Go With Me (8 page)

“Blackway’s kind of beyond the law, I guess,” said Conrad.

“There you go,” said Coop. “Wingate?” he went on, “Wingate’s strictly by-the-book. All right, he has to be. But I’ll say it again: Wingate ain’t the brightest guy in the world. He goes by the book because he don’t have what it takes to do different. The — what would you call it? To do different. Ain’t that brains?”

“That’s imagination,” said Conrad.

“There you go,” said Coop. “He ain’t got the imagination.”

“Wingate’s got a job to do,” said Whizzer.“He’s an officer of the law. He don’t get paid to imagine.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop.

“That ain’t being stupid, though,” said Whizzer.

“Ain’t it?” Coop demanded. “Ain’t it? Look, you take that thing where Wingate fired Blackway. Okay, Blackway busts some kid and takes his dope and sells it. So what? Who’s hurt?”

“It’s against the law,” said Whizzer.

“So what if it is?” said Coop. “So what? What difference does it make? Somebody else smokes that particular bunch of dope, that’s all. You think the law, you think Wingate, can make any difference to that? You know he can’t. People want dope, or anything else, they’ll find a way to get it.”

“Blackway’s glad to help them,” said D.B.

“He’s a benefactor,” said Conrad.

“I didn’t say that,” said Coop.

“Didn’t you?” said D.B. “I thought you did.”

“We’ve got two different arguments going here, don’t we?” asked Conrad.

“At least,” said Whizzer.

“I make it three,” said D.B.

“I ain’t arguing nothing,” said Coop. “I only said Wingate’s a plugger — nothing against him — and Blackway’s a stand-up guy in his own way.”

“You better hope he ain’t standing on you, then,” said Whizzer.

Coop laughed. “Yeah, well, I won’t fight with you on that one, I don’t guess,” he said.

“Best to leave Blackway alone,” said D.B.

“Even if you’re Wingate,” said Coop.

“So, I guess she did right to come here for help, didn’t she?” said Conrad. “Lillian. She came to the right place, I guess. Anyway, there wasn’t anyplace else for her to go. It’s too bad Scott Cavanaugh wasn’t here. To help her.”

Whizzer chuckled. “Scotty might not think so,” he said.

“Scotty knows Blackway,” said Coop.

“I guess he does,” said D.B.“Do you remember that thing at the Fort that time?”

“I was there,” said Coop.

“What thing?” Conrad asked them.

“God,” said Whizzer. “Ten years ago? Twelve?”

“More,” said Coop.

“What was it?” Conrad asked.

“Oh,” Coop said, “Scotty and his brother and a couple of their friends got into it with Blackway one night at the Fort. I never knew why. There were four of them. Blackway was by himself. They figured the numbers were about right. They went after him.”

“Big mistake,” said D.B.

“Big one,” Coop agreed.“Blackway put three of them in the hospital. Scotty had his jaw wired up for a couple of months. Couldn’t eat stuff. One of his friends didn’t come to for three days.”

“What did he do to them?” Conrad asked.

“Kicked Scotty’s brother in the balls,” said Coop. “He was the only one didn’t have to go to the hospital.”

“No permanent damage,” said D.B. “Had to hurt, though.”

“Scotty swung at Blackway,” Coop said. “Blackway took it on his shoulder and gave him one right back. That was it for Scotty. Broke his jaw. One of the other guys Blackway hit with something.”

“Some kind of a bar he had,” said Whizzer.

“It wasn’t a bar,” Coop said. “It was a chair. He hit him with a chair.”

“He hit him with a thing like a tire iron,” Whizzer said.

“He hit him with a chair,” Coop said.

“Might have been a jack handle,” said Whizzer. “Made of steel, couple of feet long.”

“He hit him with a chair, Whiz,” said Coop. “He picked up a chair and hit him with it. I was there.”

“So was I,” said Whizzer.

“You were?” said Coop. “Where were you?”

“Coming out of the gents’,” said Whizzer. “I could walk then.”

“Where were you?” Conrad asked Coop.

“Looking for the exit,” said Coop. “Me and everybody else in the place. Whole thing took about half a minute.”

“What happened to the fourth one?” Conrad asked. “Scotty had his jaw broken. His brother got kicked in the balls. His one friend was out for three days. What happened to the other?”

“Still running,” said Whizzer.

“So, we’re saying Nate and Lester can take on Blackway when those four couldn’t?” Conrad asked.

