here in Winston-Salem. At one time, as hard as it is for me to believe, he held some position in the North Carolina Antique Dealers’ Association. To be more precise, we went into his business—broke into it, really—and took the money. I drove the car, and my father and Artis went inside. The police came before my brother got out of the building. My brother is very simple, and you can’t count on him for much. He’d stopped in the store to look at an old phonograph and several records and was trying to pull the record player off a shelf. My father and I got away, but the police found Artis in the store. It was impossible for us to do anything for him. He had climbed up a three-hundred-pound bookshelf and tipped it over, and the police found him trapped underneath the thing with Ink Spots and Mills Brothers records lyin’ all around him. We simply didn’t have time to go in and lift the furniture off him. My father was … well, he just couldn’t believe it. Then, for a while, he was bitter. He used to say that Artis was so stupid that he had a record even before he went to court.”
Evers chuckled. “Pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered. Ever heard that? He should’ve been satisfied with the money.”
“No, but it seems pretty appropriate in this situation. But that’s just Artis. Anyway, my father had the money when he came out of the store, and after a while he hid it. There are three clues that tell where it is, three directions that my father wrote down. We agreed we wouldn’t get it until Artis got out of jail. My father gave me his clue. He’s dead now. Artis has the other one. He was free for all of six hours before he got picked up again. If he’s found guilty and goes back to jail, I’ve been told he will have to serve his punishment for this new crime as well as some additional time that was over his head because of the burglary.”
“He probably had some suspended time for the theft and was out on parole. That will be revoked if he gets another conviction, especially for something drug related.”
“All the while my money stays hidden somewhere. Artis won’t give me his clue until he’s free.”
“Why would your father give him a clue if he’s so stupid and caused all the trouble and delay?”
“My father believed in the importance of a bargain. And, I guess he figured that Artis would need the money. He’s just about helpless.”
Evers turned on the radio and rolled the window down. He drove for another mile or so, until there were fewer cars on the road, and then pulled into a convenience-store parking lot without giving a turn signal, very abruptly. A pregnant woman was pumping gas into a Volvo station wagon, resting against the car while the gas ran in. Her skirt was higher on one side than the other because of the way she was leaning; her calves were heavy, and there were black and blue veins showing on the backs of her knees.
“Why are we stoppin’?” Ruth Esther asked.
“I wanted to get out of the truck.”
Evers and Ruth Esther walked inside the store and sat down at a table with a Formica top. There were some salt grains spread around on the table, some orange crumbs, a mustard smear and a cold, burned french fry. Several napkins were falling out of a silver container, the bottoms tucked behind a tin lip, the tops bowing out of the holder one after the other.
“That’s a fairly bald-faced story, isn’t it?” Evers said. He was sitting with his chin in his hand. “You’re a burglar, and you want me to make it possible for you to profit from your theft. Your brother is a dolt and a thief and a drug user, and you want me to let him go so he can gain from your wrongdoing. There are nothing but villains in this piece—pencil-thin mustaches, Iron Crosses, sidecars and pith helmets. And there’s no reason for me to risk anything to help you, is there?” Evers picked up a salt shaker and set it in front of him.
“I’ll offer you half of my share. That’s twenty-five thousand dollars. Of course I’m sure you don’t need the money. And I’ll let you come with us to retrieve the cash—that’s where all the tangles and turns are, the maze, the trip, you know, trackin’ it down. I think that’s what you’d like the most.”
“Where is it?”
“I truly don’t know.”
“You want me to go to jail over twenty-five thousand dollars and a treasure hunt? Lose my job? That’s really all there is to this? I figured that after all the hype and tease and jugglers and clowns and dancing bears and barkers and buildup, there’d be a little more.” Evers looked around the store. He decided to buy a six-pack of Miller beer and a quart of tomato juice and let Ruth Esther drive him back.
“I seriously doubt that anyone’s going to end up in jail. If it makes you feel any better, Lester Jackson isn’t entitled to the money anyway. Why do you think that an antique dealer would have a hundred thousand dollars in cash lying around his office? He came by it illegally.” Ruth Esther leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “He—”
“Don’t put your sleeve in that mustard,” Evers warned her.
“He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Doesn’t that just make it even worse? Exponential thievery? I’d be knee-deep in thugs and losers.”
“That’s a strange thing to say. I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“So how did Lester Jackson get the money?”
“Drugs, mostly.”
“Why are you so concerned about it?” Evers asked. “You don’t seem to need fifty thousand dollars that badly. Certainly there are some risks involved for you.”
“Artis needs his share. And even if I split my portion with you, twenty-five thousand is right much money for me.”
He handed Ruth Esther the truck keys. “Would you like a beer?”
“What time is it?”
Evers looked at a clock behind the store counter. “Almost seven.”
“I usually leave work about eight-thirty. What did you have in mind?”
