here?”
“For a few minutes?”
“For until I say different.”
“I’ll make a call.” He did. “The relief guy will be here in twenty minutes. Can it wait till then?”
“Yes,” she said, and took a table near the bar.
The new girl, Doris, a blonde of about twenty-five with dark roots and a nice frame and a pleasant, pockmarked face, waited on Julie; Julie ordered coffee. While Doris was off getting it, Julie came to the bar.
“Who is she?”
“Just some transient gal.”
“Transient?”
“Divorcee. No kids. Got an ex-husband in Ohio she’s on the run from.”
“Why?”
“Cause he still loves her. Ever hear of that?”
“What did he do, beat her?”
“I guess.”
Julie nodded and went back to the table. Doris brought the coffee.
Julie said, “You’re new here, huh?”
Doris smiled, said, “Just collecting a few paychecks, honey. I’m on my way to California.”
“Oh. Relatives there?”
“No. My folks are gone and I was the only one. I got a couple of old boyfriends out there, though. That’s better than relatives.”
“Any time. How’s your paycheck collection coming along?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m on my way to Los Angeles. Just stopped here to look up my ex-husband. He’s that good-looking bartender over there.”
“Harold’s your ex? No kiddin’!”
She sat down.
“Say, I was mostly saving for my bus fare and such. If you can use a rider, somebody who can help you drive, I’ll turn in my apron and hop in your car.”
Julie smiled and extended a hand. “It’s a deal.”
Shortly before three o’clock that morning, Harold was in the Mustang, and Doris was behind the wheel. Harold, in the passenger’s seat, was steering, because Doris was unconscious. Julie had put Seconal in some coffee Doris drank a few hours before. Harold was off on the shoulder, waiting for Julie. There was some snow on the ground, but no ice on the highway. It was cold. Harold was sweating.
She came over the bridge, driving his old sky-blue Dodge Charger, the one he’d had since college, and she blinked her brights. That meant the truck was coming. He pulled the Mustang across the mouth of the narrow bridge, left it in park, got out and ran to hop in Julie’s waiting car. They were half a mile away when the small bridge behind them seemed to blow up, in a huge orange ball, as though a shell had hit it.
HE FINISHED the Manhattan and went out to her. It was chilly in the parking lot; there were no lights on out here, but the full moon provided some unreal-seeming illumination. She was standing with Ron, standing close. He pulled her away from Ron, who stood and watched them, that permanent, pouty snarl on her face.
He told Julie about the call from Infante.
They were talking about it when Ron noticed that kid, Jon, making a break for it, crawling away from her car toward the woods. The lez ran after the kid, dragged him back to the car, tossed him in.
Then Ron came back and said to Julie, “You oughta let me . . .”
“No,” Julie said. “Take him to your place and sit on him.”
Ron shrugged. “Okay,” she said, and sauntered off to her ’57 Ford and rumbled off.
“You’re not going to kill that boy, are you?” Harold asked Julie.
“No.”
“You mean Ron’ll do it for you.”
“I need him alive at the moment. Till we find out what Logan’s up to.”
“He’ll come here. He’s probably on his way right now.”
“I can handle him.”
“I don’t think so. He sounds like one man you can’t handle.”
“We’ll put this Infante to use.”
“He doesn’t sound like much. Some poor sappy kid. I’m afraid his partner was the smart one.”
“He’s the dead one now.”
“True. Very true.”
“Well, Harold. There’s always you.”
“I won’t kill for you, Julie.”
“Right,” she said. She put her arm in his. “Let’s lock up and go home. We can talk about it.”
11
COOL CLOTH touched his face. It was soothing. Jon
“For a few minutes?”
“For until I say different.”
“I’ll make a call.” He did. “The relief guy will be here in twenty minutes. Can it wait till then?”
“Yes,” she said, and took a table near the bar.
The new girl, Doris, a blonde of about twenty-five with dark roots and a nice frame and a pleasant, pockmarked face, waited on Julie; Julie ordered coffee. While Doris was off getting it, Julie came to the bar.
“Who is she?”
“Just some transient gal.”
“Transient?”
“Divorcee. No kids. Got an ex-husband in Ohio she’s on the run from.”
“Why?”
“Cause he still loves her. Ever hear of that?”
“What did he do, beat her?”
“I guess.”
Julie nodded and went back to the table. Doris brought the coffee.
Julie said, “You’re new here, huh?”
Doris smiled, said, “Just collecting a few paychecks, honey. I’m on my way to California.”
“Oh. Relatives there?”
“No. My folks are gone and I was the only one. I got a couple of old boyfriends out there, though. That’s better than relatives.”
“Any time. How’s your paycheck collection coming along?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m on my way to Los Angeles. Just stopped here to look up my ex-husband. He’s that good-looking bartender over there.”
“Harold’s your ex? No kiddin’!”
She sat down.
“Say, I was mostly saving for my bus fare and such. If you can use a rider, somebody who can help you drive, I’ll turn in my apron and hop in your car.”
Julie smiled and extended a hand. “It’s a deal.”
Shortly before three o’clock that morning, Harold was in the Mustang, and Doris was behind the wheel. Harold, in the passenger’s seat, was steering, because Doris was unconscious. Julie had put Seconal in some coffee Doris drank a few hours before. Harold was off on the shoulder, waiting for Julie. There was some snow on the ground, but no ice on the highway. It was cold. Harold was sweating.
She came over the bridge, driving his old sky-blue Dodge Charger, the one he’d had since college, and she blinked her brights. That meant the truck was coming. He pulled the Mustang across the mouth of the narrow bridge, left it in park, got out and ran to hop in Julie’s waiting car. They were half a mile away when the small bridge behind them seemed to blow up, in a huge orange ball, as though a shell had hit it.
HE FINISHED the Manhattan and went out to her. It was chilly in the parking lot; there were no lights on out here, but the full moon provided some unreal-seeming illumination. She was standing with Ron, standing close. He pulled her away from Ron, who stood and watched them, that permanent, pouty snarl on her face.
He told Julie about the call from Infante.
They were talking about it when Ron noticed that kid, Jon, making a break for it, crawling away from her car toward the woods. The lez ran after the kid, dragged him back to the car, tossed him in.
Then Ron came back and said to Julie, “You oughta let me . . .”
“No,” Julie said. “Take him to your place and sit on him.”
Ron shrugged. “Okay,” she said, and sauntered off to her ’57 Ford and rumbled off.
“You’re not going to kill that boy, are you?” Harold asked Julie.
“No.”
“You mean Ron’ll do it for you.”
“I need him alive at the moment. Till we find out what Logan’s up to.”
“He’ll come here. He’s probably on his way right now.”
“I can handle him.”
“I don’t think so. He sounds like one man you can’t handle.”
“We’ll put this Infante to use.”
“He doesn’t sound like much. Some poor sappy kid. I’m afraid his partner was the smart one.”
“He’s the dead one now.”
“True. Very true.”
“Well, Harold. There’s always you.”
“I won’t kill for you, Julie.”
“Right,” she said. She put her arm in his. “Let’s lock up and go home. We can talk about it.”
11
COOL CLOTH touched his face. It was soothing. Jon
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