Trust (19 page)

He returned to the door, unlocked it, removed the closed sign, and turned on the outside floodlights. He looked at his watch; it was nearly 4:30. He turned on the interior lights and went back to his desk. He took his wallet out and counted its contents and the coins in his pocket. He had $575.38. He did the arithmetic in his head: $4.58 for two breakfasts with tip and 30-cent coffee to go at Dean’s, 50 cents for the two doughnut-shop coffees. He was satisfied. He put the wallet back in his pocket, his feet up on the desk, and clasped his hands behind his head. He drank lukewarm coffee and smiled while he thought. He fished around in his jacket pocket until he had located Forrest’s card. He read it again, and smiled more; he put that in his wallet, too. Outside the darkness came rapidly. The
Impala gleamed in the floodlights and the red, white, and blue pennants flapped lazily in the evening breeze.

At 4:45 he got up and went back into the storage room. He opened the door and groped for the light switch. He heard Fritchie snoring away in the gloom. When the naked bulb on the ceiling came on, Fritchie stirred sluggishly, swallowed three times, licked his lips, shifted position slightly, and then resumed snoring. Earl turned the chair around. Fritchie had drooled on his tie, and he stunk, but otherwise he seemed all right. Earl took him by the shoulders and shook him. Fritchie made feeble flapping motions with his hands and uttered meager growling sounds. “No, no, Sleeping Beauty,” Earl said, “no more nappie-time now. Time for work now, Thirsty Boy. Lunchtime’s been over for hours.” Fritchie’s eyes snapped open after about thirty seconds of Earl’s agitation. “Hey,” he said, licking his lips. He looked around in confusion. “Good for you, Roy,” Earl said, straightening up, “knew you could do it, just knew it.”

“What time is it?” Fritchie said.

“Almost five,” Earl said. “
Way
past the lunch I never got.”

“Gotta go the bathroom,” Fritchie said. He lurched out of the chair and stumbled past Earl out the door and across the hall into the toilet, switching on the light as he entered. He did not shut the door behind him.

Earl went back into the front and sat down at his desk. Fritchie took a long time getting noisy relief in the bathroom, punctuating the steady plashing of his water with belches and coughs and dry hackings. The principal noise diminished into intermittent dribbles,
finally stopping. Earl heard Fritchie close his zipper, and then the toilet flushed. After that Fritchie ran water in the basin, making more splashing sounds followed by the squeaking of the paper-towel dispenser.

Fritchie walked unsteadily out into the office, his tie pulled down from his opened collar. He was using a brown paper towel to rub the back of his neck. He had put water on his hair as well. “Jesus,” he said, “I feel awful.”

Earl nodded toward Fritchie’s desk. “I got you some coffee,” he said. “Probably stone cold by now, I went out and got it round four. But it’s still black, and it’s still got caffeine. Might shape you up some, at least.”

“Thanks,” Fritchie said. He took the container from the bag and removed the lid. “You went out?” he said. “What’d you do?”

“Put the sign up,” Earl said, “locked the door. What else could I do? You in your coma in there. I hadn’t’ve done that, someone could’ve come in, had his pick of the lot.”

“Yeah,” Fritchie said, “but you shouldn’t’ve done that. Waldo don’t like it, shut down.” He drank some of the coffee.

“Oh go fuck yourself, Roy,” Earl said. “Thanks to you I missed lunch, you and your beer. I needed at least a cup of coffee. You want to tell Waldo I ducked a few minutes, and
why
that meant we were closed? Go ahead. Leave anything out, though, and I’ll fill in the gaps, soon’s I see him on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” Fritchie said. “How come you won’t see him till Tuesday?”

“I left him a note in the safe,” Earl said. “I had a
call from Vermont. My brother’s apparently selling some land, and I got to sign off on it. Something.”

“Should’ve called Waldo,” Fritchie said. “He doesn’t like getting notes.”

“In the first place,” Earl said, “Waldo called from down the boatyard, around three o’clock or so. He said he was staying there. So how could I call him? You got the number, the pay phone?”

