Hell Hath No Fury Part 5

I checked right in at the lot when I got to town and didn't go out to the rooming house until after work. There were two letters for me on the hall table, addressed in the same hand and postmarked here in town, but with no return address on them. I sat down on the bed and tore them open.

"Dear Harry," the first one said. "Please call me. I miss you so and I'm sorry I acted the way I did. I want to see you so bad. Your loving Friend." There was no signature. Well, at least she had that much sense.

I spread the other one open. "Harry," she had scrawled, "why don't you call me? Why? I can't stand not hearing from you. I told you I was sorry, what more can I do? I've just got to see you."

Was she crazy? I tore the letters into strips and burned them in the ash-tray, feeling a little chill of apprehension go over me. What would she do next? And the next time she got plastered?

The following day was Sunday. I drove out the highway after I'd had breakfast and turned off on to the dirt road going towards the river bottom and the oil well. When I got up in the pine on the sandhill near the old abandoned farms I found a pair of ruts leading off into the timber where I could get the car off the road and out of sight. It was a beautiful morning, still and hot, with the heavy scent of pine in the air, and it was good to be out here alone and away from town. I got out and started walking up the hill, keeping away from the road. In a little while I found what I was looking for, the remains of an old pine on the ground, the sap-wood long since rotted away and only the heart and pine knots remaining. I didn't have an ax, but it was easy to lay it across another log and break off a section of the heart by jumping on it. I looked at the end where it had broken. It was pure pitch pine, the kind we used for kindling when I was a boy.

I was about to start back to the car with it when I noticed I was near the edge of the clearing where one of the abandoned farmhouses stood. Leaving the chunk of pine in an open place where I could find it again, I circled the edge of the field and came up behind the house. The doors were torn off, and there wasn't much in it, just dust and cobwebs and pieces of gla.s.s here and there from the broken windows. I walked on through to the front door and looked out. The road was in plain sight from here, the sand blazing white in the sun, but it was completely deserted and I couldn't hear any sound of a car. The barn was off to the left of the house a short distance across the sand and dead weeds. I went over and looked in.

It was shadowy and cool, with a faint odor of dusty hay and old manure. There was a loft overhead which appeared to be empty, and a walled-off corn crib in one corner, in front of the stalls and feed-boxes. I went over and looked into the crib, and found just what I was looking for. An old horse collar with the stuffing coming out of it was hanging from a harness peg on the wall, and dangling from the same peg was a piece of discarded rope plowline possibly ten feet long. I took it in my hands and tested it. It was very old, but plenty strong enough for what I wanted.

I was coiling it up when I stopped suddenly and listened. A car was approaching out there on the road. I could hear it plainly now, the motor lugging in the heavy sand. I shook off the sudden nervousness and swore under my breath. I was too jumpy. It was only Sutton, either going to town or just now coming home from Sat.u.r.day night. But the car didn't go on past. I heard it slowing down, and then it was turning in. It stopped in front of the house.

I was sweating. It wasn't that I was doing anything wrong, but just that I'd look suspicious and attract attention, the very thing I didn't want, if somebody saw me prowling around out here. What explanation could I give for my being here in this old barn, with my car parked a half mile away in the timber? I whirled, looking for a way to get out or a place to hide. I couldn't leave by the door. That was in plain sight of the house. But two planks had been torn off the rear wall, and I might be able to squeeze out there. I started to run back to it when I noticed a small hole in the wall next to the house. Maybe I could find out who it was and what he was up to. Whoever it was might leave in a minute, anyway, without coming near the barn. I could see the house and the car pulled up in front of it. And it wasn't a man getting out of the car. It was Gloria Harper.

It threw me for a minute. What would she be doing out here? And what the devil was she unloading out of the car and putting on the porch. It looked like a fruit jar and a china plate, as nearly as I could tell, and there was something else which resembled a bread board. Was she going to set up housekeeping in that broken-down shack?

She had something in her hand now which looked like little sticks, and then I began to catch on. They were paint brushes. It was a water color outfit she had, and the thing I'd thought was a bread board must be a block of paper. She had on a pair of brief white shorts and a striped T-s.h.i.+rt, and the long-legged, easy way she moved was enough to make you catch your breath.

