Richard Russo - Everybody's Fool

Cora, if you could believe it, had actually slowed down and put on her left-turn signal. “The Rexall’s right here,” she explained. Like he’d fucking forgot where the Rexall was, or like he hadn’t just fucking told her to go to the CVS.

“No, goddamn it—”

“Stop yellin’ at me, Roy,” she said, though she turned her blinker off and pulled back into the right lane. “I’m just sayin’ all them stores carry the same shit and this one’s right here.”

“Did you happen to see that fuckin’ ambulance back there, Cora? That cop car?” he said, peering to look out the back window. “Me slidin’ down in my seat here? What’s all that fuckin’ shit tell you?”

Just that quickly the crying kicked in. “Did you do something bad, Roy? They gonna make you go back to prison?”

“Not if you shut the fuck up and drive, they won’t.”

“I gonna get in trouble for helpin’ you?”

“Fuck no, Cora.”

“ ’Cause they took my little boy on account of they said I’m unfit and I’m trying to get him back, so—”

“Just fuckin’ listen to me, girl. You ain’t gonna get in no trouble. The cops question you, just say all you did was give me a fuckin’ ride. Tell ’em you’re just a dumb cunt and didn’t know no better. Don’t worry, they’ll believe you.”

Cora began to cry silently, and neither spoke again until she pulled in to the CVS lot, where Roy once again scrunched down in his seat.

When she killed the engine and wiped her tears on her sleeve, he said, “Lemme see that hat a minute.”

“What for?” she said, handing over her Mets cap.

“Never mind what for. Maybe I’m a big fuckin’ baseball fan, okay?” Trying it on, he flinched when the sweatband came in contact with his demolished ear.

“You’re gettin’ blood all over it,” she said, wincing.

He adjusted the plastic strap. “Jesus, Cora. What do you need with such a big head, anyway? There ain’t a fuckin’ thing in it.”

She giggled, thinking this was a joke. “Just ’cause you got a little peanut head,” she said. “Just ’cause it’s full of shit.”

This, Roy thought as his hand shot out, its heel connecting flush with the side of Cora’s head, is the wrong fucking day to be talking trash. Her temple bounced back off the driver’s-side window.

“Ow, Roy,” she said, tearing up again. “That hurt. All I was doing was havin’ a little fun. Can’t you take a joke?”

He considered answering by hitting her again, then remembered he needed her help. “Look at me, Cora, and tell me I’m in the fuckin’ mood to joke with you.”

“You got me all mixed up, Roy. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Well, shut the fuck up a minute, and I’ll tell you again. Can you do that?” When, acting on his instruction, she didn’t respond, he said, “Well, can you?”

“Yes, Roy, I can. It’s what I’m doin’, okay?”

“All right, then. First thing you need to get is one of them butterfly clamps for my ear. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about? They’ll be over with the medical supplies. Band-Aids and shit. You understand?”

She said nothing. Just looked at him.

“Do you fuckin’ understand? Say you do before I fuckin’ hit you again.”

“You told me to shut up, Roy. That’s what I’m doin’.”

“You want me to hit you again?”

“I want you to be nice. If you can’t be nice, you can just walk back into town.”

Or, Roy thought, I could wring your fuckin’ neck, see if your fat ass would fit in the trunk and drive down to Albany and park this shit-bucket in the bus terminal and let people find you when you begin to stink. Which she already did, with some kind of cheap perfume or other. The thought of the Greyhound reminded him that just yesterday his bitch-in-law had offered him three grand to disappear, an offer that hadn’t impressed him at the time, which just went to show he hadn’t really been thinking straight. Because what was to stop him from taking her money and going somewheres — Atlantic City, maybe — and coming back when he was broke. Fortunately, he was beginning to think straight now, at least enough to realize he needed Cora for a while longer.

“And an orange juice, okay?” he continued, wiggling the plastic tube that contained his pain meds. “Something to wash down these little beauties.”

“Can I have one or two?”

Not a fuckin’ chance. “Of course,” he told her. “I always share, don’t I?”

When she reached for the door handle, though, he grabbed her wrist. Because suddenly he didn’t like the look on her face. “Don’t do what you’re thinkin’,” he told her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re thinkin’ about goin’ in there and tellin’ somebody to call the cops.” Because in her place, that’s what he’d be thinking.

“It ain’t what I’m thinkin’, Roy.”

“Like hell. Don’t lie to me. I can tell you are just by looking at you.”

She began to cry again. “It was just a passing thought, I swear.”

He was taking a chance, letting her out of the car, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. “You got one minute,” he said. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”

“I need some money.”

“Use your own. I’ll pay you back later.”

“You never paid me back from Tuesday.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At Gert’s.”

“You said that was your treat.”

“No, I said—”

“Will you just get the fuckin’ shit, like I told you? I’ll pay you back for that and Gert’s, too.”

“You promise?”

“And get a couple six-packs,” he added. “We’ll go out to the reservoir.”

“Really?”

“And some Pringles.”

She sighed, beaten. “Okay.”

He was asleep, or maybe passed out from the pain, before she was inside the CVS. Then she was back again. He could tell she’d been gone for more than a minute, but not much more. And she didn’t look scared like she would’ve if she ratted him out. She had two big plastic bags full of stuff that she put on the seat between them.

“Let me see that orange juice,” he said.

She handed him the large plastic bottle, its contents ice cold, just the way he liked it. He was so parched that he drank half of it straight down before remembering the painkillers. Shaking the remaining pills into his palm, he counted eight. Returning four to the vial, he swallowed the others with the remaining juice and tossed the empty container into the backseat. “What?” he said.

Cora was back in behind the wheel and staring at him. “You said I could have one.”

“You can,” he said. “When half your fuckin’ ear’s hangin’ by a thread.”

“I like how they make me feel,” she explained. “And you said.”

“You know how to get to the lake?”

She nodded.

“Then go, before the beer gets warm.”

Still she just sat there. “It come to almost twenty dollars.”

“It did fuckin’ not.”

She showed him the receipt. Seventeen bucks and change. “Okay, so what?”

“And the other afternoon at Gert’s was almost thirty.”

“That was your treat.”

“Then pay me for this, at least.”

“When we get to the lake.”

“ Now, Roy.”

“The beer’s gettin’ warm, girl. You know I don’t like warm beer.”

She turned the key in the ignition. “What you don’t like is spendin’ your own damn money.”

No argument there. He’d lifted a couple twenties from Janey’s purse while she slept, so he could afford to give Cora one of them, but that was the thing about money: you never knew how much you were going to need. In Roy’s experience, the deeper the shit you found yourself in, the more it cost to dig yourself out, and at the moment he was hip deep. One thing was for true. He’d gotten his last free cup of coffee at Hattie’s. He done killed the golden goose. Well, not killed her, exactly, but good as. No more day-old pie for ole Roy. It had been worth it, though, the thrill of shutting that bigmouthed bitch the fuck up, wiping that superior look off her face. He could still feel his knuckles throbbing pleasurably. Later, he’d take his list out and draw a satisfying line through her name.