by Martin Clark
“Well, like I was sayin’, I drink a little, smoke a little, curse a little and like the ladies a little—okay, a lot—but I don’t want us to have no disagreements or make you uneasy.”
“I got out of jail two hours ago. I sat in so much smoke I thought a Kiss concert was about to commence any minute. I heard so much profanity I thought people were actually named Asshole. And by the way, there is no strong biblical injunction against profanity. There’s a mention in Romans, but it’s more of a social convention than a religious concern. I find it offensive, but there’re worse things.”
“Kiss, huh? You know about Kiss? Those guys with the frizzy hair and spooky makeup?”
“Believe it or not, my life didn’t begin at age twenty-two on the steps of divinity school.” Joel smiled. “I also know who Willie Nelson and Dwight Yoakam are, I enjoy Bruce Springsteen and Van Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, I think Lenny Bruce is funny even though I shouldn’t, I like the taste and smell of Kentucky bourbon, I saw Behind the Green Door when I was in college—keep that under your hat—and I missed having sex with my wife while I was in jail. I’m an adult. A minister, not a cloistered monk from the Middle Ages.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure you’ve had all sorts of experiences. It’s just that I don’t want to do or say somethin’ that upsets you.”
“I appreciate your concern.” The car had cooled down, and the fan automatically adjusted itself.
“Well, tell you what—let’s talk business later. I’ll get us on the road, then see if I can sell you on my idea. You’re free to decline, tell me to go fly a kite. In fact, to be honest, it’s a little close to the edge, a little risky, somethin’ you might not want any part of.”
“I’ll tell you what I think, and there’ll be no hard feelings. It’s kind of you to take care of me like this.”
Edmund shifted the Cadillac into drive and started to leave the parking lot. “I figure we can make it to Nashville tonight. Get a good meal and a good rest and hit it full blast in the morning.”
“Sounds great.”
When the car cruised by, Joel looked through the tinted glass at the kids and their fund-raiser. The hat-and-earring boy was talking to an adult, an older man wearing a golf shirt, and the boy was shaking his head and pointing at the money tray.
Kicked in the chest. It felt like Joel had been kicked in the chest and jolted and tossed from nowhere into a broken, skidding commotion. He’d been whipsawed from stark nothing into a startling racket and liquid images that were more color—grays, greens and tans—than form. The car was bouncing off something solid, and he heard the door metal give. He’d fallen asleep twenty minutes outside of Roanoke, two doughnuts contenting his belly, the Cadillac’s leather and cool and steady ride the most comfort he’d known in months. When his eyes flew open, it was still daylight, the car was off the road and the sounds and suddenness of the collision were part there and part blurred in sleep. The shoulder harness had pulled strong against his chest and yanked him backward, jerking him up limp and surprised, and now the belt was too tight and Edmund was pointing at something behind them and shouting.
“You see him? There he goes, the crazy sonofabitch!”
The car had slammed to a halt against a tree. Joel dabbed his eyes and reached to release the seat belt. His breath was stifled, came in spurts. “Edmund?” he sputtered.
“Look at that idiot! He’s flying.” There was a web of blood across his teeth and a pink cut in the corner of his mouth. “Look at him. He’s not even thinkin’ about stopping.”
Joel fumbled and groped his way to the square button that freed the restraints. The straps disappeared into the roof and floor, and he felt his chest expand with air. He turned and looked behind him, saw the rear of a white pickup driving out of sight, heading down a long stretch of two-lane road. When he’d fallen asleep, they were still on the interstate.
Edmund stopped staring at the highway and glanced at him. “You all right?”
“I think so.” Joel coughed, then put his hand on his chest and felt along his breastbone. “The belt nearly squeezed me to death, but yeah, I’m okay. Wow. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened. That madman in the truck was completely on our side of the road, rollin’ at us like a rocket. He almost killed us.” Edmund made no effort to do anything about the blood around his mouth. “Didn’t you see him?”
“See him? No, I was sleeping. The crash woke me up.” Joel noticed the Krispy Kreme box was on the floor. The doughnuts were scattered on the carpet, and one frosted brown circle had landed on the dash. “Where are we?”
