The man came in with a heavy carton and set it on the kitchen table. Along the side it said, “Product of Scotland.” In the corner was printed, “Twelve Bottles.”
“Sign here, please.”
“It’s a mistake. I didn’t order it.”
“Look at my book. I got the right name and address, mister.”
“Yes, you have. Wait and let me phone the store and find out who ordered it.”
“Look, I got a lot of deliveries to make and I want to get off sometime today. Just be a nice guy and sign here. If it’s a mistake, let somebody else pick it up.”
“I can’t sign. Broke my hand today.”
“You did? Say, that’s tough! Look, put an X here with your other hand. I’ll write your name under it. I got to get some kind of a mark on this form.”
Steve made his X, and the man went off. Steve called the liquor store. It took several minutes to get hold of the right party. “Oh, yes, Mr. Dalvin, I have the order right here. It was phoned in by Mr. Prade. Anything wrong?”
“I... I guess not. Thanks.”
He hung up and awkwardly lit a cigarette just as a truck from Coleburne’s biggest department store rumbled into the driveway. A man hopped down and said, “Got some stuff for you. Two items.”
“What are they?”
“Well, one is a bike. I don’t know what’s in the big box. Where’ll I put the bike? In the garage?”
“You can take them back. I didn’t order them.”
“Mister, the only things I can take back are C.O.D.’s when I don’t get the money. Anything else, you got to get in touch with the store, and they have somebody else pick it up. I got to leave it.”
“All right, then,” Steve said tiredly. “Put the stuff in the garage.”
He stood and watched the bike lifted down. It was an English bicycle, dark maroon, with gear shift and racing tires. The mysterious box was five feet long and about two feet square. When the truck pulled out he went across to Prade’s back door and pushed the bell.
The girl in the yellow sun suit came to the door. “Oh, hi! Wanna see Lew?”
“Please.”
“Come on in, then. Lew’s in the front room.” He followed Irene through the house to the living room. It was bigger than his. The Venetian blinds were closed. The TV screen was alive, but it seemed to be ignored by all present. It took Steve a few moments to get used to the subdued light. There were several shirt-sleeved men, a few girls, many glasses, a haze of smoke.
“Here’s the neighbor, Lew,” Irene said.
Lew Prade got up off the couch, a glass of beer in his hand. “How’s it going, Stevie? Get that mitt fixed up okay? Doc is a good man. He give me a ring on Marty. Says he’s going to keep him a while. He get you back home okay?”
“He had his nurse drive me home.”
“I hear he’s got one special nurse, cute as a bug. How about a beer? I say a day like this, it’s a beer day. Folks, this is Stevie Dalvin, my next-door neighbor. There’s Bunny and Bess and Reds.”
The girls waved a lethargic greeting.
“And Al and Joey and Pritch and Henry.”
They said hello, and one of them added, “Wish I coulda seen Marty get it.”
“Prettiest sucker punch I ever saw,” Lew Prade said.
“Next time, guy,” one of the men said, “you try a sucker punch, give it to them in the neck. It works just as good, and you don’t bust your hand.”
Lew clucked sadly, “Beating up a little kid. Want a beer, Steve?”
“No, thanks. Look, could I see you alone, Mr. Prade?”
“Everybody calls me Lew. Right from the governor of the state on down. Come on in here.”
The bedroom was bright after the shaded living room. They sat on the bed. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
“Mr. Prade — Lew, I don’t want to accept those presents.”
“Lord, they come already! Those boys really jumped. How does the bike look? I asked for the best in the house. You get the best of anything, you never go wrong. I learned the hard way. Look at these slacks. Forty bucks. For twenty you can get a pair looks just as good, but they won’t hold up. This shirt is hand-painted. Guatemala. Pretty damn thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s a nice shirt, Lew. But about these gifts — I don’t want to accept them. You handle the medical expenses, and that’s enough.”
Lew took several swallows of his beer. Then he said, “And what does that make me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it this way. I know that Marty is too dumb to keep around. Dumb and ugly. So I’m selfish. I keep him around for the laughs. I should know better. A good neighbor gets a busted hand. His kid gets slapped around. So who’s fault is it? Not Marty’s. Mine. I should never bring a punko like that into a nice neighborhood. That makes me a bad neighbor. So I got to make up. Everybody can use Scotch. The kid can have fun with the bike. Your little girl never sees a doll bigger than that one, I bet. And won’t orchids look good on your wife?”
“The orchids haven’t come yet. My wife has been dead over a year.”
“The hell you say! Damn. I should have checked, I guess. Irene, she said she saw the little girl, and I just figured a wife went along with the deal.
“But the rest of the stuff. Hell, what harm does it do, if I want to do it? You want those kids to keep thinking they live next to a bunch of bums or something? I’m nuts about kids myself.” He nudged Steve with his elbow. “Used to be one myself.”
“It doesn’t seem right.”
“You know, Stevie, I like you. You got a good attitude. Most of the people are chiselers. You know that. I like you standing up for your kid, and I like you trying to give the stuff back. You made an effort. Now forget it and come have a drink.”
“Well...”
He slapped Steve’s shoulder. “That’s it. Say, you like your job? I got a piece of a little construction company. Maybe they need somebody, hey?”
“I’m happy where I am,” Steve said.
“Man, that’s the way to be! Me, I get restless all the time. I got a restaurant-supply business and a couple of restaurants and a taxi company and a couple of dives and a little entertainment-booking business. You’d think that would keep a man busy enough, now, wouldn’t you? So what do I do? Now I’m moving back in on the meat business. Used to be in it during the war.
“Got a big place up in the lake country, and I’ve got one hell of a big duplex apartment in town. So I got bored with being in one place or the other, so I bought this little house out here. It’s in my name, but it’s Irene’s house.”
“Is she your wife?”
“You kidding? She was going to marry Pritch, and she got sore at him. Then she was running around with Marty. Now it’s Henry she’s got the hots for. You ever play poker much? We’ll have a little game started later. But maybe it’s too stiff for you. Tell you what, I’ll stake you. You make out, you pay me back. You go broke, and it’s my headache.”
“No, thanks. I wouldn’t be much good with just one hand. But thanks just the same. I better be running along. And... thanks for the presents.”
“It’s okay, Stevie. Look, you get in the habit of coming over, hey? Whenever there’s cars here, there’s a gang. All good boys and girls. A lot of kicks. They all like you fine for clobbering Marty, so you aren’t no stranger.”
Lew Prade grinned, but there was no smile in the glass-flat eyes. Steve went back to the house. The flowers came about twenty minutes later. A spray of tiny yellow orchids in a transparent box. He stood in the living room with the box in his hand. There were small beads of moisture on the petals. On impulse he phoned a delivery service. He printed crudely on the back of one of his personal cards, “Thanks for the ride.” When the motorcycle came he told the boy to deliver the flowers to Miss Gloria Hess, Valley Vale Sanitarium.