Tex (8 page)

His voice trailed off. We were quiet for a long time. I was so surprised about all this I couldn't even think of what to say. A whole lot of girls liked Mason. He wasn't what anybody would call real handsome, but there was something about him that girls really dug. And he'd been dating since his sophomore year. But probably he'd never been in love. I figured that'd make a big difference.

“If you're thinking about Jamie Collins you might as well forget it,” he said suddenly, and hateful, like he was mad he'd told me so much.

“What makes you think it's Jamie?”

“You said her name in your sleep the other night and it was obvious you weren't having a nightmare.”

I went red, then mad. “Well, why not Jamie? It's 'cause the Collins got money and we don't, right? You think money means everything.”

“Nope, kid,” he said gently. “It's because you're Tex and she's Jamie. Money has nothing to do with it.”

What the hell did he know? Where did he get off telling me this stuff? Him and his damn honesty. “Why do you think you got to be so damn truthful? Why can't you just tell me a nice lie once in a while?”

“Texas, all my life I wanted somebody who knew more than I did to tell me the truth. I really wanted that. I never got it. I had to learn it all the hard way. I'm just giving you a present I always wanted.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

We stopped by a discount drug store and picked up Mason's prescription. I looked at magazines while Mason called Lem to get detailed directions to his place. It was easy for us to get lost in the city. I couldn't make up my mind to look at
Playboy
or
Western Horseman
, so I looked at both. While I was reading about studs and halters and hindquarters in one magazine, pictures from the other kept flashing through my mind. I about choked, laughing. I know the guy behind the counter thought I was on something.

Lem lived in an apartment in a part of town that was blocks of apartments. I don't see how people keep from getting lost in it. The apartments were called Southern Ivy and he lived in Southern Ivy II. That was the section for people with kids. We walked through rows and rows of apartments.

“This is it,” Mason said. I'd take his word for it, but how he could tell this doorway from any of the others, I didn't know. I tried looking in the window, while Mason pushed the door buzzer, but the curtains were pulled shut. There was some scurrying around inside, like mice in a barn, then Lem's voice said, “It's all right, it's them,” and the door was unbolted.

“Well, hi!” Connie said. She was wearing hip-hugger jeans and a short pink sweater. I thought girls were supposed to get fat after having a baby, but Connie looked the same as she used to, maybe even a little curvier.

“Come on in,” Lem said, slapping each of us on the back.

It was a really neat apartment. I mean, nice. It wasn't exactly neat, because clothes and diapers and stuff were laying all over everything. But I was used to messy housekeeping at home.

“Have a seat.” Lem shoved a bunch of clothes off the couch.

“Want to see the baby?” Connie asked. She ran upstairs to get him before we could get “yeah” out of our mouths.

“How about a beer?” Lem asked. Mason said, “No,” and added, “he doesn't either.” He was just trying to be a big shot, as usual. He knew I don't even care for beer anyway.

“Coke?”

“Sure.” I followed Lem into the kitchen. They had a dishwasher and refrigerator and everything. Lem gave up looking for a clean glass and handed me a cold can of Diet-Rite.

“How you been, kid?”

“Fine,” I answered. Something was different about Lem. I couldn't quite tell what it was. He looked out of place. Taller and heavier than Mason, rangy as a steer, he looked just plain clumsy in this little kitchen. I thought about the time we were training his Appaloosa colt, a year back. He hadn't been clumsy then.

When we went back to the living room, Connie was trying to make Mason hold the baby.

“Well, here, Tex, you hold him. He won't bite you.” She handed him to me. I took him. It wasn't all that different from holding a puppy or a kitten.

“Shoot, he's not much heavier than a basketball, and I never seen you drop one of them,” Lem laughed at Mason.

The baby was blonde like Connie, but had dark eyes like Lem. And it was funny to look at him, because Lem had real heavy, bushy eyebrows, like furry caterpillars, and that baby's eyebrows were way too dark for a baby. It looked like somebody had pasted them on him.

I wondered when I had a baby if it'd look like me or Jamie.

“Wow, I bet you have fun training him,” I said.

“A kid is not a colt,” Lem said.

“In most cases,” Mason said, looking at me. I gave the baby back to Connie. I didn't mind holding him, but it occurred to me that he probably wasn't housebroken yet.

The phone rang. Lem went to answer it, while Connie sat on the floor and talked silly to the baby, calling him “mother's precious darlin' ” and junk like that. I hoped the baby wouldn't grow up thinking he had an idiot mother.