Evers smiled. “My plans are a little more immediate. I meant on the ride back.”
“Sure. Why not?” Ruth Esther slid out of the booth. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t think I care for the truck.”
“That’s sort of avoiding the question, isn’t it? What about Artis and my offer?”
“If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.” Evers was still sitting down.
“His trial is not too far off. Please let me know soon.”
“Why would your father hide this money? Why didn’t you simply take your share, Dad take his and put Artis’ in safekeeping? Or put it all in an account that required all three signatures?”
Ruth Esther smoothed the front of her shirt with her hands. “Are you going to get your beer?”
“Yes.” Evers stood up. He was exactly six feet tall, and he noticed for the first time that Ruth Esther was a tall woman.
“It was sort of a sense of family for my father, and fairness. We had to get it at the same time. Artis had pneumonia one Christmas and was in the hospital, and we didn’t open presents until he came home and felt good enough to get out of bed and sit around the tree. My father felt that fairness was being treated the same way at the same time.”
“There’s a sound rule. I suppose he didn’t pay for you to go to college until your brother was ready as well. No car for you at sixteen; it was only
fair to wait for Artis. What an inane idea.”
“I’m younger than Artis, so I wasn’t on the short end of things too much.”
“Isn’t this scheme a little unfair to you and your brother? Forgetting for a moment that it was a dumb idea to hide the money until Artis was free, aren’t you and your brother completely vulnerable? Perhaps there isn’t any money. Your father may have taken it or spent it. That’s not a really good checks-and-balances system you had, is it? Am I overlooking something? Couldn’t Dad take the whole thing and leave you and your brother penniless? Or he and Artis fuck you over? Obviously, he didn’t trust you completely.”
“I have faith that the money is safe and unspent. I have faith in my father.” Ruth Esther and Evers were walking toward the beer cooler.
“Faith is pretty much a sightless, hopped-up, fervent guess, isn’t it?”
“For some people, I suppose.”
Evers laughed. He slid open a glass door and took out a carton of beer. He handed the beer to Ruth Esther and closed the door. “Your father is a thief. You trust a hundred thousand dollars with a thief?”
“My father is my father, that’s the most important thing. He is what he is. And of course you’re a lawyer and I’m not, but taking money from someone who hasn’t earned it, who doesn’t really own it or deserve it, that’s not larceny, is it?”
“Only if you plan on giving it to the poor and needy or the rightful owners.” Evers got a quart of tomato juice from another cooler. “Do you want tomato juice in your beer or just beer?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll get two. I can drink some for breakfast if we don’t use it all.”
“Lester Jackson has no more claim to the money than we do. In fact, he has less claim—we didn’t victimize people and prey on their addictions. Do you think we should give it back to him, or that he should get to keep it? Do you think he needs to be rewarded for sellin’ dope?” Ruth Esther’s voice was very calm. She had returned the beer to Evers and was talking over the points of her fingers again.
“Why did you steal it in the first place? Unless you were going to do something noble with it, or use it as seed capital to buy capes and masks to fight crime, you are simply a thief. Jackson probably didn’t deserve it, but neither did you and your family. The moral cloak doesn’t exactly fit you, does it?”
“I’m not tryin’ to say that we were completely in the right. I just wanted you to know that we didn’t rob a bank or dip into widows’ pensions. You’re not making a wrong worse by helping us get this money—that’s what I’m tryin’ to say. I certainly don’t like stealin’, even from a spotted tick like Lester Jackson.”
“So why did you steal his hundred thousand?” Evers asked again.
“I suppose part of it was for personal gain. That’s true enough.”
“That’s what I would have guessed.” Evers paid for the beer and tomato juice, walked outside and stepped up into the passenger side of the truck. He had forgotten to buy cups, so he drank the beer by itself on the ride back to the car lot. Ruth Esther finished her bottle very quickly, and she handed it to Evers when she was through and asked him to put it in the carton and not let it drip on the floor or the seat.
When Ruth Esther and Evers got back to the dealership, he walked to his car and she walked with him. “I hope that you’ll go with us,” Ruth Esther said.
“Who knows.” He was standing by his car with his hand on the door handle. “I don’t see much on the bill of fare but risk and mischief, though. Not much in this for me that I can discover.”
“Do you truly think that?” Ruth Esther looked confused. “I know you don’t need the money. I know you don’t have to work and that you’re wealthy. But this is like a trip, a vacation. It has a beginnin’ and an end. Drops and curves. Maybe we’ll ride over a steel bridge or walk through a thicket. And your life now isn’t that hot, and I’m not trying to sound rude, not at all, not in any way, but it’s not that great. You have a wizened marriage, no hobbies, no interests or children, nothing important that goes on. You were hungover this morning, weren’t you? You’re hungover a lot. Your work is dull and numbin’, refereeing squabbles between criminals in tanktops and listening to the same dumb old lies over and over and over. Why wouldn’t you want to do this?” Ruth Esther paused; her voice was direct and soft. “I’m not trying to be mean about it, okay? I just don’t understand why you’re so hesitant. Why would you even come out here if I’m not right? That’s why you came, came today, because your life is just boredom and beer and bourbon … and, like I said, I’m not trying to be critical, but you came out here—that’s why. Has to be.”
