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  “Blackway went to the High Line,” Lester said.

  “What’s the High Line?” Lillian asked.

  “Well, it’s like a motel, I guess you’d say,” Lester said.

  Nate snickered.

  “We’re going there?” Lillian said.

  “It looks that way,” said Lester. “Unless you’d rather bag this whole business. In that case, we can drop you back at Whizzer’s.”

  “No,” said Lillian. “What happened back there?”

  “Not much.”

  “I thought there was going to be a fight.”

  “No fight,” said Lester. “Those fellows mostly look harder than they fight.”

  “That’s a gun you’ve got in there, isn’t it?”

  “They thought so,” Lester said.

  “You tricked them, then,” said Lillian. “That’s why there was no fight. Either that’s a gun and you scared them off or it isn’t and you made them think it was. Either way it was nothing but a trick. You were afraid to fight all of them, so you tricked them so you wouldn’t have to.”

  “Who was afraid?” Nate asked her.

  “What have you got against tricks?” Lester asked her.

  “I wasn’t afraid,” Nate said.

  “What’s she got against tricks?” Lester asked Nate.

  Lillian was silent.

  “Don’t know,” said Nate.

  “She don’t like tricks,” Lester said.

  “She likes fights,” Nate said.

  “Thing is, it ain’t her has to do the fighting,” said Lester.

  “No,” said Nate. “No, it ain’t her.”

  “Do you think you could give it a rest?” Lillian asked them.“No, I didn’t want a fight. Five against one isn’t a fight.”

  “It ain’t?” asked Nate.

  “Five against two, wasn’t it?” asked Lester.

  “Okay,” said Lillian. “Five against two. Anyway, I’m glad there was no fight. Okay?”

  “Okay with me,” said Lester.

  “No fight — this time,” said Lillian.

  “Mind you,” said Lester. “I like a good fight, myself. But it’s a young fellow’s game, ain’t it? Fighting? Like my wife and me, when we were young, God, we fought all the time. Just married: We’d fight about anything. I mean fight, too: shouting, screaming, throwing things — all day and all night. Then when we got old, it seemed like we simmered down. Don’t fight anywhere near as much anymore.”

  “You tricked them,” said Lillian. “You won’t trick Blackway.”

  “’Course,” Lester went on, “that might be partly because she moved out on me.”

  “Did you see that dog?” Nate asked Lester.

  “What dog?” asked Lillian.

  “I saw him,” said Lester.

  “I didn’t see any dog,” said Lillian.

  “He was in the woods,” Lester said. “Must be one of them fellow’s dogs. Just sat there, didn’t make a sound. I hate a dog that never barks.”

  “Awhile ago you said you hated dogs that do bark,” said Lillian.

  “He don’t like dogs, it looks like,” said Nate.

  “Big bastard, too, wasn’t he?” said Lester. “Dog that size, you don’t know whether to put a saddle on him or milk him.”

  “You want to milk that one,” said Nate, “you’re on your own.”

  8

  STILL RUNNING

  “Well,” said D.B., “if she likes it here so much, she’s got a funny way of showing it. You people. Thinks she’s some trick. Cat named Annabelle. Hair down to her ass.”

  “What’s it to you what she calls her cat?” Coop asked him.

  “Can’t get around that hair, can you?” said Whizzer.

  “Look,” said Coop, “at least she had most of her clothes on. Girls you see today go around half naked.”

  “They do?” Whizzer asked.

  “Sure,” said Coop. “And, look: At least she don’t have herself stuck all full of nuts and bolts like so many of them you see.”

  “Nuts and bolts?” Whizzer asked.

  “Piercing,” said D.B. “I don’t understand that, do you? And that ain’t all. There’s the jewelry. Other day I was at the clinic, getting blood drawn. Little girl works there, that Rowena, takes your blood? She had this thing on, this shirt, showed her belly, and in there she had a diamond, right in her belly button. I mean, she wore it to work.”

  “A diamond?” Whizzer asked.

  “It’s a fake, Whiz,” said Coop. “It had to be. Nobody wears a real diamond in her belly like that. She’d be afraid she’d lose it.”

  “Well, maybe the diamond was a fake,” said D.B., “but her belly button was real, and the diamond was right in there.”

  “How does she get it to stay put?” Whizzer asked. “Glue?”

  “That’s no glue,” said Coop. “It’s in there like an earring. It’s another piercing. You stick a needle in there, make a hole, like in your ear. Then you hang your diamond on that, it’s on a little ring.”

  “I didn’t see no ring on it,” said D.B.

  “You didn’t get close enough,” said Coop.

  “Close enough to see about everything else she had,” said D.B. “That’s what I’m saying. What happened to the way these little girls dress themselves, you know? What about these kids you see today in school? Piercing? Bellies? Diamonds? I’m talking about girls twelve, thirteen years old. Not even high school. They dress the same way: You’ve got the little thing on top with the straps, you’ve got the bare belly, the tight jeans. That kind of outfit, you used to have to pay money to see. You used to have to pay money and sit in the dark. Now you go into any middle school. What about that?”

  “What about it?” asked Conrad.

  Whizzer chuckled. “All them bellies,” he said. “Them diamonds, rings. All that skin. This young fellow don’t approve, it looks like. He don’t, really.”

  “What about you?” Conrad asked Whizzer. “Do you approve?’

  “I do,” said Whizzer. “I am for it.”

  “So am I, mostly,” said D.B. “I like to look, much as the next fellow. Have to say, though, it’s different when it’s your kid. Like just this past year? First day of school? Our Amy? Shows up wearing a skirt that you could pretty near see what she’d had for breakfast. Junior high, this is. She’s headed for the bus. ‘Wait just a god damned minute, here,’ I said.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop.

  “I told her there’s no way in hell she’s leaving the house in that outfit,” said D.B.

  “Uh-oh,” said Whizzer.

  “That’s just what I’m saying,” said Coop.

  “Uh-oh, is right,” said D.B. “I mean, she starts crying and wailing and carrying on. All the other kids dress like that. Do I want her to not have friends? And her mom? Her mom takes her part. What’s the big deal? Everybody does it. Do I want our kid to be different? God damned right, I do. Neither one of them spoke to me or even looked at me for a month.”

  “But she changed her clothes,” said Coop.

  “She did,” said D.B.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop. “Where are these kids’ parents? It ain’t the kids’ fault. They don’t know no better. Nobody expects them to. But where are their parents?”

  “If my sister?” said D.B. “If my sister had tried to go to school in an outfit like that when we were kids, my dad would have whipped her, and my mom would have held her down while he did it.”

  “Do that today and see what happens,” said Conrad.

  “You’ll have Wingate knocking on your door,” said Coop.

  “Wingate?” said D.B.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop. “He’s right. Con’s right. You would have Wingate knocking on your door, protecting your fifteen-year-old kid’s God-given right to go around like a hooker. The law is on her side.”

  “Wingate wouldn’t knock on your door,” said Whizzer. “Not really. He’d find some way to work things o
ut. Sit down, talk things over. He’d try, anyway.”

  “Wingate likes to talk,” said Coop. “I’ll give you that. He just don’t like to do. Like with Blackway, there.”

  “I thought Wingate sacked Blackway,” said Conrad.

  “He did,” said Whizzer. “Fired his ass. What are you talking about?” he asked Coop.

  “What’s-her-name,” said Coop. “Lillian. I’m talking about her. She went to Wingate. Before she came here. She just told you. Wingate told her there’s nothing he can do. He gave her the law.”

  “That’s his job,” said Whizzer.

  “She went to him for help, and he gave her the law,” said Coop. “That don’t do her a lot of good with Blackway, does it? Blackway don’t care about the law. He just does what he wants. He just goes for it.”

  “Wingate’s the sheriff,” said Whizzer.“What do you want him to do, saddle up and go out after Blackway on his own because of what some girl says? You know he can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Coop said. “Why can’t he — if he knows what she says is true? And he does. Everybody knows it. Everybody knows Blackway. How he does. What he is.”

  “Wingate can’t do that,” said Whizzer.

  “Why can’t he?” Coop demanded. “Face it, Whiz: Wingate’s no ball of fire. He’s all right for what he has to do, mostly. Serving papers and writing up speeding tickets? Sure. He’s a plugger. But face it: He ain’t the sharpest guy that ever came along.”

  “Not like Blackway, you mean?” asked Conrad.

  “Not like Blackway,” said Coop. “Do I mean Blackway’s sharp? Smart? Well, I don’t know. He’s smarter than Wingate, anyway. Ain’t he? Wingate just goes along, picking them up and putting them down. Blackway? Look, Blackway sees something he wants, he takes it. If you don’t like that and you think you can take it back, you’re welcome to try. That’s all. With Blackway, law don’t really come into it, much.”

  “Blackway’s kind of beyond the law, I guess,” said Conrad.

  “There you go,” said Coop. “Wingate?” he went on, “Wingate’s strictly by-the-book. All right, he has to be. But I’ll say it again: Wingate ain’t the brightest guy in the world. He goes by the book because he don’t have what it takes to do different. The — what would you call it? To do different. Ain’t that brains?”

  “That’s imagination,” said Conrad.

  “There you go,” said Coop. “He ain’t got the imagination.”

  “Wingate’s got a job to do,” said Whizzer.“He’s an officer of the law. He don’t get paid to imagine.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” said Coop.

  “That ain’t being stupid, though,” said Whizzer.

  “Ain’t it?” Coop demanded. “Ain’t it? Look, you take that thing where Wingate fired Blackway. Okay, Blackway busts some kid and takes his dope and sells it. So what? Who’s hurt?”

  “It’s against the law,” said Whizzer.

  “So what if it is?” said Coop. “So what? What difference does it make? Somebody else smokes that particular bunch of dope, that’s all. You think the law, you think Wingate, can make any difference to that? You know he can’t. People want dope, or anything else, they’ll find a way to get it.”

  “Blackway’s glad to help them,” said D.B.

  “He’s a benefactor,” said Conrad.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Coop.

  “Didn’t you?” said D.B. “I thought you did.”

  “We’ve got two different arguments going here, don’t we?” asked Conrad.

  “At least,” said Whizzer.

  “I make it three,” said D.B.

  “I ain’t arguing nothing,” said Coop. “I only said Wingate’s a plugger — nothing against him — and Blackway’s a stand-up guy in his own way.”

  “You better hope he ain’t standing on you, then,” said Whizzer.

  Coop laughed. “Yeah, well, I won’t fight with you on that one, I don’t guess,” he said.

  “Best to leave Blackway alone,” said D.B.

  “Even if you’re Wingate,” said Coop.

  “So, I guess she did right to come here for help, didn’t she?” said Conrad. “Lillian. She came to the right place, I guess. Anyway, there wasn’t anyplace else for her to go. It’s too bad Scott Cavanaugh wasn’t here. To help her.”

  Whizzer chuckled. “Scotty might not think so,” he said.

  “Scotty knows Blackway,” said Coop.

  “I guess he does,” said D.B.“Do you remember that thing at the Fort that time?”

  “I was there,” said Coop.

  “What thing?” Conrad asked them.

  “God,” said Whizzer. “Ten years ago? Twelve?”

  “More,” said Coop.

  “What was it?” Conrad asked.

  “Oh,” Coop said, “Scotty and his brother and a couple of their friends got into it with Blackway one night at the Fort. I never knew why. There were four of them. Blackway was by himself. They figured the numbers were about right. They went after him.”

  “Big mistake,” said D.B.

  “Big one,” Coop agreed.“Blackway put three of them in the hospital. Scotty had his jaw wired up for a couple of months. Couldn’t eat stuff. One of his friends didn’t come to for three days.”

  “What did he do to them?” Conrad asked.

  “Kicked Scotty’s brother in the balls,” said Coop. “He was the only one didn’t have to go to the hospital.”

  “No permanent damage,” said D.B. “Had to hurt, though.”

  “Scotty swung at Blackway,” Coop said. “Blackway took it on his shoulder and gave him one right back. That was it for Scotty. Broke his jaw. One of the other guys Blackway hit with something.”

  “Some kind of a bar he had,” said Whizzer.

  “It wasn’t a bar,” Coop said. “It was a chair. He hit him with a chair.”

  “He hit him with a thing like a tire iron,” Whizzer said.

  “He hit him with a chair,” Coop said.

  “Might have been a jack handle,” said Whizzer. “Made of steel, couple of feet long.”

  “He hit him with a chair, Whiz,” said Coop. “He picked up a chair and hit him with it. I was there.”

  “So was I,” said Whizzer.

  “You were?” said Coop. “Where were you?”

  “Coming out of the gents’,” said Whizzer. “I could walk then.”

  “Where were you?” Conrad asked Coop.

  “Looking for the exit,” said Coop. “Me and everybody else in the place. Whole thing took about half a minute.”

  “What happened to the fourth one?” Conrad asked. “Scotty had his jaw broken. His brother got kicked in the balls. His one friend was out for three days. What happened to the other?”

  “Still running,” said Whizzer.

  “So, we’re saying Nate and Lester can take on Blackway when those four couldn’t?” Conrad asked.

  “I ain’t saying it,” said Coop.

  “I ain’t saying it,” said D.B.

  “They got a shot,” said Whizzer. “That was a long time ago. Blackway’s not as young as he was. Nate the Great’s got twenty years on him, more than that. Plus, he’s bigger.”

  “He ain’t a lot bigger,” said D.B.

  “Bigger enough,” said Whizzer. “And strong? You remember that thing with Perry and his car.”

  “What thing?” Conrad asked.

  “Perry’s car rolled onto him,” said D.B.

  “He had a flat,” said Coop. “On the river road. Had a flat, got out, got the thing jacked up. An Escort, it was.”

  “Chevette,” said Whizzer.

  “It was an Escort,” said Coop. “White.”

  “It was white,” said Whizzer. “But it was a Chevette.”

  “What happened?” Conrad asked.

  “Slipped the jack,” said D.B.

  “Car slipped off the jack,” said Coop, “knocked Perry over, rolled onto his arm, stopped.”

  “Pinned him,” said D.
B.

  “There he was,” said Coop.

  “Couldn’t move,” said Whizzer. “Along came Nate the Great, on his way to work.”

  “Stopped,” said D.B.

  “Perry asked him to go for help,” said Coop, “or get the jack and raise the car up off his arm.”

  “Nate the Great says, sure,” said Whizzer. “But he don’t go for help. He don’t get the jack. He just gets around front of the car, takes hold of the bumper, and lifts the whole god damned car up so Perry can get his arm out from under.”

  “He’s holding the car up there, and he tells Perry to take his time,” says Coop.

  “‘Take your time,’ says Nate the Great,” Whizzer said. “What I’m saying, he’s a pretty rugged kid. He’s holding the Chevette up in the air like it’s nothing.”

  “The Escort,” said Coop.

  “Nate the Great can give Blackway a run,” said Whizzer.

  Coop shook his head. “I ain’t saying the kid don’t have the grunts,” he said. “But he ain’t clever. He’ll think he’s in some kind of a prizefight. He won’t know to kick or to pick up a chair.”

  “A bar,” said Whizzer.

  “Okay, Whiz,” said Coop. “It was a bar. It was a Chevette. Are you happy now? What I mean, that kid don’t know the tricks.”

  “No,” said Whizzer, “but Les does.”

  “What tricks?” Conrad asked.

  “Whatever ones it takes,” said D.B.

  “You wait,” said Whizzer. “Les knows all the tricks, and then he knows a couple more. And I’ll tell you something else: Les’ll go through. He’ll go all the way through. Hell, come to that, Les is as crazy as Blackway.”

  9

  FRIENDS OF BLACKWAY

  The High Line Cabins are gone today. They stood about at the top of Route 10, where you turn off to take the road into the mountain country to the north. The highway went down a hill and into a curve there, and the crossing road came in just at the bend: a bad spot. Lately the state highway department has gone to work on that stretch. They have taken out the curve, they have taken out the hill — and they have taken out the High Line Cabins. Even the place where they were, you could say, has ceased to exist.

  Few mourn. The High Line was not a good place. A sad, dirty, half-empty place, the habitat of sad, dirty, half-empty people, people who didn’t want to be seen: runaways, suicides, drinkers, addicts, sellers of goods that are on no account to be sold. In particular the High Line catered to adulterers. Restless citizens of Bennington, Rutland, Brattleboro went there with women who weren’t their wives, with men who weren’t their friends. Weekends, you didn’t even have to bring a woman with you to the High Line; the women would be set up there on their own. All you had to do was sit in your car and wait your turn. Then, the High Line amounted to an old-fashioned whorehouse, without the piano and without the warmhearted, middle-aged female boss. Some of the local people called it Tailtown.