Charlie Martz and Other Stories: The Unpublished Stories Page 13

  “Tony?” Julie said.

  “Tony Curtis! You don’t see it?”

  Julie nodded, not sure if he was serious. “There’s some resemblance.”

  “Some—hell, he looks like his twin!”

  Perris was studying the house. His gaze moved to the chicken house and beyond that the barn. His eyes returned to Julie as he said, “How much land you got?”

  “Eighty-five acres, most of it wheat. Some corn. Of course Ev doesn’t have time to work it all now, with his practice. A neighbor sharecrops it for us.”

  “How much money does this Ev make?”

  The question startled her and she hesitated before saying, “We get along fine.”

  “He makes about four thousand a year,” Cal said. “Tops.”

  Perris grinned. “I can lose and make that in one night. Honey, if all you got out of school was him, you should’ve stayed home.”

  She glanced at Evan and away from him quickly. “You can’t help whom you fall in love with.” She smiled as if carrying on a joke.

  Cal said, “While Ray is off in the Arm Service.”

  “Ev and I would’ve gotten married even if Ray had stayed home!”

  Cal shrugged. “That’s not the way I see it. Ray turns his back and the horse doctor comes along.”

  “I don’t care how you see it! All you want to do is argue. You’ve nothing better to do than that.”

  “Nobody’s asking me,” Perris said. “I don’t think you’d of married him either. What do you think of that?”

  Julie hesitated to control her voice. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “And what’s Ev think about it?” Perris turned, his expression cold and partly concealed by the sunglasses. “What’s old Ev the horse doctor think about it?”

  Evan met his gaze squarely. He stood with his feet apart, unmoving, and said, “You better get out of here right now. That’s what I think.”

  “Ray,” Julie said quickly. “There was never anything between us. That’s what makes this whole thing so silly.” She stopped. Perris was not paying any attention to her.

  “What was that, Ev?”

  “You heard what I said.”

  “Something about getting out.”

  “I can’t say it any plainer.”

  Cal grinned. “Man, he’s talking now.”

  “Asking for it,” Perris said.

  “Sure.” Cal nodded. “Why don’t you deck him and get it over with.”

  “I’m waiting for him.”

  “You got a long wait.”

  “Stop it!” Julie stared at Ray Perris, her face flushed and tight with anger. “What are you some kind of an animal that you fight over nothing? Ray, I swear if you even make a fist I’ll call the state police!”

  Perris glanced at Cal. “Take her inside and open the beers. I’ll be right in.”

  “Ray, I swear—” Cal’s hand closed on her arm and pulled her off balance. “Let go of me!” She saw Evan rushing at Cal and then she screamed.

  Ray Perris took a half step and drove his fist into Evan’s body stopping him in his stride and as he doubled over, Perris’s left stung against the side of his jaw and he went to his knees.

  Perris stood close to him, waiting. Beyond, past his legs, he saw Cal forcing Julie up to the porch. Cal stopped to watch and called out, “Ray, be careful of those hands!”

  Evan breathed in and out getting his breath, then lunged at Perris, swinging his right with everything he could put behind it.

  Perris came inside, taking the roundhouse of his shoulder, and threw four jabs piston-like into Evan’s body. Even went back, staggered by the force of the short punches and Perris came after him. Even tried to bring up his guard, but Perris feinted him high and drove his left in; and when Evan’s guard dropped, Perris threw the right that had been cocked waiting. It chopped into Evan’s face and he felt the ground slam the back of his head and jolt through his whole body.

  He felt himself being dragged by his legs, heard his wife’s voice but wasn’t sure of it. Then he was lying, half leaning against a tree. He felt his shoes being pulled off and he opened his eyes.

  Perris was walking away from him toward the station wagon. He saw him look at it, then open it again and take out the two .30-30’s. He held both under one arm, the shoes in the other hand, and called to Evan, “You touch that car and I’ll break your jaw!”