“Is this the big close, where I get another hundred bucks knocked off and a free oil change just as I get ready to walk away?”
“Well, think about it. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”
“I’m not a very bold person, Miss English.”
“We’ll see.”
“And I’m not going to bother asking you how you think you know so much about me.”
“How hard could it be, Judge Wheeling?”
“By the way, what was going on in the bathroom at the restaurant this morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you ran into the stall,” Evers explained.
“Nothing. Nothing, really. You know … I just needed to go in there,” Ruth Esther stammered.
“How did you do that trick with the white, uh, the white … smile in the toilet?”
“It’s not a trick.”
“So what was that on the floor? The white stuff.”
“That’s a pretty strange thing to be askin’ about. Why were you pokin’ around in there? Looking in? I’m not trying to offend you—for sure, I don’t want to do that—but that’s sort of out of the ordinary.”
“The door was open when I went by to get your card.”
“I was very uncomfortable talking to you, and I was upset. I got real upset for a moment. You know, because things weren’t workin’ out; you weren’t goin’ to help me, and I felt pretty stupid. I just sort of lost my composure for a while.”
“So?” Evers had been holding on to his car door. He let go of the handle.
“So I was cryin’ some.” Evers noticed that Ruth Esther occasionally dropped a “g” or puffed up an “r,” but she really didn’t have much of an accent.
“With your pants down?”
“I … I didn’t want you to think I was just sitting in there.”
“So you’re telling me—let me get this straight—that you went in there and cried and your tears look like five Elmer’s glue splatters? White?”
“Yes.”
“All the time? You always weep white tears?”
“Yes,” Ruth Esther answered.
Evers swatted at a gnat buzzing around his ear. “So you can do it now?”
“I guess. Probably.”
“That’s hard to believe. I’d like to see you do it again.”
“Really?” Ruth Esther asked. “Are you serious?”
“I am,” Evers said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I think that something’s up, something you’re not telling me. I don’t know what you were doing in there this morning, but I really don’t think that you were in the stall crafting fey white tears, or that you were flustered and shy and all unhinged.”
“What do you think, then?”
“How about that you were wearing a wire that came loose and you had to take your clothes off and put some kind of adhesive on the microphone?”
“Will it help me? Help me get you to think about doin’ something for Artis?”
“It will certainly hold my interest a little longer, that’s for sure.” Evers watched a salesman on the other side of the lot open a car door for an elderly man.
“Why?” Ruth Esther asked. “How come?”
“I like oddities and aberrations, I guess. But basically because I don’t believe you, or your story.”
/> “I’m not sure.” Ruth Esther’s voice was a murmur.
“It’s up to you.”
“I guess I’ll try, then … as long as you don’t ask me to start cryin’ out here. That would really look crazy, standing out here bawling. I can go in the restroom as long as you don’t follow me in. That might cause me to get in trouble and lose my job. You’re welcome to check before I go in. And you certainly know there’s nothing hidden on me.”
“Why can’t I watch you do it?” Evers demanded. “You know, see for myself?”
“I’m not like a movie star or somethin’, so that I can just get upset and start crying on cue with you standing here breathing down my neck.”
They walked back inside the building, and Evers went into the men’s restroom and looked around. While he was checking the bathroom, Ruth Esther had gone into the employees’ lounge and taken the small, clear top off a squeeze bottle of ketchup, and she had stuck two strips of cellophane tape onto the ends of her fingers. She went in the restroom after Evers came out, and he heard the door shut and the lock button pop into the center of the knob. Ruth Esther was in the toilet for about five minutes, and while she was gone Evers picked up some matches and a refrigerator magnet from a table near the front of the showroom. When Ruth Esther reappeared from the bathroom, she handed Evers a wad of toilet paper.
“Jesus Christ.” He pulled his hand away, and the paper fell onto the floor. “What’s in there?”
“Tears. In the little plastic top with tape over it.” Ruth Esther folded her arms across her chest. She was standing close enough to Evers that he could smell the beer on her breath.
“I don’t think I really want to carry around who knows what wrapped up in half a roll of toilet paper. How do I know what’s in there? It could be poison or toxic or infected or—hell, I don’t know, it could be anything.”
“So what did you have in mind? You’re the one who asked me to give them to you.”
“I don’t know. Why are they buried in toilet paper?” The toilet paper was still on the floor, between Evers and Ruth Esther. One of the loose ends was touching the top of Evers’ shoe.
