Part 19 (1/2)
And then once a month this big black Eldorado with Canadian plates on it would come by like clockwork, I mean like the milkman or the mail train or something, and Tom would be waiting to meet it. It was always in the middle of the night. Two, maybe three o'clock in the morning. Right in between there. Only an old man with urinary troubles would have been out of bed to know about it, but I knew about it all right. The way things turned out, I wasn't the only one having that kind of trouble during those days. That was probably why Vernon would stick his head out the barn door sometimes and give them a hand hauling bundles from the trunk of the Caddy and vice versa. I figure he'd probably gotten up to take a leak. You could see who it was in the light from the house door, if he thought to put it on. Tom and the Canadian never once put on a light. This was back in the springtime. Vernon was still alive but he wouldn't be for long.
Nick.
HE'D PRETTY MUCH DECIDED that there wasn't any G.o.dd.a.m.ned decency left in the world. A workingman builds a little something up for himself, and the next thing he knows some a.s.shole comes along and takes it away. The same a.s.shole who screws his little sister while he's at it and then gives up on her too, even though to hear her tell the story it might have gone in the other direction on account of she decided he was a Grade A loser and gave him the old heave-ho, but who cares. It wasn't right either way. Loser or not, he had the best dope in the county and a private line to the Canuck and where did that leave old Nick. The Canuck wouldn't even take his calls anymore. Wouldn't even let that French chef of his pick up the phone. They must have gotten Caller ID just for him. It rang and rang. that there wasn't any G.o.dd.a.m.ned decency left in the world. A workingman builds a little something up for himself, and the next thing he knows some a.s.shole comes along and takes it away. The same a.s.shole who screws his little sister while he's at it and then gives up on her too, even though to hear her tell the story it might have gone in the other direction on account of she decided he was a Grade A loser and gave him the old heave-ho, but who cares. It wasn't right either way. Loser or not, he had the best dope in the county and a private line to the Canuck and where did that leave old Nick. The Canuck wouldn't even take his calls anymore. Wouldn't even let that French chef of his pick up the phone. They must have gotten Caller ID just for him. It rang and rang.
1990.
Del.
MY MOTHER'S HOUSE is the very same way. Not very much has changed in it since Kennedy was in office or before. is the very same way. Not very much has changed in it since Kennedy was in office or before.
Margaret Hatch kept a display of those little old-fas.h.i.+oned mustard pots on her kitchen shelves. All sorts of them. Crystal and china and pewter. What the old folks used to call milk gla.s.s. I don't know why you'd decide to collect mustard pots or why you'd give any shelf s.p.a.ce to milk gla.s.s, but people are all different.
Preston was upstairs, so his wife and I chatted in the kitchen for a while waiting. But rather than go into the living room when he came down I said why don't we just talk out on the screen porch. I showed my pant legs, which were still a little damp even though I'd managed to keep my shoes and socks dry, and they agreed that it would be a good idea. So we went out onto the porch, where they had some castoff furniture that I wouldn't ruin.
Neither one of them looked surprised when I mentioned the marijuana field. I made it clear from the start that I didn't believe the two brothers had anything to do with it, and I think I'd developed sufficient credibility with Preston that he saw I wasn't trying to mislead him in any way. He said if those two were raising that big a cash crop they'd probably eat better. Dress better too. Maybe drive something other than a tractor when they had an errand to run, something with doors and a roof. He went on about the implications for a while as if I still might need convincing. I said I guessed he was right about all that, and he let it go.
Since it wasn't Creed and Audie growing dope up there in the woods, I asked if they had any ideas as to who might be doing it. I didn't say that I thought it might be the nephew. I left it open. Preston asked Margaret if she'd go in the house for a while. She said she didn't need to. She said she knew what he was going to say because he'd been talking about nothing else for the better part of the year. He scowled at her and said no that wasn't it. He had things to talk about with me was all. Different things. Things she didn't need to put her nose into. He wasn't polite about it in the least, which surprised me. But she stood up and smoothed her dress down and went on into the house. Just like that. They come from a different time, those two. Their ways will die with that generation.
