“I couldn’t get anyone to the door,” A.J. lied. “She must be in the shower. We’ll try back in an hour or so.”
“I still have a key to this house,” Eugene said. “She looks even finer in the shower than she does in her nightgown.”
“Let’s just come back later,” A.J. said, U-turning on the spot so Eugene would not see the mystery visitor’s car parked out front. A.J.
had recognized it and was having difficulty absorbing its implications. “If I saw Diane in the shower,” he continued, “we would just have to fight again. It would look bad for me to whip a man in your condition. I’d do it, but it would look bad.”
“I can whip you with one pancreas tied behind my back,” Eugene responded. A.J. could tell he was tired and decided to swing by and see Doc Miller while they were waiting for Diane’s appointment book to clear up. He did not burden Eugene with the information, but they were going to the doctor, and that was that. Eugene looked bad and sounded worse. Predictably, he bowed up as soon as they entered Doc’s driveway.
“Hell, no,” he said.
“You come in, or I’ll bring him out. Pick it.”
“Bastard,” Eugene said, opening his door and getting out.
“Language,” A.J. said as he walked him slowly to the steps. They progressed to Doc’s door. Eugene stood there with his shoe box and grumbled while A.J. knocked. Presently, Doc answered. He was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, a T-shirt, and a pair of worn slippers. He held a cup of coffee and the door as they filed in.
“Doc, you need to take a look at Eugene,” A.J. said.
“They dress a little better down at Emory,” chided Eugene as he eyed Doc’s footwear.
“Well, go on down to Emory, or come on in the office,” said Doc testily. “My eggs are getting cold.”
Doc and Eugene went into the examining room, and A.J. sat down to wait. Minnie offered a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted. It had been a long night and was turning into a longer morning. To pass the time, he raised the lid of Eugene’s shoe box, which had been entrusted into his care. It was full of twenty-dollar bills banded neatly into stacks. All told, the shoe box contained fifteen thousand dollars. A.J. whistled softly and closed the lid. After about twenty minutes, Eugene and Doc came out of the office. They were arguing.
“No, Doc, I won’t do that. If it’s my time, then it’s my time.”
“Damn it, Eugene. It doesn’t have to be your time yet. We can buy you five, maybe six months.” Doc sounded exasperated.
“Fuck five or six months,” Eugene said intensely. “What good are five or six months?”
“Eugene, if you don’t do what I say, you will die.”
“Doc, if I do what you say, I’ll die anyway. No offense, but I’ll pass. How much do I owe you?”
“I don’t want your money,” Doc said. “I want you to use your head.” He looked over at A.J. “You talk some sense into him.”
“He won’t listen to me,” A.J. said. “Never has.” Eugene reached for the shoe box and removed one of the stacks of twenties. He placed the cash on the table.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but you can’t save me, and I’m not spending my final days wired up like a stereo. I’m going my way, and now I’m going to the truck.” Eugene walked out the door.
“What was that all about?” A.J. asked.
“Ethically speaking, I’m not supposed to discuss it with you, but what the hell. Along with about twenty other things that are going wrong, his liver is starting to fail. Or at least, that’s what I think. He needs to be in a hospital for some tests and some treatment, and he needs to stop drinking. Hell, he smells like a distillery right now.”
“He won’t do either,” said A.J. There was no use pretending.
“His time is short,” Doc said, “and he won’t lift a damn finger to prolong it.” He pointed at the money on the table. “I don’t want that.”
“You know he likes to pay his way, Doc. Keep it. Treat the widows and orphans with it.” A.J. was forming a question in his mind. “Do you know long he has?”
“I have no idea how long. We are no longer even nearly in the six-month neighborhood. In medical terms, he’s circling the drain.” Outside, they could hear the truck horn blow. Doc stepped back in his office and returned with a bottle of pills. “When his pain becomes severe, these will help. I ordered them especially for him.” Doc graced A.J. with an appraising glance. “The dosage is a little tricky, especially when mixed with alcohol. As the pain gets worse, the medication has to be increased. A little too much, and he just doesn’t wake up. Lethal but painless.” There was a long silence, a pregnant pause rife with unspoken thoughts. The truck horn blew again.
“I’ve got to go,. Doc,” A.J. said, pocketing the little pills that were guaranteed one way or another to end Eugene’s pain. He wondered what was going on in Doc’s mind, but he knew there would be no clarifications. He looked at Doc momentarily, and then walked to the truck. Eugene was petulant.
“The man just told me not to put on any long-playing records, so you stand around and shoot the shit with him for half the day. Great.”
“Sorry about that.” A.J. looked at his watch. They were in the launch window for the visit to Diane. He drove in the direction of her house. On the way, they met the vehicle driven by Diane’s companion of the previous evening. The two drivers traded glances and recognition. A.J. grunted. Life was peculiar at times.
They arrived at Diane’s, and he pulled up close and parked. Eugene had preened during the drive and looked more presentable. A.J. wanted to wait in the truck, but Eugene had other ideas. He seemed desperate for an ally, and A.J. relented. Together they walked up on the porch, and A.J. knocked. Diane answered almost immediately. She was wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Her hair was tousled. She gasped. A.J. recalled that she had not seen Eugene for a while.
“Eugene, what’s happened to you? You look terrible!” Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth.
“I’ve been a little sick,” he said. “Can we come in?” She held the door, and Eugene stepped through, holding his shoe box. A.J. looked at his watch.
“I’ve got something important to take care of,” A.J. said. After being up all night, a cup of coffee was important. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder as he cut a quick retreat. He had gotten Eugene to the water, but it was up to him to drink or drown.
A.J. drove down to the Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Spaghetti Buffet Drive-In for a cup of coffee. Most of the Saturday morning crowd was there, and word was already on the streets concerning A.J.’s realignment from employed to not. The general consensus was that A.J. had gotten the dirty end of the stick, but these things happen. There was further agreement that John McCord should be shot, but there were no volunteers and A.J. was too tired to go do it himself. Maybe later.
After an hour of pity and commiseration, he estimated he had left the Purdues alone long enough. A.J. thanked Hoghead, paid for his coffee, and exited the diner and drove slowly over to Diane’s house. He could always drive on past if things were going well, and he wanted to be nearby should gunplay erupt.
When he arrived, he saw that they were sitting on the porch swing. They seemed at ease with one another, and A.J. started to leave when Eugene waved him up to the porch. As he stepped up, he saw that Diane was softly crying. The shoe box was nowhere to be seen. Eugene arose, then bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. She stood and held him close for many heartbeats, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, she released him for all time. She turned, went inside, and quietly closed the door.
“Take me home,” Eugene said. His voice was husky and immeasurably sad. The drive to the cabin was silent. When they arrived in the clearing, Eugene got out without a word and went up on the porch. Then he turned.