the Big Bounce (1969) (10 page)

Why this house? If you don't know them

Because it's there,
the girl said.

Maybe they're asleep.

What difference does it make?

They were crouched on their knees at the edge of the bluff. As the girl rose Ryan held her arm with the back of his hand.

Wait a minute. What do you do after you throw it?
He had taken his sneakers out of his back pockets and was putting them on now.

I don't know. Run, I guess. Don't you run?

Where? You got to know where you're going. You got to have a plan.

We'll keep going around to the front.

To where?

Don't worry about it. Just stick with me, Jackie.

Jackie. Man, he started to think, what are you doing here? But Nancy was up, running crouched across the open lawn, and he was following her, running crouched because she was. It was dumb. There was no reason to hunch your shoulders. You walked in and walked out. Hunching your shoulders didn't make it work better. You don't hide hunching your shoulders.

Nancy stopped within twenty feet of the picture window, which would cost three hundred dollars to replace, and threw the rock in her left hand, throwing it like a right-handed man throwing left-handed. The rock fell short, landing in the shrubbery. Damn!
Nancy said the one word clearly. She moved in closer, somewhat crouched, turning sideways and throwing in the same motion, and the picture window, a dull reflection in the night, exploded in a shower of glass. She was gone, somewhere around the left side of the house. Ryan raised the rock in his right hand shoulder-high; he started in set to throw as he would for a play at the plate. What the hell are you doing? he thought, and threw in a quick, short motion, not looking at the window, and heard the rock strike somewhere inside the house as he took off after the girl.

Here!
A whisper hissed from the pines near the road.

She was out of breath, her shoulders moving as she breathed. As Ryan reached her she said, Did you hear it?

Did I hear it? They heard it in Geneva.

Loud? Wow. Imagine a real grenade.

You know, you throw like a girl. It's funny, I didn't think you would.

Did any lights go on?
She was looking out through the branches, calming down now.

I don't see any. I guess you're right, they're at the club.

She looked up at him. Let's do it where people are home.

You think that'd be fun, uh?

See their reaction.

Just stand around and watch.

I don't know.
An irritable little edge in her voice. Let's pick the house first.

The Pointe was old and overgrown with trees, a village of comfortable homes in the north woods, large homes set back from the elm trees that lined the beach drive, smaller but expensive homes on the winding lanes among dense pines and stands of birch. There were more houses than Ryan had pictured, dim shapes now in the tree darkness, soft lamplight showing windows and screened porches beyond well-groomed lawns. Here and there in driveways Ryan picked out the metal shine of automobiles, but there were no cars moving, no headlights creeping along the drive or coming suddenly through the trees. In his mind it seemed quieter than naturally quiet after the shattering sound of the window.

They followed the row of elms, drawn toward the house lights, Nancy leading, then quickly across the road to the pines that bordered one side of a two-story brick and frame Colonial.

You like it?
Ryan asked.

I don't know.
She studied the house for a time. Lights but no people.

They're in back. In the kitchen. They're having a glass of milk before they go to bed.

Let's give them one anyway. For practice.

She didn't hesitate. She took off across the lawn on an angle that would take her within twenty feet of the house; she crossed the walk that led to the front door, stopped and turned to throw left-handed. In a natural forced-play-at-second position he threw hard sidearm and heard his window explode a half count behind Nancy's: one-two, but almost as one sound. He followed her into the trees on the other side of the yard and they worked their way back to the road, crossing quickly to the elm shadows.

There,
Ryan said. Coming out the front door.

They watched the man standing in the porch light, coming down to the walk and looking around, then going over to the two windows. Within one of the broken windows they could make out another figure, a woman.

She's telling him to come in the house,
Ryan said. She's saying come in, you don't know who's out there in the dark.

Just us chickens,
Nancy said. I'd like to really hear what they're saying. We're too far.

He's going in to call the cops now.

You think he will?

What would you do?

Yes, I suppose. Hey, what if we wait for the police car and when it comes zap-zap.

What if we went and got a beer?

We have to get closer to one,
Nancy said. Come on.

She moved off again through the tree shadows with Ryan behind her, watching her legs and the ground, stopping close to her when she stopped, putting his hand on her shoulder and feeling her collarbone, frail beneath his fingers. She smelled good; not of perfume but maybe powder or soap. She smelled clean.

There it is,
Nancy said. Perfect.

He followed her gaze across the road and the deep lawn to the new-looking, low-roofed house trimmed with grille work and bathed in a soft gray-pink spotlight rising out of the shrubbery. Dim lights showed in every room and on the screened porch that extended along the right side of the house, facing a stand of birch trees.

A quiet party,
Nancy said. A few friends over for a tightener after dinner.

Ryan counted five on the porch. Three women. A man appeared from inside the house, coming out with a glass in each hand.

