Go With Me (7 page)

Lillian watched Lester approach the landing. She saw him look to his right as he passed the dog lying beside the lane, but the dog itself she couldn’t see from where she was. Lester left the woods and limped across the landing toward the spot where Nate faced the five loggers. Lillian watched him.

She had gone with Kevin because he was like her. He was like her, except that he was funny. She wasn’t funny. She couldn’t afford to be. Kevin was full of mockery. “East Schmuckville,” he called their town. “You can’t miss it,” Kevin said. “It’s exactly four miles south of West Schmuckville.” He made her laugh.

Blackway put an end to that. Blackway stood in the night beside their car with the cruiser’s lights popping and flashing and listened to Kevin blabbing away, trying to talk his way out of this one. Talk, talk, talk. Kevin thought he was so smart. “Is there a problem, Officer?” In two seconds Kevin was out of the car and slammed down on his face across the hood. Blackway was talking softly to him. Lillian had opened her door to get out of the car.

“Stay where you are, sweetheart,” Blackway told her. She closed the door again.

Afterward Kevin shut right up. He wouldn’t talk to her, he wouldn’t talk at all. Lillian asked him what Blackway had said to him the night of the stop. Kevin wouldn’t tell her. He was no longer funny. He no longer made her laugh. He wouldn’t leave the house. Then one day she got home from work and he was gone. No note, no word. Kevin just put his little tail down and ran. Well, fuck him, then. Fuck Kevin. He wanted to run? Let him run.

The five men in front of Nate heard the truck start. They looked past Nate. They saw Lester coming toward them up the log lane. He had the long parcel tucked under his right arm with one end snug against his side and the other pointing to the ground in front of his feet.

“Who’s that?” the middle logger asked Nate.

“He’s looking for Blackway, too,” Nate said.

Lester came up beside Nate and stood to his right about four feet away from him and no more than seven or eight feet from the loggers.

“You ask them?” he said to Nate.

“Yo,” Nate said.

“What’s that you got in there?” the middle logger asked Lester.

“We been to Fitz’s,” Lester said. “Fitz told us we might find him up here. Might find Blackway. That’s what Fitz said, ain’t it?” he asked Nate.

“Yo,” Nate said.

“Blackway ain’t here,” said the logger. “What’s that?” he asked Lester again.

“This, here?” Lester said. “Curtain rods.”

“Bullshit, curtain rods,” said the logger.

Lester raised the end of his parcel so it pointed about at the knees of the group of five loggers.

“Blackway hasn’t been here today, at all, I guess?” he said.

“He was here,” said the small logger. “Might be he’s gone up to the High Line.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” said the middle logger.

“Why don’t you?” said the small one. “You see what he’s got. He never told us nothing about not telling nobody where he was. Let him worry about them.”

“You fellows go on back to work,” said Lester. “We’ve taken up too much of your time. Fitz will dock your pay.”

The middle logger spat onto the ground between them. “Fitz won’t dock nobody,” he said.

“Probably not,” said Lester. “We’re much obliged to you. We’ll try the High Line.”

The five held their ground, but they looked at one another, then at the logger in the middle of their line. Lester lifted the parcel again so its end pointed at the middle logger’s belt buckle.

“Go on, now,” said Lester.

The small logger and three of the others turned and started toward the woods. The middle logger turned, too, then turned back to them. He spat into the mud again.

“He ain’t hiding from you,” he said.

“Go on,” said Lester.

“You find him, you’re going to wish you hadn’t,” said the other.

Lester didn’t reply. The logger turned away. Nate and Lester waited until the five were most of the way across the landing. Then they returned to the truck and Lillian. The great dog lay beside the lane with its head on its paws and watched them go.

“What happened?” said Lillian. She moved from behind the wheel, and Nate took the driver’s place.

“Get going,” said Lester. They drove out of the log landing and turned onto the road.

“Blackway went to the High Line,” Lester said.

“What’s the High Line?” Lillian asked.

“Well, it’s like a motel, I guess you’d say,” Lester said.

Nate snickered.

“We’re going there?” Lillian said.

“It looks that way,” said Lester. “Unless you’d rather bag this whole business. In that case, we can drop you back at Whizzer’s.”