Edmund looked behind them again, in the direction the truck had gone. He was loud and out of sorts, his lips and teeth and chin red from the bleeding. “You saw him though, right? The guy who ran us off, the guy in the truck?”
“I saw a white truck driving away.”
“That’s him. He was doing seventy at least. Comin’ dead at us.” Edmund worked on his mouth, patting at the cut with his sleeve. Some of the blood wiped onto his suit coat, some stained the white cuff of his shirt. He opened the door and spit on the ground.
Joel’s door was stuck, so they both left the car through the driver’s side. The metal on the passenger’s side was mangled from the headlight to the quarter panel, the wound full of crinkles and bends, and the paint had been altogether scrubbed off in one deep indentation. A tire was cartoonishly flat. The corner of the front bumper was pulled away from the body and wrenched into a silver frown. Hissing came from underneath the hood, fluid pooled in the dirt. Edmund looked at the wreck with his hands on his hips and made clicking noises, tsks and ticks that brought to mind a disappointed schoolmarm’s scold.
“It’s pretty bad, Edmund.”
“I’ll say.” Edmund grimaced and rotated his head in a slow circle. He pushed his hand into the intersection of his neck and shoulder and massaged the muscles through his shirt. “I did something to my neck, Preacher.” He wobbled two steps and sat down in a patch of weeds and tall grass. “How about usin’ the car phone and callin’ the police. Or the satellite gizmo on the dash—I think all you need to do is push the button and tell ’em what’s happened. And I might need an ambulance.” Edmund lay down. There was blood on his face and his neck, and it was difficult to see all of him because of the grass and scraggly growth.
“Are you going to be okay, Edmund?” Joel looked at the car and then at his friend.
“I’m dizzy and my neck hurts like the dickens, but I’m not dyin’ or anything.”
“Where are we?” Joel asked again. “I need to know our location for the police.”
“I’m not positive. We’re close to the Tennessee border, though.”
A small tan Chevrolet eased off the road behind them, and a chubby man with a long beard got out. Joel started back to the Cadillac to call the cops. The bearded man walked toward Joel, and another car drifted onto the gravel shoulder, carelessly stopping with two wheels still on the pavement. “You need any help? Anybody hurt?” the first passerby asked. He was busy with his beard, kept tugging the ends of his whiskers while he was talking.
“Thanks,” Joel said. “I believe we’re okay. My friend’s hurt some, but it looks like he’ll be all right. I’m going to see if I can get a trooper and maybe the rescue squad.”
The man from the tan car touched the battered side of the Cadillac. “Pretty bad damage there, friend. A real shame. What happened?”
“A truck ran us off the road.”
The driver of the second car rolled down his window and asked if he could do anything. Joel thanked him and assured him there was no reason to stay. He wished Joel good luck and left, pulled away slowly and never gained much speed.
“By the way,” Joel wondered, “exactly where are we?”
“Next to Abingdon. Abingdon, Virginia.” The stranger continued to stroke his beard.
“Oh, okay.”
“You want me to keep an eye on your partner there?” He was
wearing camouflage pants and a T-shirt with a screen-printed design that was faded beyond recognition.
“Thanks. That’d be great.”
The man squinted at Joel, kicking the ground aimlessly. He let go of the bush under his chin. “You guys got anything you need me to hold? Or help you, you know, keep low-profile from the police?”
Joel licked his lips, took a step closer to the man. Joel was near the front of the Cadillac, the stranger standing beside the caved-in fender. “Hold?” Joel wet his lips again. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Hey, look, I ain’t no friend of the police, okay? You got anything The Man don’t need to be seein’, give it to me or let’s get rid of it now. Beer, liquor, drugs, guns, whatever. I’m just tryin’ to be a good neighbor. I don’t much agree with the state jumpin’ into everybody’s business.”
Two cars drove by nose to tail and slowed down, but didn’t stop.
“Oh, no thanks. We’re fine in that department.”
