The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(77)

I suppose I would agree. If it does have a somewhat lampish smell to it. The Greeks, I suppose.

I suppose. Possibly of course of humbler origins.

Such as Mossy Creek.

Such as. Do you ever think what it would be like to meet a person you’ve known for a long time for the first time in these later years? To meet them anew.

You’re thinking they would be a much different person to you if you didnt know their history.

Yes.

How would it differ from when you first met them?

That’s not it. We’re talking about them as they are now. Only with a past unknown to us.

I dont get it.

Skip it. How about another coffee?

I have to go.

Then with my blessing, Viejo. It’s an odd place, the world. I was in Knoxville a while back and there was this wino got hit by a bus. He was lying on the sidewalk where he’d been carried and people were just sort of standing around. Gay Street. In front of the S & W. Someone had gone to call. And I bent down and asked him if he was all right. I mean he damn sure wasnt all right. He’d just been run over by a bus. And he opened his eyes and looked up at me and he said: My sands are run. Jesus. My sands are run? The ambulance came and they took him away and I scoured the papers for several days but I couldnt find anything about the incident.

Maybe he was sent to carry a message to you.

Maybe. Life is brief. Carpe diem.

Or maybe just watch out for buses.

Sheddan sipped his drink and set it back on the table. Buses, he said.

I’ve got to go.

Friends are always telling you to watch out. To take care. But it could be that the more you do so the more exposed you become. Maybe you just have to turn yourself over to your angel. I may even start praying, Squire. I’m not sure who to. But it might lift a bit of weight from the shoulders, what do you think?

I think you should follow your heart.

He drank the last of his coffee and stood. The lamps had come on down Bourbon Street. It had rained earlier and the moon lay in the wet street like a platinum manhole cover. Take care, John.

And you, Squire. Or did I just recommend against that?



* * *





He couldnt sleep. He’d taken to walking the Quarter at all hours in what was to be the last of the years in which you could do that before the muggers took over the streets. He didnt know what to do with her letters. He didnt see Kline about the carry permit. He doubted it would help anything. Lou left messages at the bar but he didnt go back to work. Janice watched him come and go. Red was in Argentina. Rio Gallegos. Where the winds blew lawn furniture and dead cats over the lightwires. He saw Valovski in the bar once or twice. In a cafe on the edge of the Quarter one morning he saw someone he thought he knew.

Webb, he said. Is that you?

Webb turned and looked at him.

It’s Bobby Western.

Hell, Bobby. I know you. How you makin it?

I’m okay.

What are you doin now?

Not much of anything. What are you?

Same here.

You still on the trucks?

Nah. I quit about a year ago. I fucked up my foot. Stepped off a curb and twisted it or somethin. It aint been right since. I finally quit. I was slowin everbody down. Fair’s fair. I get a little money from the city.

Those were good jobs.

Like we always said. A hundred dollars a week and all you can eat.

Western ordered coffee and the counterman turned to get it.

You aint got a smoke on you have you Bobby?

No. I dont smoke.

That’s all right.

Let me get you a pack.

Hell, Bobby. It’s all right.

What do you smoke?

Camels. No filter.

Western walked down to the cigarette machine at the end of the counter and put in three quarters and pulled the handle. The pack slid into the tray along with his change. He got a paper and walked back and laid the cigarettes on the counter. Webb nodded and picked up the pack. Thanks, Bobby. That’s white of you.

You’re welcome.

I’ve tried to quit these things. I aint sure it can be done. You never smoked?

Nope.

I did quit drinkin. Just flat give it up. But these things I believe have got heroin in em.

Was drinking a problem?

I dont know. I guess I’d have to say it was. I’d wake up in strange places. I woke up one time in somebody’s parked car and I thought, well, what if you woke up dead? That kind of got to me. I mean, do you think if you died drunk you’d sober up before you met Jesus?

Good question. I dont know.

I thought about that. Standin in front of him drunk. What would he say. Hell, what would you say?

I guess I dont think your soul gets drunk.

Webb thought about that. Well, he said. Maybe yours dont.

He lit the cigarette and blew out the match with the smoke. Western unfolded his paper and looked at it. He looked at Webb. Do you ever feel like somebody is after you?

Webb dropped the match in the ashtray. It smoked gently. I dont know, he said. I was married one time. Does that count?

I dont think so.

Why? You think somebody’s after you?

I dont know. I just wonder if maybe lots of people dont feel that way.

For no reason.

Yeah.

Webb smoked. Like most people he liked being consulted. I had a uncle one time was a certified character. He’d steal a hot stove. He wouldnt even talk to you unless the subject was larceny. Anyway, they were after his ass all the time but I couldnt see as it bothered him all that much.