  He turned and walked to the house. On the porch he said something to Cal, who was standing in the doorway holding Julie. Cal came outside. He went to Evan’s car and let the air out of both rear tires, then returned to the house. The door closed and there was no sound in the yard.

  He was perhaps sixty feet from the porch, not straight out from it but off toward the side where the cars were parked; and as he lay propped against the tree staring at the house, at the lighted living room windows, not believing that this had actually happened, his lips parted with a thick throbbing half numbness, he tried to assemble the thoughts that raced through his mind.

  He thought of Julie, forcing himself to remain calm as he did. He pictured himself getting a pitchfork from the barn and breaking down the door. Then he remembered the .30-30’s.

  They wouldn’t shoot. No? You think they’re not capable of it? And they’re drunk—beyond what little reason they have. This doesn’t happen, does it?

  He could run for help. Even without shoes he could run down to the highway and stop a car, get to the state police at Brighton.

  He pictured the blue and gold police car pulling up and two troopers going into the house and Cal and Ray looking up, surprised; and one of the troopers saying, “Don’t give your pals so much to drink and they won’t get out of hand.” He saw Cal wink at Ray, waiting for the troopers to leave.

  He was aware of the night sounds: an owl far off; crickets in the yard close to the house and in the full darkness of the woods behind him.

  No, he thought. You do it yourself. You have to get them out. You have to do it so that it’s once and for all, or else they’ll come back again. They’re not afraid of you, but they have to be made afraid. Do you understand that?

  He heard the owl again and he could feel the deep woods behind him.

  The woods . . .

  For perhaps a quarter of an hour more he remained in the shadows, thinking, asking himself questions and groping for the answers and finally he knew what he would do.

  His hand went up the rough bark of the tree to steady him as he got to his feet. He moved along the edge of shadow until the station wagon was between him and the house, then stooped slightly, instinctively and ran across the yard to his car.

  With his hand on the door handle he noticed the ventipane partly open. He pulled it out to a right angle then put his arm in, pressing his right side against the car door, rolled down the window, brought out his veterinary kit, and stooped to the ground with it.

  The inside pocket, he thought, remembering putting his instruments away after delivering the calf that afternoon. His hand went in, came out with a three-ounce bottle of chloroform; went in again, felt the mouth speculum—no, too heavy—then his fingers closed on the steel handle of a hoof knife and he drew it out, a thin-bladed knife curved to a sharpened hook.

  The rifles, he thought then. No, they won’t follow you without the rifles. Just bring them out.

  From the edge of the drive he picked up a rock twice the size of his fist, walked to within six feet of the station wagon, and hurled it through the windshield. He waited until the front door swung suddenly open, then ran for the trees, hearing Cal’s voice, then Ray’s, hearing them on the steps—

  “There he is!”

  “Get the guns!” Ray’s voice as he ran to the station wagon.

  Cal came out of the house with the rifles and Ray said, “Come on!”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Not far without shoes.”

  From the shadows again, but deeper into the trees, Evan watched them for a moment. They stood close
together, Perris talking, describing something with his hands, then taking a rifle from Cal, the two of them separating and coming toward the trees. Evan moved back carefully, working his way over to where Cal would enter. Perris was nearer the road, perhaps thirty yards away.

  Evan crouched, waiting, hearing the rustling, twig-snapping sound of them moving through the scrub growth and fallen leaves. Cal was coming almost directly toward him.

  He let Cal pass—one step, another—then rose without a sound and was on him, one hand clamping Cal’s mouth, the other pressing the hoof knife against his side hard enough that he would feel the blade. He felt Cal go rigid and he pushed against him, turning him to make him walk to the left now, broadening the distance between them and Perris.

  About twenty yards farther on Evan stopped. His hand came away from Cal’s mouth, went to his shirt pocket, and brought out the chloroform.

  Cal didn’t move, but he said, “Rays going to beat you blue.”

  Even said nothing, putting the hoof knife under his arm. He drew his handkerchief and saturated it with chloroform then retuned the bottle to his pocket. “How is Julie?”

