Bill Pronzini - A Wasteland of Strangers

“Well, I hope I’m not the last.”

“I hope so, too. But I’ll bet you are. First and last.”

“I come here every week to visit my family,” I told him. “Usually Alice drives me, but she had a doctor’s appointment today. A neighbor brought me; she’s waiting in the car. She wants me to come and live with her.”

“Your neighbor?”

“No, my sister. Alice. She thinks I’d be better off, because I’m getting on, but I’m not sure I would be. I can’t make up my mind. I’ve lived alone such a long time.”

“Widow?”

“Oh, no. I’ve never been married. Once I nearly was, but... God has His reasons.”

“Was it Jordan you almost married?”

“Yes, it was. How did you know?”

“What kept it from happening?”

“He went away. He was a soldier, and he went away to Korea. He promised he’d come back and we’d be married, but he never did.”

“Killed over there?”

“I don’t believe so, no. Someone would have sent word if he’d been killed. For years I was certain he’d come and things would be the same as they were before he went away. But he didn’t.” I sighed and looked past him at the sky. Most of the clouds were gone; it was going to be a lovely day. “It was all such a long time ago, Jordan.”

“I’m not Jordan. My name is John.”

“John. You know, John, you don’t look anything like him. Except for a moment, when I first saw you.”

He didn’t speak for quite some time, and then when he did he said the oddest thing.

“I’ll tell you something, Maddie,” he said. “If this were fifty years ago and I were Jordan, I’d have kept the promise he made. I’d’ve come back and married you. Then you wouldn’t have had to live alone all those years.”

We parted after that, but on the way home I thought about him and the odd thing he’d said. He isn’t Jordan, he’s nothing at all like Jordan except for his robust laugh, but I don’t know how I could have thought he was homely and that his eyes were strange. Actually, he was rather good-looking. Not nearly as handsome as Jordan, of course, but in his own way quite an attractive young man.

I told all of this to Alice when she called after her doctor’s appointment. “Oh, Maddie,” she said, “I think it’s time you came to live with me. Honestly, it’s time.”

I’ve made up my mind. I think so, too.

I came home from Stan’s Auto Body fifteen minutes early, and Lori wasn’t there. No sign of her, no note, nothing fixed in the kitchen even though I’d told her I might be home for lunch. Testing her, and she’d flunked again. How stupid does she think I am?

Wouldn’t be surprised if she was out screwing that big bastard she was pawing in the Northlake last night. Two of ’em laughing together like they were old pals, her with her hand on his arm, and everybody in the place looking and whispering. Her and him whispering before that... making plans for today? Son of a bitch wanders into town and she’s all over him like a bad rash. She likes ’em big, big all over. Big horse with a cock to match. Just right for a cheating little mare in heat.

Sometimes, Christ, I think I oughta just shoot her. Let her have one in the head with my .38, put her out of her misery. That movie I seen once, the one about the dance contest back in the thirties, guy who wrote that had it right. They shoot horses, don’t they?

Lying to me, all the time lying. Wasn’t what it looked like, Earle. Nothing between me and him or anybody else, Earle. Why won’t you believe me, Earle. Lies. Lies and horseshit. Why do I keep letting her do it to me? I don’t love her no more. Good lay, but the world’s full of good lays. Why don’t I walk? I oughta walk. Oughta’ve smashed her lying mouth again last night and then walked, but no, I let her whine and plead me right out of it. Don’t hit me, Earle, you promised you wouldn’t hit me anymore. Like it’s my fault. Like I’m the one playing around all the time. Once in a while, sure, a man don’t let a chance for some strange tail pass him by when it wiggles right up and begs for it. Storm Carey — oh, yeah! Gave that high-and-mighty bitch what she was begging for. Somebody oughta give her what else she’s begging for, smash her high-and-mighty mouth for her. Women. Lousy, lying bitches. Better not hit me anymore, Earle, I won’t stand for you hitting me anymore. Yeah? But I’m supposed to stand for her spreading her legs for every big bastard comes along. Well, I had enough, too. Man can only take so much—

Here she comes. Damn little Jap car of hers sounds like a washing machine, hear it coming half a mile away. I hate that crappy Jap car. Why the hell wouldn’t she listen to me and buy American like I told her? Push that friggin’ car off a cliff someday. Yeah, and maybe with her in it.

I went into the living room and stood there so she’d see me soon as she walked in. She almost dropped the grocery sack she was carrying. Her eyes got wide and scared. Good. I liked that. I liked it just fine.

“Earle,” she said.

“Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

“Well, you said you might be home for lunch—”

“But you took a chance I wouldn’t be.”

“A chance? I don’t know what—”

“You know what, all right. You know what.”

“Earle, please don’t be mad.”

“How was it, baby? Huh?”

“How was what? Safeway? That’s where I’ve been, I had to pick up a few things—”

“I know what you picked up. That big, ugly bastard and his horse cock, that’s what you went out and picked up.”

“Oh God! I swear I was at Safeway. Go down and ask Sally Smith, she was my checker, she’ll tell you—”

“Lie to me, you mean. All you bitches lie for each other. You think I don’t know how it is?”

“I’ve never cheated on you, Earle. Never, not even once. Listen to me, honey, please—”

“I’m through listening, you damn cheap little whore.”

“Stop it! Stop it!”

I stopped it, all right. I stopped it with my fist smack in her lying mouth.

The way out occurred to me right after lunch. At least that was when I was first conscious of it. It may have been there all along, planted days ago or even longer, hidden and growing under all the pressures piling up and rotting inside my head like a compost heap. Taking seed and finally poking up like a little green shoot into the light.

When I saw it I was thinking again about the stranger, John Faith. I hadn’t thought about much else all day, hadn’t done much work. Every time the doors opened I expected it to be him. He hadn’t showed yet, but he didn’t have to walk in waving a gun during business hours. He could be cleverer than that. Usually I arrive each morning half an hour before Fred and Arlene, enter through the rear door from the parking lot; it wouldn’t be difficult for Faith to find that out, lie in wait for me some morning. Or worse, come right to the house and take me hostage there. Either way, he could force me to let him into the bank, empty the vault when the time lock released, shut me inside, and be long gone by the time anyone found me.

Did he have any idea how much cash we keep on hand for a small-town bank? Quite a lot. Must be around $200,000 in the vault right now. Some of the bills are marked, and we keep a record of the serial numbers; we also have one of those indelible red-dye packets. But if Faith is a professional thief, he’ll know ways to avoid traps like that. All that money, $200,000 in cash — his to spend, free and clear.

Unless somebody else took it first.

And there it was, the way out: Unless I took it first.