Graveyard Plots (39 page)

"Let's go inside," he said.
 
"It's hot out here."

It was a typical Sunday afternoon in spring on the Texas coast, warm and only slightly muggy.
 
There was a breeze from the Gulf stirring the oleander leaves and pushing along the puffy flat-bottomed clouds overhead.

"It's not so bad," I said.

"Maybe not, but I need a place to sit down."

It wasn't that he needed a place to sit, any more than it was the heat.
 
It was just that Dino was never comfortable unless he was inside, and he was only marginally comfortable inside unless he was in his own house.

I stuck the book under my arm and stood up.

"You read some funny stuff," Dino said.

"Some of it's pretty funny," I said, taking out the book and looking at the cover.
 
"But not all of it."

"You know what I mean.
 
I bet there's nobody else in the whole country reading that book right now."

He was probably right.
 
Not too many people cared about Erskine Caldwell these days.
 
Maybe that was why I was reading the book.

"It was considered pretty hot stuff at one time," I said.

"When was that?"

"A long time ago.
 
Let's go in."

We went inside and Nameless followed in hopes that someone might give him something to eat.
 
It wouldn't have mattered if he'd eaten only ten minutes before; he was always ready to eat again if he got the chance.

"I'll feed you later," I told him, and he flopped down by my ratty sofa and started grooming himself, licking under his front paw and then dragging the paw across his face.

"You want a Big Red?" I asked Dino.

"Is that all you have?
 
Jesus, Tru, don't you know that stuff'll kill you?
 
I know this guy who works for the distributor, and he tells me they never keep it around the warehouse for very long after it goes in the can.
 
He said it eats right through the aluminum."

"If my stomach were lined with aluminum, I'd be worried.
 
I've got ginger ale, though, if you want it."

"I guess that'll have to do."

The house was furnished in Early Thrift Shop.
 
Dino sat in a recliner that wouldn't recline, and I went into the kitchen.
 
Nameless got up, stretched, and followed me.

"How about turning on the air?" Dino yelled.

I didn't use the air-conditioning much.
 
The house was made of stone and surrounded by oleander bushes, and there was always a breeze blowing in from the Gulf through the open windows.
 
Dino would have felt better if the windows were closed.

"I couldn't afford to pay the electric bill if I ran the air," I said, laying my book on the counter and opening the refrigerator.
 

I had two liters of Big Red in a plastic bottle.
 
As far as I could tell it hadn't eaten its way through the plastic yet; there were no tell-tale red spots on the bottom of the refrigerator.
 
Well, to tell the truth there
were
a couple of red spots, but I figured them for rust.
 

The ginger ale was in green-and-white cans.
 
They weren't leaking either.
 
I poured some Big Red in a glass and popped open one of the cans of ginger ale for Dino.

Nameless was watching me hopefully.
 
He said, "Mowrr?"

"I told you I'd feed you later," I said.

He followed me back into the living room.
 
I handed Dino his drink and sat on the sofa.
 
A spring gave a muffled twang, but it didn't break through the cushion.
 
Nameless sat by my foot and resumed his grooming, a process that could last for as little as ten seconds or as long as a quarter of an hour depending on when he fell asleep.

"You didn't have a glass for me?" Dino asked.

"I washed off the top of the can," I lied.
 
"It's clean."

He looked at the can suspiciously and took a sip of the ginger ale.
 
Then he made a face and said, "I wish you had something a little stronger."

"I thought you liked to stay in shape."

"I do.
 
I got me one of those Health Riders and an Ab-Flex.
 
My gut's like iron.
 
A little whiskey wouldn't hurt me."

He did look fit, his shoulders broad and his stomach flat. He was probably right about the whiskey not hurting him, but I didn't have any.
 
Big Red was about as wild as I got.
 

"So why are you here?" I asked him.
 
"Nameless doesn't need you to feed him, and you're not exactly in the habit of making social calls."

He set the ginger ale can on top of the low coffee table I'd bought at a garage sale.
 
"Maybe I'm changing my habits.
 
Maybe I just wanted to come by, see my old buddy Truman, see if he's doing all right.
 
Maybe I wanted to see your stupid cat."

"I doubt it," I said without making any attempt to defend Nameless' intelligence.
 
Nameless didn't care; he was already asleep, his head turned to one side, his paw thrown over his eye.
 
"I hope it's not like the last time you came looking for me."

"When was that?"

He knew very well when that had been, but I said, "When Outside Harry disappeared."

"Oh.
 
Yeah."
 
He picked up the ginger ale can and took a swallow.

"Evelyn was with you that time.
 
How's she doing?"

"She's doing great.
 
We get together a couple of times a week now, go out and have some laughs."

I tried to imagine that.
 
I couldn't.

"Where do you go?"

"Just around.
 
We went to Moody Gardens and saw that 3-D IMAX movie, the one they filmed under water.
 
It was like the fish were swimming in my lap."

I couldn't picture Dino at Moody Gardens or anywhere else in Galveston, but maybe he was actually getting better about leaving his house.

"You didn't come here to tell me about the movie, though, did you?"

"Hey, you like to fish.
 
You oughta go see it.
 
That cat of yours would love it."

For just a second or two I had an image of Nameless sitting in my lap and wearing a specially-made little pair of wrap-around polarized glasses.
 
I smiled, and Dino said, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing."
 
I swirled what was left of my Big Red around in the bottom of my glass.
 
"Now why don't you tell me what you came out here for."

"Geez, Tru, can't we just have a little conversation, like old times?"

"Sure we can.
 
Later, maybe.
 
But right now you might as well get to the point."

He sighed and set the ginger ale can back on the coffee table.
 
"All right.
 
I got a call today from Lance Garrison.
 
He wants to talk to you."

"Lance Garrison wants to talk to me?"
 
That was about as likely as Nameless in 3-D glasses.
 
Garrison and I hadn't seen each other or spoken in more than twenty years.
 
"What about?"

"He didn't say.
 
He just asked me if I'd bring you by his house this afternoon."

"I'm not going to find anybody for him if that's what he wants."

Finding people had been my job once, and sometimes people still asked me to do it.
 
I'd come back to Galveston a few years ago to find my sister, and it hadn't worked out.
 
I didn't like to find people anymore.

"I don't know what he wants," Dino said.
 
"I owe him a favor or two, so I said I'd ask you."

"I never liked him much."

"He knows that.
 
That's why he called me instead of you.
 
You gonna go with me or not?"

I thought about it for a second.
 
"I went looking for Outside Harry because you asked me to.
 
It didn't turn out so well."

"Hey, it turned out all right.
 
Besides, Lance probably doesn't want you to find anybody.
 
Maybe he just wants to talk over old times."

"Not with me, he doesn't."

Dino stood up.
 
"OK.
 
I asked, and you turned me down.
 
I don't blame you.
 
I never liked Lance much, myself."

"He made you some money, though, I hear."

"Who told you that?"

"It's just one of those things people talk about," I said.
 
"Is it true?"

"Yeah, it's true.
 
That's why I owe him a favor or two."

"All right," I said.
 
"I'll talk to him."

"But you won't look for anybody, right?"

"Right."

"I don't blame you," Dino said.