  “She locked herself in the bedroom.”

  “Did he touch her?”

  “Ask him.”

  “All right, Cal. Call him over.”

  “What?”

  “Go ahead, call him.”

  Cal hesitated. Suddenly he screamed, “Ray, he’s over here!”

  The sound of his voice cut the stillness, rang through the darkness of the trees and was loud in Evan’s ear as he clamped the handkerchief against Cal’s face and dragged him as he struggled into dense brush. In a moment Cal was on the ground unconscious. Evan picked up the rifle and started running. He heard Ray’s voice and the sound of him hurrying through the foliage and he called back over his shoulder, “Come on!”

  He kept running, driving through the brush, feeling sharp stabs of pain in his stockinged feet and twice again he called back to Perris, making sure he was following. Within a hundred yards he reached the end of the woods.

  The first quarter moon showed an expanse of plowed field and far off on the other side, a shapeless mass of trees against the night sky. He turned right along the edge of the field for a few yards then moved silently back into the woods. Not far in he crouched down to wait.

  There was little time to spare. In less than a minute Perris reached the field and stopped. He scanned it, his eyes open wide in the darkness.

  “Cal?”

  There was a dead stillness now without even the small, hidden night sounds in the background.

  “Cal, where are you?”

  Perris turned from the field uncertain, he hesitated, then started into the trees again.

  Now, Evan thought. He flipped the lever of the .30-30 down and up and a sharp metallic sound, unmistakable in the stillness, reached Ray Perris.

  He stopped. Then edged back to the field.

  “Cal?”

  Evan waited. Through the trees Perris was silhouetted against the field. Watching him, Evan thought, Now add it up, Ray.

  He saw Perris turn to the field again and without warning break into a run. Evan brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired. Dirt kicked up somewhere close in front of Perris and he stopped abruptly, turned stumbling and went down as he reached the trees again.

  Then—“Ev, what’s the matter with you!”

  Silence.

  “Ev, we were just clownin’ around! Cal says, ‘Come on out and see Julie.’ I said, ‘Fine.’ On the way out he says, ‘We’ll throw a scare into Evan.’ You know, for something to do, that’s all. We’d had some beers and that sounded OK with me. What the hell, the way Cal talked I figured you for a real hayseed. Then we come here and you get on the muscle. Get mean about it. What am I supposed to do, let you throw me out? I’m not built that way.”

  He was quiet for a moment.

  “Ev, I’ll forget about the car. You were burned up—OK, I’ll let it go. What the hell, it’s insured.”

  Silence.

  “You hear? Answer me!”

  Just like that, Evan thought. Forget all about it. No, Ray, you’re not scared enough yet. You might want to come back. He raised the rifle, aiming high, and fired again and the sound rocked out over the field.

  “Ev, you’re a crazy man! They lock up guys like you!”

  Now you’re talking, Ray.

  Minutes passed before Perris spoke again.

  “Ev, listen to me, I’m walking back to my car and if you shoot it’s murder. You understand that? Murder!”

  Suddenly Perris stood up. “Answer me!” He screamed it. “You hear what I said? I’m coming out and if you shoot it’s murder! . . . You go to Jackson for life!”

  “I’m coming now, Ev.” He started into the trees. “Listen, man, just hold on to yourself. You’re burned up, sure; but it isn’t worth it. I mean not Jackson the rest of your life. You got to think of it that way.”

  Perris started to run.

  Evan was waiting. He gauged the distance, crawled to the next brush clump, and came up swinging the rifle as Perris tried to run past. The barrel slashed down against the .30-30 in his hands and he went back, dropping it, trying to cover, but was too late. Evan’s fist whapped against his face and he stumbled. He tried to rush, bringing his hands up suddenly as the rifle was thrown at him, deflected it, ducking to the side, and looked up in time to receive the full impact of a right that was swung wide and hard and with every pound that could be put behind it. Evan kneeled over him and pressed the chloroformed handkerchief to Ray’s face before carrying him back to the yard.

