Night My Friend (18 page)

“You don’t have a man yet?” Kendell asked.

“We had one, up until last week.” Sheriff Dade offered no more. Instead, he asked, “Any experience in police work?”

“I was on the force for better than a year back east.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I wanted to travel.”

“Married?”

“I will be, as soon as I land a job.”

“This one just pays seventy-five a week, and it’s nights. If you work out, though, I’ll keep you on come summer.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Drive a patrol car around the lake every hour, check cottages, make sure the kids aren’t busting them up—that sort of thing.”

“Have you had much trouble?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” the sheriff answered, looking quickly away. “Nothing you couldn’t handle, a big guy like you.”

“Would I have to carry a gun?”

“Well, sure!”

Johnny Kendell thought about it. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Good. Here are some applications to fill out. I’ll be checking with the people back east, but that needn’t delay your starting. I’ve got a gun here for you. I can show you the car and you can begin tonight.”

Kendell accepted the .38 revolver with reluctance. It was a different make from the one he’d carried back east, but they were too similar. The very feel and weight and coldness of it against his palm brought back the memory of that night in the alley.

Later, when he went back to the motel and told Sandy about the job, she only sat cross-legged on her bed staring up at him. “It wasn’t even a week ago, Johnny. How can you take another gun in your hand so soon?”

“I won’t have it in my hand. I promise you I won’t even draw it.”

“What if you see some kids breaking into a cottage?”

“Sandy, Sandy, it’s a job! It’s the only thing I know how to do. On seventy-five a week we can get married.”

“We can get married anyway. I found a job for myself down at the supermarket.”

Kendell stared out the window at a distant hill dotted here and there with snowy spots. “I told him I’d take the job, Sandy. I thought you were on my side.”

“I am. I always have been. But you killed a man, Johnny. I don’t want it to happen again, for any reason.”

“It won’t happen again.”

He went over to the bed and kissed her, their lips barely brushing. Outside, somewhere, the passing of a nearby train broke the silence of the chill afternoon.

That night Sheriff Dade took him out on the first run around the lake, pausing at a number of deserted cottages while instructing him in the art of checking for intruders. The evening was cold, but there was a moon which reflected brightly off the surface of the frozen lake. Kendell wore his own suit and topcoat, with only the badge and gun to show that he belonged in the sheriff’s car. He knew at once that he would like the job, even the boredom of it, and he listened carefully to the sheriff’s orders.

“About once an hour you take a swing around the lake. That takes you twenty minutes, plus stops. But don’t fall into a pattern with your trips, so someone can predict when you’ll be passing any given cottage. Vary it, and, of course, check these bars along here too. Especially on weekends we get a lot of underage drinkers. And they’re the ones who usually get loaded and decide to break into a cottage.”

“They even come here in the winter?”

“This isn’t a summer town any more. But sometimes I have a time convincing the cottagers of that.”

They rode in silence for a time, and the weight of the gun was heavy on Johnny Kendell’s hip. Finally he decided what had to be done. “Sheriff,” he began, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll find out anyway when you check on me back east. I killed a man while I was on duty. Just last week. He was a bum who broke into a liquor store and I thought he had a gun so I shot him. I resigned from the force because they were making a fuss about it.”

Sheriff Dade scratched his balding head. “Well, I don’t hold that against you. Glad you mentioned it, though. Just remember, out here the most dangerous thing you’ll probably face will be a couple of beered-up teenagers. And they don’t call for guns.”

“I know.”

“Right. Drop me back at the courthouse and you’re on your own. Good luck.”

An hour later, Kendell started his first solo swing around the lake, concentrating on the line of shuttered cottages which stood like sentinels against some invader from the frozen lake. Once he stopped the car to investigate four figures moving on the ice, but they were only children gingerly testing skates on the glossy surface.

