looked like fat periods.
Ma
Well how the hell are you i guess you remember your old freind Sturdy. This heres junior hes OK
The moronic signature at the bottom might have read “Sturdy.” It might have read John Hancock or Pontius Pilate. I said, “That’d be Waldo Stoudenmire, the Iroquois Heights fence?”
“Maybe.”
I returned the letter. “I didn’t know Sturdy dealt guns.”
“Sturdy’d peddle his grandmother’s teeth if there was cash in it.” She refolded the letter and pocketed it. “But he knows what’s good for him and he don’t give nobody the green light here that didn’t earn it.”
“Describe Thayer.”
She squinted up at me through the smoke of her cigarette. “Thirty. Your build, but soft around the middle. Be fat in a couple. Glasses, I think.”
“Sounds like his pictures. What was he after?”
“You come back with that other two-fifty and Ma will tell. Plus thirty for the lamp. I forgot about the lamp.”
“I could just ask Sturdy.”
“Sturdy’s dead, I heard.”
“I didn’t.”
“You will.”
I scratched my chin. “It’s like that, is it?”
“Not Ma. Ma don’t kill nobody. She just hears things. You young blades forget us old folks are around.”
“Did you make a sale?”
“I ain’t in business not to.”
“For how much?”
“Ten.”
“Thousand?”
She coughed. “No, Cadillacs. Of course ten thousand.”
“Cash?”
“Check.”
“Check?” For some reason that rocked me harder than the part about Sturdy being dead. “Since when do you put anything on the books?”
“The books say I sold him the truck I made the delivery with,” she said. “Or would of.”
“You didn’t deliver?”
“Bank wouldn’t cash the check.”
“He stopped payment?”
“Not him. His old man. The bank told me.”
“How could Doyle Thayer Senior stop payment on a check his son wrote?”
“He can when it’s drawn on his account.” She tidied the bills, folded them, and put them inside her bib pocket. “That there’s worth about two-fifty, I’d say. Come back with the rest and I’ll tell you the rest.”
I sighed, took out my wallet, and gave her the other half of the five hundred. “I still owe you for the lamp.”
She chortled; that’s all you could call it. She counted the money and put it with the rest. “Don’t never play poker with a lady from Logan County.”
“What was Junior buying?”
“Well, if I was the kind to deal in guns and such, and if Junior was the kind to buy from me, I might offer him a Polaris missile.”
“For ten thousand?”
“Just the shell. Ma don’t mess around with that nuke juice.”
“Where’d you get a Polaris missile?”
“I didn’t. I just told you, I ain’t the kind, and if I was, I wouldn’t say so for no five hunnert.”
I looked down at Hubert Darling, who had begun groaning again but showed no signs of moving. Sorting through my terminology. “Where would someone go around here to lay hold of a Polaris missile, shell or otherwise?”
“Talk to the Colonel.”
“Colonel who?”
Her face was a mask; but then it was anyway. “If you don’t know who the Colonel is, he don’t want you to know. Ma’s got to get lunch on the table.” She pushed past me, in the direction of the smell of frying onions.
“If it’s for Hubert, you better make soup out of it,” I said. “He won’t be chewing anything for a while.”
“I forgot to ask why you hit him.” She was in the kitchen now, banging pots and pans.
“Old times’ sake.” On my way out I crunched through pieces of broken lamp.
The onions had made me ravenous. I had lunch at a sausage palace a mile from the Chaney house. It was a block building made over to look like a barn, with a hip roof, red aluminum siding, and fat waitresses bound in tight pink uniforms. There was enough grease on my plate to lube a fleet of Chevies. I shoveled it in with both hands.
Afterwards I smoked and thought. I wondered who the Colonel might
Ma
Well how the hell are you i guess you remember your old freind Sturdy. This heres junior hes OK
The moronic signature at the bottom might have read “Sturdy.” It might have read John Hancock or Pontius Pilate. I said, “That’d be Waldo Stoudenmire, the Iroquois Heights fence?”
“Maybe.”
I returned the letter. “I didn’t know Sturdy dealt guns.”
“Sturdy’d peddle his grandmother’s teeth if there was cash in it.” She refolded the letter and pocketed it. “But he knows what’s good for him and he don’t give nobody the green light here that didn’t earn it.”
“Describe Thayer.”
She squinted up at me through the smoke of her cigarette. “Thirty. Your build, but soft around the middle. Be fat in a couple. Glasses, I think.”
“Sounds like his pictures. What was he after?”
“You come back with that other two-fifty and Ma will tell. Plus thirty for the lamp. I forgot about the lamp.”
“I could just ask Sturdy.”
“Sturdy’s dead, I heard.”
“I didn’t.”
“You will.”
I scratched my chin. “It’s like that, is it?”
“Not Ma. Ma don’t kill nobody. She just hears things. You young blades forget us old folks are around.”
“Did you make a sale?”
“I ain’t in business not to.”
“For how much?”
“Ten.”
“Thousand?”
She coughed. “No, Cadillacs. Of course ten thousand.”
“Cash?”
“Check.”
“Check?” For some reason that rocked me harder than the part about Sturdy being dead. “Since when do you put anything on the books?”
“The books say I sold him the truck I made the delivery with,” she said. “Or would of.”
“You didn’t deliver?”
“Bank wouldn’t cash the check.”
“He stopped payment?”
“Not him. His old man. The bank told me.”
“How could Doyle Thayer Senior stop payment on a check his son wrote?”
“He can when it’s drawn on his account.” She tidied the bills, folded them, and put them inside her bib pocket. “That there’s worth about two-fifty, I’d say. Come back with the rest and I’ll tell you the rest.”
I sighed, took out my wallet, and gave her the other half of the five hundred. “I still owe you for the lamp.”
She chortled; that’s all you could call it. She counted the money and put it with the rest. “Don’t never play poker with a lady from Logan County.”
“What was Junior buying?”
“Well, if I was the kind to deal in guns and such, and if Junior was the kind to buy from me, I might offer him a Polaris missile.”
“For ten thousand?”
“Just the shell. Ma don’t mess around with that nuke juice.”
“Where’d you get a Polaris missile?”
“I didn’t. I just told you, I ain’t the kind, and if I was, I wouldn’t say so for no five hunnert.”
I looked down at Hubert Darling, who had begun groaning again but showed no signs of moving. Sorting through my terminology. “Where would someone go around here to lay hold of a Polaris missile, shell or otherwise?”
“Talk to the Colonel.”
“Colonel who?”
Her face was a mask; but then it was anyway. “If you don’t know who the Colonel is, he don’t want you to know. Ma’s got to get lunch on the table.” She pushed past me, in the direction of the smell of frying onions.
“If it’s for Hubert, you better make soup out of it,” I said. “He won’t be chewing anything for a while.”
“I forgot to ask why you hit him.” She was in the kitchen now, banging pots and pans.
“Old times’ sake.” On my way out I crunched through pieces of broken lamp.
The onions had made me ravenous. I had lunch at a sausage palace a mile from the Chaney house. It was a block building made over to look like a barn, with a hip roof, red aluminum siding, and fat waitresses bound in tight pink uniforms. There was enough grease on my plate to lube a fleet of Chevies. I shoveled it in with both hands.
Afterwards I smoked and thought. I wondered who the Colonel might
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