Joe Lansdale - Waltz of Shadows

I unpacked the rest of the stuff, went and got ice again at the ice machine. The ice didn’t look any better than before, and this time there was a slick, handsome, black guy and an attractive bu vGodda Tht pale-looking white woman with irritated nostrils standing by it.

They seemed pretty put out that I’d come for ice. The black guy was telling the white gal she wasn’t just another bitch to him. She looked about as interested in all this as the ice machine was. She snuffled all the time he talked.

I went back and gave Bill the ice and he sat on the bed and drank his soft drink and ate the burger. I camped in the chair by the table and opened one of the containers of coffee and sipped it.

I said, “After I talk to a lawyer I know, we go in Monday and turn you in. I think we should do it through him instead of going to the police first. If the cops have you pegged for this, they might get you to talk a way you wouldn’t normally talk. They might find some flaws in your story.”

“It happened just like I told you, Uncle Hank. There aren’t any flaws.”

“Well, there’s one or two.”

“What do you mean?”

“You went to your house after all this took place, and there weren’t any cars in the carport, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Where is your car?”

“I told you. Dave’s.”

“All right. And Dave’s car was at the University parking lot?”

“Look, I don’t get what you’re saying…”

“Your car was in the carport when I drove by there earlier. There was another car there too. I don’t know what kind it was. I didn’t look that close. It looked like something foreign. Black and sporty. I guessed it would be Dave’s car.”

“That sounds right,” Bill said. “But how did it get there?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Maybe you had the wrong place?”

“I know your car, and the house is a crime scene setup. I went in the back way using the lift-and-push system you told me about on the door. The house is as you described it.”

“The bodies?”

“Gone. That would be normal. The cops had them taken to the morgue after they photographed the hell out of the place. Dusted for fingerprints. That kind of stuff.”

“Maybe the cops brought the cars there.”

“That’s what worries me. You saw when the cops came up, and your car and Dave’s weren’t there then. So why would they bring them there later? Maybe yours I can explain. They went over to the apartment complex and found it and just wanted to get it out of the lot. Figured it would be out of the way at your place. That’s stretching it some, since I actually think they’d haul it to the police compound, but it’s possible. But why would they bring Dave’s car there too?”

“I don’t know.”

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“Something about that hurts my head,” I said. “I thought at first the killers brought the cars there, so as to make it look like you drove there and Dave followed with the others, and you jumped them.”

“But if that was the plan, they were late,” Bill said.

“Exactly. The fuzz had already been there and done their thing, and this Fat Boy and his partner would know that, since they decided to set you up to get themselves off the hook. They had to be the ones called the cops. They were watching all along, just waiting for you to get there so they could fasten on the frame. Real tidy. So why would they do something stupid like bring the cars around later?”

“Why didn’t they just go ahead and kill me at the house, Uncle Hank?”

“I’ve thought about that too. It’s a nice frame they’ve got you in, all right, but you could tell your story, and fantastic as it is, seems to me it might worry the killers a bit.”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “I been sitting here thinking about that, and I been thinking something else that ought to worry Fat Boy and Cobra Man. How could I handle that whole bunch by myself? Kill Dave in the kitchen, get the other three in the bedroom, tie them up and do what I’m supposed to have done? I guess it’s possible, but it seems unlikely. Strikes me as there’s enough there for the cops to suspicion a frame.”

“Let’s add something else to all this,” I said. “Cops have got a fugitive on the run-meaning you-wouldn’t they post someone at your house for a time, waiting for you to come back?”

“I guess they would.”

“That didn’t occur to me when I went over there. I thought of it driving over here. Had I thought of it before, I wouldn’t have gone in, especially carrying a gun, which I was. I put it in my pocket in case Fat Boy or Cobra Man were there, not that I really expected them to be, but I’m getting scared enough with all this to consider the possibility. But if there had been cops, and they’d caught me with a gun, I’d be in on this frame tight as you.”

Bill dropped his towel and began putting on the clothes I had brought. He slipped into the Santa Claus boxer shorts, pulled on the pants and zipped them up. “I don’t know. More I think about all this, more off center everything is. Could it be the Imperial City police are just stupid?”

“It’s a consideration entertained by many,” I said, “but in this case, I don’t think they’re that stupid. And they’ve got a new Chief. Guy’s supposed to be a real go getter, had plenty of experience. He’s solved all kinds of old cases here in the short time he’s been Chief. But a deal like that, taking the cars over after the fact, letting a fugitive know someone has been there, not posting a guard, it doesn’t show much judgment… You sure you’ve told me everything?”

“Swear to God, Uncle Hank, I’m telling this straight as an arrow.”

“All right. I’ll get the number here, call you tomorrow night. Just to check on you. Let’s see, it’s Jack Frame you’re listed under. Right?”

“Yeah. Jack Frame.”

“Monday morning, I’ll call the lawyer, set things up, then I’ll come get you. I think doing it through the lawyer is the safest way.”

Bill buttoned up the shirt and sat down on the bed and looked thoughtful. “Uncle Hank, am I getting this right? Are you saying you don’t trust the police?”

“I’m not sure what I’m saying,” I said.

Time I started home, I felt even more confused than before. I didn’t trust anybody. I began to get the feeling the entire dirty little universe was unraveling; that I’d open the door and step outside just in time to see the gnomes packing away the last of the props: the city, the highway, the motel, and then they’d come for me. Fold me up neatly and press me flat and put me away in a tiny plastic container marked Hank Small, Asshole.

· · ·

When I got home the house was dark and a little cool, Bev having turned the thermostat down before going off to bed. I thought about that itch she’d had, and that she had been the one initiating the scratching. Not something she was loathe to do, but something she didn’t do enough to suit me, and now I was home with my itch still working and it was past midnight. Pumpkin time. I had pissed my loving out the window.

To worsen the situation, I now had a different kind of itch, one that was bone deep and impossible to scratch. An itch so bad it had turned my stomach sour and given me a headache.

I got out of my clothes and laid them on the chair in the dressing room, opened one of the dresser drawers silently, got a couple of antacids and some aspirin and took them. I drank some water from the bathroom tap, went back through the dressing room and to bed, lifting the covers gently and sliding as softly as possible onto the sheet.

“It’s after midnight,” Bev said, surprising me.

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

“No,” she said, and rolled over and ran her hand over the front of my briefs. My soldier immediately sprang to attention. Bev made with a kind of purring sound, said, “I’ve got an itch, remember?”