Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

Alex Couturier, the Chamber of Commerce lackey, was up next. “I don’t know, chief,” he said in an exaggerated drawl, “of a real warm summer evening I wouldn’t mind taking it out and letting little old Orcutt have a go at it. Not so much sweating and flopping about. He appears to me like a real tube cleaner. How about that, Mr. Dye? Is that little old boss of yours as good as he sounds like?”

“He probably hasn’t had as much time to practice as you have,” I said and smiled my boyish grin, the one that I kept in reserve for such events as famine, flood, and afternoon sessions with professional country boys.

There was some more tittering by the mayor, and the rest of them did some honking and har-harring, which I assumed was laughter. There was no humor in any of it and they seemed to be the kind who laughed only at someone else’s discomfort, but then that’s what a lot of laughter stems from. All except Lynch. His deep chuckle sounded as if he really thought that my remark was funny, but he seemed to always chuckle like that.

It was Fred Merriweather’s time at the plate. He rolled his stupid blue eyes and moved his big jaw around as if it were taking a couple of practice swings. Even before he spoke, he’d already lost my vote. “You know, I was just recollecting somebody that reminds me of that Orcutt feller.” The city councilman paused and let his jaw ruminate about it for a few more moments. “Name was Sanderson and it was right after the war and he was shoe clerking at Mitchell and Fames, I think it was.”

“It was Mitchell and Fames all right,” the mayor said. “His name was Thad Sanderson and he taught Sunday School at the First Methodist when it was still over on Jasper Street.”

“Believe you’re right, Pete,” Councilman Merriweather said and then rolled his blue eyes at me. “Feller reminded me of your Mr. Orcutt. Way he talked and walked and all, but none of us thought anything about it.”

“That was way before my time,” the police chief said, “but I remember hearing about it.”

“Old man Kenbold was chief then,” the mayor said.

“Well,” the city councilman went on, still rolling his blue eyes at me, “they caught this Sanderson feller fooling around with these two youngsters. Weren’t more’n eleven or twelve. Know what happened, Mr. Dye?”

“The chief of police went fishing,” I said.

The stupid blue eyes popped a little at that. “How’d you know?”

“I just guessed.”

“You’re a pretty good guesser, aren’t you?” said the current police chief.

“Just fair,” I said.

“Maybe you can even guess what happened,” the city councilman said.

“Probably. But I’ll let you tell me.”

Councilman Merriweather moved his jaw up and down again, leaned over the table toward me, and licked his lips with a furry, yellow tongue. Bad liver, I thought. “Well,” he said, “a bunch of them caught him right in the act, so to speak, so they cut off his gonads with a dull old Barlow knife, but they didn’t want him to bleed to death, so they doctored him up.” He paused to snigger a moment. “You know what they doctored him up with? Hot tar, that’s what. Hot tar. Feller left town.”

I nodded and waited. There was nothing to say.

Ancel Carp, the tax assessor, cracked the knuckles on his huge hands, looked up at the ceiling, and said, “I don’t think Mr. Dye’s too much interested in our past history. He’s probably more interested in the current scene so if we’ve got anything to say, let’s say it.”

“Well, Ancel, I suppose that sort of serves it right into my court,” Lynch said. “Reason we asked you here, Mr. Dye, is that we’re just a little upset. Now this is a fine community. A fine one. And although I’ve only lived here about seven or eight years, I kind of like to think of myself as an adopted native son.”

“That’s the way we think of you, Ramsey,” the mayor said.

“Thank you, your honor. But to get back to it. We don’t get upset unless the town’s upset. It’s sort of like when the town’s constipated, we fart.” He paused and took a long drink of his bourbon. I’d barely touched mine.

“Well,” Lynch said, “the symptoms started about a couple of months ago when this fella Homer Necessary came into town with his two-toned eyes and started asking around. He didn’t come to any of us. He just nosed around asking questions that were sort of personal. We checked him out and found that he used to be a police chief himself up north. And not too honest a one at that, was he, Chief Loambaugh?”

“Crooked,” the FBI poster said. “Crooked as cat shit.”

“So after about a week or ten days of Necessary, we get your Mr. Orcutt and that girlfriend of his, Miss Thackerty. Well, she’s all right, but we’re kind of country down here and maybe we’re just not used to the likes of your Mr. Orcutt, especially if he’s messing around with all the wrong people.”

“Who’re they?” I said.

“Well, let’s just say that they’re not on our side.”

“Who is?”

“The folks, Mr. Dye,” Lynch said and his tone was no longer genial. “The folks in town are on our side.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Folks can get foolish if they catch the notion. And with a little investigation, we found out that your Mr. Orcutt was going to try to turn them into fools.”

“How?”

“I hear,” Lynch said in a gentle voice, “I hear that’s where you come in.”

I looked at my new watch. “I’ve been here for half an hour and you haven’t said anything yet. You’ve talked a lot, but it’s all been the kind of bullshit that I can hear in any four-table poolhall. You’ve got five more minutes. That’s all.”

“My brother said you were a little impatient, Mr. Dye.”

“Your brother lies a lot.”

“But good. Well, since your time is limited, I’ll come to the point. We have some of our people in the other camp, so to speak, who tell us things, and they told us about how Mr. Orcutt was trying to find someone out in Asia who might be useful to him here in Swankerton. So, because Gerald’s located out there and all, I spent about a couple of hundred dollars of my own money and called him up, told him the situation, and asked him to do what he could. I think he did real fine.”

“By recommending me to Orcutt?”

“Well, he really recommended you to us first, if you know what I mean. He gave us a pretty good rundown on you and we told him to go ahead and recommend you to Mr. Orcutt. He said you’re pretty good, Mr. Dye, but that you’re awfully unlucky. I’m serious now. Bad luck just seems to dog some people and from what I hear, you’re one of them. I mean what happened to your wife and all.”

“You can leave that alone,” I said.

Lynch nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Really am. But you’ve had your share of bad luck, Mr. Dye. My brother Gerald seems to think that it’ll probably continue. But he made me promise him one thing before he would recommend you to Mr. Orcutt.”

“What?”

“Well, Gerald isn’t really as superstitious about luck as he lets on. Deep down inside he really feels that people make their own. So he made us promise that we’d make some for you here in Swankerton. You can guess what kind. So you got a choice. We can either make you some bad luck or some good luck, despite what I promised my brother. Now just which one are you going to choose?”

They were all leaning forward a little, staring at me. “How much is the good luck worth?” I said.

“Twenty-five percent more than what Orcutt’s paying you, whatever it is.

“And how much is your bad luck going for?” I said.

Lynch shook his head sadly and his chins bobbed alone in funereal time. “Well, Mr. Dye, bad luck is just bad luck. Let’s say that the kind you might come by would be about as bad as luck can be.”