“What happened?” I asked.
“We were robbed.” This from Paul.
“Goddamn!” Henry went for his pockets same as I did.
Mine were hanging outside my trousers. “But what . . . happened?” I felt a little thick.
“I never saw what hit me,” Henry said.
Paul let out a long breath. “Well, I was behind you when you opened the door,” he said, nodding toward me, “and heard a thud. You went, ‘Unghh,’ and hit the ground. Then something that felt like a gun barrel was poking me in the chest, and I was told to sit on the ground. Not hard to do, since I tripped over you.”
“Shit!” The faces I’d seen in that one second came back. “It was the other two guys from the tavern!”
“It was?” Paul and Henry asked.
“Yeah. Then what happened, Paul?” Felt mighty strange, me asking him.
“Then they rifled my pockets and yours and put us over by that tree.” He motioned with his head. “And they told me to keep quiet and wait for our friend to come see about us.”
“I was set up!” Henry hollered. “You guys was gone so long I’d’a thought you left me if I didn’t have the crank.”
I startled a little.
“It’s inside,” he said. “I hope. Well, come on!”
He headed in with us behind him and announced, “We been robbed!” as we came through the door.
The barman didn’t seem surprised or interested. “On the way to the outhouse? Somebody scare the piss outta ya? That ain’t hardly robbery.”
“It was the two that were in here before,” I explained.
Henry jumped in. “Yeah, you know who they are? We gotta go to the sheriff—”
“Now just hold it.” The grizzly reached down and came out with the biggest revolver I’d ever seen. He laid it on the bar that separated us. “You boys cook this up to try and get outta payin’ what you owe?”
“We done nothin’!” Henry yelped like a kicked pup.
“Mister, we paid you before we started, remember?” I offered.
“You give me a dollar when you came in,” the man said, “and Butthole here”—he nodded at Henry—“put you fifteen cents over while you two was outside. And you ain’t leavin’ here without payin’.”
“But we were just robbed!” I reminded him.
“You think I smashed up my own face over fifteen cents?” Henry sounded ready to fight.
The man studied us. “Mebbe.”
“I’ve got money.” We all whipped our heads toward Paul, who was feeling around for a chair.
The revolver came up off the bar. “Oh. So you was all robbed but him. Is that it?”
“Paul,” I said, “maybe you don’t know it yet, but even your watch is gone.”
“Yes, I’m well aware.” He sat down. “Is there anybody else in here besides the four of us?”
Henry and I cased the room.
“No,” I told him.
“Why?” Henry said.
“Yeah, why?” The barman’s voice bounced off the rafters.
Paul’s answer was to untie his left shoe. He took it off, then peeled his sock just past the heel and came out with a dollar. He held it out to me, and I laid the soggy thing on the bar. The barkeep made change and slammed it down so hard coins bounced in all directions.
“What the—?”
I motioned Henry quiet. “So now that you’re paid, sir, would you tell us who it was?”
The big man snorted. “I still ain’t convinced you was robbed.”
Henry took a step forward, and I stepped in front of him.
“But one of the fellers here was Virgil Jones. I dunno who he had with him.”
“Well, that’s very helpful,” I said, “and would you tell us how to get to the sheriff’s office?”
“Find it yerself.” The man already had his back to us.
I grabbed Paul’s arm and headed for the front.
Henry bolted over to where we’d sat. The crank. I’d forgot. He held it up like a trophy, and I took a breath again.
At the door we all stopped. It was clear none of us wanted to be the first to step outside.
“Come on,” I said through my teeth and pulled Paul along.
Outside, we all started gulping night air.
I said, “I’ll drive.”
Nobody argued.
Once I found the town square, it didn’t take long to locate the jail. I knocked.
Henry said, “Go on in. We ain’t exactly company.”
My hand was on the knob when the door flew open.
A man, half a head taller than me, stood there with a chicken leg in one hand and a napkin tucked into the open neck of his gray work shirt. “Whaddaya want?” was his way of saying hello.