On the far side of the lake he checked a couple of cottages at random. Then he pulled in and parked beside a bar called the
Blue Zebra.
It had more cars than the others, and there was a certain Friday night gaiety about the place even from outside. He went in, letting his topcoat hang loosely over the badge pinned to his suit lapel. The bar was crowded and all the tables were occupied, but he couldn’t pinpoint any under-age group. They were the usual representatives of the new suburbia—white-shirted young men self-consciously trying to please their dates, beer-drinking groups of men fresh from their weekly bowling, and even the occasional women nearing middle age that one always found sitting alone on bar stools.

Kendell chatted a few moments with the owner and then went back outside. There was nothing for him here. He’d turned down the inevitable offer of a drink because it was too early in the evening, and too soon on the job to be relaxing.

As he was climbing into his car, a voice called to him from the doorway of the
Blue Zebra.
“Hey, Deputy!”

“What’s the trouble?”

The man was slim and tall, and not much older than Kendell. He came down the steps of the bar slowly, not speaking again until he was standing only inches away. “I just wanted to get a look at you, that’s all. I had that job until last week.”

“Oh?” Kendell said, because there was nothing else to say.

“Didn’t old Dade tell you he fired me?”

“No.”

“Well, he did. Ask him why sometime. Ask him why he fired Milt Woodman.” He laughed and turned away, heading back to the bar.

Kendell shrugged and got into the car. It didn’t really matter to him that a man named Milt Woodman was bitter about losing his job. His thoughts were on the future, and on Sandy, waiting for him back at the motel.

She was sleeping when he returned to their rooms. He went in quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until she awakened. Presently her blue eyes opened and she saw him. “Hi, there, handsome. How’d it go?”

“Fine. I think I’m going to like it. Get up and watch the sunrise with me.”

“I have to go to work at the supermarket.”

“Nuts to that! I’m never going to see you if we’re both working.”

“We need the money, Johnny. We can’t afford this motel, or these two rooms, much longer.”

“Let’s talk about it, later, huh?” He suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard her laugh in days, and the thought of it made him sad. Sandy’s laughter had always been a part of her, and he missed it. He wondered when she would laugh again.

That night passed much as the previous one, with patrols around the lake and frequent checks at the crowded bars. He saw Milt Woodman again, watching him through the haze of cigarette smoke at the
Blue Zebra,
but this time the man did not speak. The following day, though, Kendell remembered to ask Sheriff Dade about him.

“I ran into somebody Friday night—fellow named Milt Woodman,” he said.

Dade frowned and looked down at his hands. “He try to give you any trouble?”

“No, not really. He just said to ask you sometime why you fired him.”

“
Are
you asking me?”

“No. It doesn’t matter to me in the least.”

Dade nodded. “You’re right, it doesn’t. But let me know if he bothers you any more.”

“Why should he?” Kendell asked, troubled by the remark.

“No reason. Just keep on your toes.”

The following night, Monday, he didn’t have to work. He decided to celebrate with Sandy by taking her to a nearby drive-in where the management kept open all winter with the aid of little heaters supplied to each car. The movie was something about young love. They necked in the front seat all during the second feature, like a couple of high school kids.

Tuesday night, just after midnight, Kendell pulled into the parking lot at the
Blue Zebra.
The neoned juke box was playing something plaintive and the bar was almost empty. The owner offered him a drink again, and he decided he could risk it. The night was cold and damp, even in the heated car.

“Hello, Deputy,” a voice said at his shoulder. He knew before he turned that it was Milt Woodman.

“The name’s Johnny Kendell,” he said, keeping it friendly.

“Nice name. You know mine.” He chuckled a little. “That’s a good-looking wife you’ve got. Saw you together at the movie last night.”

“Oh?” Kendell moved instinctively away. He didn’t like the man. He didn’t like anything about him.

Milt Woodman kept on smiling. “Did Dade ever tell you why he fired me?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

The chuckle became a laugh. “Good boy! Keep your nose clean. Protect that seventy-five a week.” He turned and went toward the door. “See you around.”

Kendell finished his drink and followed him out. There was a hint of snow in the air and tonight no moon could be seen. Ahead, on the road, the twin tail lights of Woodman’s car glowed for a moment until they disappeared around a curve. Kendell gunned his car ahead with a sudden urge to follow the man, but when he’d reached the curve himself the road ahead was clear. Woodman had turned off somewhere.