“Yeah, I got it.”

We could hear Lem, even though we weren't trying to. “The Holiday Inn? Sure. What time?”

“You guys see my new car?” Lem asked, after he hung up.

“You got a new car?” I asked.

Mason said, “Gas jockeys must be getting better wages these days.”

Lem gave him a funny look.

“Honey, you take them for a ride,” Connie said cheerfully. “I'll stay here in case the phone rings.”

The car was a dark blue Pontiac, with white insides.

“Wow!” I said. “It's got air conditioning! Pushbutton windows? Come on, let's see how fast it'll go.”

We drove out to the expressway so Lem could get it going fast. I had fun running the windows up and down. Mason was quiet.

“I had an eight-track tape deck in here,” Lem said. “But it got ripped off the first day. It's a bad neighborhood for things getting ripped off. But not bad for getting mugged or anything like that. Those apartments are brand new. Only a couple of chicks lived there before we did.”

Mason was still quiet, even when Lem took it up to ninety-five. He would have never sat still for me doing that. Then he said, “What you dealin' in, Lem? Grass, speed, horse?”

I was so shocked I couldn't believe I was hearing him right. But Lem seemed to know what he was talking about, because after a minute he sighed and said, “Mostly grass, and a little speed.”

Mason swore. Lem got a defensive look on his face. “Don't get high and mighty with me, Mason McCormick. It's a lot of easy money. I'm just a go-between, it ain't like I'm selling it out on the streets or somethin'. I mean, I know who I'm dealin' with.”

“Sure.” Nobody could sound as contemptuous as Mason. It made me cringe. “I reckon you don't use it, either.”

“No, I don't. Well, maybe a couple hits of speed before a concert or a movie or somethin' like that, just to make it better, get your money's worth, but I ain't hooked on it.”

“How about Connie?”

“She's real careful, you know, so one of us can stay straight for the baby. She uses a little speed to keep her weight down, but shoot, Mace, the doctor would give her that. Anyway, I've seen you as high as anybody else—what about that party at Joe Ray's place?”

I didn't dare open my mouth, even though Mason's always tried to give me the impression he's as pure as the driven snow when it comes to drugs. I could see he was in a mood to slug somebody.

“I never set up shopkeeping in it. What about the baby? When he's older? He's gonna think they're vitamins.”

“Shoot, no. When he gets old enough to know what's goin' on, we'll quit.”

“You are really stupid,” Mason said.

Lem's jaw line went hard. “Yeah? Well, it's a little easier for you. You don't have a wife and kid lookin' for you to take care of them. I want a nice place to live and food for the baby and Connie's so pretty, it's hard for her to do without clothes and stuff. Who am I hurtin', anyway? It'd be going on whether I was in on it or not. Somebody else would just be making the couple of hundred bucks a day. And that, buddy-boy, is what I'm making. I guess you could turn that down, couldn't you?”

“Yeah, I could,” Mason said, but I could tell he was just sick at the thought of all that money.

“Well, maybe you could. You don't have people depending on you.”

“What do you think he is?” Mace jerked a thumb toward me. “A baboon?”

“It ain't the same. Next year you'll be gone and Tex'll have to learn to take care of himself. A kid is for life.”

We took an exit, went under the expressway, got back on going in the other direction.

“Shoot, Mace,” Lem said finally, “there's no need to get into a big hassle about it. Everybody is doin' stuff like this, I'm just into a little more than most people. I could tell you about some guys in Garyville … it ain't any big deal.”

“You'll think it's a big deal when you end up in McAllister,” Mason said shortly, and Lem didn't try to talk to him again.

When we got back to the apartment, we stood around by the car, awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“You guys want to go get a pizza or something?” Lem asked finally.

“No,” Mason said, “we better be gettin' back…”

I couldn't think of anything we had to be getting back for, and I could tell Mason couldn't either.

“Well, keep in touch,” Lem said, and stuck out his hand. Mason shook it, but didn't say anything. I had a feeling he didn't want to keep in touch. In fact this might be the last time he saw Lem.

“See you kid,” Lem nodded at me.

“Yeah,” I said. I had a knot in my throat. Lem wasn't the kind of person you could cry over—but still he had always been around, always been part of my life, and it's hard to let go of a part of your life.

“You can drive,” Mason said. He figured that would take my mind off Lem, and it did. A little bit.

“I always knew Lem wasn't the brightest guy I'd ever known, but I never figured him for an absolute moron.”

