Read Online Miami Noir by Les Standiford - Free Book Online

His big voice echoed from the board sides of the two box-house shacks and the slash pine beyond them. He said, “If you folks’re lost, then you done a good job of it.”
    Speck slid down from the tractor and moved over to the empty shack where there was a double-bitted ax resting against the wall. He reached into his pocket for a whetstone, spat on it, and began working the blade.
    “Mr. Talley?” the man said. “My name’s Calvin Hallaway.” He untangled his hand from the girl’s and offered it to shake, but the sawyer turned his attention to the boy and the ax even while telling the stranger that, yes, John Talley was his
    Calvin’s narrow, hooded eyes darted while he surveyed the contents of the yard: the two shacks, the portable mill, the tractor, the beat-up Ford truck. He took a long drag on the cigarette clinched in his tight lips and then pinched the butt and flicked it away.
    “What brings you here?” the sawyer said.
    “Well, sir, it’s a long story,” Calvin said. “We come from up around the lake. Been working our way south, you might say. We stayed a time in Miami, but that was a regular hellhole. I’m an out-of-doors man, sir, like yourself, I suspect.”
    They had been on the road for weeks, Calvin said, riding when they could but mostly on foot. “It’s unusual to see a man and his daughter out on the road, I’ll grant you. But there’s nothing usual about these times. Them last few miles liked to done this little girl in,” he said. “I felt just terrible about it. Thought I’d have to carry her sometimes. But she made it. This here’s Marcy. Say hello, honey.”
    The girl nodded.
    “My daughter,” Calvin said.
    They had heard in Perrine of the sawyer and his tractorrun sawmill from a man at the collection yard on the Florida East Coast Railroad.
    “Fella there said you maybe need some help,” Calvin added. “I been logging and sawmilling all over, up in Georgia and Carolina, mostly, but up and down the coast in Florida too. All I know is timber. And Marcy can cook real good. She’d be a big help to your wife. We’re not looking for a handout. We want to work.”
    “There’s no wife. Just me and him.” The sawyer pointed to his son. “We manage. This is Speck. He usually knows better than to gawk, but we don’t get many visitors. Come on over here, boy. These people are looking for work.”
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Speck said.
    “Ain’t we mannerable,” Calvin said. He grinned like he’d heard a secret. “Pleased to acquaint you too, young chap.”
    “I can’t give you an answer now,” the sawyer told the visitors. “But you can stay the night in the empty house here. It’s not much, but it’ll beat sleeping in the swamp. We’ll see if we can’t get you something to eat. I’ll let you know in the morning about staying on.”
    “That’s much appreciated,” Calvin said. “They told us you was fair.”
    Inside the helper’s shack, Marcy had pushed the suitcase under the bed, taken her shoes off, and was examining her blisters. Calvin was stripped down to his dingy undershorts and sprawled on the mattress.
    Speck watched them through the window of the shack, then listened just outside the door.
    “You think they’ll let us stay here for a while?” Marcy asked.
    “Depends,” Calvin said, lying back with eyes closed and blowing cigarette smoke toward the roof slats. “You saw the way that boy looked at you. Wouldn’t hurt our chances if you was to show him some attention. Must be a lonely thing, strong young fella like that one, working out here on this ridge, nothing but gators and toads for company day after day.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Nothing bad, baby girl. You’re a charmer. Just be nice to him. Maybe get him to put in a word with his sourpuss of an old man. We need some time here. Maybe after they get to know us better we might even be partners. Or something like that. They got a nice truck out there, did you notice