A Week From Sunday (32 page)

Making a quick stop at Delmar’s garage, he checked on the repairs to Adrianna’s damaged car. Delmar assured him that it would only be a matter of days before the car would be drivable again. After Quinn thanked him and walked on, the first storm clouds formed over his cheery mood.

In the bliss of the previous night and the afterglow of the morning, he had steadfastly tried to push all thoughts of the future from his head; reality somehow seemed less sweet than the bliss of their union. For the scant bit of time they had in which to vent the feelings that had all but overwhelmed them, he had chosen to bask in the now with no regard for later. But there were matters he could not escape, no matter how hard he tried.

Adrianna’s life had been so very different from his. He was from the country, a laborer, a man who worked with his hands and fought a constant battle to pay his bills. She was a woman of refinement; her manners and clothes spoke volumes, while he was a man of very simple tastes. She possessed a quick mind and an education the likes of which he could never have dreamed. The differences between them were as many as they were profound.

“But still . . .” he muttered.

Never in his life could he have imagined meeting a woman like Adrianna. He had had his share of flirtations and crushes, but none of them had ever made him dream of a life as a husband. This was
different
! The thought of her leaving Lee’s Point and never returning was nearly more than he could bear. But at that moment, what he could do about it, he didn’t know.

Rounding a corner, Quinn came to a stop in front of the Whipsaw and stared up at its battered sign. He sighed heavily. So many of the ills of his life were tied to this place: his father’s ruined life, his meager hopes for Jesse’s future, and the large sum of money that he owed Dewey Fuller’s father. Still, if it had not been for the rickety old bar, he wouldn’t have been on the road that day and wouldn’t have been struck by a certain automobile.

“I guess I owe you that much.” He smiled at the sign.

Inside, Quinn moved easily past the tables and chairs in the afternoon gloom. He flipped on the lights behind the bar. He was early. It would be a couple of hours before Gabe and the cleaning woman arrived to get the place ready for the evening business. In the meantime, he’d take an inventory of their liquor and make a list of what they needed. He’d been at it for only five minutes when there was a knock on the door.

Quinn looked up in time to see the door swing slowly inward and a well-dressed man step inside. With the bright day behind him, Quinn had to strain to learn his visitor’s identity. At first glance, he’d thought it was Dewey Fuller, come to try to collect on his debt; but as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, his stomach curled as tightly as his fists.

It was Richard Pope.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the city man said stiffly.

“What the hell do you want?” Quinn shot back. He moved slowly from behind the bar, his hands clenching tightly into fists he had no fear of using to pummel the man who had done Adrianna so much harm.

“If not a drink, then maybe a bit of conversation,” Richard supplied, moving toward Quinn with his hands before him, palms upraised. “I only want a minute of your time. Regardless of what you might think of me, I certainly didn’t come here to engage in fisticuffs.”

“You shouldn’t have come at all.”

“I can certainly understand why you might see it that way,” he said, nodding. As he came to a stop before Quinn, his jowls hung heavy in the summer heat. Sweat beaded on his bulbous nose and wrinkled forehead, running down to stain the starched high-collar shirt he wore beneath his suit coat. “After all, if I were in your position, I would see before me a man who had come to take something that I had come to treasure. I might even see a threat. Just as you do now, I would likely be too blind to see what I truly represent.”

“All I see is a two-bit, big-city son of a bitch who thinks he can just waltz into town and start making demands,” Quinn snarled. “This isn’t Shreveport. You can’t make the rules here.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Richard said matter-of-factly. “What you are failing to see is that I am your opportunity to a better life. Well, certainly a better life than this one.”

“The only way you’re gonna make my life better is to get the hell out of Lee’s Point and leave Adrianna be.”

“That is because you’re speaking with emotion,” Richard admonished him. “You’re not allowing yourself to think clearly, to think with your head. You might be using too much of your heart . . . and your prick.”

Quinn bristled at the man’s tone. Briefly, he thought about just giving in to his emotions and thrashing the older man to within an inch of his life, leaving him with just enough breath to limp back to Shreveport. But before he could take a single step, something stopped him. Maybe it was the thought of Adrianna’s gentle heart or simply a desire to let the man ramble, but he stayed his hand, content only to glare.

Richard took Quinn’s silence as his cue to continue. The older man stepped over to the bar, retrieved two small glasses and a bottle of bourbon, and poured two fingers worth of the amber liquid into each. He slid one toward Quinn before downing his own in a gulp. Quinn never moved an inch.

“Despite outward appearances,” Richard began, “you and I are cut from much the same cloth. We are both businessmen and, as such, we have certain responsibilities that the common rabble that stand on the other side of our counters can never truly understand. We must account for employees, product, and even such trivialities as graft in order to make our way. Each and every one of these things comes with a cost.”

Quinn remained silent, his teeth grinding with suppressed anger.

“Sometimes these costs can become a burden that cannot be overcome,” the older man continued calmly, his tone almost sympathetic. “In the direst cases, a businessman can have no choice but to seek out others from whom he can borrow the funds to keep his door open. Paying back such a loan can be like swimming upstream in a flood. Many fail, drowning in the mess they themselves have made.”

As if an electric current had been thrown open, Quinn instantly understood the reason for Richard Pope’s visit, and the blood ran cold in his veins. Anger raged within him with an intensity that frightened him. When he finally composed himself enough to speak, the name that he gave voice to exploded from between clenched teeth. “Dewey Fuller!”

“That is correct,” Richard said evenly.

“What in the hell did that bastard tell you?”