“No,” said Lillian. “What happened back there?”

“Not much.”

“I thought there was going to be a fight.”

“No fight,” said Lester. “Those fellows mostly look harder than they fight.”

“That’s a gun you’ve got in there, isn’t it?”

“They thought so,” Lester said.

“You tricked them, then,” said Lillian. “That’s why there was no fight. Either that’s a gun and you scared them off or it isn’t and you made them think it was. Either way it was nothing but a trick. You were afraid to fight all of them, so you tricked them so you wouldn’t have to.”

“Who was afraid?” Nate asked her.

“What have you got against tricks?” Lester asked her.

“I wasn’t afraid,” Nate said.

“What’s she got against tricks?” Lester asked Nate.

Lillian was silent.

“Don’t know,” said Nate.

“She don’t like tricks,” Lester said.

“She likes fights,” Nate said.

“Thing is, it ain’t her has to do the fighting,” said Lester.

“No,” said Nate. “No, it ain’t her.”

“Do you think you could give it a rest?” Lillian asked them.“No, I didn’t want a fight. Five against one isn’t a fight.”

“It ain’t?” asked Nate.

“Five against two, wasn’t it?” asked Lester.

“Okay,” said Lillian. “Five against two. Anyway, I’m glad there was no fight. Okay?”

“Okay with me,” said Lester.

“No fight — this time,” said Lillian.

“Mind you,” said Lester. “I like a good fight, myself. But it’s a young fellow’s game, ain’t it? Fighting? Like my wife and me, when we were young, God, we fought all the time. Just married: We’d fight about anything. I mean fight, too: shouting, screaming, throwing things — all day and all night. Then when we got old, it seemed like we simmered down. Don’t fight anywhere near as much anymore.”

“You tricked them,” said Lillian. “You won’t trick Blackway.”

“’Course,” Lester went on, “that might be partly because she moved out on me.”

“Did you see that dog?” Nate asked Lester.

“What dog?” asked Lillian.

“I saw him,” said Lester.

“I didn’t see any dog,” said Lillian.

“He was in the woods,” Lester said. “Must be one of them fellow’s dogs. Just sat there, didn’t make a sound. I hate a dog that never barks.”

“Awhile ago you said you hated dogs that do bark,” said Lillian.

“He don’t like dogs, it looks like,” said Nate.

“Big bastard, too, wasn’t he?” said Lester. “Dog that size, you don’t know whether to put a saddle on him or milk him.”

“You want to milk that one,” said Nate, “you’re on your own.”

8

STILL RUNNING

“Well,” said D.B., “if she likes it here so much, she’s got a funny way of showing it.
You people.
Thinks she’s some trick. Cat named Annabelle. Hair down to her ass.”

“What’s it to you what she calls her cat?” Coop asked him.

“Can’t get around that hair, can you?” said Whizzer.

“Look,” said Coop, “at least she had most of her clothes on. Girls you see today go around half naked.”

“They do?” Whizzer asked.

“Sure,” said Coop. “And, look: At least she don’t have herself stuck all full of nuts and bolts like so many of them you see.”

“Nuts and bolts?” Whizzer asked.

“Piercing,” said D.B. “I don’t understand that, do you? And that ain’t all. There’s the jewelry. Other day I was at the clinic, getting blood drawn. Little girl works there, that Rowena, takes your blood? She had this thing on, this shirt, showed her belly, and in there she had a diamond, right in her belly button. I mean, she wore it to work.”

“A diamond?” Whizzer asked.

“It’s a fake, Whiz,” said Coop. “It had to be. Nobody wears a real diamond in her belly like that. She’d be afraid she’d lose it.”

“Well, maybe the diamond was a fake,” said D.B., “but her belly button was real, and the diamond was right in there.”

“How does she get it to stay put?” Whizzer asked. “Glue?”

“That’s no glue,” said Coop. “It’s in there like an earring. It’s another piercing. You stick a needle in there, make a hole, like in your ear. Then you hang your diamond on that, it’s on a little ring.”

“I didn’t see no ring on it,” said D.B.

“You didn’t get close enough,” said Coop.