“What’d you say to him?” Fritchie said, looking up at Earl quickly.

“About you, you mean?” Earl said. “I said you came back from lunch totally shitfaced, so I stashed you out in the back.” Fritchie licked his lips. ‘Roy can’t come to the phone right now, Waldo. Roy’s out in the back, all passed out.’

“Come on,” Fritchie said. “You didn’t tell him that.”

“No, but I should’ve,” Earl said. “I told him
you
took the late lunch, and weren’t back yet. Which as a matter of fact, you did do. You took
my
late lunch, you drunk. I should’ve reported you, him. That’s always been my worst fault. I’m just too nice a guy.”

“Yeah,” Fritchie said. He finished the coffee. He said, “Well, look, I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry you missed your lunch. And thanks for protecting my ass. Tell you what I’ll do: I’ll stay here for you, while you go and get yourself dinner. Just try to get back around seven.”

Earl stood up. “Roy,” he said, “you never quit. I got to give you that. Well, nice try, pal, but it won’t work. This’s your night in the barrel. And since I didn’t get my lunch, I’m having a big dinner. I’m going down to Rosoff’s, Rosoff’s Town Terrace there. And I am
going to get myself a nice big piece of roast beef, and about six good, cold beers. And then I’m driving to Vermont, and I will see you Tuesday.”

“Rosoff’s?” Fritchie said. “You can’t afford Rosoff’s. Not on what you make.”

“Tonight I can,” Earl said. “Tonight I go first class. I sold the Falcon while you’re gone. Whole deal in forty minutes.”

Fritchie slumped back in the chair. “You bastard,” he said. “I practically had that car sold. You know I practically did. You sell it that wife of my butcher there, Hyde Park? She come in while I was out? That commission is mine, sonny boy, if you did. That was my customer that I developed.”

“Talk to your priest about it,” Earl said. “I don’t know the butcher’s wife. I sold it a guy who lives in the Cape. He dropped in while you were out getting smashed, and he had the money in cash. The lady comes in, tell her she is too late, just like you were, my friend.”

“You cocksucker,” Fritchie said. “Just kissing ass for Waldo, the same time you’re screwing me. Probably so if he decides, he’s got to fire somebody, he’ll fire me instead of you, ’cause you just sold a car. What’d you let it go for, just to pull this nifty stunt? Five fifty, huh? I bet you did. Sure, I bet you did. Just to cream his jeans.”

“Eat your heart out, Roy,” Earl said. “I got the six we wanted. The five forty’s in the safe.” He started toward the door.

“Bullshit, Beale, just bullshit,” Fritchie yelled. “You sold that car five fifty. And then you cut your commission so Waldo’d think that you got six. You’re a pussy,
pussy kid. You know that, Beale? You know that? Just a pussy, pussy kid.”

Earl paused at the door. “You know, Roy,” he said, “that is not a bad idea, now you mention it. Penny’s out of town and all, and I got some extra cash—after I have my roast beef I might look for some of that. See you on Tuesday, Snuggles.”

Earl drove Penny’s Dodge from the dealership to Tallino’s Restaurant near the intersection of Hammond Street and Route 9 eastbound on the Brookline-Chestnut Hill line, arriving well before the bar patrons had finished dealing with their thirsts. He finished a large salad, an eighteen-ounce sirloin steak, a baked potato with sour cream, and three draft beers before 6:15. His check came to $9.40. He put a ten-dollar bill on the table while his waitress was picking up an order in the kitchen, and left the restaurant before she returned. The hostess, a middle-aged woman in a black beaded dress, stood aside as he reached her station, but did not wish him a good night.

He parked right in front of the walk leading to Penny’s apartment in Somerville. He shut off the ignition, got out, opened the trunk, and pulled Penny’s train case toward him. He dug out the camera and rewound the film inside it. He opened the back and took out the cartridge, closing the camera and replacing it in the train case. He shut the trunk and dropped the exposed film in his pocket.