“We been robbed!” Henry shouldered Paul and me apart and took a step forward. “It was Virgil Jones and—”
“There was two of them,” I said.
“But we don’t know who the other one was,” Paul offered.
The man showed us his disgusted look. “That’s who I thought you was.” When he pulled the napkin away from his throat to wipe his mouth, I saw the tin star pinned above his left pocket.
“What do you—?”
He cut me off by stepping outside. “Now you listen to me.” The man shook the drumstick in our faces. “I heard about you all. Virgil was by here not fifteen minutes ago and interrupted my supper the first time tonight to tell me there was three troublemakers over at Red Schmidt’s place. He said he didn’t know what you was up to, but you was drinkin’ up a storm and didn’t look like you had no money.”
Henry and I blinked at each other, openmouthed.
“But he’s one of ’em who did it!” I said. “And we had money before we was robbed.”
Paul nodded fiercely.
“How’d ya think I got this?” Henry pointed to his nose, twice its normal size and showing purple under the gaslights on the stoop.
“Well, now, I don’t know,” the man said. He threw the chicken bone into the bushes, and his eyes got pig narrow. “But you look to be the one Virgil said in particular was a loudmouth gettin’ fallin’-down drunk. I got no sympathy for you.”
“But, sir,” Paul tried, “what they say is true. We were just—”
“My cousin’s no thief,” the sheriff said. “An’ I don’t appreciate you sayin’ he is. Now I suggest you take your butts back where you come from and think twice before you set foot in Lexington again.” He stepped up through the doorway and reached to shut us out.
Paul tried again, “But—”
“Sir, before you go”—I gulped—“we know there’s a boarding house near town and—”
The man cut me off with a murderous look. “Well, now, seems to me if you was robbed you wouldn’t have money for a boarding house. You boys better get your story straight.” He slammed the door, and we heard the dead bolt turn.
Henry reached to knock.
I grabbed his fist midair. “What are you doin’?”
“What are you doin’? We can’t jes’—”
“You heard him. No use talkin’ to somebody who won’t listen. Let’s get away from this man’s front door.”
I thought out loud while we walked toward the car. “I know one thing. Sleeping inside tonight, someplace safe, just got real damned important to me.”
Their mumbling didn’t sound like argument.
Five minutes later, we were standing on the front step of a two-story house looking at a brass plate that said Mrs. Bentley’s. Now, I don’t know squat about running a boarding house, but the brass gargoyle with a ring through its nose for a knocker didn’t look too friendly to me. A dog next door started yapping. I hit the striking plate three times, and we waited.
Before long, that dog was working on my last nerve. I was about to bolt when the door opened an inch and an eye appeared in the crack.
“Yes?” An old woman’s shrill cackle.
“Mrs. Bentley, ma’am?” I asked.
; “Mebbe.” The eye narrowed. “What do you want?”
“Why, a place to stay,” I told her. “My name’s John Hartmann, and my father stayed here last year. Jonas Hartmann? He told me what a nice place you have, and—”
“Why didn’t you write ahead and hold rooms, then?” The doorway lost half its open inch.
“Well, we didn’t know we’d be here tonight, exactly, and—”
“Just where did you think you’d be?”
“We weren’t sure, ma’am. You see, we’re travelers and—”
“This is a respectable house, young man. We don’t truck with hoodlums and hoboes.” The door was going to shut any second.
“My mother has died, ma’am.” Henry took a step forward.
I just about choked. How low a man could Henry be, to beg the devil for that kind of curse? Everybody knows you can attract a disaster just by mentioning its name.
Then I remembered his mother had died—when he was born or some such—and I guessed nothing he said was going to change that.
“We was in Kansas City doin’ business when I got the telegram,” Henry went on. “We been drivin’ all afternoon—we live in Wakenda—but we’re awful tired and we need some rest before we . . . can go on.” His voice cracked on the last few words, and I had to marvel at that.