“Close enough to see about everything else she had,” said D.B. “That’s what I’m saying. What happened to the way these little girls dress themselves, you know? What about these kids you see today in school? Piercing? Bellies? Diamonds? I’m talking about girls twelve, thirteen years old. Not even high school. They dress the same way: You’ve got the little thing on top with the straps, you’ve got the bare belly, the tight jeans. That kind of outfit, you used to have to pay money to see. You used to have to pay money and sit in the dark. Now you go into any middle school. What about that?”

“What about it?” asked Conrad.

Whizzer chuckled. “All them bellies,” he said. “Them diamonds, rings. All that skin. This young fellow don’t approve, it looks like. He don’t, really.”

“What about you?” Conrad asked Whizzer. “Do you approve?’

“I do,” said Whizzer. “I am for it.”

“So am I, mostly,” said D.B. “I like to look, much as the next fellow. Have to say, though, it’s different when it’s your kid. Like just this past year? First day of school? Our Amy? Shows up wearing a skirt that you could pretty near see what she’d had for breakfast. Junior high, this is. She’s headed for the bus. ‘Wait just a god damned minute, here,’ I said.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop.

“I told her there’s no way in hell she’s leaving the house in that outfit,” said D.B.

“Uh-oh,” said Whizzer.

“That’s just what I’m saying,” said Coop.

“Uh-oh, is right,” said D.B. “I mean, she starts crying and wailing and carrying on. All the other kids dress like that. Do I want her to not have friends? And her mom? Her mom takes her part. What’s the big deal? Everybody does it. Do I want our kid to be different? God damned right, I do. Neither one of them spoke to me or even looked at me for a month.”

“But she changed her clothes,” said Coop.

“She did,” said D.B.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop. “Where are these kids’ parents? It ain’t the kids’ fault. They don’t know no better. Nobody expects them to. But where are their parents?”

“If my sister?” said D.B. “If my sister had tried to go to school in an outfit like that when we were kids, my dad would have whipped her, and my mom would have held her down while he did it.”

“Do that today and see what happens,” said Conrad.

“You’ll have Wingate knocking on your door,” said Coop.

“Wingate?” said D.B.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop. “He’s right. Con’s right. You would have Wingate knocking on your door, protecting your fifteen-year-old kid’s God-given right to go around like a hooker. The law is on her side.”

“Wingate wouldn’t knock on your door,” said Whizzer. “Not really. He’d find some way to work things out. Sit down, talk things over. He’d try, anyway.”

“Wingate likes to talk,” said Coop. “I’ll give you that. He just don’t like to do. Like with Blackway, there.”

“I thought Wingate sacked Blackway,” said Conrad.

“He did,” said Whizzer. “Fired his ass. What are you talking about?” he asked Coop.

“What’s-her-name,” said Coop. “Lillian. I’m talking about her. She went to Wingate. Before she came here. She just told you. Wingate told her there’s nothing he can do. He gave her the law.”

“That’s his job,” said Whizzer.

“She went to him for help, and he gave her the law,” said Coop. “That don’t do her a lot of good with Blackway, does it? Blackway don’t care about the law. He just does what he wants. He just goes for it.”

“Wingate’s the sheriff,” said Whizzer.“What do you want him to do, saddle up and go out after Blackway on his own because of what some girl says? You know he can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Coop said. “Why can’t he — if he knows what she says is true? And he does. Everybody knows it. Everybody knows Blackway. How he does. What he is.”

“Wingate can’t do that,” said Whizzer.

“Why can’t he?” Coop demanded. “Face it, Whiz: Wingate’s no ball of fire. He’s all right for what he has to do, mostly. Serving papers and writing up speeding tickets? Sure. He’s a plugger. But face it: He ain’t the sharpest guy that ever came along.”

“Not like Blackway, you mean?” asked Conrad.

“Not like Blackway,” said Coop. “Do I mean Blackway’s sharp? Smart? Well, I don’t know. He’s smarter than Wingate, anyway. Ain’t he? Wingate just goes along, picking them up and putting them down. Blackway? Look, Blackway sees something he wants, he takes it. If you don’t like that and you think you can take it back, you’re welcome to try. That’s all. With Blackway, law don’t really come into it, much.”