Wibber’s face turned purple. He was obviously thrown off stride. He blurted, “One more crack like that and I’ll lock you up right now. I mean it.”
“So go ahead, Sheriff. You’re dying to do that anyway. Lock me up... and see what it gets you.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“I’ve got a question.”
“What is it?”
“When can I go?”
Womack’s wallet was on the desk. Wibber picked it up and thumbed through it. “Johnny Womack, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“When can your rig roll?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Wibber tossed the wallet to Womack. “You make sure you’re out of town by then.”
8
It was like waking up after being drunk the night before — only really drunk — when you don’t remember what happened and you’re conscious only of the killing pain in your head.
Womack listened to the knocking on the window of the tractor and debated about opening his eyes. He didn’t want to open them. But the fist pounding against glass only aggravated the ache in his head so he climbed down from the sleeper finally and opened the door.
The sun wasn’t up yet. Womack was glad for that. This way he could gradually accustom his eyes to the light.
Bernie White, dressed in clean coveralls and a black skull cap with the words ABC Garage, stood with his hand on the door. He said, “Didn’t know you were going to sleep in the rig. There’s an extra cot in the back of the garage. You could have used that.”
“Thanks.” Womack looked at the dark sky. The stars were still out. “What time is it?”’
“Five-thirty.” White already had a wad stuck under his lip. “Thought I’d get an early start. Maybe have ’er running for you by tomorrow morning.”
“That would be just fine.”
White grinned at him. “Rough night, eh?”
“Yeah. Pretty rough.” Womack touched his face.
“The washroom is unlocked if you want to clean up.”
“Thanks.”
There was no warm water in the washroom but Womack shaved anyway, using the coarse latherless soap, careful to avoid the bruises on his face. When he had finished he toweled off and examined his face in the mirror. There was a nasty bruise under one eye and his fingers discovered a deep cut at the base of his skull but, aside from those two things, no serious damage. Only the pain.
He ordered a plate of eggs in a little diner directly across the highway from the garage. From his stool at the counter he could see Bernie White’s legs sticking out from under the tractor.
He used to like to watch the sun come up on the desert. It always gave him a thrill. There was something clean and fresh and invigorating about the air in the morning, before the sun made it stale. But this morning he felt nothing, absolutely nothing.
The eggs were tasteless and the coffee like scalding water. He looked at the date on a soiled calendar over the grill and with a bitter grimace remembering that it was his birthday. Happy birthday, sucker. Johnny Womack, the guy everybody said was going to set the world on fire, broke, wife gone, stuck in a two-bit burg with a broken-down rig and no dough to cover the tab.
Womack gave a short, hard laugh.
He put down his cup and looked across the highway. White had crawled out from under the tractor. The mechanic was talking to someone over by the pumps. Womack knew right away who it was. He cursed softly under his breath.
White was talking to the sheriff. Wibber looked very big and imposing and official in the western hat. It was only a few minutes past six and already the sheriff was mopping at his neck with a diaper-sized handkerchief. It was going to be hot. The sheriff stopped talking once and gazed over at the diner. Womack couldn’t see his face beneath the wide hatbrim but he got the impression that Wibber was looking directly through the window at him.
Womack wondered if trouble was boiling up again.
He found that he didn’t much care. He had the feeling that there would be nothing but trouble for him now wherever he went. Thanks to Emma, he hadn’t a dime to show for the ten years he’d saved so that he could have his own rig, because she’d skipped out with everything — every last cent. It was an even chance now that he would have to get rid of the rig or be chewed up with finance charges.
Womack had a sudden vision of the gun concealed beneath the dash in the big tractor. For a moment, the vision gave him confidence, and he knew that everything was going to be all right. But the confidence was replaced by a sudden sense of fear. He took a sip of coffee, its bitterness like black bile in his throat, and reached for the sugar.
He was thinking like a fool. He was being ridiculous. He wasn’t about to risk another stretch in reform school — in prison, this time — for some penny-ante heist.
He had a second cup of coffee and watched the sun come up and felt the sweat forming damp spots under his shirt.
9
When Sammy Travis unlocked the door at four-thirty that same afternoon, Lila was in the bathroom, adding tapwater to a couple of highballs.
“I heard you coming up the stairs,” she said. “I figured you might want one of these.”
He didn’t wait but went in the bathroom.
Lila had her hair tied back in a loose pony tail and she was wearing a robe. She handed him a glass and he took a long swallow before saying acidly, “You been wearing that robe all day?”
“It’s hot. I was getting ready to take a shower.”
He put a hand on her arm and pulled her around to face him. She didn’t move. He said, “I told you not to go out last night.”
She looked nervous and on edge. He could tell that she had already been drinking. She said, “We going to fight?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I don’t want to fight, Sam.” Her eyes softened.
He released her arm.
She walked past him into the bedroom. “What’s the sense of staying home all the time? You’re never here.”
“I’m in the Army, remember?” He followed her. “I ain’t no general, either. I come to town whenever I can.”
“Whenever you’re not chasing around after some girl.”
“That sounds great, coming from you.”
“What’s happened to us, Sam?”
“You can answer that as well as I can.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s the matter with you, anyway? You weren’t this way in New York.”
“This isn’t New York, Sam.” The room had twin beds. She sat down on one of them. “What am I supposed to do, just sit around this crummy room while you play soldier?”
“I told you. It won’t be for long.”
“It had better not be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the smart guy. You figure it out.”
Travis removed his tie and sat down on the bed, not looking at her, and said, “Who was the guy?”
“How do I know? He seemed like an okay guy. He wanted to have a few drinks and dance. What’s wrong with that?”
“You tell me.”
“Don’t make it sound dirty.” She looked at him. “I don’t sleep with every guy who comes along.”
“Only the ones who ask.”
“You’ve got a rotten mouth.”
“It’s a rotten world.”
“Only because you think it’s rotten, Sam.” A look of sorrow came over her face. “Why can’t you be like other people? Why do you have to own everyone so completely? Like Sheriff Wibber. He had that man almost killed last night... because he’s afraid of you... of what will happen to him if he doesn’t do exactly as you say.”