She got all of her equipment together and sat down in the shade on the edge of the porch with her feet on the steps and the block of paper on her legs, and began sketching the barn with long strokes of a pencil or charcoal stick. After she had it blocked in she started mixing paints in the white plate, dipping her brushes in the jar of water. She was completely absorbed in what she was doing and, alone like this and not knowing she was being watched, there was something almost radiant about her face, somehow sweet and infinitely appealing and still full of that quiet dignity she had. I wanted to go out there where she was.

Was I blowing my top? I couldn't go out there. How would I explain why I'd been hiding in the barn? But wait, I thought. She'd be here for a long time yet. I could sneak out the back of the barn and get into the timber without her seeing me, go back and get the car, and just happen to be driving by on my way to the river to go swimming. That would be plausible enough.

I had just started to turn away when somebody beat me to it. I heard a car coming along the road, and then I knew whoever it was had seen her there on the porch because he slowed abruptly and turned in. I looked back towards the house. She had put down the brush and was watching apprehensively as the man got out of his car. It was Sutton.

He walked over to the porch and said something I couldn't hear. I watched her, and it wasn't uneasiness alone that was in her expression; there was loathing too. Knowing they wouldn't be watching the barn now, I moved to the front door and peered out. I could hear them there. I waited.

"And how's my little chum today?" he said.

"If you mean me," she said, "I'm very well, thank you."

"Well, you look nice, honey. Nice outfit, too." He grinned and looked her up and down, taking it off as he went. "And you sure have the legs for it, haven't you, baby?"

"Did you want to see me about something?" she asked coldly.

"No. No. Just stopped for a minute to say h.e.l.lo. By the way, where's your friend this morning?"

"Which friend?"

"Big Boy, what's his name."

"Do you mean Mr. Madox?"

"I guess so. Anyway, the guy you came out to the house with the other day. I saw you going to the movies the other night, and figured you was kind of chummy. Maybe he's a little funny, too, huh?"

"Funny?" I could see the revulsion on her face.

"You know what I mean, baby."

I could feel my hands digging against the door frame. Was that what was behind that dirty joke of his and the contemptuous grin? He couldn't mean anything else, the way he had said it. But to her? Was he crazy? Or just stupid?

"Would you leave now?" she asked, her voice on the ragged edge of going all to pieces. "Or would you mind if I did?"

"Oh, I was just going. But you mind if I see your picture? I'm a great art lover, myself."

Without a word she tore it off the block and handed it to him, as if she didn't want him to defile more than one sheet of paper. He took it and pretended to study it with great seriousness, holding it at arm's length and nodding his head like an instructor.

"Promising," he said. "Very promising. But, honey, don't you think it needs a little red? To kind of overburden the harmisfralcher?"

She said nothing. He reached down for one of the brushes, dipped it into the plate, and smeared it across the paper. He handed it back to her. She let it slide to the ground. It was sickening.

I started out the door, and caught myself just in time. What was I, a sap? He wasn't bothering me, was he? I was supposed to be looking out for Harry Madox, not making a chump of myself for nothing. I stayed where I was.

"Well, I'll see you around, baby," he said. He got in his car and drove off.

She sat there for a few minutes after he left, just staring off at nothing, and then she slowly gathered everything up and put it in the car. When she was out of sight down the road I walked over to the porch. The picture was lying face up in the sand. I picked it up. It looked fine except for the smear of red he had drawn across it from one corner to the other. He liked his little joke, all right.

One of these days somebody would probably kill him. I wondered who.

Monday evening while I was putting on a fresh s.h.i.+rt the landlady knocked on the door.

"Telephone, Mr. Madox."

I went down the hall to the phone. "h.e.l.lo. Madox," I said.

"Harry," she said, "why didn't you call me?"

"You think I'm crazy?"

"I want to see you, Harry."

"Look-"

"I miss you."

I started to tell her to go to h.e.l.l and then hang up, but I didn't. I began to think about her. She could do that to you, even on the phone. Maybe it was because her voice matched the rest of her.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"At the drugstore. I thought I'd go to the movie, but again I may not. I'm sort of restless-you know how it is. So I might go for a ride."

