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Authors: Louis Trimble
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anything but his jaw muscles for a while. He said, “What do you want here, Dad?”
“I came to discuss poetic imagery with Emily,” I said. I paused long enough to sip more coffee. Then I added, “Before the police come to discuss it with her.”
I was just trying to stir something up. My words didn’t really mean anything. Not to me, that is. They seemed to mean a lot to Emily. She opened her mouth and a whimper oozed out. She looked at me and whimpered louder. Then she got up and ran. She was still whimpering when she went through black curtains at the rear of the room.
I went after her. Behind the curtains was a hallway. To my right a door opened onto a lighted room. I could see oil paintings on the walls. Some of them looked pretty good. To my left was a door marked
Toilet
. At the end of the hall was a red light over a fire exit.
I rapped on the toilet door. “You can’t hide forever, Emily.”
I didn’t find out whether I’d scared her enough or not. The curtains parted and Ridley appeared. He wasn’t moving very fast but he came steadily.
“Blow. She doesn’t want to talk to you. So blow, Dad.”
I said, “Let’s grow up. Don’t you professional creeps ever mature? How long are all the fads and childish lingo going to appeal to the ruts you have for brains? This year everyone is ‘Dad’; and I suppose I’m square and you’re hep or cool. What pseudo-intellectual toys will you find to play with next year?”
His cheeks blossomed pink. I said, “And you’ve got a lot of guts, taking money for imposing your atrophied mentality on college students who put out good money and time to learn about poetry from you.”
Two little dribbles of foam ran down from the corners of his mouth. I cocked my left leg, my eyes on his groin. He took a sideways step and went through the toilet door. I got my foot in the way and followed.
That room was something. Not very big, it managed to house all the amenities without bothering with the division of the sexes. There was a urinal against one wall and an open-booth toilet next to it and a shower nozzle across the room. Under the nozzle was a drain. Emily was standing there, one hand pressed to her mouth.
Her skin was a dirty gray and her eyes were full of sick fear as she stared at me. Ridley gave her a look that sent her pressing back and trying to squeeze through the cement wall.
He walked to the toilet, reached behind the tank, and came up with a gun. He pointed it at me. “Blow, Dad.”
I started toward him. I didn’t think he was the kind of man who would kill in cold blood. If he held his ground, I was going to change my mind and do what he said—‘blow.’
The gun muzzle wavered, then stiffened. I stopped. The door behind me opened. Ridley put the gun in his pocket and took a step toward me. I heard something swish in back of my head. I tried to turn. Ridley moved in, clobbering my jaw with his fist. I didn’t get to see what was swishing. But I felt it. Ridley’s fist twisted my head one way, and that “something” half took my ear off. I went to my knees.
The door closed. Ridley and I were alone with Emily. Ridley took another step forward. He lifted a foot covered with a tennis shoe. I was glad he wasn’t a mountain climber. The tennis shoe hit me hard enough. It caught me in the wind. I fell on my side.
I rolled over and came to my feet. Ridley grinned at me and went to work with his knuckles. I went under them and clinched with him. I hung on while he played tunes on my ribs. I wondered if he thought I was his dulcimer.
Emily thoughtfully stopped the proceedings. She made a gurgling sound and fainted.
X
W HEN E MILY FAINTED , Ridley stopped hammering on me and turned to see what was going on. For a brief moment, he presented me with as fine a view of the side of his jaw as I could want. I didn’t look long; I swung.
There wasn’t much steam to my punch but it caught Ridley off guard. He tripped over his own feet and fell down. I
“I came to discuss poetic imagery with Emily,” I said. I paused long enough to sip more coffee. Then I added, “Before the police come to discuss it with her.”
I was just trying to stir something up. My words didn’t really mean anything. Not to me, that is. They seemed to mean a lot to Emily. She opened her mouth and a whimper oozed out. She looked at me and whimpered louder. Then she got up and ran. She was still whimpering when she went through black curtains at the rear of the room.
I went after her. Behind the curtains was a hallway. To my right a door opened onto a lighted room. I could see oil paintings on the walls. Some of them looked pretty good. To my left was a door marked
Toilet
. At the end of the hall was a red light over a fire exit.
I rapped on the toilet door. “You can’t hide forever, Emily.”
I didn’t find out whether I’d scared her enough or not. The curtains parted and Ridley appeared. He wasn’t moving very fast but he came steadily.
“Blow. She doesn’t want to talk to you. So blow, Dad.”
I said, “Let’s grow up. Don’t you professional creeps ever mature? How long are all the fads and childish lingo going to appeal to the ruts you have for brains? This year everyone is ‘Dad’; and I suppose I’m square and you’re hep or cool. What pseudo-intellectual toys will you find to play with next year?”
His cheeks blossomed pink. I said, “And you’ve got a lot of guts, taking money for imposing your atrophied mentality on college students who put out good money and time to learn about poetry from you.”
Two little dribbles of foam ran down from the corners of his mouth. I cocked my left leg, my eyes on his groin. He took a sideways step and went through the toilet door. I got my foot in the way and followed.
That room was something. Not very big, it managed to house all the amenities without bothering with the division of the sexes. There was a urinal against one wall and an open-booth toilet next to it and a shower nozzle across the room. Under the nozzle was a drain. Emily was standing there, one hand pressed to her mouth.
Her skin was a dirty gray and her eyes were full of sick fear as she stared at me. Ridley gave her a look that sent her pressing back and trying to squeeze through the cement wall.
He walked to the toilet, reached behind the tank, and came up with a gun. He pointed it at me. “Blow, Dad.”
I started toward him. I didn’t think he was the kind of man who would kill in cold blood. If he held his ground, I was going to change my mind and do what he said—‘blow.’
The gun muzzle wavered, then stiffened. I stopped. The door behind me opened. Ridley put the gun in his pocket and took a step toward me. I heard something swish in back of my head. I tried to turn. Ridley moved in, clobbering my jaw with his fist. I didn’t get to see what was swishing. But I felt it. Ridley’s fist twisted my head one way, and that “something” half took my ear off. I went to my knees.
The door closed. Ridley and I were alone with Emily. Ridley took another step forward. He lifted a foot covered with a tennis shoe. I was glad he wasn’t a mountain climber. The tennis shoe hit me hard enough. It caught me in the wind. I fell on my side.
I rolled over and came to my feet. Ridley grinned at me and went to work with his knuckles. I went under them and clinched with him. I hung on while he played tunes on my ribs. I wondered if he thought I was his dulcimer.
Emily thoughtfully stopped the proceedings. She made a gurgling sound and fainted.
X
W HEN E MILY FAINTED , Ridley stopped hammering on me and turned to see what was going on. For a brief moment, he presented me with as fine a view of the side of his jaw as I could want. I didn’t look long; I swung.
There wasn’t much steam to my punch but it caught Ridley off guard. He tripped over his own feet and fell down. I
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