“Look up at me, young man.”
Henry did.
“What happened to your face?”
“Why, I . . .” Henry faltered.
Damn. We were camping out for the night.
But he stalled with a deep, ragged breath and went on. “When I got the news, I just fell down prostate with grief, ma’am.”
I managed, “It’s true.”
“Uh-huh,” Henry said. He felt around his backside. “I think maybe I even rent my garment.”
“You smell like you been drinkin’,” the woman said.
Paul stepped forward. “Well, we poured a little whiskey down his throat to bring him around, ma’am, but he nearly choked on it, unaccustomed as he is to strong drink.”
She looked at Paul for the first time. “You blind?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am, but I always have been. That did not happen today, no, ma’am.” He tried to pat Henry on the shoulder, and Henry helped by shifting a step closer.
“Well, I only got one room left tonight.” She said it like she doubted her own honesty.
“That’s fine,” I said. “We wouldn’t want poor Henry to be alone tonight anyway.” I patted his other shoulder.
“Well . . .” She blinked, and I knew we were in. “It’ll be two dollars for the room and three meals in the morning, and I’ll have to have it in advance.” She looked sympathetic towards Henry. “No offense, son, but this is a business, and I don’t know you all.”
Paul held up two damp-looking bills, and Henry started to push on the door. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I still feel kinda faint—”
She threw the door open, and he nearly fell on her.
“You get in here and sit down.” Two minutes after she’d tried to run us off, she was clucking like a setting hen.
When I stumbled through the door with all our gear, Paul behind me, Henry was tucked under a crocheted afghan on the divan in the parlor.
I dropped everything and went to him. “Where the hell did that story come from?” I hissed.
“Got us in, din’t it?” His dimples made a wicked frame for the wreck of his nose. His face and hands had been washed clean of blood.
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re forgettin’ I lived with Ellen and the reverend most a my life,” he said. “You wanna learn how to lie like the devil, live with a preacher awhile.”
I nudged him with my boot. “Well, what are you doin’ layin’ there?”
“Oh, I’m sure my weakness will pass once all our stuff has been carried upstairs.” He grinned.
Mrs. Bentley appeared with a cup of something steaming hot. She gave Henry orders to rest, then lit into us. “And did you take him to let a doctor have a look at that nose?”
“Uh, no, ma’am,” I told her.
“We wanted to, ma’am,” Paul said, “but he wouldn’t let us. He just wanted to get on the road soon as possible, and . . . and . . . it was all we could do to convince him to stop here. He wanted to keep on driving.” The admiration in Paul’s voice was so deep I hoped I wouldn’t step in it.
“Oh. Well, then.” Mrs. Bentley blinked. “I got a doctor stayin’ here, travelin’ through. Seems nice enough. I’m sure he won’t mind comin’ down for a minute.”
“Oh, don’t go to any trouble on my account. I ain’t worth it.”
I saw the glint in Henry’s eye.
She didn’t. “You poor dear,” she clucked, and I wondered how much time had passed since she had a chick in the nest. She turned to me. “You two come on up with me. Bring Henry’s gear too, you hear me? I’ll show you what’s what and get the doctor.”
Last one out of the room, I glanced back at Henry and saw his eyes cross and his tongue come dangling out the side of his mouth.
Mrs. Bentley showed us our room and hurried off. I flopped onto the bed and stared at the electric light fixture in the ceiling. Paul found his way to an oak rocking chair in the corner.
I said, “Well, at least somethin’s goin’ right.”
“We’ve got to turn back,” Paul blurted out.
I shot upright. “What are you talkin’ about? Where the hell did that come from?”
“What choice do we have?” Something in Paul’s throat was interfering with his words. “Here it is our first day, and look what’s happened. We’ve already had automobile trouble—”
“We had a flat tire! That’s all! It’s no big deal.”
Paul started rocking.
“Did you think we were gonna drive all the way to Yellowstone—and back—and have nothin’ go wrong with the Ford?”