“Good deal.” The man smiled and headed to the high grass and Edmund.
A middle-age state trooper came to investigate the accident, and a volunteer rescue squad arrived to take Edmund to the emergency room. Edmund described the wreck and the white truck to the patrolman, and the bearded man confirmed that he’d seen the same vehicle moments later, driving like a “wild man.” While the policeman was walking around the Cadillac and taking photographs, the man in camo and the faded shirt nodded at Joel. Edmund was strapped to a gurney, and he touched his new buddy on the arm and said, “Thanks.” The officer wrote down everything and decided Edmund certainly didn’t deserve a ticket. He told them they were fortunate, that they probably would’ve been hurt worse if Edmund hadn’t disabled the air bags immediately after buying the car.
Joel and Edmund spent three hours at the Abingdon hospital, and after being examined were given prescriptions for painkillers and muscle relaxers.
“What a day,” Joel said as he and Edmund were sitting in cloth and metal chairs outside the emergency room, waiting for a taxi to take them to a hotel. “It’s been so tumultuous that I almost wish I were back in jail.” He gave Edmund a bedraggled look. “It’s been like slamming into concrete walls ever since I left my cell.”
“Don’t let it bring you down.” Edmund was wearing a cervical support, a white foam brace that came up as far as his jawline. His expensive shirt was open at the collar to accommodate the brace. He had his coat and tie neatly spread across his legs; blood had ruined the coat and also dried on his French cuffs. “Don’t let it bring you down,” he repeated.
“Well, on top of everything else, I don’t have any health insurance. I wonder if the hospital folks have to wait for Christy to get her five million before they get their payment? I must be into them for two or three thousand for the stuff they did here.”
Edmund arranged himself so he could see Joel, had to pick up his feet and swivel his whole frame. “I’ve got insurance on the car—full coverage. I’m sure you’ll be taken care of. As will I.” Edmund’s eyes jumped and darted. “As will I.”
“Really? That’s good news. I’m glad I’ll only be five million in the hole.”
“We’ll let the capes-and-hats worry about that. Remember, Joel, things have a way of workin’ out. There’re silver linings all around, everywhere. The Lord helps those who help themselves.”
Joel picked up something strange in Edmund’s expression, something Edmund was showing him. There was an invitation, a challenge, a clue. His eyes were pain-free, and the corners of his mouth were working into a grin. “What’re you getting at, Edmund? I mean, I appreciate the help with the insurance. That’s a relief.”
Edmund touched the neck support with his index finger. “You know what this is, Joel? Do you?” He tapped the brace several times. “A dollar-collar, my man. A dollar-collar.” He closed down his face and shifted away from Joel. The chair moved when he changed positions, and there was a sharp, biting noise, the sound of metal twisted over floor tile. “A month from now, you’ll be happy we took this little detour.” Edmund was looking straight ahead, his hands laced together in his lap.
Just as he finished the sentence, a red-headed orderly in baggy blue clothes came through a door and told the men their cab had arrived. Edmund raised from his seat and fell back, grimacing. “Sorry,” he said to the orderly. “Could you give me a hand? I’m really hurtin’.”
three
Edmund Brooks, Joel discovered, liked to live large. Edmund directed the cabdriver to drop them at the Martha Washington Inn, an old, elegant building on Abingdon’s main street. The hotel was the city’s pride and joy, a strapping hostelry with a commanding porch, tidy grounds, muted lobby murals, uniformed porters and maids, and the well-mannered atmosphere of a place that had scarcely changed over the decades. Edmund insisted on separate rooms at two hundred dollars apiece, and immediately ordered an expensive bottle of port for his nightstand. “I like having my own bathroom,” he pointed out when Joel mentioned his willingness to share an accommodation. “And I figure you could use a night of privacy yourself.”
