First Avenue (26 page)
“I have to tell you I can’t imagine that those two cops would get mixed up with
She said nothing for a moment, and he wished he had kept quiet, too.
“I know what I saw,” she said, looking at him with sharp defiant eyes.
“Yes, I guess you do.” He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “You’re going to need to be more careful. We both need to be careful,” he corrected himself as he thought about the walk through the Market where he had felt so safe.
“I think you should quit working at the Donut Shop,” he said. “Don’t go back tomorrow. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s closed tomorrow.”
“That’s right. I forgot. I could help you find another job. Silve could use some help right here.”
“I can find my own job. You don’t need to help me.”
“Sure, it was just an idea. I’m kind of worried about Silve, that’s all. He’s trying to find some help, but he’s not having much luck. He works too hard. He’s not a young man anymore.”
She looked at him as though she were trying to see his words, not just hear them, and he permitted her to look in his eyes as long as it took. She seemed to regret how quickly she had turned away from his suggestion.
“Do you come here a lot?” she asked.
“Every day,” he said, “but not like the Donut Shop. This is a good place.”
She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and rubbed it like a talisman.
“It would make
His mind creaked and groaned like a rusty winch pulling up a heavy
“Would you quit after a week?”
She nodded, and her black braids dropped from her shoulder with a sign of consent.
He got up to refill their coffee cups. Something seemed to please her. He stopped to look at her rare smile, standing above her with coffeepot in hand and a question in the half-smile he gave back. She tossed her braids back over her shoulder and straightened her posture. A light flashed across the shadow surrounding her.
“It’s nice having somebody else pour the coffee,” she said.
He told her how he had offered his services to Silve, and how Silve had thought it was a fine idea because then he could shoot any customer who complained. She laughed for a moment, but her laughter startled her as though waking from a dream. He watched her eyes turn sad. He put the coffeepot back in its place, sat down in his, and wondered how this girl could become sad with laughter.
Silve labored down the steps. His legs were less confident than early in the morning. He stopped at the coffeepot and looked to see if the others were in need of a refill.
Silve took off his chef’s hat and put it on the table. He smoothed back his silver hair that showed the line of his hat, sipped noisily from his cup, and let out a sigh. He and
“So maybe you want to work?
She seemed surprised that Silve got to the point so quickly, or maybe she was surprised by the point.
“That’s right,”
“He told me you get up early,” Silve said. “Said you have brains, too. Muscles and brains. Good.”
Sam shifted in the booth, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was not sure how much Silve would tell, but the girl seemed not to mind yet. She smiled at the old man.
“He washed the dishes today,” Silve said, pointing at
“He washed the dishes?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” the old man said and laughed the way he did in the morning. He looked better already. It must have helped to get off his feet and to see the young face across from him.
“Maybe you want his job?”
“I could do it.”
“Good. When can you start?”
“I have to work there another week. I could start after that.”
“Good. You see me Monday. We’ll set up the schedule then,” Silve said.
Silve got up from the table and picked up his cup. The interview was over. “You stay and talk if you want,” he said.
“I think we’re all done,”
He picked up the other two cups and slid out of the booth after Silve.
“Just leave them here,” Silve said. “I’ll get them Monday.”
“I already have them,”
Silve walked slowly up the steps, using the handrail to steady himself.
“Don’t leave any money today,” Silve said as he anticipated
“You’ll make me fat with your oxtail.”
“You, too,” he told
“Yes. I will.”
Sam reached behind
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m just getting the door.”
He opened the door and let her out first.
“We see you soon, honey,” Silve called after her as she walked with
Sam didn’t want to walk far with
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” He could be stubborn, too. “I’ll see you here Monday after you get off work.”
Then he looked at her directly, forgetting for a moment his communion with the fish sign.
“I appreciate the information,
He tried to smile, but it was strangely difficult. He could not imagine calling her “honey” as Silve did, making it seem pleasant and natural, but he wished he could. He wished he could at least smile like Silve.
As he turned to go, he got an uncertain smile from her. It was no better than his, much like it, he expected. They were a strange pair, he thought.
He looked back once to see where she might have gone and saw her still at the fish stand, smiling freely for the fishmongers, a pretty customer receiving special attention.
Saturday night had not meant anything special to Sam for a long time, but he sat on his deck and tried to read a book that was special in the sense that it had become a ritual. He had read the book the first time as a high school boy on a fall day not long after the writer had killed himself, and he had read it each fall since, when the weather turned a certain way, when it had become too good to last. Borrowed from a friend and never given back, the book was broken and worn, much like the man who had written the story.
