Moonbog (32 page)

“It reflects on me, and I just don’t think it looks good,” David said. His voice had softened, but his anger hadn’t yet subsided.

“I don’t really see why you’d care what anyone around here thinks,” Allison said. The snide tone in her voice almost made David explode again.

“You’re right,” David said evenly, “I don’t give a shit about this town, but while we’re here, I sure as hell don’t want you going around embarrassing me.”

“Embarrassing you!”

“Yeah, embarrassing me. Christ, Allison, tongues wag around this town more than flags on the Fourth of July! I’d just rather not have everyone saying that little Davie Logan grew up, moved to New York City, and started running around with city whores.”

Allison drew back as though she had been hit in the face. “A city whore? Is that how you think of me?”

“No, I—“

Allison’s clenched fists shook with suppressed rage. “I’m a city whore, huh? Well, if that’s how you feel about me, I don’t see any reason why I should stay around here. I’ll just head on back to the city.”

“Hey, it’s not that serious. I meant that—”

“I know
just
what you meant.”

David came around the bed and grabbed her by the arms. He tried to keep his grip tight, but she shook loose and spun away from him.

“I mean it!” she shouted. “I don’t have to take any of this bullshit. I’m leaving.”

“Alli—”

“If you’re so goddamn worried about what these moron hicks think about you, well—” she shook her head with disgust and let her upper lip curl back—”well, I’ll just leave so I won’t embarrass you my further.”

She knelt down and fished her suitcase out from under the bed. David watched, unable to say anything. He clenched and unclenched his fists with frustration.

Allison threw the suitcase onto the bed, went over to he dresser, and started to pack her clothes. She tossed them into a pile on the bed and then jammed them into the suitcase.

“For Christ’s sake, Allison!” David gripped her shoulder. She turned, glaring at him. “Will you just cool it for one goddamn second?” He pushed, trying to make her sit down on the bed.

With a sudden grunt, she lashed out at him with her open hand. Her palm slapped across his cheek with a loud crack. “Keep your fucking hands offa me!”

Stunned, David took a few steps backward until he was standing with his back against the wall. His shoulder brushed against one of the cheap oil paintings and knocked it askew. He rubbed at his cheek where an angry red welt was beginning to rise.

“Have it your way,” he said softly, not sure if she heard him above the exaggerated sounds she made as she packed.

Allison glared at him. Her lower lip trembled. She reached for the phone on the nightstand beside the bed. “Hello, desk?” She paused and regarded David a bit more coolly. “Desk? This is Miss Vickery in room 12. I’d like you to call a taxi to pick me up and drive me to the airport as soon as possible.”

She waited, eyelids flickering. “Yes, to drive me into the Portland airport. No, Mr. Logan will not be checking out just yet.” The smirk on her face increased until the smile was almost ghoulish. “Oh, and could you please check and see when the next flight out to New York is? Yes, the city. Thank you.”

She replaced the receiver gently. The look of triumph that lit her face made David’s anger rise, but he remained silent as she completed her packing.

After the suitcase was full and she had closed it, she looked at David. “There,” she said, folding her arm in front of her, “are you satisfied?”

David was silent for a moment. When he answered, his voice sounded hollow and weak. It irritated him that it might make Allison think she had won. “Whatever you want,” he said distantly.

“If you’d be so kind,” she said over her shoulder as she picked up her suitcase and started for the door, “as to bring anything I might have forgotten. . . .” Then she was gone.

“Hey, wait a minute,” David said, going to the door, and watching her walk down to the curb. He heard the sound of a car and, looking up, saw a cab pull into the motel, driveway. She stalked over to the waiting taxi and got in without once looking back at David.

As the cab drove slowly out to the main road, David leaned on the door frame and watched. He was unable to decide if he felt hurt or relieved. The ambiguity made him decide that it must mean it was good to see her go.

Once the sound of the cab had receded in the distance, David eased the door shut, locked it, and lay down on the rumpled bed. The cloying smell of Allison’s perfume and the stinging, stale cigarette smoke were all that was left of her. Propping himself up on his elbows, David studied the half-filled ashtray on the nightstand. For the first time in almost a year since he quit smoking, he
really
wanted a cigarette.

IV

L
es clicked open the chamber of the revolver and, holding it up to the bare bulb that illuminated his basement workbench, stared down the shiny metal tube. He smiled, considered running one more cleaning patch down the barrel, but then nodded with satisfaction and clicked the chamber shut. He spun the bullet chamber around a few times. The faint clicking sound gave him a pleasant, tickling feeling in his stomach. He placed the revolver gently down on the workbench and started putting away the cleaning kit.

“Lunch’s about ready, hon’,” Leah called from upstairs.

Les glanced up at the stairwell and grunted, “Yeah.” He put the cleaning kit into the bench drawer, then took out a box of cartridges. He flipped open the box and stared at the bullets for a moment. The rounded lead tops of the bullets reminded him of the little lead sinkers he had used for fishing when he was young. He ran the tip of his forefinger over the bullets and smiled. “These ‘sinkers’ are for bigger fish,” he said, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. He poured the bullets out into his hand.

“Honey,” Leah called from the top of the stairs, “I said lunch is about ready.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Les said, glaring up at the stairway. He cupped the bullets in his hand and held his hand close to his chest. He was afraid Leah would come down into the basement, and he didn’t want her to see him with the gun—just in case he
did
end up using it.

“It’s getting cold,” Leah said.

“Just a goddamn minute, for Christ’s sake!” He put the bullets on the workbench, ready to scoop them and the revolver into the open drawer if she started down.

“What are you doing there?” Leah asked. Her voice sounded fainter this time, and Les figured she had walked back into the kitchen. He heard the clatter of pots and pans.

