We Begin at the End(47)
Wind blew across the highway and smoked dust from the ground. Early evening, only a couple of pickups but Walk heard music before he reached the door. He stopped for a moment, looked at the wide strip of San Luis and thought of Star there, dragging the kids behind her.
Inside was dull light, the strong smell of tobacco and stale beer. The booths were empty, just a couple of guys at the bar and a small cluster around a stage built from painted wooden crates. The singer was old, bluegrass, a long way from home but the men tapped their thighs as they drank.
He had a description of the guy from Duchess, given over when he’d sat her down and they’d slowly gone through the kind of months and years that saw his head heavy by the time they were done. The girl had spoken with an evenness that wrenched his soul, like she knew nothing of childhood at all.
He found him straight off, cropped hair and thick beard, strong arms that hinted at field work. Bud Morris. Walk sidled up as Bud rolled his eyes like trouble with the law was a consequence of his way.
“Could I speak with you?”
Bud looked him up and down, then laughed.
Walk drank club soda. He was not a man who enjoyed confrontation, despite the training, the badge and what it meant. Words rang loud in his ears. Leave it to state. He gripped his glass hard. Martha’s words rang louder.
Bud went to the restroom. Walk stood and followed him in, took a deep breath and drew his gun as the man was pissing.
He pressed it to the back of Bud’s head.
Adrenaline coursed, his hands shook, his knees shook.
“Fuck.” Bud pissed on his jeans.
Walk pressed harder. Sweat ran down his nose.
“Jesus, alright. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Walk lowered the gun. “Now I could have done that at the bar, in front of your friends, made you piss your pants for an audience.”
Bud glared, then dropped his eyes, defeat coming at him fast. Outside they heard hollers as the old guy moved on to “Man of Constant Sorrow.”
“Star Radley,” Walk said.
Bud looked confused, then it hit him and he sobered right up.
“I heard you got into it with her, and her daughter. She was playing, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Bud shook his head. “Nothing in that.”
Walk felt wired. He wondered about his sanity, pulling a gun on a man in a restroom. Looking for his angle.
“I took her out a couple times.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work out, that was all.”
Walk reached for the gun again, till Bud stepped back. “I swear it. Nothing happened.”
“You got rough with her?”
“No. Never. Nothing like that. I treated her nice. Shit, I even took her to that place on Bleaker. Twenty-dollar steak. I booked a motel … a nice one.”
“She said no.”
Bud looked at his feet, his pissy jeans, the gun. “Not just no. I’m not a man that can’t take no. Shit, there’s women, ask around. I do alright. But Star, she gave the illusion of it. Being into me. But it wasn’t just no, not now. It was never. That’s what she said. Never. What the fuck is that? Never. It was like she was trying hard to be someone she wasn’t. An act, maybe. All of it an act.”
“An act?”
“I reckon she did the same with other men. The neighbor. I picked her up one time and he came over, told me not to waste my time.”
“Which neighbor?”
“Right next door. Seventies-looking dude.”
“Where were you June 14th?”
Bud smiled when it came to him. “I know when it was. We had Elvis Cudmore playing. I was right here, ask anyone.”
Walk left him there, cut through the small crowd and headed out into night air, heart still pounding.
He crossed the lot, squatted by a Dumpster and puked.
19
SHE ATE HER LUNCH BENEATH an oak tree, eyes on her brother.
The first week passed quietly, she did not speak to anyone. Thomas Noble made overtures, she dismissed him curtly.
Robin was in K2, they had their own area sectioned off by a low fence. Each day he played with the same girl and boy. They stood at the mud kitchen, Robin and the girl short-order cooks, the other boy fetching and delivering to oblivious others.
She didn’t notice she was not alone until shadow cut the light, shade falling over her as she looked up.
“I thought I might enjoy your tree.” Thomas Noble carried his lunch, a bulging sack, in his good hand.
She sighed.
He sat and cleared his throat. “I’ve been watching you.”
“Well, that’s not creepy at all.” She shuffled further from him.
“I was thinking. Would you like to—”
“Never.”
“My father said my mother turned him down the first time. But her eyes said yes so he persisted.”
“Spoken like a true rapist.”
Beside her he spread out a large, thick cloth napkin. Then he laid out a bag of potato chips, a Twinkie, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a bag of marshmallows and a can of soda. “It’s a wonder more people don’t know about this spot.”
“It’s a wonder you haven’t contracted diabetes.”
He ate quietly, each bite muted as he pushed thick frames up his nose. He kept his bad hand holstered in his pocket. Watching him open the marshmallows with his teeth was painful.