keeping those rent-a-cops with you so they couldn’t patrol . . . I mean, that was . . .”
“All right, Chandler. Spare me the Vaseline. How much we got there?”
“Got one hundred and four of these things, baby. What they worth, anyway?”
“Those are one-ounce Canadian Maple Leafs. Two sixty to two eighty each, depending on the market. But we want to dump them all off at once, we’re looking at maybe two hundred each.”
“So that’s . . . ?”
“About twenty thousand.”
“All right!”
“Of which you owe the lawyer five, and two to the bondsman. And we owe Pablo for the car.”
“Yeah, honey. But still—”
“But still
nothing
,” the woman said. “I’m done with this. I told you—this is the last time. And I got to be at work in a couple of hours.”
The woman got to her feet. She was wearing a man’s flannel shirt and nothing else. She lit a cigarette, walked barefoot over to the kitchen window, and sat down, watching the sun struggle to come up.
7
“You don’t know nothing about dope,” the woman said to the man at her kitchen table the next evening.
“Pablo said—”
“Pablo’s good with cars, baby. But just ’cause he’s a Mexican don’t make him no expert on marijuana.”
“Vangie, there’s nothing to it. Pablo knows a guy, he can bring it in. Ten grand will get us
fifty
on the street in no time. Then we can get—”
“All you’re gonna get is your fool self killed, dealing with those people. I am thirty-three years old, Chandler Torrance. I been waiting a long time, living like this. I want to go home. I want to go back where it’s green. I want to have girlfriends like I used to. I want to see my momma face-to-face, not over the damn phone.”
“I know, Vangie. Me, too, I swear. But if we just had us some real cash, we could go back in style. Buy us some ground, and . . .”
“And what, sugar? You gonna
work
that ground? Or get a job, maybe?”
“It’s not my fault,” the man said sullenly. “You try and get a job when you’re an ex-con. . . .”
“Chandler, I’ve had my brand on you since I’ve been fifteen years old. I waited for you when you went to the County Farm because
you
couldn’t wait to buy a car to drive one. And when you decided you were gonna stick up a liquor store instead of working in one, I waited for you when you went to the penitentiary too. When that was over, I came out here with you, like you wanted. So you could start over. But you never did.”
“Honey . . .”
“There’s never been another person had his hands on me in my life, Chandler. Can you say that?”
“Well, I’m a man, honey. You can’t expect—”
“You’re not a man, Chandler. You’re a little boy. My little boy. My pretty little boy. And I’ve been taking care of you, all these years, waiting on you to be what you always was in my eyes. But I don’t believe it’s ever gonna happen now. And I’m going home.”
“Evangeline . . .”
“I mean it, darling. I know I said it before. But I mean it this time. Look in my eyes. You know I don’t lie. Not to you. Look close, Chandler. I am going home.”
8
The red Camaro was packed and waiting, the woman standing next to it, keys in her hand. Night was dropping fast.
“I’ll be coming, Vangie, I swear.”
“You know where I’ll be,” the woman said, her face soft and sad. “But I’m done with promises, yours and mine. You understand what I mean?”
“Even if you’re with another—”
“If I’m with another man, Chandler, I’m gonna
stay
with that man. You tap at my back door, I ain’t opening it, understand? You want to make it otherwise, you get in this car with me. Right now. We can be home in three days if we drive straight through.”
“I’ve gotta meet Pablo. In”—he glanced at his watch—“about a half-hour. But after that, I’ll—”
“Goodbye, my pretty boy,” she said.
9
Chandler Torrance stood next to a short, stocky man who was wearing a
“All right, Chandler. Spare me the Vaseline. How much we got there?”
“Got one hundred and four of these things, baby. What they worth, anyway?”
“Those are one-ounce Canadian Maple Leafs. Two sixty to two eighty each, depending on the market. But we want to dump them all off at once, we’re looking at maybe two hundred each.”
“So that’s . . . ?”
“About twenty thousand.”
“All right!”
“Of which you owe the lawyer five, and two to the bondsman. And we owe Pablo for the car.”
“Yeah, honey. But still—”
“But still
nothing
,” the woman said. “I’m done with this. I told you—this is the last time. And I got to be at work in a couple of hours.”
The woman got to her feet. She was wearing a man’s flannel shirt and nothing else. She lit a cigarette, walked barefoot over to the kitchen window, and sat down, watching the sun struggle to come up.
7
“You don’t know nothing about dope,” the woman said to the man at her kitchen table the next evening.
“Pablo said—”
“Pablo’s good with cars, baby. But just ’cause he’s a Mexican don’t make him no expert on marijuana.”
“Vangie, there’s nothing to it. Pablo knows a guy, he can bring it in. Ten grand will get us
fifty
on the street in no time. Then we can get—”
“All you’re gonna get is your fool self killed, dealing with those people. I am thirty-three years old, Chandler Torrance. I been waiting a long time, living like this. I want to go home. I want to go back where it’s green. I want to have girlfriends like I used to. I want to see my momma face-to-face, not over the damn phone.”
“I know, Vangie. Me, too, I swear. But if we just had us some real cash, we could go back in style. Buy us some ground, and . . .”
“And what, sugar? You gonna
work
that ground? Or get a job, maybe?”
“It’s not my fault,” the man said sullenly. “You try and get a job when you’re an ex-con. . . .”
“Chandler, I’ve had my brand on you since I’ve been fifteen years old. I waited for you when you went to the County Farm because
you
couldn’t wait to buy a car to drive one. And when you decided you were gonna stick up a liquor store instead of working in one, I waited for you when you went to the penitentiary too. When that was over, I came out here with you, like you wanted. So you could start over. But you never did.”
“Honey . . .”
“There’s never been another person had his hands on me in my life, Chandler. Can you say that?”
“Well, I’m a man, honey. You can’t expect—”
“You’re not a man, Chandler. You’re a little boy. My little boy. My pretty little boy. And I’ve been taking care of you, all these years, waiting on you to be what you always was in my eyes. But I don’t believe it’s ever gonna happen now. And I’m going home.”
“Evangeline . . .”
“I mean it, darling. I know I said it before. But I mean it this time. Look in my eyes. You know I don’t lie. Not to you. Look close, Chandler. I am going home.”
8
The red Camaro was packed and waiting, the woman standing next to it, keys in her hand. Night was dropping fast.
“I’ll be coming, Vangie, I swear.”
“You know where I’ll be,” the woman said, her face soft and sad. “But I’m done with promises, yours and mine. You understand what I mean?”
“Even if you’re with another—”
“If I’m with another man, Chandler, I’m gonna
stay
with that man. You tap at my back door, I ain’t opening it, understand? You want to make it otherwise, you get in this car with me. Right now. We can be home in three days if we drive straight through.”
“I’ve gotta meet Pablo. In”—he glanced at his watch—“about a half-hour. But after that, I’ll—”
“Goodbye, my pretty boy,” she said.
9
Chandler Torrance stood next to a short, stocky man who was wearing a
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