Elmore Leonard - The Big Bounce

“All right, just get that. Then I’ll give you the paint. Just in the kitchen where the goddamn wall’s messed up. Number Five.”

Ryan looked at him, realizing Mr. Majestyk had said it before. “Five? The broad by herself?”

“Yeah, she checked out yesterday, so it’s a good chance before the new people come tomorrow.”

“Number Five?”

“I said Five, didn’t I?”

“What time did she leave?”

“In the afternoon.”

“What for? What’d she say?”

“How do I know what for. She says she’s leaving, she leaves. I don’t ask her why. I say hope you enjoyed yourself and come back. That’s all. Look, pick up that crap and then come by, I’ll give you the paint.” He started to walk off, then turned to Ryan again. “What were you making all the goddamn noise about this morning?”

“What noise?”

“With the bulldozer. Christ, seven thirty in the morning.”

“I wanted to finish it up. I figured there’d be a lot to do today.”

“Christ, seven thirty. I was about to come out, you stopped.”

“Well, it’s done now,” Ryan said.

He dragged out raking the beach another half hour, until Mr. Majestyk appeared again and yelled to him to knock off for lunch. Looking up the beach he still saw no sign of her. So quit worrying, he thought. If she wanted him, she’d have to find him.

They had tunafish salad and onions, tomatoes and peppers and some sweet corn and the homemade bread, and a couple of beers each. They discussed whether beer was better in bottles or cans, and then which was better, bottled or draft, and both agreed, finally, that it didn’t make a hell of a lot of difference. Long as it was cold.

Mr. Majestyk said hey, the game was on TV tonight. Detroit at Boston. McLain going against McDermott.

“About eight or eight thirty I think it starts.”

“I’ll see,” Ryan said.

He wouldn’t take a job as a painter for anything, though he didn’t mind it once in a while. It was something different and it was quiet in here.

Ryan finished a cupboard door and got down off the chair. He could see the broad’s face close to his. He lit a cigarette and went into the bedroom. Putting the cigarette in his mouth, he unlocked the window and pulled up on it. He pressed in closer and pushed up against the frame with the heels of his hands. He banged them against the frame and pushed up again. The window wouldn’t budge. He could see where the dried paint held the frame to the sill. The window probably hadn’t been opened since spring.

He could see her face again, close, her eyes open wide inches from his. To the great lover it had been a look of wild-eyed passion. Now, in the empty room, he knew it had been pure panic. The poor broad had wanted her window opened and he had almost raped her.

He wished he could run into her again, just for a minute. He’d tell her: “Listen, I’m sorry we had that misunderstanding. See I thought-” Maybe not that; something like it. He’d have to say something.

No he wouldn’t. He’d never see her again.

But he saw her in his mind every once in a while as he painted and each time he saw her, he slapped the paint on a little heavier.

She should have stayed another day. He could have been nice to her. Polite. He could have taken her out and bought her a Tom Collins and it would have been the biggest thing that ever happened to her.

The other day he could have treated Billy Ruiz a little better.

He began thinking about Billy Ruiz and the others, wondering how they were going to get home if they couldn’t pay Camacho for the bus ride.

If it was true about the bus-Camacho wanting to charge them five hundred dollars.

And Pizarro wanting five hundred for the wallets. What was this, everything costing five hundred dollars? If he did anything, he should go out and have a talk with Frank about the wallets and find out about the bus.

Mr. Majestyk came in looking up at the freshly painted light green walls.

“Inside the cupboards, too,” he said.

“Inside? Who’s going to see inside?”

“You got enough paint?”

“I guess so.”

“There’s a phone call for you,” Mr. Majestyk said.

“Yeah? Who is it?”

“Who do you think?”

He followed Mr. Majestyk to his house, wiping his hands with a rag soaked in thinner. In the living room he put the rag in his back pocket and picked up the phone with the tips of his fingers. Mr. Majestyk went over to his desk and opened and closed drawers, then shuffled through a stack of third-class mail.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I slept in this morning,” Nancy said. “After the workout.”

“I wondered,” Ryan said. “I didn’t see you.”

“Are you coming over tonight?”

“I guess I could.”

“Nine thirty,” Nancy said.

“That late, uh?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“No, you haven’t,” Ryan said. “Not anymore.”

“Really. But you have to come on time.”

“Okay, then.”

“Will you come?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is someone there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The one who answered?”

“Right.”

“I think he was mad he had to look for you. I told him it was urgent.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’ll think I have hot pants.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you later.”

“Nine thirty,” Nancy said. “Come upstairs. I’ll leave the door open. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan said.

She hung up.

As Ryan put the receiver down Mr. Majestyk straightened up from the desk. “While you’re here,” he said, “maybe you better take some more paint.”

“I got enough.”

“Just in case.”

“I got plenty.”

“Listen,” Mr. Majestyk said then. “That broad on the phone-”

“Yeah?”

Mr. Majestyk smiled, self-conscious, showing his white perfect teeth. He shrugged then. “Why should I say anything-right? You’re old enough.”

“I was about to mention it,” Ryan said. He started out but stopped in the doorway and looked back at Mr. Majestyk. “What was that broad’s name in Number Five?”

After work he asked Mr. Majestyk if he could borrow his car to go get something to eat. Mr. Majestyk said he could eat with him, cold cuts and potato salad. Ryan said thanks, but he had to get some things at the drugstore anyway, so he might as well grab a bite in town.

He didn’t stop in Geneva Beach. He headed directly for the migrant camp and pulled up next to the shed. Billy Ruiz, his face opening up when he saw Ryan, was alone inside.

Ryan looked around the room. He said, “Why didn’t you put the beer case where I told you, behind the store?”

The surprised expression remained on Billy Ruiz’s face and Ryan said, “Where is it?”

“Frank said he got rid of it that night. He said it would be better at night.”

“Where is he?”

“I tole you, he was fired.”

“I heard he was going to drive Camacho’s bus back for him.”

Billy Ruiz frowned. “Why? He got his truck.”

“I heard his truck was busted.”

“It’s always busted, but he make it run. You think he leave it here?”

“Who’s driving the bus, then?”

“I don’t know. We got a new crew leader, he pick somebody knows how to drive it.”

“Then, you’re all set,” Ryan said.

“Sure we get paid tomorrow, go home. Come up next year, hey, maybe we see you!”

“Maybe,” Ryan said. “You never know.”

On the way back he decided why not grab a bite. He stopped at Estelle’s, then went over to the Pier Bar and had a couple while he watched the sun go down. It was a good place.

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE NINE Nancy undressed and put on a pair of shorty pajamas. She left a lamp on in the bedroom, then went downstairs and turned off every light on the living room level, including the kitchen; she made sure the back door was double-locked. The door of the activities room, downstairs, was also locked. The only unlocked door in the house was the sliding door from the sun deck into the living room. She slid it silently open and closed it again.