“Yes.” He sounded miserable.
“Well, then, you weren’t thinkin’. A flat tire’s nothin’. We’re adventurers! Travelers! We’re—”
“Broke. Or very close to it. We were robbed, John. Have you forgotten?” He covered his face with his hands. “We could have been killed! Henry’s hurt, we’ve got no money, nobody cares—”
“Paul, Paul, Paul. Slow down. If it’s the money you’re worried about, well, you still got some anyway, and me and Henry can always pick up work.”
“You and Henry.” Paul’s ears turned bright red. “But I can’t?”
“Well, of course you can, if you need to. I just . . . didn’t know how much money you had left. We all can. We can make enough along the way to pay expenses. It won’t take much, and we won’t get robbed every place we go.” It was all I could do not to knock on wood.
He shook his head.
“You were enjoying yourself downstairs just a minute ago. Don’t tell me you weren’t—joining in on Henry’s cock-and-bull story like that.”
“I wanted to make sure we had a place to stay tonight—that’s all. I’ve . . . lost my nerve, John.”
I kicked at his chair and rocked him backward. “Well, then, you didn’t have much to begin with, did you? I don’t believe that, Paul Bricken. You’re tougher’n that.”
“But what if—?”
I pounced. “Aw, hell, Paul. This ain’t a what if kinda trip—you know that. It’s a so what kinda trip. So what if we had a flat tire? We’ll probably have a hundred more! So what if we were robbed? We weren’t killed, and that’s what matters! And Henry . . . well, if nobody else had busted his nose by now, you and me would probably be fightin’ for the privilege. We figured he’d be a hell of a guy in a spot, remember? If we thought there wasn’t gonna be trouble along the way, why in holy hell ask Henry to come along?”
Paul kept rocking, his face like stone.
After a minute, I said, “Indoor plumbing here, remember? Want me to show you where it is?”
No answer.
In the toilet, there was a mirror over the sink. I pee
d, washed my hands, and took stock. My face was chapped from the day’s sun and wind, and I could see my headache staring back at me. I felt the knot on my head and winced. Then my stomach growled to remind me it had been ignored since late afternoon in Dover. Damn it. Maybe Paul was right. Damn it to hell anyway. Maybe we weren’t up to this. I wasn’t sure what had made me believe we were.
When I got back to the room, he was facedown on the bed. From what I remember, I must have been out before my head hit the pillow.
I didn’t hear Henry come in, but his snoring woke Paul and me up in the morning. He was on top of the covers at our feet. Asleep, his busted face looked like a sign saying he wasn’t as tough as he thought he was.
I nudged him in the side. “Shut up!”
He was on his feet, fists raised, before he was even awake, just like the night we’d gone to see him in the barn. I couldn’t imagine what would condition a man to wake up ready to fight. “Goddamn,” he said. “Wha’d ya do that for?”
I rolled out. “You snore like a damn buffalo. Nobody could sleep within a mile of that racket.”
“Goddamn sissies. I’m goin’ down to breakfast. Go back to your beauty rest.” He slammed the door on his way out.
Paul gave out a loud yawn.
I said, “We’d better get downstairs before Henry eats all the way through Mrs. Bentley’s pantry.”
We found Henry sitting at a long table in the dining room behind a plate of food already half gone. Three other men looked up and grunted before going back to their own plates. I sat down opposite Henry and started to speak, but one look at his face shut my mouth.
The dim light upstairs had told only half the tale. Now I saw his nose was swelled up like an eggplant and crisscrossed with white tape. Plenty ugly for sure, but it was his eyes that gave me the creeps—crocodile eyes swollen to slits and buried in thick purple lids. My eyes watered just looking at him.
“Pretty, ain’t I?” he said.
Mrs. Bentley burst through the swinging kitchen door, and I was glad for something else to look at. She balanced platters of biscuits and sausage in one hand and carried a pitcher of milk gravy in the other.
Seeing America Page 6