Fresheners,
Nancy said. Tighteners and fresheners. Sometimes drinkees or martin-eyes.

Duck,
Ryan said.

Headlights, turning onto the drive, swept the trees. Close to them, as the car hurried past, they saw the Sheriff's Patrol insignia on the door. The car's rear lights moved into the darkness and, a block from them, turned bright red.

They'll be there ten minutes,
Ryan said. Then start prowling.

How do they expect to find anybody in a car.

They have to go through the motions.

Dumb official nothing.

What?

Listen, this time you go around to the back of the house and put one through the kitchen window,
Nancy said.

Yeah?

Don't you get it?

You'll be in the trees by the porch watching?

Very good.

We'll only have about five minutes.

All we'll need.

Wait a minute,
Ryan said. I don't have any more rocks.

Nancy handed him one. If you promise to pay me back.

She moved off. Ryan watched the two red dots of light down the street as he crossed over. There were bushes here separating the houses, and a tall hedge. He moved along close to it, along the edge of the yard all the way to the house, then across the backyard, partly lit by the kitchen and breakfast room windows, to the side of the garage. If he ever ran into Leon Woody again, if Leon Woody ever got out of Milan and he ran into him, he'd say to Leon, Hey, man, I got a new thing.
Leon Woody would say, What's that, man?
And he'd say, Breaking windows, man. You go around at night breaking windows.
And Leon Woody would say, Breaking windows. Uh-huh, yeah, that sounds pretty good, man.
For Christ sake, Ryan thought, and threw the rock through the window before he could think about it anymore.

He stepped back to the corner of the garage, partly behind it, and watched. When the man appeared in the kitchen the man coming in and looking around and not knowing what to expect, and now the rest of them coming behind him Ryan left. He went into the birch trees and worked his way up along the porch side of the house. He tried to pick out the girl among the trees, the shape of her in the darkness. He came up even with the porch. The girl wasn't in the trees.

She was on the empty porch. She had a bottle in her hand and two glasses, trying to pick up something else. Finally she put the bottle under her arm. Then with the two glasses in one hand and an ice bucket in the other and the bottle under her arm she pushed open the screen door with her fanny and walked across the lawn toward Ryan at the edge of the trees. See, Leon, you don't just bust the windows. You bust them and then you go in and steal a bottle of whiskey and some ice. And Leon Woody would say, Uh-huh, sure, man, you got to have the ice.

Chapter
9

I LIKE CRACKED LIPS.

From the sun,
Ryan said. Out in the sun all day.

They're more fun. I think kissing hard and sliding around is nothing.

Yeah, well some people think it gets you up there quicker.

Up where?
Close to him in the sand Nancy leaned in, nuzzling in, brushing the side of his face with her mouth and gently biting his lower lip.

I'll go your way,
Ryan said.

All the way?

He was taking his time; he wasn't going to rush it and look like some hick, but it wasn't easy to do. He said, Do you want another drink?
Nancy shook her head. He pushed up on one elbow and put his hand in the ice bucket. Water,
he said. How about bourbon and cold water?

I thought I was taking Scotch.

You did all right.

Thank you.

The walking away from the porch was good. I've got a friend would have liked that.

Someone you worked with?

Cleaning carpets.

I mean the other thing. B and E. I like B and E, the sound of it. Isn't that funny? I mean it sounds so simple, two little letters.

Why don't we get some ice at your place?
They were a little way down the beach from the orange post lamp on the bluff. Sitting up, Ryan could see the point of light against the sky.

I feel like something else,
Nancy said.

Like what?

Cold Ducks. But there aren't any in the house.
She pushed up next to him then. I know where there are some though. Come on.

Like that. Ryan collected the bottle and ice bucket and glasses and followed her down the beach, aware that he was following her, and hurried to catch up. She was looking out at the lake, at the deep dark of the water and the lighter dark of the sky.

There it is,
Nancy said.

I don't see anything.

The boat.

He saw the white shape that must be a cabin cruiser lying about fifty or sixty yards out. At the same time he realized they were opposite Nancy's house, with the orange glow of the light high on the bluff above them.

That's Ray's, uh?

Somebody from the club was supposed to pick it up,
Nancy said, but they haven't.
She looked at Ryan. We won't need any of that.

What do I do with it?

How about putting it down?

And somebody finds it in front of your house?

So?

I'll bury it.

At the foot of the bluff he dug away enough sand to cover the ice bucket and glasses and the bottle. Coming back across the beach to the water, he saw Nancy was nowhere in sight. Her clothes were in a pile.

