Joe Lansdale - A Fine Dark Line

“Who said you were pretty?”

“Well . . . I am. Mom says so.”

“Like Mom’s going to tell you the truth. She thinks Nub’s cute.”

“He is . . . Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Go on.”

“So, I don’t have to stay home now. Mom is going to talk to Jane’s mother, see if she can put the brakes on what she’s doing. Really, I don’t care. Long as I’m not confined here.”

“What’s Daddy think?”

“He believes me now, he just doesn’t know who’s responsible. But who else could it be? Who would know us all, and want to do such a thing?”

“You got me.”

“You’re not being nice, Stanley Mitchel, Jr., and I was going to do something nice for you.”

“What?”

“Are you going to be nice?”

I sighed. “I’ll try.”

“I’m going to take you shoe shopping tomorrow.”

“That’s it?”

“No. And while we’re out, why don’t we see if we can find something out about James Stilwind and the girl that was murdered. Did you know the cafe we were at today is the one he owns? And he owns the movie house next door. The Palace.”

“Did you see him?”

“No. I don’t think he actually stays there much. He hires people to run it for him. But we can go there tomorrow for lunch. Mom already said so, and while we’re there, maybe we can find out something. Maybe we can find out something about that poor girl that was murdered over by the railroad tracks. And mainly, I get out of the house.”

“I take back anything I said that might have hurt your feelings, Callie.”

“Good for you.”

———

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING Callie woke me up and I dressed quickly, pulling on blue jeans Mom had cut so that they would fit over my cast.

Callie drove the family car to JC Penney so I could look at shoes. I ended up with two pair. A black dress pair and a pair of black and white high-top tennis shoes. The way the cast fit, going over not only my leg, but part of my foot, I could try on only one shoe and hope its mate fit.

About eleven, we rode over to the drugstore cafe James Stilwind owned. While we drove, listening to rock and roll on the car radio, I told Callie everything I had learned from Buster.

I was hungry when we arrived, and had in fact been hungry for a couple of hours, having skipped breakfast.

The drugstore was clean and bright. Since we were early, it was not yet full. We ordered hamburgers and french fries and cherry Cokes, sat near the counter and ate.

The radio in the drugstore was playing “Rock and Roll Is Here to Stay” by Danny and the Juniors, and by the time we were halfway through our hamburgers, we heard “Book of Love” by the Monotones, and “Splish Splash” by Bobby Darin.

I knew most of the songs by heart, having listened to them on my Hopalong Cassidy radio late at night in my room, just me, the moonlight, and Nub.

At that moment, I felt I could have sat there all day and listened to music, maybe had another Coke, and in time, another hamburger. The hamburger was good, and I remembered Rosy Mae said she had a relative who was the cook.

The guy behind the counter was only a little older-looking than Callie. He was wearing a soda jerk hat, and he pushed that up so Callie could see he had curly hair with one curl that fell down on his forehead. It looked like a trained curl to me.

He leaned over the counter, said, “The food good?”

“It’s fine,” Callie said.

“Good. We try to please.”

Callie said, “You didn’t cook it.”

“No. Nigger cooked it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that word.”

“Nigger?”

“Yes.”

“For you, while you’re here, I won’t say it. I won’t say coon or jungle bunny either.”

He thought that was going to get a laugh from us, but it didn’t. Callie said, “Thank you. Mr. Stilwind owns this place, doesn’t he?”

“He does. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“I know why you’re curious. He has money.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“That’s how women are. They won’t pay attention to a nice young man who has yet to put his prospects together, but they’ll go all out for some older guy with a Corvette and lots of money.”

Callie raised an eyebrow. “He has a Vette?”

“See,” said the counter boy.

“I’m just joking,” Callie said. “What’s your name?”

“Timothy Shaw. They call me Tim.”

“I’m Callie Mitchel. This is my brother, Stanley.”

“Glad to meet you . . . Wasn’t right at lunchtime, I’d give you a free soda. Come by early mornings, late afternoons, no one’s looking, I’ll make you one.”

Since we were early for lunch, and no one else was in the drugstore, I assumed this was a lie Timothy was telling. I’m sure Callie thought the same, but she didn’t let on. She stayed charming.

“That’s nice of you, Tim. But I am curious about Mr. Stilwind.”

“Figures. You know, he dyes his hair. He looks good for his age, but he dyes his hair.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirties, I guess.”

“That’s not old.”

“It’s pretty old. And besides, he’s got a girlfriend. And he was married once.”

“Have children?”

“I don’t think so, but his girlfriend is young as you.”

“She pretty?”

“Not as pretty as you. But yes, she’s pretty. What do you care about him for? I’m free, white, and twenty-one, and I got a pretty good jalopy, little spending money. Besides, you and me, all we need is the moon.”

“You think?” Callie said.

“Sure.”

“Doesn’t Mr. Stilwind own not only this business, but the movie next door?”

“He owns lots of stuff. Hangs out over there a lot. His girlfriend used to work the concession counter. That’s how he met her. She was a homecoming queen, cheerleader or something. Both. I don’t know. Can you imagine a young girl like that with an old man like that?”

“If I stretch my imagination.”

“Come on, baby, is there a chance for you and me?”

“There’s a chance for just about anything, Timothy.”

“I got prospects, honey. I’m going to go to college next year, if I save enough money.”

“What do you want to be?”

“I want to get an associate’s degree, start my own business.”

“What kind of business, Tim?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I can tell you this. It won’t end up with me being no soda jerk.”

———

AFTER LUNCH I looked through the drugstore magazine rack, bought Rosy Mae some new movie magazines, bought myself a couple of comic books.

We walked over to the theater James Stilwind owned, the Palace. Or rather Callie walked, and I crutched.

“Tim liked me, didn’t he?” Callie said.

“I guess so.”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“If you like soda jerks. Or in his case, just a jerk.”

“I might get a free soda out of it, maybe an ice cream sundae. But you’re right. He is kind of a jerk.”

“Him and that curl.”

“I thought the curl was cute,” Callie said.

Chester White’s jalopy appeared beside us. He pulled to the curb, parked, slid over to the passenger side and opened the door. The grease on his pompadour shone bright blue in the sunlight. “Callie. How you doin’?”

Callie didn’t answer.

“Hey, sport,” he said. “What happened to you?”

I didn’t answer either.

“Your old man still mad at me, Callie?”

“Yes. And so am I. I’ve heard about all those other girls. And what you did with them, and Jane . . . Well, she got me in trouble. Or so I think.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“You did?”

“Jane told me she did it to get you in trouble. She doesn’t like you. She doesn’t like the other girls either. Hell, she doesn’t like anyone. Her dog won’t play with her unless she’s got a pork chop tied around her neck.”