Only Killers and Thieves(21)

“I am sorry. Is no good.”

She was holding herself stiffly, elbows bent, one hand cradled in the other, and when she dipped her head and spoke to him, her mouth barely seemed to move.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Spruhl?”

“No, no, no problem. But I must take payment now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is too much—you see?” He spun the ledger around and pointed at the bottom of the column, all the while looking at her over his spectacle rims.

“Ned hasn’t paid?”

Spruhl only blinked. He closed the ledger and turned it back around.

“A debt must be cleared, Mrs. McBride, or else is charity, you understand?”

She shook herself, a little shiver, stood tall.

“Well, Ned’s in Lawton right now with the stock. It’s been a very good year. Next week he’ll be back and he’ll come into town and clear this whole amount.”

“Excellent. I see you then.”

They stared at each other. Mother said meekly, “But . . . I need these things now.”

“Without money to pay?”

“We’ve always bought on credit.”

“I am afraid no longer. Besides, I hear is a bad time for you, maybe.”

“What’s that now?” Tommy said.

Spruhl frowned like he’d forgotten Tommy was there.

“Is just what I hear.”

“Who from?”

The shopkeeper waved a hand. “Everybody is talking in Bewley, always people talk. I hear of many things out your way, about blacks, about drought, about debts not being paid.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy said, stepping forward.

Mother shooed him back again, smiled warmly at Spruhl.

“You know what it’s like in this town, Mr. Spruhl. Gossip’s the only entertainment most people have. But you also know us. I bought from your father when he was alive. So let’s forget the list, and I’ll just take some flour and sugar and perhaps a few beans for now. How does that sound to you?”

“I am sorry. Is not possible. I have been told.”

“Told what exactly?”

“Is business, Mrs. McBride. You understand, I am sure.”

“She’s only wanting a bag of flour,” Tommy said.

“And I only ask to be paid.”

Tommy saw Mother’s eyes fall. He saw the fight drain from her and her thin body sag. He searched the sacks by the window, found one marked as flour, hoisted it into his arms, and stared at Spruhl.

“Add it to your list there. You’ll get paid next week.”

“Boy, is theft if you don’t pay now.”

“You miserable bastard. You’d see us bloody starve.”

He took a step toward the door. Mother hadn’t moved. Spruhl sighed wearily, reached beneath the counter, and placed a pistol on top of the ledger. He spread his hands on the counter edge and leaned his weight onto his arms.

“I shoot thief no problem. Mr. MacIntyre tell me, is the law.”

“Tommy,” Mother said gently. “Put it down.”

He hugged the sack against him, glaring at Spruhl, then tossed it hard on the floor. The neck burst open and a cloud of flour came billowing out.

“Now he makes mess,” Spruhl said, throwing up his hands.

Tommy yanked open the door. The little bell tinkled overhead.

“Good day to you, Mr. Spruhl,” Mother told him. “My regards to Julie-Anne.”

The slack on Spruhl’s face tightened and a flush rose into his cheeks. Tommy stood back as Mother left the store. They came down the steps side by side.

“Who’s Julie-Anne?” he asked her.

“His wife. Or used to be, before she ran off with his brother, Gus.”

Tommy looked at her admiringly. She smirked at him in reply. They reached the street and both stared off into the distance, at this town that wasn’t theirs.

“Who’s been running their mouth about us, then?”

“Who d’you think, Tommy?”

“Sullivan? What for?”

“He does whatever he pleases. Or it might have been one of his men. We’ll survive anyway. Your daddy’ll set things right.”

“You reckon so?”

She turned toward him. “Meaning what?”

“You saw the cattle. There was nothing on them.”

She winced, then took a breath and forced a smile.

“Come on. It’s not so bad. There’s more than one store in this town.”

But the others were no different: word had got around. Every trader gave them the same response, and with each new rejection Mother shrank a little more; eventually she gave up altogether and said she was going to church. Didn’t even make Tommy come with her. Said he could please himself. So Tommy sat down at the curbside and watched her walk away, her skirts whipping the dust, her arms folded across her narrow chest, until she was lost among the crowd. He leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head hang, dribbled a long string of saliva into the dirt. The town bustling around him: women with their baskets, moving briskly about; the butcher in his open-air stall chopping the heads off still-live chooks; the drunks on the hotel verandah heckling passersby.

Directly across the street was Song’s Hardware Store. Song was asleep on the porch, arms folded on his belly, his chin slumped to his chest. Tommy rose and walked cautiously across the road, watching the Chinaman all the while. He was snoring. Each breath came thick and loud. Tommy went up the steps and prodded him, pressed a finger into his fleshy arm. Song didn’t stir. Tommy checked the street behind him, then slipped into the empty store.