Stranglehold. Part 3

She walked up the steps to the porch, opened the door and walked inside.

Her mother was sitting in the living room reading a day-old newspaper. Judging by the good, rich smell coming from the kitchen, dinner tonight was going to be ham and cabbage.

"h.e.l.lo, Liddy," her mother said and looked at her over the top of the paper. She saw her expression darken. Then she put aside the paper.

"What is it?" she said.

And all she could do was cry a little while her mother got up and put her arms around her and hugged her and asked her what was wrong? what had happened? because she couldn't tell, she wasn't supposed to be making love to boys in the first place, not at her age, not coming from this family.

So Liddy had yet another guilty little secret.

Plymouth, New Hamps.h.i.+re July 1971 They were sitting at a desk inside the small gla.s.sed-in cubicle when Harry Danse came shuffling through the stationhouse door. The gla.s.s was cloudy from years of cigarette smoke but Harry seemed to spot his son immediately. He walked over.

"Hiya, Ralph."

Duggan nodded. He saw Harry was putting on weight. His son wouldn't look at him.

"How's Ruth?"

"Same."

Ralph Duggan felt bad for the man. Harry'd married a pretty young woman who'd turned into one salty old ball-breaker of a wife and here was his boy Arthur in trouble again.

Only this time they'd caught the kid red-handed.

"Before we get into what, uh, happened here I'd like for you to see something," Harry said. He reached into his s.h.i.+rt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"What's this?" said Duggan.

"High school report card. See what it says there? All A's but for one B in algebra. See, the boy's doing pretty well, Ralph."

"This Ruth's idea?"

"I guess so, yeah. She'd of come down herself but she's not feelin' too well."

"Flu?"

"Uh-huh."

Duggan sighed and settled back into his chair. He looked the card over. Harry wasn't kidding. All A's. Duggan handed the report card back to him. Harry folded it and tucked it into his s.h.i.+rt as carefully as though it were a page from the family Bible.

"Let me ask you something, Harry. Sit down here. How's the store doin'?"

Harry sat.

"Not bad. Still the only place to buy beans and boots in the town of Ellsworth. Still a long way for folks to come into town here or on over to Compton."

"That new complex out on 93 hurt you any?"

"Some, maybe."

"How come the boy don't work for you, Harry?"

"We was planning on sending him to college next year."

"You can do that?"

"We think we can."

Duggan looked at the boy and then at the father. The boy was slumped in his chair, frowning, looking grim. He guessed the boy didn't much care for getting caught. The father leaned hunched toward Duggan across the desk. For whatever reason he reminded Duggan of a dog hoping for a treat-looking at him with sorrowful big eyes. Well, he wasn't getting any treats tonight.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the fat red Swiss army knife.

"You stock these in the store, don't you?"

"Sure I do."

"They go for about how much?"

"That kind's twenty-five, twenty-six dollars maybe."

"So what's Arthur doing stealing this knife from Becker's?"

Harry looked disconsolate. He shook his head.

"Right. d.a.m.ned if I know either," said Duggan.

He let the silence work awhile. He could do that much anyway.

"The fact is that Becker's not pressing charges. I got to tell you, that's against my better judgment. But Old Man Becker knows you and respects you, Harry, the two of you being in pretty much the same business all these years. If it were me, I'd see your boy in Juvenile Court. You know and I know this ain't the first time he's been in trouble, even if we couldn't make it stick to him."

He heard the boy mumble something.

"'Scuse me?"

"I just said ... you never ..."

"That's right. We never. But I'll tell you something, kid, all I had to do was take one look at you to know you were guilty as s.h.i.+t on that break-in last summer so don't you try to bulls.h.i.+t a bulls.h.i.+tter. You're right. We never. But someday, somebody's going to. You can bet your A-plus college-bound pants on that. Somebody's going to."

He looked at Harry. Harry reminded Duggan of that same old dog only now the dog'd been beaten.

Why was there always the f.u.c.king temptation to apologize to this man?

"You can take him home, Harry. Tell Ruth I said h.e.l.lo."

He opened the door for them. The boy went first, gangly and moving fast. His father followed more slowly a few paces back. They could have been a pair of strangers coincidentally walking down the same hall at the same time.

Duggan leaned out the cubicle.

"Hey, Harry?"

He stopped and turned. His son kept going out the door. "What college, Harry? Where's he going?"