“I ain’t saying it,” said Coop.

“I ain’t saying it,” said D.B.

“They got a shot,” said Whizzer. “That was a long time ago. Blackway’s not as young as he was. Nate the Great’s got twenty years on him, more than that. Plus, he’s bigger.”

“He ain’t a lot bigger,” said D.B.

“Bigger enough,” said Whizzer. “And strong? You remember that thing with Perry and his car.”

“What thing?” Conrad asked.

“Perry’s car rolled onto him,” said D.B.

“He had a flat,” said Coop. “On the river road. Had a flat, got out, got the thing jacked up. An Escort, it was.”

“Chevette,” said Whizzer.

“It was an Escort,” said Coop. “White.”

“It was white,” said Whizzer. “But it was a Chevette.”

“What happened?” Conrad asked.

“Slipped the jack,” said D.B.

“Car slipped off the jack,” said Coop, “knocked Perry over, rolled onto his arm, stopped.”

“Pinned him,” said D.B.

“There he was,” said Coop.

“Couldn’t move,” said Whizzer. “Along came Nate the Great, on his way to work.”

“Stopped,” said D.B.

“Perry asked him to go for help,” said Coop, “or get the jack and raise the car up off his arm.”

“Nate the Great says, sure,” said Whizzer. “But he don’t go for help. He don’t get the jack. He just gets around front of the car, takes hold of the bumper, and lifts the whole god damned car up so Perry can get his arm out from under.”

“He’s holding the car up there, and he tells Perry to take his time,” says Coop.

“‘Take your time,’ says Nate the Great,” Whizzer said. “What I’m saying, he’s a pretty rugged kid. He’s holding the Chevette up in the air like it’s nothing.”

“The Escort,” said Coop.

“Nate the Great can give Blackway a run,” said Whizzer.

Coop shook his head. “I ain’t saying the kid don’t have the grunts,” he said. “But he ain’t clever. He’ll think he’s in some kind of a prizefight. He won’t know to kick or to pick up a chair.”

“A bar,” said Whizzer.

“Okay, Whiz,” said Coop. “It was a bar. It was a Chevette. Are you happy now? What I mean, that kid don’t know the tricks.”

“No,” said Whizzer, “but Les does.”

“What tricks?” Conrad asked.

“Whatever ones it takes,” said D.B.

“You wait,” said Whizzer. “Les knows all the tricks, and then he knows a couple more. And I’ll tell you something else: Les’ll go through. He’ll go all the way through. Hell, come to that, Les is as crazy as Blackway.”

9

FRIENDS OF BLACKWAY

The High Line Cabins are gone today. They stood about at the top of Route 10, where you turn off to take the road into the mountain country to the north. The highway went down a hill and into a curve there, and the crossing road came in just at the bend: a bad spot. Lately the state highway department has gone to work on that stretch. They have taken out the curve, they have taken out the hill — and they have taken out the High Line Cabins. Even the place where they were, you could say, has ceased to exist.

Few mourn. The High Line was not a good place. A sad, dirty, half-empty place, the habitat of sad, dirty, half-empty people, people who didn’t want to be seen: runaways, suicides, drinkers, addicts, sellers of goods that are on no account to be sold. In particular the High Line catered to adulterers. Restless citizens of Bennington, Rutland, Brattleboro went there with women who weren’t their wives, with men who weren’t their friends. Weekends, you didn’t even have to bring a woman with you to the High Line; the women would be set up there on their own. All you had to do was sit in your car and wait your turn. Then, the High Line amounted to an old-fashioned whorehouse, without the piano and without the warmhearted, middle-aged female boss. Some of the local people called it Tailtown.

Lillian and the two men turned into the parking lot at the High Line. Nate stopped the truck in front, and they sat and watched the building for a minute.

“This is the place?” Lillian asked.

“This is it,” said Lester.

“What a dump,” Lillian said. “People pay to stay here?”

“Not for very long,” Lester said. “Hah. What I mean, not for very long — at a stretch. Ain’t that right?” he asked Nate.

“Yo,” said Nate.

The High Line wasn’t a big place. It sat on an acre or less, a gravel lot on the road front and a patch of weeds and brush behind, festive with paper wrappings, empty cartons, empty cans and bottles, used-up rubber products, other trash. The building held twenty units in a two-decker range with stairs on each end to get you up to a balcony that led to the second-story rooms. The place was painted white with a green roof, green doors to the rooms. Maybe that paint job was intended to charm. Maybe it was intended to summon the prim, clean order of the Vermont village. It didn’t. For the High Line and places like it, you can paint them any color you want, and what they mostly look like is a state prison for the half bad.