"Yes."

"Maybe up the highway about five miles to where a road turns off to the right and goes over to an old sawmill. It's not hard to find. Once you get on the road you can't get off."

I put the phone back on the cradle. She'd said it, all right. Once you got on the road you couldn't get off.

I tried to eat some dinner, but it was straw and it choked me. I walked restlessly up the sidewalk, going nowhere. Sutton was in front of the pool hall with a handful of numbers from a tip board, reading them and throwing them on the sidewalk. He nodded and we looked at each other. I thought of what he had said to Gloria Harper. He liked his laughs so well, why not s.h.a.g him one in the mouth and watch him laugh his teeth out? Why not mind his own business? He wasn't shoving me around, was he? And I wasn't Gloria Harper's mother.

I got in the car. Why try to pretend I wasn't going out there? Did I think I could kid myself? I found the road without any trouble. The moon wasn't up yet, and it was very dark under the trees. The old sawmill was on the side of a wooded ravine a mile or so from the highway. I saw a dilapidated shed and a pile of sawdust in the headlights, but there was no other car. I cut the lights and sat there, waiting, but I was too restless to sit still very long and got out and walked around.

I heard the car coming then. It stopped under the trees and the lights went off. The ceiling light came on momentarily and I knew she had opened the door to get out. I walked over. I could see her very faintly, just the blur of her face and the blonde head, but she couldn't see me at all.

"Where are you?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I stepped closer and reached out and put my hands on her. She gasped, and turned, her arms reaching out, groping for me. I kissed her roughly and her arms tightened about my neck with an urgent wild strength in them. She twisted her face a little to one side and her mouth whispered against my cheek, "Harry, I just had to see you."

She was partly right, anyway. She just had to see somebody.

We were in the car with moonlight spilling into the other side of the ravine. "Do you love me, Harry?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Well, that's a fine answer. You might at least say you did."

"Why should I?"

"I just thought it might sound better that way. It don't make any difference, though, does it?"

"No."

"I suppose you think I'm in love with you, don't you?"

"And why would I?"

"Because I'm here. Well, let me tell you-"

"You don't have to tell me. I know why you're here. But you don't think we're going to get by with much of this, do you?"

"Why not?"

"And you're the one who asked me if I'd lived in a small town."

"It's all right. He's at a lodge meeting."

"It's dangerous as h.e.l.l. You know that."

"I notice you're telling me that now. You didn't say anything about it a couple of hours ago."

"You didn't expect me to think then, did you?"

She laughed. "How's about another kiss, and to h.e.l.l with the sermon." She was a witch, all right. She leaned back against me with her head in my arms and her feet on the window, bare legs a faint gleam in the darkness.

"Why'd you marry him?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe I was just getting scared. I'd been married twice before and it didn't work out, and I was trying to make a living out of a crumby little beauty shop and not getting any younger. I'd known him a long time. He used to come and see me when he was in Houston. It was a kind of a-arrangement, I guess you'd call it. And then, after his wife died-" She paused for a moment, and then went on irritably. "Oh, h.e.l.l, I don't know. He just kept after me about it till I gave in. How'd I know it was such a dump?"

"Well, why do you stay?" I asked.

"What're you kicking about? You seem to be doing all right." She was rugged; there was no doubt of that.

"You think you're going to get by with this forever?"

"Who the h.e.l.l cares about forever? Forever's when you're dead."

Yeah, I thought; forever's when you're dead all right, but you don't have to rush it. She was as crazy as frozen dynamite. I wanted to ditch her, and I knew that as long as I was around this town I never could, unless she got mad enough to ditch me. I'd always come back. In the only field of activity she cared anything about, she was terrific.

I didn't see her for a couple of days, and then on Thursday night I was too busy to think about her. It was the cloudy night I'd been waiting for.

