right.”
“Seems to me that might explain things. You see any action?”
“Some.” More than most, he might have added. Row, row, row your boat, Gently down the stream… He cut that memory off at the pass.
“I was in Vietnam for a tour,” Cantona continued. “Took some shrapnel in my foot. By that time, I was just about ready to do myself an injury to get me out of there. So you still get these spells?”
“What spells?”
“The violence.”
“I’ve tried self-help. I’ve read a lot of books.”
“What, medical stuff?”
“Philosophy.”
“Yeah, Jim said you got to like that stuff. Castaneda’s about my limit. What stuff do you read?”
“Anarchism.”
“Anarchism?” Cantona looked disbelievingly at him. “Anarchism?” he repeated, as though trying the word out for size. Then he nodded, but with a quizzical look on his face. “Does it help?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“They say I’m on my last warning. One more outburst, they’ll section me. I think they mean it.” He stared at Cantona. “Why am I telling you this?”
Cantona grinned. “Because I’m listening. Because I’m harmless. Besides, it’s a damned sight cheaper than therapy.” Then he laughed. “I can’t believe I’m sharing my car with a goddamned anarchist.”
The rental place looked like a used-car lot, dusty cars ranked behind a high fence. There was a metal gate, a chain and padlock hanging off it, and behind it a single-story prefabricated office. Reeve could tell it was the office because there was a big painted sign above it stating just that. Garishly colored notices in the window offered “the best deals in town,” “extra-special weekend rates,” and “nice clean cars, low mileage, good runners.”
“Looks like Rent-A-Wreck before they went upscale,” Cantona commented.
They knocked and opened the office door. There was a single room inside with a couple of doors leading off, both open. One showed a storeroom, the other a toilet. A man in shirtsleeves was seated behind the desk. He looked Mexican, in his fifties, and he was showing teeth around a long thin cigar.
“My friends,” he said, half rising. “What can I do for you?” He gestured for them to sit, but Reeve stayed standing by the window, occasionally looking out, and Cantona stayed there with him.
“My name’s Gordon Reeve.”
“Good morning to you, Gordon.” The Mexican wagged a finger. “I seem to know you.”
“I think you rented a car to my brother on Saturday night.”
The smile melted. The man slipped the cigar out of his mouth and placed it in the overspilling ashtray. “I’m sorry. Yes, you resemble your brother.”
“Was it you who dealt with my brother?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”
The Mexican smiled. “You sound like a policeman.”
“This is just for my peace of mind.” Then Reeve spoke to the man in Spanish, and the man nodded. Family, he was saying, I have to take these memories back for the family. The Spanish understood these things.
“See,” he said in English, “I’m trying to understand my broth-er’s state of mind on that night.”
The Mexican was nodding. “I understand. Ask your questions.”
“Well, one thing I don’t quite yet understand. My brother was last seen drinking in a downtown bar, then it seems he came here. A cab picked him up from the bar. But to get here, he had to pass three or four other car hire firms.” In his hotel room, with map and telephone book, Reeve had done his work.
The Mexican opened his arms. “This is perhaps easily explained. For one thing, we have the lowest rates in town, you can ask anyone. Being blunt, if you only need a car so you can drive somewhere quiet and put an end to your life, you do not need a Lincoln Continental. For a second thing, I open later than the other places. You can check this. So maybe they were closed already.”
Why would I want to “check
“Seems to me that might explain things. You see any action?”
“Some.” More than most, he might have added. Row, row, row your boat, Gently down the stream… He cut that memory off at the pass.
“I was in Vietnam for a tour,” Cantona continued. “Took some shrapnel in my foot. By that time, I was just about ready to do myself an injury to get me out of there. So you still get these spells?”
“What spells?”
“The violence.”
“I’ve tried self-help. I’ve read a lot of books.”
“What, medical stuff?”
“Philosophy.”
“Yeah, Jim said you got to like that stuff. Castaneda’s about my limit. What stuff do you read?”
“Anarchism.”
“Anarchism?” Cantona looked disbelievingly at him. “Anarchism?” he repeated, as though trying the word out for size. Then he nodded, but with a quizzical look on his face. “Does it help?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“They say I’m on my last warning. One more outburst, they’ll section me. I think they mean it.” He stared at Cantona. “Why am I telling you this?”
Cantona grinned. “Because I’m listening. Because I’m harmless. Besides, it’s a damned sight cheaper than therapy.” Then he laughed. “I can’t believe I’m sharing my car with a goddamned anarchist.”
The rental place looked like a used-car lot, dusty cars ranked behind a high fence. There was a metal gate, a chain and padlock hanging off it, and behind it a single-story prefabricated office. Reeve could tell it was the office because there was a big painted sign above it stating just that. Garishly colored notices in the window offered “the best deals in town,” “extra-special weekend rates,” and “nice clean cars, low mileage, good runners.”
“Looks like Rent-A-Wreck before they went upscale,” Cantona commented.
They knocked and opened the office door. There was a single room inside with a couple of doors leading off, both open. One showed a storeroom, the other a toilet. A man in shirtsleeves was seated behind the desk. He looked Mexican, in his fifties, and he was showing teeth around a long thin cigar.
“My friends,” he said, half rising. “What can I do for you?” He gestured for them to sit, but Reeve stayed standing by the window, occasionally looking out, and Cantona stayed there with him.
“My name’s Gordon Reeve.”
“Good morning to you, Gordon.” The Mexican wagged a finger. “I seem to know you.”
“I think you rented a car to my brother on Saturday night.”
The smile melted. The man slipped the cigar out of his mouth and placed it in the overspilling ashtray. “I’m sorry. Yes, you resemble your brother.”
“Was it you who dealt with my brother?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”
The Mexican smiled. “You sound like a policeman.”
“This is just for my peace of mind.” Then Reeve spoke to the man in Spanish, and the man nodded. Family, he was saying, I have to take these memories back for the family. The Spanish understood these things.
“See,” he said in English, “I’m trying to understand my broth-er’s state of mind on that night.”
The Mexican was nodding. “I understand. Ask your questions.”
“Well, one thing I don’t quite yet understand. My brother was last seen drinking in a downtown bar, then it seems he came here. A cab picked him up from the bar. But to get here, he had to pass three or four other car hire firms.” In his hotel room, with map and telephone book, Reeve had done his work.
The Mexican opened his arms. “This is perhaps easily explained. For one thing, we have the lowest rates in town, you can ask anyone. Being blunt, if you only need a car so you can drive somewhere quiet and put an end to your life, you do not need a Lincoln Continental. For a second thing, I open later than the other places. You can check this. So maybe they were closed already.”
Why would I want to “check
Similar Books