Mason wouldn't change the subject, no matter what I'd say or do, even fifty miles an hour in a thirty-five zone.

“See what I mean?” he said suddenly. “That's what messin' around with a girl'll get you. He's never going to get anywhere except prison, the way he's going now. He is just good and stuck, even if he did get out of Garyville. Man, I am never going to get stuck anywhere!”

I didn't think he was right, because if you were where you wanted to be—even married and a daddy and in Garyville—you weren't stuck, but I never was as good at arguing as Mason. But he did have kind of a point. I mean, the year Lem and Connie were going together it was the romance of the century, even kind of Romeo and Juliet, since their folks did everything they could to break them up. There was always some big dramatic scene going on, with Lem threatening murder and Connie running away. Everybody thought it was the neatest love thing going on in town. But nobody thought about them anymore, because that was last year. And Mason was right about one thing, Lem didn't seem too happy.

“God, is he dumb!” Mason said for the hundredth time. I saw a guy thumbing a ride up ahead, and figured it would be a good way to finally switch the subject. I swerved over to the side of the road. He was a young guy, not a whole lot older than Mason, small built, wearing sunglasses and clothes that didn't seem to fit him too well. There was something funny about his hair. It was a muddy brown color. But the color didn't stop at his neck, where his hair did, it splotched on down into his collar. He must have dyed his hair, I thought. Weird.

Mason slid over to the middle to make room for him.

“Where you guys headed?” he asked, slamming the door.

“Garyville,” I said.

“Well, that's the right direction.”

“How about you?” Mason asked.

“State line.”

He was from around here, it's usually pretty easy to tell an out-of-stater. He kind of reminded me of somebody, but I couldn't think who.

“I wish you guys were going further than that,” he said. Now there was another weird thing, the way he said that. Like a statement, or an order, not like a request. Suddenly I felt Mason freeze. He didn't move a muscle, or say anything, or change the expression on his face. He just quit breathing.

“I think it'd be nice if you kept on going to the state line,” the hitchhiker repeated, and when I glanced over at him, I saw he had a gun pointed at Mason's ribs. He kept on staring ahead of us, down the highway, a funny kind of little grin on his face, and I saw that I'd been wrong about him being not too much older than Mason. You don't have to live a long time to be old.

“Just take it easy,” he went on. I took it easy. There didn't seem to be anything else to do. I wasn't scared. I didn't want him to shoot either one of us, but so far he hadn't, and I tried keeping my mind on the road.

“Isn't this a little extreme?” Mason said in his coolest voice. “I mean, sooner or later
somebody
would have been goin' to the state line.”

The hitchhiker laughed. It was amazing how normal he sounded, like Mason had just told him a funny joke. “Yeah, well, I couldn't wait till later. I got people looking for me. I could have been long gone, by now, but I thought I had business. Yeah,” he repeated, “I had business to take care of.”

After a minute of quiet he said, “It's loaded, in case you're wondering.”

“There was no doubt in my mind,” I said firmly. I was trying to think of something to do—run the truck into the ditch, speeding so a cop'd stop us—but nothing seemed safe enough.

“I'll be up for murder one, as it is now,” the guy said. I didn't want him telling us too much. I figured the less we knew, the better, but he was in a talkative mood, and I wasn't in a position to say “shut up.”

“So I haven't got a thing to lose. Keep that in mind. Not that I like killing people. Both times it was a case of have to. I'd like to keep it that way. I'm beginning to see how some get to liking it, though. I can see that.”

I could see Mason's face in the rearview mirror. I was glad he wasn't driving. His freckles were standing out like 3-D.

“You guys ever been in prison?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Well, I'm going to give you a piece of advice. Kill somebody as soon as you get there. Course if you're a big guy, or old enough, just beat the crap outta somebody. But if you're young … kill somebody right off the bat. Then let 'em know you'd do it again. People'll leave you alone then. That is the way to make high society, in the joint.”

I was thinking about Pop being in prison. No wonder he never talked about it. Locked up with people like this—how did he ever stand it?

“I guess this isn't doing much for your ulcer, huh?” I said to Mason. He managed something that passed for a grin, and shook his head.

“Shut up and drive, cowboy,” the hitchhiker said. He didn't want us to make a move he didn't okay.

We drove on through Garyville; the highway runs right through the outside of town. We drove past a dozen people who knew us; kids hanging out in front of the car wash, sitting on their cars or in them; a bunch of people honked or waved at us.