"Boston University. Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts."

He said it with what for Harry almost amounted to pride. Duggan nodded.

"Well, good luck, Harry."

He watched the man walk away. He lit himself a cigarette and sat back down at the desk.

He wondered if he'd seen the last of Arthur Danse. Probably. The boy was going to college in the fall. He couldn't say he'd be one bit sorry.

Boston University. The school had a fine reputation, even Duggan knew that. He was impressed by that much about Harry's kid, anyway: A punk's a punk, he thought.

Probably Arthur was Boston's problem now.

Three.

Crossed Paths

Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts September 1974 "I thought you ought to hear this personally," the girl said to him. "Go f.u.c.k yourself."

She turned to leave.

Oh, yeah, he thought. You're very tough. Sure. Play it that way.

But he'd made a h.e.l.l of a mistake on this one. He had to admit it.

"I didn't know, Annie! I swear I didn't. Come on in, will you? Just listen to my side."

"To h.e.l.l with your side, Arthur."

"Just give me a minute, will you? Hear me out."

He stepped to the side. He looked at her. She hesitated for a moment and then marched into his apartment. He could see she was seriously p.i.s.sed. No act. He liked her mad. In fact he felt more turned on by her right now than he'd been when he was f.u.c.king her two nights ago.

"You realize how humiliating this is? I let you make love to me Friday, and then Sat.u.r.day night you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my roommate?"

He closed the door behind her.

"I didn't know that. Look, Annie. Why would I do a thing like that? Do I look stupid? Do I look like I have the urge to self-destruct here? You were just two attractive women, that's all-two very attractive women. Denise and I danced at the freshman party. You didn't go, you weren't there. Then later on, after the dance, I asked her out. That was last weekend, Annie. I didn't even know her. I barely knew you. You and I hadn't gone out yet, we'd only made the date to go out. So who could tell how you and I were going to ... get along? I sure didn't know we'd be making love the night before last, now did I?"

"But you knew it last night, didn't you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And you f.u.c.ked her anyway! What are you, the G.o.dd.a.m.n junior cla.s.s Romeo or something? G.o.d's gift to the little freshman girls? Well f.u.c.k YOU, Art! f.u.c.k YOU!"

"I've got neighbors, Annie."

"Yes and I've got a dormitory full of women who think I'm a G.o.dd.a.m.ned joke! Well, probably Denise can handle that-Denise's a f.u.c.king doormat-but don't you think you can pull that s.h.i.+t on me!"

"I'm sorry, Annie. Honest I am."

Her face was tight with scorn. She was beginning to p.i.s.s him off.

"And don't you call me Annie, you son of a b.i.t.c.h! My friends call me Annie. NOT YOU!"

"Look, take off your coat. Sit down, relax a minute. Let me get you a drink or something."

He turned away from her toward the narrow cluttered counter that separated the tiny kitchen s.p.a.ce from the living room. There was a bottle of cheap red wine in the corner. For her it would do.

"No thanks."

"Just one."

"I don't want a thing from you."

"Look, do you think this is pleasant for me? Do you think I like this? Believe me, honest, it's ... I feel terrible ..."

"No, I do not think this is pleasant for you, you selfish little s.h.i.+t, and you know why? Because you just screwed yourself out of a d.a.m.n good lay and a d.a.m.n good woman! Oh, and you also f.u.c.ked yourself out of Denise too, by the way. You might care to know that, Mr. Cla.s.s Secretary Big Shot. Because even doormats get humiliated. You know? And if you think she's going to ..."

"f.u.c.k you," he said. He'd done his best but enough was enough. "f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e. You come here, to my home ..."

"What? What did you say to me?"

"I called you a f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e."

"WHAT?".

He whirled and punched her.

In the stomach. Where it wouldn't show.

She doubled over and gasped for breath and he had no trouble just pus.h.i.+ng her over. She fell to the side by his ratty old couch still clutching her stomach and rolling. He got down on his knees and let her have it again. Lower this time. Harder.

She attempted a sort of half scream but he could see she could barely breathe. He straddled her. Saw her face go red with pain. Pain was what she'd asked for, pain was what she got. He put both hands to her throat.

"Wh.o.r.es get f.u.c.ked," he said. "They get f.u.c.ked quietly. If you say another word to me or you fight me in any way I'm going to kill you, you dumb b.i.t.c.h. Because you have said enough to me! Got that?"