7

I went to the movie and sat through a double feature without seeing it, feeling the tension beginning. When I came out at 11:30 it was still overcast, with thunder growling far off in the west. I got in the car and drove a long way down the highway, beyond the river, killing time which died too slowly. It was a little after one when I came back to town, the streets deserted now and the only lights the all-night cafe and a filling station on the other end of Main. I circled through back streets and stopped under some trees by a vacant lot a block away from the Taylor building.

I cut the ignition and lights and sat there in the car for ten minutes. Nothing moved. The one-man police force would be drinking coffee and kidding the waitress under the fluorescent lights three blocks away. There was no use waiting any longer. This was as nearly perfect as it would ever be. I got out and opened the trunk. Everything I'd need was in the cardboard box except the flashlight I'd bought, and I dropped that in my pocket.

A lone drop of rain splashed wetly in my face. It was so dark I could see only the faintly blacker loom of the trees against the sky. Then I could just made out the square shape of the building across the vacant lot. I was at the rear of it now. Suppose someone had discovered the unlocked window and fastened it again? Well, suppose they had? I couldn't help it now. I came around the corner and felt for the sash.

It slid upwards. n.o.body had ever noticed it. I reached the box through and set it on the floor of the washroom, and then climbed in myself and pulled the window down. After feeling my way out of the little room I closed the door and sighed with relief. So far, so good, I thought.

I went up the stairs. It was hard to breathe in the hot, dead air up here under the roof. My footsteps echoed through the building as I picked my way through disordered piles of rubbish.

I set the box down against a wall and swept the light around. Anywhere would do. This was as good as any. I set the light in an old chair and opened the box, lifting out the pitch pine shavings I had whittled out that Sunday in the woods. Taking four kitchen matches out of the box, I bound them to the wire cross-arm as I had done before. Then I wound and set the clock, checking it against my watch, and wound the alarm. I set it for 12:30, and released the catch. I was sweating profusely now. The heat was almost unbearable.

I put the clock back in the box and eased the sandpaper up against the match heads, checking for just the proper tension. Then I took a folded newspaper off a pile nearby and sliced it to shreds with my knife, dropping the strips into the box over and around the clock until it was full and overflowing, dribbling dozens of matches through it as I went. I added the pine shavings and slivers, building it up. There would be no smell of oil or kerosene here when they started investigating. Of course there would be the clock, or what would be left of it, but there were already at least three or four of them in all this junk so it would probably never be noticed. The solder would melt in the intense heat and the wire cross-arm would drop off, leaving it looking just like any other discarded alarm clock except that the bell was gone. I pushed the pile of newspapers against it on one side and set some chairs on the other, then tore up more papers to pile on top of the box.

I wiped the sweat off my face and stood back to look at it in the narrow beam of the flashlight. It would do. Once those matches caught the whole rat's nest would take off like gunpowder. Well, I thought, they like to go to fires. This'll give 'em one to talk about.

When I awoke the next morning it was a minute or so before I remembered. I began to tighten up then. When I looked at my watch I thought of that clock ticking away the seconds and the hands creeping slowly around and the fact that nothing could stop it now. It was eight o'clock, and the next four hours and a half were going to be rough. Once it was started and I got moving I should be able to shake the nervousness and keyed-up tension, but the waiting was going to be bad. I had to act naturally. I couldn't be looking at my watch every three minutes. It started off all right. As soon as I had a cup of coffee and got over to the lot, Harshaw and I got in another beef about something. G.o.d knows that was routine and natural enough. I can't even remember what this one was about. It never took much to start us off because we always reacted to each other like a couple of strange bears. And the funny part of it was that I had begun to have a sort of reluctant liking for him. He was as tough as boot-leather and he barked at everybody, but you were never in doubt as to how you stood with him. He told you. But the fact remained the more I had to admit he wasn't a bad sort of joe, the more I'd go out of my way to start a row.

"You know, Madox," he said, leaning back in his chair and sticking a match to the cold cigar. "I can't figure you out. You sell cars, but I'll be a dirty pimp if I know how you do it."

He was right. I'd hit a lucky streak the past few days and unloaded several of his jalopies. "Well," I said, "it's sure as h.e.l.l not the advertising. Why don't you go ahead and build a fence around the place to keep people from finding out you've got cars in here? They keep sneaking in."