Death's Sweet Song (16 page)

I had to get away. I went around to the wash rack and cleaned the place up a little, and pretty soon I began to cool off. After a while I went back to Ike and apologized for blowing up. I had to stay on the good side of him. I wanted him to go on thinking that everything was exactly the way it always had been.

Around six o'clock I told Ike that I'd close the station myself and sent him home.

It was well after dark when my dad came back to have another look at the patient. He was a very old man that night as he got out of his car and said heavily, “You all right, Joe?”

“Sure, Dad, I'm fine. I want to talk to you when you finish back there.”

He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. All the things my son could have been! I could see him thinking it. I could see it in those ancient, melancholy eyes. Then he nodded. “All right, Joe.” And he walked heavily back to Number 2.

That was when the black Ford rolled up in front of the station. I went out automatically and reached for the gas hose. The car door opened and a man said, “Never mind, Hooper.”

I froze.

He was a big man with a big, humorless grin. He wore a straw sombrero and a loud sport shirt. His name was Bunt Manley.

He didn't get out of the car. He sat there for a moment, grinning. Then he started the car and drove around to the side of the station and parked. When he came back I was still standing there, frozen, feeling the bottom falling out of everything.

“Wasn't that your dad headed back toward the cabins, Hooper?”

There were no words in me at that moment.

“Sure it was your dad,” Manley said. “Could it be there's somebody back there needs a doctor? You know, that's a right interesting idea. I think I'll just go back and give the doc a hand.”

“Stay where you are,” I said. “My father doesn't like to be bothered when he's caring for a patient.”

“I'll bet,” he said dryly. “Especially if the patient happens to be a man named Karl Sheldon.”

That was it. I didn't know how he knew, but he did. He knew everything. He stood there looking at me, half grinning, then he fished out a cigarette and lighted it. “You know,” he said roughly, “you're really quite a boy, Hooper. Tell you the truth, I didn't think you had the guts for a thing like this.”

I had to bluff it, there was no other way. “I don't know what you're talking about, Bunt.”

He laughed suddenly. “You know damn well what I'm talking about.” Then, surprisingly, he turned on his heel and went to his car. But he was back almost immediately, with a newspaper in his hand. “Here,” he said. “I want to read you a little piece of news that turned up in yesterday's paper. Date-lined Crowell, Texas. 'Last night Frank Hennessy, city marshal of Crowell, Texas, prevented the burglary of a city drugstore...' So on and so on, but here's the interesting part. 'Hennessy was able to provide descriptions of the would-be burglars. The man was of tall, athletic build. He had dark, thick hair, and was well dressed. In all probability the man is carrying one of the Marshal's bullets in his body. The man's woman companion was slight of build with short blonde hair.”

Looking at me, Manley folded the paper. “You heard enough, Hooper?”

“I still don't know what you're talking about.”

He wasn't grinning now. “I'm talking about that blue Buick back there in one of your carports, Hooper. I saw it this afternoon and began putting two and two together.” He snapped his cigarette straight at my feet. “Funny thing about it, though. I never tied you in with them until just now, when I saw your old man headed back to that shack. Sheldon's been here two days, hasn't he? And your old man has been taking care of him. Now, does it stand to reason that Doc Hooper would treat a bullet wound and not report it—unless he had a mighty good reason?” He reached out quickly and grabbed the front of my shirt. “I know the reason, Hooper. He's doing it to keep his son out of the electric chair!”

Something snapped when I felt those thick fingers grab me. A rage caught fire inside me and I wasn't afraid any more, I was just mad. I knocked his hand away and then grabbed his arm and slammed him against the station wall. “Listen,” I said hoarsely. “Listen to me, you sonofabitch. If you try to drag my father into this thing, I'll kill you!”

He was startled. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction. “Look here!”

“You
 
look, Manley! And don't you forget! So help me God, I'll kill you if my father is brought into this!” I let him go and he almost fell.

I had learned one thing these past few days. You had to be tough if you didn't want people stepping on you. You had to let them know who was boss, even if you had to beat it into their thick skulls.

“All right,” I said, still shaking with rage. “You think you know something. You think you've got me nailed, don't you?”

“Wait a minute, Hooper! For Christ's sake!”

And only then did I realize that I was about to hit him. My fist was a hard club, ready to smash into that thick face of his. I think I would have killed him at that moment, right on the spot, if I hadn't suddenly snapped out of it. And Manley knew it. Maybe, at that moment, Bunt Manley was remembering that old watchman that they had fished out of the lake.

When I relaxed he began to breathe again, but not very well. “For Christ's sake, Hooper, I haven't got anything against you! It's them!”

“Who's them?”

“You know who I mean. Karl Sheldon and that wife of his. I've got something coming from them, but not from you, Hooper.”

“What have you got coming from Sheldon and his wife?”

“Well, it was my idea, wasn't it? That box factory?” He was thinking a little faster now. “After all, I was the one that got in touch with Sheldon and told him about it. He was supposed to cut me in on it. I want my share of the money, that's all.”

“You're not getting a penny, Manley. And you're not going to mention my father. Is that clear?”

“Sure, Hooper, I told you it wasn't
 
you
 
I was after. And what could I gain by bringing your old man in on a thing like this?”

“I just wanted to be sure you had it straight.”

I was thinking. Maybe—just maybe—Bunt Manley had a point here. It was a lousy piece of luck that he had to know at all, but he did, and there was nothing I could do to change that. If he could somehow talk Sheldon out of part of his take, maybe it would be a good idea. Maybe that would satisfy him and he would be quiet.

