Джон Макдональд - A Flash of Green

“He belted me a couple of good ones,” she said. “Look at the damn marks!”

“It surprised me.”

“I know. Your mouth hung open. But it didn’t surprise you as much as it did me. Go gather up clothes, dear. Start in the living room. Dump them in this suitcase.”

In less than twenty minutes she was ready to leave. As she went around, taking a last look, she said, “It makes you feel like dirty, being hustled out of town. It makes me feel cheap. All clear, I guess. Help me get the lights. Key on the table, I guess. Should I leave him a note? Hell, no. What would I say? Four pieces of luggage and one sweater. Where are we going, dear? Which airport?”

“It depends on where you want to go, I guess.”

“I’d like to look at what they have, and pick one out.”

“Dayton?”

“Sweetie, if that’s the only one they have, you can bring me back here for the new hairdo. I wore that place out.” As she reached for the last light switch, she gave him an urchin grin, a bawdy wink.

“Shouldn’t we do some phoning first, Charity?”

“That would be planning ahead, Jimmy. Makes for a dreary case of the dulls. Let’s just roll the dice.”

He carried the two big bags out and put them in the wagon. She brought the smaller ones. As he backed out of the driveway she said, “Maybe I kept you from phoning the little woman, eh?”

“No little woman. There is one, but she isn’t taking calls.”

“Separated?”

“That’s a good enough word. Where do you want to fly to?”

“Let’s see what they got first. Where’s the nearest place with the biggest choice?”

“Tampa. But we can stop at Sarasota and see what they’ve got.”

“Wing, sweetie, you’re ugly in a kinda nice classy way. I usually don’t like sandy men. They look as if they’d go fat and pink and start snorting.”

“Thanks so much.”

She carefully folded her white cardigan and placed it on his right thigh. She hitched around until she could lie on her side, using the cardigan as a pillow. The seat was as far back as it would go. The bottom curve of the steering wheel was within an inch of her forehead.

“Mind?” she said.

“Not at all.”

“I’m a big girl. I need a lot of room. Wake me at the ticket counter.” She breathed deeply a few times, and was asleep sooner than he would have believed possible. He was very conscious of the solid weight of her head against his thigh. When he slowed for a stop sign, there was a scent of her in the car, gin, and a soapy fresh smell of her hair and a faint fragrance of perfume.

It was a little after four when he stopped in front of the Sarasota-Bradenton Airport Terminal. She had stirred slightly in her sleep a few times. His leg was tired and numb from having held it in the same position so long. She sat up, rubbed her eyes with her fists, shook her glossy hair back, and then looked at him and said, “Oho! You again! Are you following me?”

“Want to wait while I check?”

“No. I’ll go in too. You can check while I use the biffy.” She got out and limped around in a little circle, stamping her foot. “Pins and needles,” she said. She took the smallest suitcase out of the wagon and carried it in with her.

She came out in fifteen minutes, hair brushed, mouth fixed, looking incomparably fresh and rested. She came tocking toward him on her high heels, a big, gaudy, smiling young girl. She stood eye to eye with him, making him feel dwindled.

“Four hour and fifteen minute wait,” he said.

“Where does it go?”

“It’s Eastern, and it hops here and there and ends up in Idlewild in the later afternoon. There’s room on it.”

“On to Tampa, Wingy sweetie.”

“After some coffee.”

“Sure. But I could drive and you could sleep, you know. Show me a map. I’m damn fine about maps, man. I’m sober and I’ve got dandy reactions and I love to drive right into the dawn.”

After slight hesitation, he skipped the coffee. He moved into the rear seat. She gave him her sweater for a pillow. He sat up until he saw that she handled a car with precision and competence. He stretched out. Moments later she was leaning in, shaking him. It was gray dawn. He sat up. They were in a parking area at Tampa International.

She handed him the parking tag. “Come on, sweetie. Wake up with the sun. I got lost once, but we still made pretty good time. You need a motor job. Let’s leave the bags here until we know which lucky airline gets them. How do you lock this thing? How do you feel?”

“Wretched.”

“You look worse than that. Come on. Get the blood moving. You didn’t stir a muscle when I bought gas. You owe me five sixty, sweetie.”

He stood beside the car and stretched, then locked it and followed her into the terminal. Every man within a hundred feet, sitting and standing, straightened up and stared at her. She went from counter to counter, airline to airline, standing at each long enough to read the dispatch board.

“Now the coffee,” she said, and he followed her to the coffee shop. They sat at the counter. She ordered a large orange juice, cereal, hot cakes with sausage and a pot of coffee. He ordered juice and coffee.

“If you’d eat, you wouldn’t get so tired, Wingy. This is like a new day. Fortify yourself. Now let me get straight. I name the place, you buy the ticket.”

“Up to a hundred dollars.”

She glared at him. “The hell with that! If I’m run off, I want the first-class treatment. You can get it back from all those dear old pals of Buckie’s. How much have you got on you?”

He checked, his fingers slow and fumbling. With the money Elmo had given him yesterday morning, he had two hundred and fifty-six dollars.

“Of which five sixty is mine anyhow,” she said. “No airlines credit card?”

“Not on my salary.”

“Well, give me two-forty of it, and if it’s more, I’ll have to chip in.”

“Damn decent of you. Where are you going?”

“Las Vegas. There’s a couple of ways to get there. Any objection?”

“Nothing I can think of. Except the cost.”

She had been eating with a considerable fervor. She finished and said, “Stand guard over my coffee. Give with the money. I’ll get the ticket.”

“Go see if you can get on a flight and then we’ll go buy the ticket.”

“Such trust,” she said. She was back in ten minutes. She handed him a small package. “All for you, sweetie.” He looked into the bag. It was a plastic kit containing comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and shaving cream. “You don’t owe me,” she said. “It will improve your outlook.” She patted his shoulder. “Run along and burnish.”

When he came back to the counter she saluted him. “In a sense, you look human, Wingy.”

“In a sense, I feel better. I was shaving and thinking about you. You’re better organized than you look. Maybe Las Vegas makes some sense too.”

“There was a spooky little bartender in Lauderdale. His brothers are all wedged into a thing out there, the Sahara, and they’d made a niche for him and he was on his way, wanting me to come along and share driving, saying I could make out, because there’s so many ways out there. So he’s there and he’d make some motions around and about but I could drop anyplace and land dancing, so it isn’t a sweat. About my little airplane, dear, let’s go buy it. But it isn’t until three-oh-five, a jet thing, and the best I could do, except sprawling around Chicago for half my life.”

“I’m supposed to be a working man.”

“But you are working, aren’t you? I didn’t get the idea this was a pleasure trip.”

They bought her ticket and checked the luggage through, except for the smallest suitcase. The sun was up and there was an early-morning fragrance, and a promise of heat and rain.