“He told me everything, Mr. Baxter. He explained every sordid detail dating all the way back to when your father, John Henry, opened this fine establishment.” Richard paused, pouring himself another shot of alcohol as he let the sting of his words settle in. “Once Mr. Fuller explained how much you had sacrificed in order to keep this tavern open, all for the sake of your injured brother, well, I have to admit that I saw you in a new light. I dare say that I even felt a bit sorry for you.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Quinn spat.

“I could give you all of the pity in the world, and it still wouldn’t pay your debts, now would it?”

Once again, Quinn was forced to squelch the urge to let his fists settle their differences. It was a struggle, but he was finally able to overcome his impulses, instead saying, “Fuller seems to want to tell every new face in town of my problems. But what’s the point of him telling you all of this?”

“Isn’t it obvious, my dear boy,” Richard said, his eyes wide with surprise. “I was told because I am the answer to your dilemma. I am the one who can make this whole sordid mess go away.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think about it,” Richard said excitedly, stepping closer to Quinn. The lazy ceiling fans blew a whiff of the older man’s cologne to Quinn’s nose. “With but a quick signature on a piece of paper, I can make all of these debts float off as if they were so much smoke! No more visits from the Fullers! No more hardships! No more nights lying awake, trying to figure your way out of this mess!”

“You’d do all of that?” Quinn asked.

“Certainly! With the money that I have amassed, it would be but a trifling thing!” Richard exclaimed, his mood growing as bright as the flush on his cheeks. “Of course, there would be a cost to you involved. After all, there is something given for everything that is received. It’s the cornerstone to any good business transaction.”

“In this case, that cost would be . . . ?” Quinn asked, letting the question hang.

“You would have to give Adrianna to me,” Richard said quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth like broken teeth. Hurriedly, he added, “Before you grow angry, you have to look at this for what it is . . . a business decision. It’s truly no different than selling any other goods.”

“What are you saying?” Quinn asked incredulously. “That Adrianna is nothing more than merchandise to me?”

“In many ways, yes,” the older man said, nodding. “She hasn’t been in your possession for very long, so you shouldn’t have been able to develop much of an attachment to her. Your connection to this tavern is much greater. Why shouldn’t you be able to hand one over for the sake of the other? Quite frankly, it is the only responsible thing to do.”

Like the storm that had brought him and Adrianna together, emotion washed over Quinn with flashes of anger streaking across his mood as if they were lightning. That this pathetic excuse of a man could even say such things galled him! To someone such as Richard Pope, people’s lives were just playthings that could be maneuvered. To him, Adrianna wasn’t a woman but a possession, something to be dangled from his chest like a medallion.

Where before, thoughts of the woman who had come to define his life had stayed his hand, they now flamed his rage. Images of Adrianna lying beneath of him flashed before his eyes, the tenderness of their lovemaking rubbing raw against his hatred of the man standing before him. Instead of struggling to remain calm, he allowed himself to lose control. The dikes that had held the floodwaters of his wrath broke, and the flood overwhelmed him.

Richard never saw the blow coming. Quinn moved with the speed and strength of a wildcat, his fist plowing into the softness of the older man’s belly. All the air flew out of his lungs in a whoosh, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.

“Ohhh!” Richard wheezed.

Quinn stood over the fallen man triumphantly, his fists still clenched. He wanted to do more damage, to rain more furious blows or kicks on the man as he lay prostrate on the floor, but watching him writhe in agony was good enough.

“Get every last thought of Adrianna Moore out of your head!” Quinn raged. “Because if you ever bother her again, if you so much as present your face to her, send her so much as a letter, the beating you just got is going to seem like a picnic compared to what I’ll do to you!”

Richard could only groan in response.

“You crawl out of here, get yourself back to your room, pack your bags, slide behind the wheel of that fancy car, and don’t look back until you’ve arrived in Shreveport,” Quinn continued, his finger jabbing the air before him angrily.

“Unhh . . .” Richard managed.

“She doesn’t want to be with you. She’s never wanted it. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better. If you don’t, I’m the next person you’re gonna see! Do you understand me?”

Richard rose shakily on quivering arms. He tried to hold himself up on his hands and knees, but his hands gave way and he fell back to the hardwood floor with a thud.

“Good enough,” Quinn snorted and went back to counting the bottles.

Richard Pope stood on shaky legs, leaning against the corner of the building. He sucked air hungrily into his pained chest, the spot where Quinn had struck him still raw and tender to the touch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laid hands upon him in such a way, but he was certain that it was an experience he didn’t wish to repeat.

A few people drifted along the hot streets, giving him a look of curiosity and concern, but none of them bothered to stop.
Let them walk on,
he thought.
I wouldn’t take their help if it was offered!
Besides, there was only one thing that would salve his wounds.

“I’ll get even with you, you lowlife bastard,” he muttered, his voice raspy.

He had truly entered that pisspot of a tavern with the best of intentions: to offer to cover Quinn Baxter’s debt to the Fullers in full, to wipe the slate clean so that he could get on with his life in this miserable little town. All that he had asked in return was for him to hand over Adrianna; a mere bauble to a ruffian such as the bar owner but a treasured jewel to a cultured man like himself. But he had been denied. Even worse, he had been struck and then threatened with even further violence. This was an affront that would not stand!

Richard was not certain how matters of dispute were settled in a place such as this, but he wasn’t about to run out of town with his tail between his legs! He had made the offer in good faith, but it was not the only means at his disposal to solve his problems. Far from it, he had many more to choose from. Many more.

Standing as tall as he could, Richard Pope straightened the lapels of his jacket and brushed a speck of dirt from the sleeve of his coat. He ran a hand across his sweaty brow and through his hair.

There was no time left for discussion.