Once she was gone, Preston's demeanor changed. He actually went quiet for a minute, as if he were having second thoughts as to what he was about to tell me. Then he looked out the screen and remarked on the heat and the lack of rain and the condition of the gra.s.s in the pasture next door.
I said how about you tell me about who's growing that marijuana.
He said there was more to it than that.
I asked what he meant.
He said the marijuana crop up in those woods was worth an awful lot. The crop and the people involved with it.
I said there was no denying that.
Margaret was opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen, so he cleared his throat and got up and shut the door. Then he sat down and looked at me. He cleared his throat again and he asked how certain I was about Creed. About the confession he'd signed.
I said a confession was a confession and my opinion of it was immaterial. I said how about we talk about that marijuana field instead. But he didn't give up.
He asked if my interview with Audie had changed anything as to my feelings about Creed, and I said what interview what interview. I said it like it was a joke and I shook my head and smiled a little so as to encourage him to laugh, to help him be more forthcoming. I guess it helped, because he quit beating around the bush. He asked if there was any chance that I could influence what the district attorney might do about Creed, particularly given that there was more to the marijuana business than anybody guessed as of yet, and his testimony might well unveil what he called a drug cartel of international proportions a drug cartel of international proportions.
I told him I was as sympathetic to his neighbors as anybody, perhaps more, but the law was the law and this marijuana business was an entirely different case. We'd eventually find out who was raising that crop and who was buying it. We'd find out one way or another. I told him he could choose to help or not, however he saw fit, but I'd sure appreciate it if he would give us a hand. I think he was a little embarra.s.sed, and he certainly didn't have the willpower to push it any further. I don't know that anybody would, except in the movies or on the television. He'd made a pretty good try, though.
Once we had all that settled he called Margaret back out, and she brought some lemonade, and he told me about the international drug cartel that had been operating right in his own front yard all this time. It seems they kept to a regular schedule. He asked if I thought he'd have to testify to anything in court, and I said not if we played our cards right.
1954.
Audie.
IT WAS GOING TO BE a pig but I turned it into a dog instead on account of that three-legged one that died. I still had it when people came around and started pulling out their wallets but I hung on to it no matter what. Sometimes I'd give it a little new paint but not anymore. I never did part with that dog. You couldn't get me to. n.o.body could. I still have it to this day. a pig but I turned it into a dog instead on account of that three-legged one that died. I still had it when people came around and started pulling out their wallets but I hung on to it no matter what. Sometimes I'd give it a little new paint but not anymore. I never did part with that dog. You couldn't get me to. n.o.body could. I still have it to this day.
1990.
Margaret.
WE'VE ALWAYS HAD a double garage, because winters are hard around here and Preston is fastidious about his cars. Not that he keeps them for that long. People at the church used to joke that he'd rather sell a car than empty the ashtray. Cars have always been his great weakness. a double garage, because winters are hard around here and Preston is fastidious about his cars. Not that he keeps them for that long. People at the church used to joke that he'd rather sell a car than empty the ashtray. Cars have always been his great weakness.
In the afternoon he washed mine, but instead of putting it back in the garage he left it in the driveway. Late in the evening the troopers came, Del Graham and a gentleman named Myers who was much younger but very serious and terribly deferential to an old lady like me. They backed their patrol car up into the garage and put it in the empty bay and let the door down.
I made them some coffee and we all watched the late news. Then I went to bed, and I told Preston to come with me. He said no, he thought he'd sit out on the screen porch with the troopers for a while, and even though they tried very politely to discourage him, he went anyway. I may as well have stayed down there and kept them company, for all I slept.
Nick.