“Just cleaning up a few things, that’s all,” Les said. He looked anxiously at the stairwell for a few seconds longer, then, reassured, picked up a few bullets and snapped open the chamber. As he started slipping bullets into the chamber, a smile lit his face that gradually spread into a wide grin.

The last bullet dropped into place. Les snapped the chamber shut and hefted the revolver in his hand.

“I’ll go get him,” Georgie said from upstairs. There was a rapid sound of running feet, and then the steady clumping of the boy’s careful descent down the cellar steps.

“I said I’m coming right up!” Les shouted, dropping the revolver into the drawer and then scooping the remaining bullets in on top of it.

“Dad—”

He ran the drawer shut and turned around quickly to face Georgie, standing at the foot of the stairs. “Dad, Mom says lunch is ready. Come on.”

“I’ll be right up!” Les said evenly. He leaned the small of his back against the closed drawer.

Georgie was hanging back, as though afraid to come any closer to his father.

“Go on, get upstairs yourself,” Les said, reaching for the pull-chain on the light. Georgie turned and started up the stairs. Before he snapped the light off, Les quickly slid the drawer open and grabbed the revolver. He was just about to slide it into his waistband when Georgie yelled, “Hey! Is that a gun?”

Les wheeled around and looked at his young son, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination.

“Hey Mom!” Georgie yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth, “Mom! Dad’s got a gun!”

Les hefted the revolver and started passing it from hand to hand. “Shut up,” he said with a low hiss in his voice.

“Les?” Leah shouted from upstairs. Her voice was edged with concern. “Les? Do you have a gun down there?”

Les shot an angry glance at Georgie, then in the direction of the stairs. “Yeah,” he said dully, feigning disinterest.

“Do you? Do you have a gun?” Leah repeated.

“Yes, for Christ’s sake. Yes, I do!” he shouted, addressing a spot on the cellar ceiling where he guessed she was standing.

“What in heaven’s name for?”

“I was cleaning out my old revolver, you know?”

Leah came down the cellar steps slowly. At the foot of the steps, she stopped and rested her hand lightly on Georgie’s shoulder. Husband and wife eyed each other nervously for a few tense seconds. Ceorgie melted back into the folds of his mother’s dress.

Finally, Leah broke the silence. Her voice fought to stay steady. “Hon’, why don’t you put it away? You know how I feel about having guns in the house.”

Les gripped the gun handle firmly and shook it, feeling the revolver’s weight. “I was cleaning it out, you know?” he said. “What with everything that’s been happenin’ around town, I thought it might not be such a bad idea to have a little extra protection, you know?”

Leah eyed Les for a second, then began shaking her head sadly from side to side. “No, Les, I
don’t
know.” Her eyes glassed over with tears. “I don’t understand why things like what happened to Jeffy and Billy have to happen.” One tear spilled over. “And I don’t understand why, as soon as they do, people have to get their guns. That isn’t gonna’ solve anything.”

“It will if that bastard comes around here,” Les said.

Leah’s face was streaked with tears, shiny lines on both cheeks. “It won’t solve
anything
. And it surely won’t bring back Jeffy and Billy.” She gripped Georgie’s shoulder tightly, and the small boy sank into the protection of his mother’s apron.

“It will solve the problem if that bastard comes around here,” Les repeated. His voice cut with harsh hostility. He hefted the revolver, then snapped the chamber open, spun it once noisily, and clicked it shut with grim finality.

“What bastard?” Leah asked softly. She stared at her husband with glistening eyes. “What bastard are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?” Les shouted, glaring at Leah.

Leah shifted her stance and held Georgie close to her. Her fingers worked their way through the boy’s hair, twisting it into tiny twirls. “Nothing,” she said finally, “nothing.”

For a few tense seconds, they stared at each other. The only sound was the slap-slap as Les passed the revolver from hand to hand.

“Anyway,” Leah said distantly, “lunch’s ready. Wash your hands and come on up.” Georgie led the way up the cellar steps. Les listened as they walked into the kitchen and Leah started setting out plates for lunch. He heard her go to the upstairs hallway and shout for Robbie and Sammy.

Les studied the revolver in his hand, gripping it tightly and shaking it. “This’ll solve the problem,” he said. His voice was gritty, and a tight smile played with the corners of his mouth. “This’ll solve the
whole fuckin’ problem!
”

He tucked the gun into his belt and pulled his shirt down to cover the obtrusive bulge as best he could. He enjoyed the feeling of the cool steel pressing against his belly. He gave the light pull-chain a quick tug. The cellar was plunged into thick darkness. He started up the stairs.

V

F
ifteen minutes after Allison had left, David was still sitting on the edge of the bed, studying the twisted grain pattern on the door. He was trying to sort it all out, but he was still too heated to get any coherent thoughts about what had happened and what he felt about it.

He felt that he was right—that Allison had made a mistake playing with Les and then shutting him down so hard. He didn’t really care how Les reacted to it; he hadn’t felt particularly pleased to see his old friend after so many years, so it didn’t bother him on that score. But as he considered it, he was beginning to realize that he honestly didn’t care how Allison had come across in the situation either.

Of course, the first thing that crossed his mind was that he should wait until he was sure Allison was back at her place in the city and give her a call. He could apologize, tell her that the hassle of settling the old estate had gotten him on edge and that he would see her when he got back to the city after the weekend.

“Horse pucky,” he muttered. He glanced at his watch and figured that she’d be back in the city probably no later than ten o’clock.

But that was almost seven hours from now. He sighed deeply when he considered how much time he’d have to think about what he would say.

“But why apologize?” he said, sitting up straight and pounding the mattress with his fist. “
She
owes me the apology!”