“Well,” Lester said.

Nate opened the driver’s door and got out of the truck.

“You probably want to wait out here,” Lester said to Lillian.

“I’m not sitting out here alone,” said Lillian.

“Suit yourself,” said Lester. He left the truck and turned toward the building.

“Aren’t you going to take your gun?” Lillian asked him.

“Gun?” Lester asked.

“That’s right,” said Lillian. “Your package? Aren’t you going to bring it?”

Lester paused. He seemed to consider. Then he shook his head.

“I guess not this time,” he said.

The three of them had started toward the building when a door marked
OFFICE
in the near end of the first floor opened, and a tall man stood in front of it looking at them. He was a big one, all right: six and a half feet high and in no way skinny, with a long tangled beard that hung from his chin to his chest. The beard was black at the sides and gray down the middle and made the man look like he was in the act of eating a skunk headfirst.

The bearded man approached them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

Nate took a step toward him and turned a little, so his left shoulder was toward the man. But then Lester said, “Hello, Stu.”

The man looked past Nate to Lester. “Oh, yeah,” he said.

“How have you been, Stu?” Lester asked.

“What do you want?” asked the man.

“Blackway,” said Lester. “We’re looking for Blackway.”

“What for?”

“He’ll want to see us,” Lester said. He looked at Nate. “Ain’t that right?” he asked Nate.

“That’s right,” said Nate.

“That’s right,” said Lester.“Blackway’s a lucky man today. We’ve got some good news for Blackway. He’ll want to see us.”

“He ain’t here,” said Stu. “He was, but he left.”

“That’s too bad,” Lester said. “Ain’t that too bad?” he said to Nate.

“That’s too bad,” Nate said.

“Blackway will be hot about missing us,” Lester said.“Won’t he?”

“He will,” said Nate.

“He won’t be happy,” said Lester.

“He won’t,” said Nate.

“His partner’s here,” said Stu. “You can see him.”

Just then a woman in a room on the second floor began to laugh. She began, and she didn’t stop: a high, clear, unhinged laugh as though she was being tickled. She laughed until she ran out of breath, then she started in again.

“
Hee-hee-heee-heee. Oh, hee-heee-heee.
”

“What did you say?” Lester asked.

“You can see his partner,” said Stu. He turned and led them up a flight of concrete steps to the second-floor balcony and along it to a room halfway down. He knocked on the door. It opened immediately. A man stood in the doorway, filling it. In the adjoining room the woman’s laughter went on and on. The man in the door stepped back out of the way. Nate, Lester, and Lillian followed Stu into the room.

In the room there were four men. One sat in a chair at a credenza against the wall to the left. The others stood: one beside the bed, one in the corner beyond the bed, and the fourth, who had let them in, near the door. On the bed were two large suitcases.

All the lights in the room were on. There was a big window in the wall opposite the door, but its heavy drapes were closed tight.

The man standing beside the bed was snapping shut the lid of one of the suitcases when the three of them entered behind Stu.

The man sitting at the credenza looked up at them. He blinked. “Uh, who are they?” he asked.

From the next room the crazy woman’s noise was louder than it had been out on the balcony. It wasn’t laughter now, but a broken wail, a howl as of the world’s lonesomest coyote on the world’s lonesomest prairie. “Say what?” asked Stu.

“Who are they?”

“Looking for Blackway,” said Stu.

“
Yoo-ooo-woo-wooo-wooo.
”

“What?” said the man at the credenza. “Which one is that?” he asked Stu.

“That’d be Delphine,” said Stu.

“Can’t you shut her up?” he asked.

“You know Delphine.”

“
Yoo-ooo-woo-wooo-wooo.
”

“I’ll get her,” said the man by the door. He left the room. Shortly the howling next door shot up into a little shriek and then fell quickly away to silence, as when you lift a whistling teakettle quickly off the fire.

The man sitting at the credenza took a cigarette from a package at his elbow and put it in his mouth. Stu stepped forward and lit it for him with a metal lighter. The man puffed his cigarette, and Stu closed the lighter with a loud snap and stepped back to his place. “They’re looking for Blackway,” he told the seated man.