HE'D HAD A LITTLE BIT to drink at the Woodshed, to drink at the Woodshed, that lowlife joint where Tom most pointedly did not hang out anymore that lowlife joint where Tom most pointedly did not hang out anymore, so rather than drive around he left the Indian in the parking lot and walked to d.i.c.kie's for a few cups of coffee and a big slice of that coconut cream pie. Between the sugar and the caffeine he'd be all right. Plus he had a couple of hours to kill. Was d.i.c.kie's open that late? He'd find out.
Del.
THE V VOLKSWAGEN ARRIVED FIRST, then the Cadillac right behind it. They killed their lights as they turned onto the dirt lane. They weren't in any hurry, and they did their best to pretty much coast the rest of the way, that big Caddy probably never getting above an idle by the sound of it. The VW was coughing badly and it would have been quieter if the nephew had just given it a little gas now and then. He parked and the Caddy pulled up next to him. Just one or two taps on their brakes and a little red glow in the yard and everything went dark again. The dome lights didn't even come on when they opened their doors and got out.
Preston elbowed me in the ribs to remind me that he'd kept his promise. I nodded my head whether he saw me or not, and I slid an inch or two away on the couch so that he wouldn't be tempted to do it again.
The nephew opened the barn door and the Canadian popped his trunk. The sounds of the door latches and the trunk latch carried across the empty s.p.a.ce between us. The Canadian had apparently unscrewed the bulb from his trunk lid, too. He lit a cigarette and stood in the dark for a minute while the nephew took care of something in the barn. I thought that lighting the cigarette was pretty bold of him, but that was fine with me. It suggested that he'd gotten used to not having company. At first he had his back to us, judging by the way the cigarette came and went, and then he turned around and leaned against the rear quarter panel of the car and the movement of the ember was in the clear. If it had been daylight we would have been looking right at each other across the barnyard and the dirt lane and Preston's little patch of gra.s.s. Preston held his breath. We just had to wait.
Tom.
THERE WAS NEVER any telling how much junk he'd have to move around once he got the trapdoor open. Lumber and hay bales and feed sacks and hand tools and G.o.d knew what else. Audie and Creed had no respect for his s.p.a.ce, that was the trouble. And Audie was the worst, with his stupid whirligigs and his lathe and his lumber set out everywhere to dry. Tonight wasn't actually so bad. Just a shovel and a couple of planks of some sort of wood and a short-handled silage fork, the tines of which he stepped on so that it sprang up like a rake in a cartoon but not far enough or hard enough to do him any damage. He opened one door to let in whatever light there was and he cleared room for Henri's stuff, and then he picked up an armload of his own and went back down the ladder. He kicked a clear s.p.a.ce in the hay and horses.h.i.+t and set the package down for when Henri's trunk was empty and they could start filling it up again. Henri heard him and walked in with his arms full and a cigarette between his teeth. Tom told him to put that out, didn't he know anything, but he just went on up the ladder. Tom got an armload himself and followed. any telling how much junk he'd have to move around once he got the trapdoor open. Lumber and hay bales and feed sacks and hand tools and G.o.d knew what else. Audie and Creed had no respect for his s.p.a.ce, that was the trouble. And Audie was the worst, with his stupid whirligigs and his lathe and his lumber set out everywhere to dry. Tonight wasn't actually so bad. Just a shovel and a couple of planks of some sort of wood and a short-handled silage fork, the tines of which he stepped on so that it sprang up like a rake in a cartoon but not far enough or hard enough to do him any damage. He opened one door to let in whatever light there was and he cleared room for Henri's stuff, and then he picked up an armload of his own and went back down the ladder. He kicked a clear s.p.a.ce in the hay and horses.h.i.+t and set the package down for when Henri's trunk was empty and they could start filling it up again. Henri heard him and walked in with his arms full and a cigarette between his teeth. Tom told him to put that out, didn't he know anything, but he just went on up the ladder. Tom got an armload himself and followed.
They took a few more loads up and they were standing in the hayloft door, breathing hard, when a motorcycle turned up from the main road.
Audie.