The rest of the week was quiet, but on Friday he had a shock. It had always been difficult for him to sleep days, and he often awakened around noon after only four or five hours’ slumber. This day he decided to meet Sandy at her job for lunch, and as he arrived at the supermarket he saw her chatting with someone at the checkout counter. It was Milt Woodman and they were laughing together like old friends.

Kendell walked around the block, trying to tell himself that there was nothing to be concerned about. When he returned to the store, Woodman was gone and Sandy was ready for lunch.

“Who was your friend?” he asked casually.

“What friend?”

“I passed a few minutes ago and you were talking to some guy. Seemed to be having a great time.”

“Oh, I don’t know, a customer. He comes in a lot, loafs around.”

Kendell didn’t mention it again. But it struck him over the weekend that Sandy no longer harped on the need for a quick marriage. In fact, she no longer mentioned marriage at all.

And she no longer laughed.

On Monday evening, Kendell’s night off, Sheriff Dade invited them for dinner at his house. It was a friendly gesture, and Sandy was eager to accept at once. Mrs. Dade proved to be a handsome blonde woman still in her mid-thirties, and she handled the house and the dinner with the casual air of someone who knew all about living the good life in Wagon Lake.

After dinner, while the women discussed furniture, Kendell followed Dade to his basement workshop. “Just a place to putter around in,” the sheriff told him. He picked up a power saw and handled it fondly. “Don’t get as much time down here as I’d like.”

“You’re kept pretty busy at work.”

Dade nodded. “Too busy. But I like the job you’re doing, Johnny. I really do.”

“Thanks.” Kendell lit a cigarette and leaned against the workbench. “Sheriff, there’s something I want to ask you. I didn’t ask it before.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you fire Milt Woodman?”

“He been giving you trouble?”

“No. Not really. I guess I’m just curious.”

“All right. There’s no real reason for not telling you, I suppose. He used to get down at the far end of the lake, beyond the
Blue Zebra,
and park his car in the bushes. Then he’d take some girl into one of the cottages and spend half the night there with her. I couldn’t have that sort of thing going on. The fool was supposed to be guarding the cottages, not using them for his private parties.”

“He’s quite a man with the girls, huh?”

Dade nodded sourly. “He always was. He’s just a no-good bum. I should never have hired him in the first place.”

They went upstairs to join the ladies. Nothing more was said about Woodman’s activities, but the next night while on patrol Kendell spotted him once again in the
Blue Zebra.
He waited down the road until Woodman emerged, then followed him around the curve to the point where he’d vanished the week before. Yes, he’d turned off into one of the steep driveways that led down to the cottages at the water’s edge. There was a driveway between each pair of cottages, so Kendell had the spot pretty much narrowed down to one of two places, both big rambling houses built back when Wagon Lake was a summer retreat for the very rich.

He smoked a cigarette and tried to decide what to do. It was his duty to keep people away from the cottages, yet for some reason he wasn’t quite ready to challenge Milt Woodman. Perhaps he knew that the man would never submit meekly to his orders. Perhaps he knew he might once again have to use the gun on his hip.

So he did nothing that night about Milt Woodman.

The following day Sheriff Dade handed him a mimeographed list. “I made up a new directory of names and addresses around town. All the houses are listed, along with the phone numbers of the bars and some of the other places you check. Might want to leave it with your wife, in case she has to reach you during the night.” Dade always referred to Sandy as Kendell’s wife, though he must have known better. “You’re still at that motel, aren’t you?”

“For a little while longer,” Kendell answered vaguely. “It’s the off season and their rates are fairly low.”

Dade grunted. “Seen Woodman around?”

“Caught a glimpse of him last night. Didn’t talk to him.”

The sheriff nodded and said no more.

The following evening, when Johnny was getting ready to go on duty, Sandy seemed more distant than ever. Even her kisses had a sort of automatic reflex action about them, and when he gave her the sheriff’s list she stuffed it in her purse without looking at it. “What’s the matter?” he asked finally.