Joe Lansdale - Waltz of Shadows

“I thought after midnight the itch went away and you turned into a pumpkin?”

“No, I just turn into a pumpkin. I still itch. Ever fuck a vegetable, big boy?”

“You mean a pumpkin-type vegetable?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Let me see. I’m trying to remember. Watermelons. Tomatoes. Stuff like that. I don’t remember any pumpkins.”

“It’s quite an experience.”

Her hand went away from my briefs and she moved in the bed, and then her hand laid her panties over my face. I could smell the sweetness of her. I took them off my face and tossed them on the floor and rolled over and took her in my arms. She wasn’t wearing her nightgown. She slid tight against me and let her hand drift down again.

I moved my hand to her breasts, roamed {easft over them and gently squeezed her nipples with my thumb and finger. I kissed the top of her head and her curly hair foamed around my face. I moved my lips to the side of her face and along her neck where the softness of her skin mixed with the slight bite of her perfume. Finally I kissed her lips.

She took my hand and put it between her legs. She was warm and moist. I probed her with my finger, looking for the man in the boat. She kissed me harder and ran her tongue against mine. Sparks leaped through me; the ole battery nearly overcharged.

“Why don’t you taste the vegetable before you poke it,” she said. “I’ve got it all baked into a juicy pie.”

I was all out of snappy comebacks. It’s hard to talk with your heart in your throat. She rolled onto her back and lifted the covers. I slid under and let my tongue slide wetly between her breasts, on down, and over the slight mound of her belly, into her navel, where I did an artful swirl, then on down to a little trail of soft pubic hair.

Not long after she made a happy noise and made some talk about zucchini and I got a special thrill, then we both got scratched in the way we wanted to be scratched and we both got happy and the rain slammed down and the wind blew hard, and for a little while, I felt safe and happy and warm inside my woman. God bless the Great Pumpkin.

Next morning, while Bev slept, I got up quietly and dressed and discovered the gun was still in my coat pocket. I hadn’t dreamed it all last night. I really had gone over to Bill’s house and found a murder scene, and I really had been scared enough to carry a gun, and stupid enough to forget to put it back in its place.

I went downstairs and started the coffee and went outside into a cold morning and walked down to the end of our drive and got the local paper.

Imperial City has grown a lot in the last ten years, but it still has a small town mentality, and it still threw its Sunday paper late Saturday night, figuring it would contain news enough for both days.

I walked back to the house and went through the garage and put my revolver back in the pickup under my Dad’s coat, went inside the house and took the paper out of the clear plastic bag, and opened it up, looked to see if there was anything about the Doc’s wife or the bodies over on Red Vine Street or about Bill being a suspect.

If there was, I intended to misplace the newspaper until I could talk to Beverly. That’s when I planned to lay it all out for her. I felt like a swine for holding it back this long, but I just didn’t know how to tell her the nephew she thought was a horse’s ass, was, in fact, a bigger horse’s ass than she thought.

I examined the front page. If it wasn’t there, it most likely wasn’t anywhere else. Something like the murder of the doctor’s wife, the torture and murder over on Red Vine Street, would be big news for Imperial City.

Nothing.

I carefully scanned the rest of the paper, just in case.

Nothing.

I left the paper on the couch and checked the coffee. The glass ~eight="0 pot was starting to fill up. I went upstairs and leaned over the bed and kissed Beverly on the neck. She rolled over and the bed clothes came off and her bare breasts poked at me. I was happy to see them. I gave them a smile.

“Uh-uh,” Beverly said. “You had your ration last night. Right now I want breakfast.”

“No more itch?” I asked.

“No more itch.” She smiled. “Unless being hungry is an itch. I don’t eat, I get mean.”

This was true.

We went down and ate breakfast and I got a few dollars for gas and emergencies and made ready to drive over to Tyler to see my mother.

“Give her my best,” Beverly said. “We’d go, but I’d rather the kids slept late today. They’re driving me crazy, and the idea of being trapped in the van with them all the way over there isn’t all that appealing. We’ll go over with you next weekend. Tell Carolyn that, and give her our love.”

“I will,” I said. “Call the main stores, would you? Check and see if there are any problems. If there are, I’ll see if I can fix them when I get back. I’ll check on the out of town stores tomorrow.”

We kissed and I poured a large cup of coffee and started for Tyler.

When I got to my mother’s place a couple hours later, my mind wandered enough that she thought I was sick, the way mothers will do. I assured her I was not, took her out to lunch, had a pleasant visit, drove her home, gave her a little money, and started back.

This time, I didn’t try to fool myself into thinking I was going anywhere but Arnold’s, and I knew too, this time, I was going for the gold.

· · ·

As is common for East Texas, the day had gone through numerous weather changes. From a cold, somewhat misty morning, to a warmish midday, and now to a cool, but not uncomfortable afternoon.

The sky was clear and white clouds churned across it. There was a lazy wind and it moved the leaves and made the branches of the trees along the blacktop that led out to Arnold’s quiver.

I passed where I had parked last time, went on around the curve a bit, turned down the somewhat muddy drive, and on up into Arnold’s yard.

I parked near the flagstone walk, got out, and listened to the gentle whistle of the wind in the bottle tree, as I had come to think of it. While I was getting up my nerve to go to the door, the big, yellow dog came out from under the steps and leaped through the lawn mower handle and barked at me.

I’d forgotten about him.

I got in the truck and closed the door. The dog ran up and jumped against it and barked at me through the window. I honked the horn a few times and the dog barked more fiercely.

After a moment, the double-wide’s door opened and Arnold came out. He stood in the doorway staring at me. He was wearing a grey, long-john shirt with an open red and black plaid shirt pulled over i pu cht. He had on long-john bottoms and thick grey socks with faded red toe tips. His formerly red hair was shot with grey and so was his thick beard. He had grown even heavier than I remembered, but his gut looked hard as an iron wash pot and his love handles seemed solid as a truck tire. His chest was like a barrel, and his legs were thick and slightly bowed. He towered well over six feet. He looked like a Viking elder ought to look. He turned his head and spat a stream of dark tobacco on the ground.

I rolled down my window a couple inches, and the dog jumped up and barked and slung slobber through the crack above the glass and onto my shoulder.

I leaned close to the crack and yelled, “Arnold, it’s me, Hank.”

A dog snout full of teeth flashed by and made me jerk back. I watched through the windshield as Arnold stepped onto the steps and called back to me. “I know who the hell you are. I know that truck better’n you. You selling something?”

“No… Course not. Could you call the dog off?”

“You gonna want to come in?”

“If I could.”