But I knew, even then, that it was wishful thinking. Manley would never be satisfied. There was too much greed in those quick little eyes. And besides, Paula would never turn loose a penny of that money; I had seen enough of her to know that.

The answer was clear, and I think Manley was beginning to get it now. I went around to his car and took his keys, just in case he decided this wasn't such a good place to butt in, after all.

“What are you doing?” he asked quickly.

“Nothing. I think we ought to talk this over with Sheldon and his wife, that's all. After my father gets out of there.”

I had a tire tool in my hand, a nice, solid piece of iron, and Manley knew I would use it if he made a move. He didn't make the move. After a while I heard those dragging steps again and my dad came around the side of the station. I took hold of Manley's arm and squeezed it hard. “Just remember,” I said. “Dad, is that you?”

“Yes, Joe.”

I went around to the side of the station where he was standing, as though he didn't want to look at me in the light. “Is he all right, Dad?”

“Yes, he's better, Joe.”

“Is he able to travel, Dad? They want to go as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” he said, “he'll be able to travel tomorrow.” I had almost forgotten how stooped and small he was. He said quietly, without looking at me, “Is that all, Joe?”

“Yes, Dad, I guess that's all. And thanks for everything.”

He made no answer. He stood there for a moment, his head bowed, and then he turned and walked slowly to his car.

I stood there, feeling lousy about the way I had hurt him. Then I thought: Just be glad he doesn't know the
 
real
 
truth. That's the one thing in this mess you can be glad of.

I turned to Manley, the tire tool still in my hand. He must have been a mindreader, that Manley. He stared at me for maybe five seconds and knew all the answers. He could look into his future and see nothing but the endless darkness of death.

“Joe, for Christ's sake!”

“Just shut up,” I said, “until I get this station locked up.” And that was when he started to run. He knew now that he had made a mistake—a lot of mistakes. In the first place, he should have brought a gun with him if he figured on taking a slice of that thirty thousand dollars. But the small detail of a gun had slipped his mind, and now there was no way out except to run for it.

He moved fast. It's hard to believe that a man his size could move as fast as he did—but it wasn't fast enough for the tire tool. I drew back and let it fly, and it caught him right in the middle of the back, about three inches below the shoulders. He dropped as though he had been shot.

I thought he was dead at first. I turned him over with my foot and his eyes had that glazed look that I had seen before. But his pulse was still there, and he was still breathing. I rolled him over to the wash rack and locked up the station.

I had no feeling at all for Manley. The lousy chisler had tried to horn in on money that I had risked my life for, and he deserved to be dead. But I was glad he wasn't, just yet. This time somebody else was going to pull the trigger. This time somebody else was going to have the pressure put on him, not me.

I was thinking fast now. There was one thing I knew —Paula Sheldon was the one woman in the world for me. That I was sure of. But how could I be sure that I was the man for her? What if she turned against me sometime in the future? She was the one person who could get me electrocuted, because she knew that it was my gun that had killed Otto Finney.

Think this out carefully, Hooper. You need Paula Sheldon the way an alcoholic needs his booze. But what if she decided to leave you? There's nothing you can do about it, because she's holding a knife at your throat.

What I needed was a knife like hers, and I thought I knew just how to get it.

There was very little traffic on the highway, and for once in my life I was glad that there were no customers. After I got the station locked up, I went around to the wash rack and saw that Manley was just beginning to come out of it. I pulled him up by one arm and half dragged him back to the Sheldons' cabin.

Paula's pale face got even paler when I came in with Manley. Even Sheldon showed signs of life.

“Hooper, what the hell...”

I dumped Manley right in the middle of the floor and looked at both of them. “So you had to come back to Creston,” I said tightly. “I told you this thing was going to blow up right in our faces if you didn't get out of here.”

Paula was standing very erect, as cold and pale as marble. “How much does Manley know?”

I had the feeling that she was scared, actually scared for the first time. It was good to know that I wasn't the only person in this thing with some feelings. “He knows everything,” I said. “Every damn thing there is to be known.”

“How?” Sheldon asked.

“Because of that stupid drugstore job of yours in Texas. It was in the paper and Manley saw it. Then, out of curiosity, probably, he drove out this way and saw that Buick of yours. Not even Manley is so stupid that he couldn't fill in the rest for himself.”

“What does he want?” Sheldon said weakly. “A share of the money?”

“That's what he said. But I've got an idea he won't be satisfied for anything less than the whole take.”

Sheldon looked even sicker than before. He'd had enough. There was nothing in the world he would like better than to undo everything that had happened and forget that he had ever heard of Creston, Oklahoma. At that moment I think Sheldon would gladly have given up every penny.

But not Paula. She had recovered from the first shock of seeing me drag Manley into the place, and now that gleaming, steel-trap brain of hers was working as coolly as ever. She turned her gaze on Manley, who was trying to lift himself to his hands and knees without much success. Shaking his head dumbly, he moved as though the right side of his body were paralyzed, and maybe it was.

Still looking at Manley, Paula spoke to me. “You shouldn't have brought him here. You should have killed him.”

“I've had my share of killing.”

Her head snapped up. “You've gone yellow?”

“If you want to call it that. It's just that I don't intend to carry more than my load in this thing. You brought this on when you came back here. You can get out of it the best way you can.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “I think I called you a stupid farmer once. I apologize.”

There was absolutely no way of knowing what she would do or how she would react. She showed admiration only when I lashed out the hardest.

“What are we going to do?” Sheldon asked hoarsely from the bed.