she said. “Look and see if you don’t find a card in there,” I said. She looked through it. “I don’t see anything.”
“I must have lost it, then,” I said. “Well, doesn’t matter. I know how to get there. Just throw the wallet back in the coat.”
She put it back. “You don’t think I’d go to a joint like that, do you?”
“Well, if you’d rather go to jail—” She was silent for a moment. “What do they do down there?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a nice place. They work in the vegetable gardens and milk the cows, things like that—lots of outdoor exercise. Have movies, too. Once a week, travelogues and science stuff, you know. The girls like it. No boys there, of course. It’s for girls only.”
“Jeezus!”
I didn’t say anything. After a while she turned to me with a smile and said, “You know, big boy, maybe you’re not such a sticky creep, after all. You have got a good car, and you’re kind of good-looking, in an ugly sort of way. Why don’t you and me just go on to Bayou City and go on a little party? I could show you a good time.”
“Relax, kid. Put it away. I’ve been to parties.”
“God, what a jerk!”
She shut up after that and was silent the rest of the way to Colston. It was about five minutes of one when I pulled up and parked across the street from the bus station.
“Well, what are we going to do here?” she asked with that same insolence.
“I thought I’d better phone ahead so they could get a ce—I mean a room ready for you. Probably have a phone in the bus station over there. You stick here in the car and I’ll be right back.”
It was Saturday afternoon and cars were jammed in the streets and hordes of people roamed about. I took out the car keys and walked across to the bus station.
“What time does the New Orleans bus go through?” I asked the girl at the ticket window.
“Due here in about three minutes. And it’s only a five-minute stop. You want a ticket?”
“No,” I said. “I’m expecting somebody.”
I went back to the car. She looked at me without interest. “They didn’t have a pay phone. There’s a drugstore just around the next corner. I’ll try there.”
“Well, don’t drop dead of anything. It would just kill me.”
“I won’t be gone more than ten minutes,” I said. “Don’t you try to run off.”
“Now that I’ve thought about it, you can drop dead.”
I went around the corner to the drugstore and bought a pack of cigarettes, then went over and squeezed in at the fountain and ordered a lemon Coke. When the boy brought it I heard the big air horn of the bus down the street and knew it was on time. I drank very slowly and looked at the clock. It was four minutes past one. Then I heard the blasting roar of its exhaust in low gear, and saw it go past the corner, headed for New Orleans. I paid for the Coke and went back to the car.
She was gone. I reached in for the coat, hoping she had left the wallet. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was my only one. It was still there. She’d just taken the money.
I locked the car and went up the street to a beer joint, taking my own money out of my watch pocket and putting it back in the limp wallet. It was dim inside and I found a place at the bar. “A bottle of Bud,” I said, wondering why I always got these headaches in the afternoons.
Oh, hell, I thought, she’s probably stolen plenty of things before. You could see what she was like, couldn’t you? You didn’t teach her anything; nobody could. She was born that way.
It’ll be all right now, I thought. At least, until something else starts to break loose. Suddenly I wanted to get in the car and just go on driving the way it was headed, go so far I could never find my way back. And it wasn’t only Buford and the grand jury I could feel behind me. What was she doing now? Was she down on her knees in soapy water trying to beat all desire out of herself with a scrubbing brush, or was she looking for another
“I must have lost it, then,” I said. “Well, doesn’t matter. I know how to get there. Just throw the wallet back in the coat.”
She put it back. “You don’t think I’d go to a joint like that, do you?”
“Well, if you’d rather go to jail—” She was silent for a moment. “What do they do down there?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a nice place. They work in the vegetable gardens and milk the cows, things like that—lots of outdoor exercise. Have movies, too. Once a week, travelogues and science stuff, you know. The girls like it. No boys there, of course. It’s for girls only.”
“Jeezus!”
I didn’t say anything. After a while she turned to me with a smile and said, “You know, big boy, maybe you’re not such a sticky creep, after all. You have got a good car, and you’re kind of good-looking, in an ugly sort of way. Why don’t you and me just go on to Bayou City and go on a little party? I could show you a good time.”
“Relax, kid. Put it away. I’ve been to parties.”
“God, what a jerk!”
She shut up after that and was silent the rest of the way to Colston. It was about five minutes of one when I pulled up and parked across the street from the bus station.
“Well, what are we going to do here?” she asked with that same insolence.
“I thought I’d better phone ahead so they could get a ce—I mean a room ready for you. Probably have a phone in the bus station over there. You stick here in the car and I’ll be right back.”
It was Saturday afternoon and cars were jammed in the streets and hordes of people roamed about. I took out the car keys and walked across to the bus station.
“What time does the New Orleans bus go through?” I asked the girl at the ticket window.
“Due here in about three minutes. And it’s only a five-minute stop. You want a ticket?”
“No,” I said. “I’m expecting somebody.”
I went back to the car. She looked at me without interest. “They didn’t have a pay phone. There’s a drugstore just around the next corner. I’ll try there.”
“Well, don’t drop dead of anything. It would just kill me.”
“I won’t be gone more than ten minutes,” I said. “Don’t you try to run off.”
“Now that I’ve thought about it, you can drop dead.”
I went around the corner to the drugstore and bought a pack of cigarettes, then went over and squeezed in at the fountain and ordered a lemon Coke. When the boy brought it I heard the big air horn of the bus down the street and knew it was on time. I drank very slowly and looked at the clock. It was four minutes past one. Then I heard the blasting roar of its exhaust in low gear, and saw it go past the corner, headed for New Orleans. I paid for the Coke and went back to the car.
She was gone. I reached in for the coat, hoping she had left the wallet. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was my only one. It was still there. She’d just taken the money.
I locked the car and went up the street to a beer joint, taking my own money out of my watch pocket and putting it back in the limp wallet. It was dim inside and I found a place at the bar. “A bottle of Bud,” I said, wondering why I always got these headaches in the afternoons.
Oh, hell, I thought, she’s probably stolen plenty of things before. You could see what she was like, couldn’t you? You didn’t teach her anything; nobody could. She was born that way.
It’ll be all right now, I thought. At least, until something else starts to break loose. Suddenly I wanted to get in the car and just go on driving the way it was headed, go so far I could never find my way back. And it wasn’t only Buford and the grand jury I could feel behind me. What was she doing now? Was she down on her knees in soapy water trying to beat all desire out of herself with a scrubbing brush, or was she looking for another
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