Usually he read the book in a day—never more than two. He liked reading about the noises on the
The sun went down and the book remained in his hand. Another year he was thinking, another time through the book, but this time thinking about himself, too—himself less like the young man the book was about and more, all the time, like the older one who had written it. The older one probably had nothing to do on Saturday nights either.
Beyond the open pages the towers in the city were red and gold in the final rays of sun. At the base of the golden towers, lights began to flicker. Kat would be there or on her way. He wondered if Saturday night meant anything to her. Farm girl and all. Were there still barn dances for light-footed farm girls? He imagined her a joyous dancer with her face flushed with the summer night, delight in her smile, and eyes dancing along with her feet.
No dancing tonight.
No dancing for the girl,
He closed the book and dropped it on the deck. He rose from the chair and leaned on the railing. Restlessly his mind absorbed the relentless exertion of the waves.
Georgia was coming toward him on the beach. Her red hair was framed within the dark mat of the evening behind it. She waved to him, and he waved back from the deck. He felt better seeing her.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked as she climbed the steps to join him.
He was smiling.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Nothing,” she said in imitation.
He smiled even more.
“Have you come for the Saturday-night dance?” he asked.
“What?”
“It’s Saturday night.”
“I know it’s Saturday night.”
“I’m not used to company on Saturday nights. It’s a welcome change.”
“Maybe I’ll just sit down and forget why I came,”
Georgia didn’t sit down, however. She might have wished to, but she remained standing.
“So what did you come for?” he asked, feeling less hospitable than before.
“
“Now?” he asked.
“I’ll drive,”
Sam looked down on the deck where his book lay closed. He had only a few pages yet to read, but the ending would have to wait—probably until next year. He knew what it said anyway.
“Okay,” he said. He didn’t even suggest calling
“I’ll get the car and meet you on the street,”
She walked into the house and out through the kitchen door. He would follow her in a minute—two minutes. He picked up his book and tossed it onto the coffee table as he passed it on the way into the bedroom for his gun.
In the car she concentrated on shifting gears and didn’t talk. He had never ridden in a car with
She parked on the street beside the Olympic Hotel, which was a fine old stately building downtown.
“I see we’re in the low-rent district,” he said.
“It was
As they passed through the lobby, he thought he was probably the only person in the building wearing blue jeans. He was wrong, however.
Georgia pushed the fifth-floor button at the elevator.
“Anybody else know she’s here?”
“No. She’s registered in my name.”
“Is
“She stayed in her house.”
“That may not be such a good idea.”
“I know.”
When the elevator stopped,
Although
“Hello,
“She’s very nice. Everybody has been nice to me.”
“Let’s sit down, shall we?”
“I’d like to take some notes,”
She looked at
Sam sat across from
“I used to work the streets. Okay? That’s where I met
Alberta
.
“There was this one guy,
“He’s the one who brought
“We’d party with
The girl looked around the beautiful room with the “things” written in her face. Perhaps the room helped her realize that she was in a different place than she had been before. Then again, maybe she was in the same place.
“
Alberta
hated the streets. I think that’s why she started going with
“
“Then one day, she wasn’t there.
“
“The night he drowned he told Shooter he wasn’t going to work with them anymore. He said he was finished. He and Shooter started yelling at each other, and they got into a fight.
“Shooter called
Alberta
were.”
“Is that exactly what he said?”
“As close as I can remember. He meant it, too. When he left,
“
“I should have told
Georgia’s expression told him that no one else did either. In comparison, his job was simple. Write down the facts and move on. He looked down at his paper and saw that the only fact he had written was the name,
“Who do you think burned the boat?”
“It could have been any of them, but I’ll bet
“Why?”
“He’s in charge of everything.”
“Why would he do it?”
“I’m not sure, but
“What would he hide?”
“More drugs maybe. I’m not sure. I think they used
“What kind of drugs?”
“Everything, but lately it was mostly heroin. Anyway that’s what
“Did
“I don’t think so, but
“How about Alberta?”
“She didn’t sell it, but she took it to
Portland
sometimes.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Pierre would make me stay with the baby when Alberta was gone. They had somebody down there who bought it from them. I did lots of things, but I never used that heroin. And I didn’t sell it, either.”
Diane looked down at the table. Her face seemed to lose its fullness and became gaunt like the first time he had seen her. Unlike then, there was no place to escape this time.
“Something big is supposed to happen soon,”
“What do you mean by something big?”
“
“Who?” he asked.
“
“Do you know where they’re going?”
“No.”
“Why would they leave?”
“I think it’s getting too hot for them here. I heard