So Joel—who just that morning had awakened to the sound of Kenny’s urine stream playing off the back of a metal toilet bowl and then scooped up the jail’s watery scrambled eggs with a plastic spork—Joel found himself swaddled in ease and beset by eager lads wanting to carry his pathetic Kmart bag and get him settled upstairs. After a shower and change of clothes, he and Edmund devoted well over an hour to sumptuous dishes in the hotel’s dining room, where they clinked water glasses to toast Joel’s release. Joel finished his meal with a flourless chocolate torte from the pastry cart before climbing into bed under an avalanche of sheets, ruffles, shams, blankets and feather-filled pillows.
He woke up a few minutes after midnight, the rich food hectoring his stomach, and walked to the porch for some air. He took a seat in a rocking chair and watched a horse and carriage roll along the street, a tourist conveyance entertaining its last fare for the day. He sat by himself, listening to the trills and shrieks and rants of summer insects that seemed close at hand but impossible to pin down. He began closing his eyes every so often and lifting with his toes to even the rhythm of the rocker’s bowed wooden legs, and he was nearly dozing when a wedding party stumbled from the inn, a group of young men and women who seemed to shimmer and float when their exuberance came through the door and into the outside world. All the boys had shed their jackets, and one of the girls was carrying her high heels, a single finger hooking the shoes’ straps. They frolicked right past Joel and ignored him, didn’t appear to see him pushing to and fro in his chair while the bug sounds passed through his drowsy head.
After lunch the next day, the two men set out for Nashville with Joel behind the wheel and Edmund braced and ailing in the passenger seat. The Cadillac had been made drivable, although there were still repairs that needed to be completed. The garage had installed a new front tire, but the bent bumper hadn’t been replaced and the gash down the side was still present, a nasty metal mess that caught the air and whipped it into an annoying roar. Once they’d made their way back onto the interstate and driven about twenty miles, and after Edmund had put away his road map and selected a CD, he revisited the subject of Joel’s job prospects.
“So what is it your sister’s got lined up for you? As far as I know, there ain’t a lot of opportunity in Missoula for a man tied to a record. Teachin’ at the college—they won’t let you do that, even with all your education and whatnot. Tourist industry—there’s a possibility, maybe that’s it. They don’t have many factories or mills or plants, and I can’t see you in the loggin’ business—it’s too damn dangerous and hard. Wonder what she has in mind?”
“I’m not sure. The good news is she has a place for me to stay and will help out however she can.”
“That’s family for you. Nothin’ in the world like it.” Edmund paused and tugged at his cervical collar. “So let me tell you about the chance I have for you.” He turned the stereo volum
e down and leaned back cautiously. “Might as well go on and get around to it. You ready?”
“Ready,” Joel said.
“I don’t want you to think you’re obligated, and like I told you, I don’t want you to feel pressured. Plus I don’t want you gettin’ the wrong idea about me.”
Joel was traveling in the right lane, the cruise control set dead-on the speed limit. There was a tiny vibration in the steering wheel, and the suspension felt skewed, the ride choppier than it had been before the crash. “Just tell me, Edmund. There’s no need to make such a big deal out of it.”
“Okay, Joel. I’ll start by sayin’ there are no bigger thieves in the world than insurance companies. Big insurance companies that earn a livin’ by systematically denying claims and nickel-and-dimin’ folks to death. And if they finally do pay you, it’s always horribly late since they want to use your money for months and months before forking it over.” Edmund focused on highway signs and billboards as he spoke, avoided Joel.
“You’re not planning a run for public office, are you?” Joel grinned and peered across the seat at his friend, but Edmund continued to watch the humdrum scenery along the interstate, didn’t meet his gaze. “You’ll need to do better than that. Maybe work in something about ‘the children.’ ” He laughed. “ ‘I took this junket to Aruba for the kids.’ And education’s important, too. What if the big insurance companies are stealing money from the schools? ‘Edmund Brooks—he’ll tackle the insurance giants to get what’s right for our kids.’ I could be your campaign manager.”
“No politics for me, thank you,” Edmund said curtly. “I figure Nelson Rockefeller was the last trustworthy man to hold high office. And Carter was a classy fellow. At any rate, a lot of my work involves keepin’ insurance companies honest, makin’ sure they don’t get too rich from the sweat of the ordinary people they’re trying to screw. See what I’m saying?”
