“There’s no work in Milestone, boy, least not the kind you’d understand.”
“That so? Well, if you could help me out—”
“I know who you are.”
Brody stops, sentence unfinished, and straightens. “That so?”
“Yep.”
“Well I don’t see how you’d know.”
“I heard.”
Brody puts his hands to the sides of his head, massages his temple. Jesus on a cornstalk. This is all he needs. Obviously the guy is watching him through a peephole or something, though Brody doesn’t see one, and has recognized him. Could be his mug shot is showing on the guy’s TV right at this moment, or on the front page of a newspaper spread across the kitchen table. But just as he’s about to concede defeat, the guy mumbles something that gives Brody pause. “What did you say?”
Clearer: “I said the wind told me about you.”
“The wind?” Brody rolls his eyes. Another loon. “And what did the wind say?”
“Said not to trust you. Said you murdered some folks, one of ’em a drifter who looked like Dean Martin, your girl’s favorite singer. Said you tried to kill the Sheriff when he was just tryin’ to get to his son. That sound about right?”
Brody grits his teeth. “Wow, that’s quite a wind. Better than the main evening news.”
“You best get out of here now. I have nothin’ you need.”
Brody glances over his shoulder. The Dodge is a rustbucket, but the tires aren’t flat and he can see through the dirty window a set of keys in the ignition. With a smile he turns back to the door. “I need your car.”
“Take it.”
Brody stares at the door for a moment. Then: “Take it? Just like that?”
“Sure. I ain’t got no use for it anymore.”
“Why’s that? You a cripple or something?”
“Nope. I just don’t leave the house.”
Brody smirks, already starting to feel better about things, even if his head still hurts like hell. “Town like this, can’t say I blame you.” Eager to be gone, he slaps a palm on the door. “Much obliged to you for the car. Can’t say as it’s ever likely you’re going to see it again.”
“Don’t expect to.”
“Right. You take care now.”
Grinning, Brody turns, but halts so abruptly on the top step he almost falls. “The fuck?”
From behind him, the old man’s panicked voice: “What is it? What do you see?”
Brody opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again, smiles uncertainly. “It’s nothing,” he says.
But it isn’t.
No birds are singing, and the breeze has died.
There’s no sound at all, even from the hundreds of deer that have somehow gathered in the old man’s yard and are now standing motionless, heads lowered slightly, their dark eyes fixed on the house.
On Brody.
“It’s nothing,” he says again. “Just a bunch of dumb old deer.”
“I’m afraid,” the old man whispers. “They’re a little more than that.”
It’s time to go. I’ve only slept a few hours, but it’ll do. Iris’s hand is cool against my bare chest, and though we’re both naked and in her bed, we’ve done nothing except lie together. I didn’t ask for anything more, and she didn’t offer, and that sits just fine with me. It’s not why I came here.
The breeze through the window has the candles snapping at shadows. In the kitchen a sink is dripping water with the sound of a clock ticking in an empty room.
I take a moment to breathe in the scent of her, of this woman I hardly know and likely never will, then I carefully remove her hand from my chest and set it down next to her. Despite my efforts to make as little noise as I can getting out of bed, I’m heavy enough to make the springs squeal and when I stand and look back at her, her eyes are open, and clear, as if she hasn’t been sleeping at all.
“Leavin’?”
I nod.
“What’s your hurry?”
“I have to get going. Have to ‘tie up some loose ends’ as they say in the cop shows.” I’m trying to sound casual, like the darkness locked inside me isn’t trying to eat its way out, but she’s not fooled. She props her head up with the palm of her hand, her elbow digging into the mattress.
“What kinda loose ends?”
I avoid answering by pretending my clothes are proving tough to locate, even though they’re laid out right here at my feet.
“Tom?”
It isn’t until I have my underwear and pants on that I answer her. She’s looking impatient, worried, ready to reach for something to threaten the information out of me.
“I’m turning over my badge tonight,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the way it’s supposed to go.”
“That sounds like a crock of shit.”
I smile at her and sit back down on the bed. “Does, doesn’t it?”
She scoots close, drapes her arms over my shoulders, rests her head against my back. “If you’re plannin’ some kind of heroic exit, that’s one thing, but if you’re figurin’ to walk out of here without tellin’ me why, you’ll be doin’ it without your balls.”
“Nice.”
This is a tough one, and I’m not sure how much I can say, how much I’m allowed to say, so I guess it’s best to just keep it simple and hope she understands. “I’m done with this town, Iris, and it’s more than done with me. I should’ve handed over the reins years ago to someone who might have done something more than stand around watching people die. Can’t do it anymore.”
“Then don’t, but that don’t mean you have to leave.”
“I’m afraid it does.”
Her grip tightens on my shoulders. “Then let me come with you.”
“I would if I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because you wouldn’t much like where I’m going.” I bring my hand up to hers, squeeze it tight.
“What if I don’t let you leave? What if I keep you prisoner? I could do it you know.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She pulls her hand free, withdraws her arms and sits up. “What’s going to happen?”
“Something good,” I tell her. “And something bad.”
She says nothing else, just watches as I get dressed. She doesn’t cry, won’t cry, but I can tell she wants to.
When I’m ready to go, I carefully pick my way through the candles until I’m at the door. There’s no mad rush from Iris, no sobbing farewell. She just sits there, knees drawn up, hand on her chin, studying me.
With my fingers on the door handle, I give one last look at her. “You know just because you can’t leave with me, doesn’t mean you can’t leave.”
“I know.”
“Big world out there. Could be a better place for you in it. Never know.”
“Never know,” she echoes, and scoots down under the sheets.
“Wish I’d had more time to get to know you.”
“You had plenty of time, Tom. We’ve lived a stone’s throw from each other for a long time.”
“True. Guess I was busy.”
“Guess you were. And blind.”
I can’t argue with that, so I don’t, but when I start to open the door, she starts talking again.
“I’ve never loved anyone, Tom, and I’m not goin’ to say I love you, because I don’t. But I know people, and I know you better than you think.”
“Yeah, seems everyone but me does.”
“Your wife loved you though. No doubt about that.”
“Hope so.”
“I saw it in her eyes every time she looked at me. ’Course, we weren’t friends or nothin’ but you can tell a lot by the way someone looks at you. She was wonderin’ if you’d ever spent time with me, or if you wanted to, if maybe when you were in bed you were thinkin’ about me, and every time I saw that look, I shook my head, and she’d smile just a little bit. The kind of smile someone gives you when they’ve accepted a whore’s wisdom but don’t want them to know it.”