He took off his shirt and pants, folded them, and put them on the ground next to Nancy's sweater and shorts that were dropped there; he went into the water wearing only his shorts, making himself go right in without fooling around touching the water with his toes. It wasn't deep; he was halfway to the boat before the water was up to his waist, but God, it was cold without the sun. He had to go in and get wet all the way and dove out, swimming under water to get used to it. Coming up, he swam sidestroke, reaching the stern of the boat on the starboard side, pulling himself up on the side rail and ducking under the canvas top of the afterdeck.

Where are you?

In here.

He followed the sound of her voice through the open hatch, down three steps into sleeping quarters, through a short passage into the lamplight of the galley. She stood in the narrow aisle opening a bottle that looked like champagne, her wet hair straight and pressed to her face. She was wearing a sweater, a black ribbed V-neck sweater that hung to her thighs.

I like it,
Ryan said.

My party dress.
Looking right at him.

I meant the boat,
Ryan said. Very good. Don't give her anything. She was waiting for him to move in, leading him along with the sweater and the look. She was playing with him and he was standing there with his cold wet shorts sticking to him.

There's a towel in the biffy.

He came back in drying himself, looking at the polished overhead and the brass lamp. Past the refrigerator and the stainless steel sink there was another sleeping compartment forward. It was good, the brass and the polished wood, the table hinged to the wall. Snug quarters. You didn't need champagne or Cold Ducks. He could see the label as Nancy filled two glasses.

He sat down at the table, aware of a creaking sound and the motion of the boat pulling against its anchor. It was good, all right. You could live on a boat like this and go anywhere you wanted.

How much does a boat like this cost?

About twenty-five.

Twenty-five what?

Thousand.
She was watching him.

Let's go for a cruise,
Ryan said. Down to Nassau.

I've been there,
Nancy said.

On a boat like this?

No, a ketch, a sailboat. There were nine with the crew. Friends of mother's.

You'd sleep right on it?

Most of the time.

That'd be something,
Ryan said.

Uh-huh, sitting around all day while everybody got stoned. By five o'clock they'd be freaked out of their minds.

You were with your mother and dad?

I was between dads. My mother would say, 'Darling, why don't you go below and take a rest?' Or, 'Why don't you go swimming or look for interesting shells.' Or slash your wrists that's what she wanted to say. Everything was interesting at that time. 'Why don't you go talk to that interesting-looking boy. He's about your age, dear.'

How old were you?

Fourteen.

Do you get along with her now?

I don't see her now.

Does she know what you're doing I mean, where you are?

Did you tell your mother you stole things?

I don't do that anymore,
Ryan said.

When you were B and E-ing, or whatever you call it? Did you tell her?

No.

I told old Mom I was shacked up with Ray Ritchie,
Nancy said. But she won't think about it. She likes everything nice.
Nancy stretched the word out sweetly.

Well, what do you expect?

I don't expect anything. She's not real. I mean on the surface she's not.
Nancy felt the cigarette package and squeezed it in her fist. Damn it, we're out.

What do you mean she's not real?

Nancy was thoughtful, curled on the bench across from him in the oversized sweater. She pretends to be the perfect lady. She is Perfect Lady on the outside, leading a perfectly normal perfect life. But the real person is inside the perfect lady looking out and she's as screwed up as anybody, with three screwed-up marriages to prove it.

Ryan said, She's inside this person, uh?

She won't admit she's in there, but she is. You can see her looking out.
Nancy smiled. That's fun, to get her to look out. She does that a lot, and sometimes she'll even stick her head out a little. But I've never been able to get her out all the way.

I don't get it,
Ryan said.

It doesn't matter. I wish we had cigarettes,
she said then. She sipped her Cold Duck and filled their glasses again. You like?

It's all right.

But you'd rather have a shot and a beer.

One or the other.

Good old Bob Junior is strictly beer. Ray is martinis.

Ryan hunched forward, resting his arms on the table edge. Can I ask you a question?

What am I doing here,
Nancy said.

Something like that.

Just letting it happen, I guess,
Nancy said. Looking for the bounce, like everybody else.

Why Ray Ritchie a guy twenty years older than you are?

Twenty-five, Charlie.

All right, but why?

Why do you steal?

I told you, I don't anymore.

Did you ever steal money?

Ryan hesitated. Sometimes, if there was some laying around.

What was the most you ever got?

Seventy-eight bucks.

Nancy was turning the stem of her glass between her fingers slowly. What if you came across fifty thousand laying around?
She looked up at Ryan. Between fifty and fifty-five thousand. Would you have the nerve to take it?

Ryan sat relaxed, keeping his eyes on her eyes, aware of the faint creaking sound again and, for what it was worth, waiting for her to make something out of the silence and the way he was looking at her. He didn't smile or make a remark or try to be funny; he didn't have to ask her if she was serious. He knew as soon as she said it that this is what it was all about: why she was here and why he was here.