The couple on the first floor were in the preliminary stage of their weekend argument when he climbed the stairs to Penny’s place. He let himself into the dark apartment, noting as he switched on the kitchen light that the turkey had begun to stink. He took a tablespoon from the drip-dry rack on the sink and tapped the bird’s breast with it; it was spongy, and seemed to have started to discolor. He had the refrigerator door open before he recalled that he had drunk all the beer on Thanksgiving. He saw Penny’s quart bottle of Tab in the vegetable bin behind the lettuce and squash they had purchased to go with the turkey. There was a fresh half gallon of milk behind it. He took the Tab out and set it on the table. He got a tall glass from the cabinet next to the refrigerator and filled it with ice. He shut the refrigerator door and poured Tab into the glass.

He carried it into the bedroom and put it on the bureau. He got down on his hands and knees and moved the bedclothes so that he could reach under the iron frame supporting the mattress and spring. His fingers touched large, dry balls of dust, and the sensation made him flinch, but he kept at it until he had located Penny’s cache of nips of rum and scotch, served to her but not consumed on her trips with Allen. He hoped for rum, but settled for the first three he touched: two Dewar’s White Label and one Haig & Haig Pinch. He got to his feet, putting the White Label on the bureau and pouring the Pinch into his Tab. He took the mixture and drank half of it.

On the floor at the rear of the closet, under the hems of Penny’s long dresses, there was a Bostonian shoe box. He pulled it out and put it on the floor behind him. Next there were two pieces of soiled maroon
nylon luggage: a medium-sized duffel with a white shoulder strap, and a shapeless two-suit hanging bag. Each of them was stenciled “St. Stephen’s University” and had been featured in pictures composed by
New York Daily News
and
Post
photographers assigned to see him off on the marshals’ blue bus headed for his first stop en route to Leavenworth. Two of his former teammates had written to him in prison, querulous letters indignantly demanding to know why he had seen fit to add that small disgrace to the major dishonors he had brought to the program, thus confirming his earlier judgment that they were too stupid and naive to trust. He straightened up, holding the two bags, and dropped them on the bed.

He picked up the shoe box and opened it. There were eight of the business-size manila envelopes inside, each of them thick, dated on the front with the occasions covered by their contents. He chose one at random—“Prints 9-8-66-1-3-67”—and opened it. He leafed through the contents, three-by-five-inch black-and-white photographs of Simmons and Penny made in airport terminals, under hotel marquees, emerging from or entering restaurants, sitting very close at Bruins, Celtics, and Patriots games. He replaced the prints in the envelope and returned it to the box. He zipped open the duffel and took at random from it one of the two compartmented white plastic negative files dated for the last three months of 1966 and the first three of 1967. The 35-millimeter negatives were intact in their glassine protective wrappers. He closed the file and returned it to the duffel. He picked up his glass and raised a silent toast to the shoe box and the duffel.

Fewer than fifteen minutes were enough for him to
collect and pack his one gray suit, his blue blazer, his tan slacks and his three chino slacks, four dress shirts, three neckties, four polo shirts, a windbreaker, and all his underwear—enough socks, handkerchiefs, T-shirts, and shorts for six days. He left his dirty underwear and socks—three sets—in the bathroom hamper. The Dopp Kit went on top of the underwear and the shirts in his duffel; his black loafers and his sneakers went into the bottom of the hanging bag. He took the eight envelopes out of the shoe box and layered them between his sets of underwear in the duffel. He took his raincoat off the closet hanger and tossed it on top of the luggage. He put the top back on the shoe box and moved to replace it in the closet but hesitated; he held on to it and went into the living-dining room.

Penny kept her bills, canceled checks, three-format checkbook, and bank statements in a small, gray steel filing box under the dining table. He pulled it out and opened it. He took out four envelopes of canceled checks and put them in the shoe box. He opened her checkbook and tore five pages of blank checks from the back of it; he left them on the table in front of his pyramid of beer cans. He closed the case and replaced it under the table. He returned to the bedroom with the shoe box and put it back in the closet. He picked up his luggage and carried it into the living room. He sat down at the table and took his ballpoint out. He wrote a note to Penny on the blank backs of the checks: