Go With Me Page 8

  “It did,” said Whizzer.

  “But so what?” asked D.B.

  “Well,” said Conrad, “it’s this change you’ve got going here. Nothing’s what it started out as. Everything’s changed around. You know? You’ve got this — I don’t know. This flux.”

  “You better watch your mouth, there, young fellow,” said Coop. “You’re starting to sound like What’s-her-name.”

  “Except for here,” said Whizzer.

  “That’s right,” said D.B. “This place has been here — how long?”

  “Long time,” said Whizzer.

  “A long time, and always the same,” said D.B.

  “But not forever, maybe,” said Conrad.

  “How do you mean?” D.B. asked. “Why not?”

  “Con’s right,” said Coop. “Who knows what’s going to happen to this place? Come to that, you could do a lot here, you wanted to.”

  “I know it,” said Whizzer. “Place is loaded with potential. What it is, though, is there’s a lack of capital.”

  “Think about it, though,” said D.B. “You could turn it into some kind of a museum.”

  “A museum of what?” Coop asked him.

  “I ain’t got that far,” said D.B.

  “You got to move into the present day, here,” Coop told D.B. “You want the whole world to be a museum. I’m thinking apartments, here, you know, condos. Maybe with an outfit to it like a gym. What is it you call that?”

  “A fitness center?” Conrad asked.

  “There you go,” said Coop. “Put in a fitness center.”

  “I’m thinking we move some girls in here,” said Whizzer. “Set them right up: beds, hot water. Put in a Coke machine. Make a little run at Stu and them, up there on the highway.”

  “We’ll all go to jail,” said Conrad, “but it’s your place.”

  “Or, here’s what you do,” Coop said. “How about this? Sell the whole works off to that place down in Mass, that old-time town.”

  “Sturbridge Village,” said Conrad.

  “There you go,” said Coop. “Sell her to Sturbridge. Lock, stock, and barrel. They come up, put the whole works on a flatbed, the whole mill, and move it right down there. Set it up again, charge admission.”

  “I like it,” said Conrad.

  “Come to that,” said D.B. “They could move us along with the rest.”

  “Package deal,” said Coop.

  “So you’re saying we’d just sit around, down at What’s-its-name?” asked Whizzer. “Sturbridge? Let the tourists look at us? Just be there?”

  “Why not?” said Coop. “That’s all we do here.”

  “What are we talking about for money, do you reckon?” Whizzer asked.

  “Millions, Whiz,” said Coop.

  “Millions,” said Conrad. “You’ve got to look at what this is, here. This is no Disneyland business, you know. This is no stage set. This is the real thing.”

  “You think?”Whizzer asked him.

  11

  FORT BOB

  A mile and a half past the village as you go toward Dead River Settlement, you see on your left a big, high old house, like a haunted house, once grand but now a slum, with a broken window patched over by cardboard, a mangy slate roof, and sagging porches all around. A place with a story to it, you think, and maybe you’re right. Maybe it is. No matter. Pass it by.

  Not that place, and not the next one, Bea’s Baskets & Birdhouses, but the place beyond them on the same side of the road is a low gray building made of cement blocks, a kind of bunker. It was put up years ago to house an auto repair business, but that enterprise failed, and for many years since the building has been a bar called, by the sign on the road, the Hill Country Inn — by everyone else Fort Bob.

  The Fort was not the kind of bar where a good Mormon or a good Muslim could get a glass of water. It was not the kind of bar where you stopped for a drink on your way home from work. It was the kind of bar where you stopped for many drinks on your way to work, until soon enough they fired you and you could spend the whole day at the Fort. In converting the building from a garage to a bar, Bob, the owner, hadn’t given a lot of thought to charm. He had walled over the three bay doors using glass blocks at a height of six feet. These were the only thing in the building answering to windows, and each of them held an electric beer sign. You couldn’t see into the Fort, and you couldn’t see out — but in either case why would you want to?

  Inside the Fort were a long bar, five booths, and eight tables. There was no pool table, no pinball. There was a record machine in the corner, but it was unplugged. You didn’t go to the Fort to play games, you didn’t go there to listen to music. At the Fort you put away childish things. The Fort was a plain, businesslike place, a factory for the manufacture and upkeep of drunks. It did not have a good name, but at the time it was the only establishment of its kind in the district.

  Nate turned off the road and drove along the front of the Fort. He parked the truck at a corner of the building, near the door. Seven cars and three motorcycles were parked in front.

  “Blackway drives a truck,” said Lillian. “None of those is him.”

  “No,” said Lester.

  “He’s not here,” said Lillian.

  “Probably he ain’t,” said Lester.“Maybe that Murdock fellow is.”

  Nate turned off the truck’s engine. He opened his door.

  “No,” said Lester. “I’ll scope it out. You wait here.”

  Lester left the truck, walked to the Fort, opened the door, and went in. As he did, two men came out of the place. They made their way to two of the motorcycles parked in front of the Fort, and mounted. They mounted, not without effort. These motorcyclists were not like the motorcyclists of former times, youthful, dashing, riding always on the edge of violence. These riders had stepped back from that edge some time ago. They were riders of a lesser breed, a degenerate breed: slowed-down, shaggy, grizzled, like middle-aged wolves who have retired to the zoo — a little beat-up, a little overweight. They climbed onto their machines, started them, and rumbled through the parking lot to the road, where they made off in a snarl from their engines, spitting gravel.

  Lillian watched them. Were those two friends of Blackway? They were old. They could barely get onto their bikes. How tough could they be? Did Lester and Nate know what they were doing, after all?

  “Are they friends of Blackway’s?” she asked Nate.

  “Who?”

  “The two who just left.”

  “Don’t know,” said Nate.“Maybe.”

  “They don’t look so tough, do they? You could handle them.”

  “’Course I could. What do you think?”

  “But then, they aren’t Blackway.”

  “I ain’t scared of Blackway,” said Nate.

  Lillian looked at him. Nate’s head nearly touched the truck cab’s roof as he sat behind the wheel, his shoulders spanned more than half the cab, or they seemed to, and his right arm, resting on the seat beside her, looked like a wooden beam. He was big enough. Maybe Nate wasn’t bright. Maybe he could hardly talk. But he certainly was big enough.

  Lester came out of the Fort, crossed to the truck, and stood by the passenger’s window.

  “Well,” he said, “there’s more in there than I could have wanted, but we’ll be all right, I guess.”

  “Blackway?” Lillian asked.

  “No,” Lester said.

  “The other one?” asked Lillian.“Murdock?”

  “He’s there,” Lester said.

  “He don’t scare me,” said Nate. “I’m ready.” He laced his fingers together in front of him and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Hold it,” said Lester. “Just hold it a minute. No fists. You understand? You be ready if we have to get into it with him. But I don’t want to see no fists. This ain’t the Olympics, you know. It ain’t a boxing match. You have to hit a man, hit him with something. Not your fist, something hard. That way, you only have to hit him onc
e.”

  “I ain’t scared of him, I told you,” said Nate.

  “’Course you ain’t,” said Lester. “But that don’t mean you have to pat him on the head like a puppy. You want to finish it quick, before it starts. That’s the best way. This guy in there, you know the kind of guy he is: big, heavy fellow, got the black beard, the shaved head, the black leather suit. He wants to scare you to death. He wants to scare you to death because he knows if he don’t, he’s in trouble. He won’t take hitting — him especially, I’m guessing.”

  “What does that mean?” Lillian asked.

  “We’ll have to see,” said Lester. “I’m guessing he looks a lot worse than he is.”

  “He’d have to, it sounds like, wouldn’t he?”

  “You got that right, too.”

  “Why don’t you fight him, then?”

  “My fighting days are done,” Lester said. “But I taught this kid everything I know.”

  “You did?”

  “’Course I did.”

  “Is that right?” Lillian asked Nate.

  Nate shrugged.

  “’Course it’s right,” said Lester.

  “Are we doing this?” asked Nate.

  Nate opened his door and left the truck. He stood to his full height and stretched his back, then his neck, then his arms, letting them hang down like heavy cables from his shoulders and shaking them. He waited for Lester and Lillian. Lillian got out of the car, and the three of them, first Nate, then Lillian, then Lester, went into the Fort.

  12

  SYMPOSIUM

  Coop went to the window.

  “Here’s Scotty,” he said.

  “Did he bring the beer?” Whizzer asked him.

  “He brought something,” said Coop.

  They heard his steps on the board floor outside, and then Scott Cavanaugh came into the office with a case of Ballantines under his arm. He set it on the desk between Whizzer and Conrad.

  “Afternoon, girls,” said Cavanaugh.

  “Where have you been?” Whizzer asked him. “We’re about dried out, here.” He shoved the case across the desk toward Conrad.

  “White River,” said Cavanaugh. “Seeing Arthur and them.”

  “How’s their little girl doing?” Coop asked.

  “Not real well,” Cavanaugh said. “They’re saying another round of the chemo. She looks okay. Got hair again. Gritting it out. She’s doing better than they are.”

  Whizzer shook his head. “You want to hand that out, there?” he asked Conrad.

  “Oh,” said Conrad. “Sure.” He stood, opened the case of beer, and passed the cold cans around among them. They opened their beers: five tiny explosions.

  “You know Con,” Whizzer said to Cavanaugh.

  “Sure,” said Cavanaugh. “How are you doing?”

  “Thanks for the beer,” said Conrad.

  “Don’t thank me,” said Cavanaugh. “Whiz said bring it. I brought it.”

  “We’ve been telling Con about that time you and Blackway had your little disagreement at the Fort,” said Whizzer.

  “Your little difference of opinion,” said D.B.

  “I seem to recall,” said Cavanaugh.

  “I bet you do,” said Coop. “We were trying to remember what was it he hit Cal with, that time? Whiz says a bar, but it wasn’t a bar. It was a chair, wasn’t it? He hit him with a chair.”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” said Cavanaugh.

  “’Course he ain’t,” Whizzer told Coop.

  “Out cold, weren’t you?” D.B. asked Cavanaugh.

  “Hell, no,” Cavanaugh said. “He never knocked me out. And I had my shot at him, too. Don’t worry about that. I hurt him.”

  “Is that right?” Whizzer asked.

  “When was that?” Coop asked.

  “Just before,” Cavanaugh said. “He swung on me. I ducked it and got one into his middle. Broke a rib, I think. I felt something let go, anyway.”

  “Sure, you did,” said Coop.

  “Couldn’t have been hurt too bad, though, I guess,” said Whizzer, “since he came right back and put you out for, what? A week, was it?”

  “My foot slipped,” Cavanaugh said. “I fell into it, his shot. Otherwise it would have been different. Don’t worry, though: I hurt him. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Sure, you did,” said Coop.

  “We had somebody in here, before,” said Whizzer. “Looking for you.”

  “A girl,” said D.B.

  Cavanaugh grinned. “You did?” he asked. “Another one?”

  “Kevin’s girl, it was,” said Coop. “The one used to be Kevin’s.”

  Cavanaugh put down his beer.

  “Kevin’s girl?” he asked.

  “Same one,” said Coop.

  “What do you mean, you had her here?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “She was here,” Whizzer said. “What did you think?”

  “What do you mean, before?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “This morning bright and early,” Coop said.

  “She was here?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “What we’ve been telling you, ain’t it?” Whizzer asked.

  “Why?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “Looking for you,” Coop said.

  “Looking for you for help with Blackway,” said D.B.

  “Help?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “He’s been after her,” Coop said.

  “Following her,” D.B. said.

  “Stalking her,” Coop said.

  “Bashed in her window,” D.B. said.

  “Killed her cat,” Coop said.

  “Jesus,” Cavanaugh said.

  “She went to Wingate,” Coop said.

  “Wingate told her there was nothing he could do,” said Whizzer.

  “’Course there wasn’t,” said Coop. “There’s never nothing Wingate can do, is there?”

  “Wingate told her to find you,” Whizzer went on. “Told her you’d help her out.”

  “Jesus,” said Cavanaugh. “Help her, how?”

  “That wasn’t too clear,” said Conrad.

  “Take Blackway down for her, it looks like,” said D.B.

  “Like you did that time,” said Coop.

  “That time your foot slipped,” said D.B.

  “This is Russell’s kid’s girlfriend, right?” Cavanaugh asked. “Kevin’s girlfriend? The skinny one with the hair?”

  “That’s the one,” said D.B.

  “She ain’t either skinny,” said Whizzer.

  “Whiz likes her,” Coop told Cavanaugh.

  “She was here,” said Cavanaugh. “So, where is she now?”

  “You weren’t around,” said Whizzer. “She went along.”

  “With Les and Nate the Great,” said Coop.

  “Les?” asked Cavanaugh. “Les Speed?”

  “Les and the kid,” said Whizzer. “Nate the Great.”

  “She went with them?” Cavanaugh asked. “What for?”

  “They’re going to take care of it for her,” said Whizzer.

  “Take care of Blackway?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “We told her,” said Coop.

  “Warned her,” said D.B.

  “Told her she didn’t want to get into something with Blackway. She ought to just leave town,” said Coop.

  “She wouldn’t do it,” said Whizzer. “Won’t run, she said.”

  “Some pistol,” said D.B.

  “Blackway might have picked on the wrong girl, this time, it looks like,” said Whizzer.

  “They went off after him,” said Coop.

  “Her and Les and Nate the Great,” said D.B.

  Cavanaugh laughed. “This is a joke, right?” he asked.

  “No joke,” said Whizzer.

  “They went with her,” said D.B.

  “To find Blackway,” said Whizzer.

  “You wouldn’t know where he is, would you?” Coop asked.

  “Les Speed and Nate are going up against Blackway?” Cavanaugh said.

  “It look
s that way,” said Coop.

  “They haven’t got a chance,” said Cavanaugh.“Blackway will eat them alive.”

  “That’s what the girl said,” said Whizzer.

  “She said the same thing,” said Coop.

  “Plus,” said Cavanaugh, “what about his friends? The others they got to go through before they get to Blackway? What about them?”

  “They know about them,” said Coop.

  “Les reckons they can handle them,” said Whizzer.

  “He reckons wrong,” said Cavanaugh.

  “Maybe,” said Whizzer. “They went ahead anyway.”

  “When?” asked Cavanaugh.

  “Oh, couple of hours ago,” said Whizzer. “Three?”

  “Four?” Coop said.

  Cavanaugh got to his feet. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  “Oh, come on,” said D.B.

  “Finish your beer,” said Whizzer.

  “Have another,” said Coop.

  “Take one for the drive,” said D.B.

  But Cavanaugh wouldn’t wait. He nodded to them and left the office, leaving his unfinished beer on the floor.

  “Where’s he going?” D.B. asked.

  “Is he going after the others?” Conrad asked.

  “Likely he’s not,” said Coop. “Likely he’s headed the other way,” said Whizzer. “Headed for someplace else,” said Coop. “Someplace like Australia,” said Whizzer.

  13

  MURDOCK’S EAR

  Seven people seemed to be in the Fort that afternoon — the bartender and six drinkers: two at the bar, three at tables, one in a booth along the wall. The bartender was talking to one of the men at the bar, but the other man there, and the three at tables, were alone. The room was quiet. It usually was. The Fort had never been much of a party shop.

  For a moment after they entered, Lillian couldn’t see because of the dark. She waited inside the door, peering. She saw Lester go to the bar, with Nate following him. Lester ordered a large pitcher of beer and took it, with three glasses, from the bar to the booth in the corner, where the man was sitting by himself. Lester set the pitcher and glasses on the table in the booth and pulled a chair over to the end of the table, with the booth’s occupant, Murdock, to his left. Lester sat. Nate remained standing.