  Julie was on the porch. She screamed his name when she saw Evan, but he talked to her for a moment and after that she was calm. He went back for Cal then loaded both of them into the station wagon and drove down to the highway, turned left toward Detroit, and went about a mile before parking the station wagon off on the side of the road.

  They would come out of the chloroform in fifteen or twenty minutes. If the state police found them first, let Perris tell whatever he liked. Even the truth if he didn’t mind the publicity that might result. It didn’t matter to Evan what he did. It was over.

  He crossed the plowed field and passed again through the woods, picking up his hoof knife on the way back to the house.

  Julie held open the door. “Ev, what if they come back?”

  “I doubt if they will.”

  “Then we won’t think about it,” she said.

  They sat in the living room for a few minutes then went out to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

  The Italian Cut

  1954

  AT FIVE O’CLOCK THERE was still no sign of Roy. Elaine stood at the dinette window looking down three stories into the darkening court of the apartment building. If she pressed her left cheek to the pane she could see a short stretch of sidewalk and beyond it, the NO PARKING BUILDING ENTRANCE signs, the street pavement glistening in the October rain. From the living room window she could see only one of the signs, and only half as much of the pavement.

  She was thinking, and was almost completely sure of it, that Roy had stopped for a beer. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, but at least he could call. Roy’s shift was out at three-thirty and usually he was home by four-ten, the latest. Except on bowling night and softball night and, it occurred to her now, almost every time it rained that Grady didn’t have the car.

  That was it. She wasn’t sure whether Grady had taken the car. Roy rode with him when he did; when he didn’t, they took the bus together.

  She had seen Inez, Grady’s wife, come in just before three-thirty pushing the stroller with little Grady in it and her other arm loaded down with groceries. Elaine would have called, but the rain started just then and Inez had hurried through the court. It was lucky she and Grady had a first-floor apartment—with the stroller and all.

  I forgot about that, Elaine thought. I’ll be climbing three flights. She smiled, turning from the window. The first six week
s Roy would be carrying her up and down.

  She glanced at the mirror over the buffet then stopped, her fingers lightly touching the short hair at the nape of her neck and she studied the dark curl that clung close to the soft curve of her cheek. She had had it cut that morning. Roy’ll die! She went on then to the wall telephone and dialed.

  “Inez? Hi . . . Listen, did Grady drive today? . . . Oh . . . No, he’s not home either. They’re probably in some bar . . . Uh-huh . . . Every time it rains. We should be used to it by now . . . No, I was just anxious for him to get home . . . I wasn’t sure if Grady drove . . . Uh-huh . . . Inez, listen, why don’t you and Grady come up after a while? . . . No, we’ve been to your place too many times. Get a sitter and come up . . . Uh-huh, it’s on I think . . . No, I’ve just seen it once or twice. Roy likes to watch the fights. They come on at the same time . . . you can miss it this once. I’ve got something to show you . . . No! It’s a surprise! . . . You sort of buy it, but not like you’re thinking.”

  Elaine moved the length of the telephone cord then leaned to the side until she could see herself in the buffet mirror. She smiled, turning her head from side to side.

  “Uh-huh, you wear it . . . That’s right, but you don’t buy it at a store.” Elaine giggled. “Inez, I’ve got something to tell you, too . . . Ohhhhhh, you wrecked it! How’d you know? . . . Uh-huh . . . No my mother used to say you could tell by the eyes.” . . . She shook her head. “They look the same to me . . . Just two weeks . . . Uh-huh . . . No, I haven’t told him yet . . . Because he gets so excited. He’ll run out and get a baseball mitt and it’ll turn out to be a false alarm . . . What? I know.” Elaine laughed into the phone . . . “I’m just kidding. I’m going to tell him as soon as he gets home . . . OK . . . About eight-thirty or nine, if they’re still standing up . . . OK, good-bye.” She hung up the receiver and stepped into the kitchen.

  It was a quarter past five by the electric clock above the refrigerator as she took out the hamburger. Not really late, but he still could have called.