cheese, roast beef, chicken - and a big pitcher of Red Zinger iced tea. 'Sit back down, Sandy,' she said. 'I got you covered.'
'What are you, a mind reader?'
She smiled as she set the tray down on the bench. 'Nope. I just know that men get thirsty when they talk, and that men are always hungry. Even the ladies get hungry and thirsty from time to time, believe it or not. Eat up, you guys, and I expect you to put away at least two of these sandwiches yourself, Ned Wilcox. You're too damn thin.'
Looking at the loaded tray made me think of Bibi Roth, talking with Tony and Ennis while his crew his children, much older than Ned was now - drank iced tea and gobbled sandwiches made in the same kitchenette, nothing different except for the color of the tiles on the floor and the microwave oven. Time is also held together by chains, I think.
'Yes, ma'am, okay.'
He gave her a smile, but I thought it was dutiful rather than spontaneous; he kept looking over at Shed B. He was under the spell of the thing now, as so many men had been over the years. Not to mention Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
one good dog. And as I drank my first glass of iced tea, cold and good going down my parched throat, loaded with real sugar rather than that unsatisfying artificial shit, I had time to wonder if I was doing Ned Wilcox any favors. Or if he'd even believe the rest of it. He might just get up, walk away all stiff-shouldered and angry, believing I'd been making a game of him and his grief. It wasn't impossible. Huddie, Arky, and Phil would back me up - so would Shirley, for that matter. She hadn't been around when the Buick came in, but she'd seen plenty - and done plenty -since taking the dispatch job in the mid-eighties. The kid still might not believe it, though. It was a lot to swallow. Too late to back out now, though.
'What happened about Trooper Rafferty?' Ned asked.
'Nothing,' Huddie said. 'He didn't even get his ugly mug on the side of a milk carton.'
Ned gazed at him uncertainly, not sure if Huddie was joking or not.
'Nothing happened,' Huddie repeated, more quietly this time. 'That's the insidious thing about disappearing, son. What happened to your dad was terrible, and I'd never try to convince you any different. But at least you know. That's something, isn't it? There's a place where you can go and visit, where you can lay down flowers. Or take your college acceptance letter.'
'That's just a grave you're talking about,' Ned said. He spoke with a strange patience that made me uneasy. 'There'sa piece of ground, and there's a box under it, and there's something in the box that's dressed in my father's uniform, but it's not my father.'
'But you know what happened to him,' Huddie insisted. 'With Ennis . . .' He spread his hands with the palms down, then turned them up, like a magician at the end of a good trick. Arky had gone inside, probably to take a leak. Now he came back and sat down. , 'All quiet?' I asked.
'Well, yes and no, Sarge Steff tole me to tell you she's getting dose bursts of interference on d'radio again, dose I'il short ones. You know what I mean. Also, DSS is kaputnik. Jus' dat sign on the TV
screen dat saystand by searching for signal .'
Steff was Stephanie Colucci, Shirley's second-shift replace-ment in dispatch and old Andy Colucci's niece. The DSS was our little satellite dish, paid for out of our own pockets, like the exercise equipment in the corner upstairs (a year or two ago someone tacked a poster to the wall beside the free weights, showing buff biker types working out in the prison yard up at Shabene -they NEVER take a day off is the punchline beneath).
Arky and I exchanged a glance, then looked over at Shed B. If the microwave oven in the kitchenette wasn't on the fritz now, it soon would be. We might lose the lights and the phone, too, although it had been awhile since that had happened.
'We took up a collection for that rotten old bitch he was married
'What are you, a mind reader?'
She smiled as she set the tray down on the bench. 'Nope. I just know that men get thirsty when they talk, and that men are always hungry. Even the ladies get hungry and thirsty from time to time, believe it or not. Eat up, you guys, and I expect you to put away at least two of these sandwiches yourself, Ned Wilcox. You're too damn thin.'
Looking at the loaded tray made me think of Bibi Roth, talking with Tony and Ennis while his crew his children, much older than Ned was now - drank iced tea and gobbled sandwiches made in the same kitchenette, nothing different except for the color of the tiles on the floor and the microwave oven. Time is also held together by chains, I think.
'Yes, ma'am, okay.'
He gave her a smile, but I thought it was dutiful rather than spontaneous; he kept looking over at Shed B. He was under the spell of the thing now, as so many men had been over the years. Not to mention Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
one good dog. And as I drank my first glass of iced tea, cold and good going down my parched throat, loaded with real sugar rather than that unsatisfying artificial shit, I had time to wonder if I was doing Ned Wilcox any favors. Or if he'd even believe the rest of it. He might just get up, walk away all stiff-shouldered and angry, believing I'd been making a game of him and his grief. It wasn't impossible. Huddie, Arky, and Phil would back me up - so would Shirley, for that matter. She hadn't been around when the Buick came in, but she'd seen plenty - and done plenty -since taking the dispatch job in the mid-eighties. The kid still might not believe it, though. It was a lot to swallow. Too late to back out now, though.
'What happened about Trooper Rafferty?' Ned asked.
'Nothing,' Huddie said. 'He didn't even get his ugly mug on the side of a milk carton.'
Ned gazed at him uncertainly, not sure if Huddie was joking or not.
'Nothing happened,' Huddie repeated, more quietly this time. 'That's the insidious thing about disappearing, son. What happened to your dad was terrible, and I'd never try to convince you any different. But at least you know. That's something, isn't it? There's a place where you can go and visit, where you can lay down flowers. Or take your college acceptance letter.'
'That's just a grave you're talking about,' Ned said. He spoke with a strange patience that made me uneasy. 'There'sa piece of ground, and there's a box under it, and there's something in the box that's dressed in my father's uniform, but it's not my father.'
'But you know what happened to him,' Huddie insisted. 'With Ennis . . .' He spread his hands with the palms down, then turned them up, like a magician at the end of a good trick. Arky had gone inside, probably to take a leak. Now he came back and sat down. , 'All quiet?' I asked.
'Well, yes and no, Sarge Steff tole me to tell you she's getting dose bursts of interference on d'radio again, dose I'il short ones. You know what I mean. Also, DSS is kaputnik. Jus' dat sign on the TV
screen dat saystand by searching for signal .'
Steff was Stephanie Colucci, Shirley's second-shift replace-ment in dispatch and old Andy Colucci's niece. The DSS was our little satellite dish, paid for out of our own pockets, like the exercise equipment in the corner upstairs (a year or two ago someone tacked a poster to the wall beside the free weights, showing buff biker types working out in the prison yard up at Shabene -they NEVER take a day off is the punchline beneath).
Arky and I exchanged a glance, then looked over at Shed B. If the microwave oven in the kitchenette wasn't on the fritz now, it soon would be. We might lose the lights and the phone, too, although it had been awhile since that had happened.
'We took up a collection for that rotten old bitch he was married
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