Breaking Point (11 page)

             
He surprised me and drove in at five minutes after eleven. He and his little friend must have been out having a late dinner and a few drinks before they arrived. He was having quite an evening so far but he didn't know how exciting it was about to become. I followed the headlight beam as his car circled the building and came to a rest in front of the same cabin they'd used on Wednesday. Talmadge got out, walked around to the passenger side and helped the blonde out. It looked like the same woman to me. She tossed her head back as if she were laughing at some clever remark that my brother-in-law had just made. I slammed my palms onto the steering wheel. He wasn't going to be sounding very clever in a few minutes.

             
They used a key and walked inside, the same as last time. I gave them fifteen minutes. Time enough to get some heat on in there and get through a little necking. Shutting the car off, I turned the collar of my jacket up and stepped back out into the icy wind. Now that Talmadge was here, I had a spare car, so to speak. If mine wouldn't start, I'd take his and leave him to freeze his ass off waiting for Ron Green to arrive. Maybe the Professor and the rhyming driver could collaborate on a book of roadside poetry.

             
I was in no mood to put up with anything right now, especially any lies from my brother-in-law. I was going to get straight to the point and get back home to my own warm bed. I glanced quickly at my watch again. Eleven twenty. I trotted over to the cabin and rapped sharply on the door.

             
"Talmadge," I shouted. "Open the damn door. NOW !"

             
I heard some scuffling around and then Tal's voice right on the other side of the door. "Who is that?" He was almost whispering, but I could hear the fear in his voice.

             
"It's me, Professor, your loving wife's brother. Now open this door before I kick the damned thing in." I was shivering and getting madder by the minute. This guy was not only cheating on my sister, he was causing me to freeze my ass off. I kicked, none too gently, at the door where the lock was attached. "Open it!"

             
He opened it, stepping around behind the door as he did so. I slid in the opening and glanced at the woman seated on the edge of the bed. She was pulling a faded pink bedspread up to her chin. A pile of clothes lay beside me, heaped on the one chair in the room. Talmadge shut the door.

             
"What the_" he started to say

             
"Shut up," I said without turning around. I pointed at the woman.

             
"You. Get dressed"

             
I pointed to the bathroom straight ahead. "Talmadge, in there." I reached down to the chair and picked up the purse that was on top of the pile. The woman started to say something, but I held my palm up to her. "Shhhhh."

             
While Talmadge went past me into the bathroom, I opened the woman's wallet, slid her driver's license out and looked at it. Opening my coat a bit, I slipped the license into my shirt pocket and looked at her again. She was about to cry or explode. I couldn't tell which and I didn't want to witness either one.

             
"I'll give it back in a minute. Get dressed while Talmadge and I have a little discussion." I followed him into the tiny bathroom and closed the door. There were two wall switches on the paint chipped wall. Guessing correctly, I turned on the ceiling fan. It made the kind of noise that you would expect it to make and that was what I wanted, noise. My brother-in-law, the professor, stood before me in only his blue checked boxer shorts. It was not a pretty sight. His bony knees were about to start knocking, so I kicked down the toilet lid and motioned for him to have a seat. He just stared at me.

             
"Sit," I shouted. He sat.

             
I glared down at him. "So, Talmadge. This is how you treat my sister? After all she's been through the past two years? You weasel!" Outrage welled up inside me and I started to lunge at him. He flinched and pulled back. The terror I saw in his eyes satisfied me somewhat but also stopped me in my tracks. I wanted to beat his slimy face in but that wouldn't help Maxine. It would help me maybe but that wasn't why I was here. I took a step backward against the closed door and inhaled a deep breath of the stale air. "Is this what you want?" I said through clenched teeth. "You're ready to trade your nice home, your wife, your kids, for..." I waved my arm around the tiny bathroom...this." Then, pointing my left thumb back over my shoulder to where the blonde was, I said, “And THAT?"

             
"No, no, that was never my...I wouldn't...I wasn't..."

             
I interrupted. "Are there any other women?" I wanted an answer while he was startled and scared enough to tell me the truth.

             
"No, What kind of a..." He caught himself before he asked a really stupid question. Sighing, he held the sides of his head in both hands. "Just Thelma." He gestured toward the bedroom.

             
"OK, Talmadge, here's the deal." I folded my arms and leaned against the door. "You call Maxine tonight, from here, on your cell phone and tell her you have been having an affair, but that it's over."

             
That snapped his head back up off his hands. "You're crazy. I can't do that. She'll kill me. She'd never forgive me. I can't." His eyes were starting to get watery, so I forged ahead, while I had him where I wanted him.

             
"Can," I said coldly, "and will. You call her now, while I watch and tell her the truth, or I can do it instead. Which scenario do you think gives you the better chance with Maxine?"

             
"Oh my God," he muttered. I let him sit there in his underwear and think about his options for a while. It didn't take long.

             
"What about Thelma?" He looked up at me. "What do I do about her? I mean, I brought her here." His mind must have been spinning with the implications of my ultimatum. He'd already taken the hook and I knew he would call Maxine if I could tie up the loose ends for him, Thelma being the loosest end.

             
Moving away from the wall, I took a step toward him and stooped down to his level. Slowly I explained it to him, in a calm, reassuring voice. "Thelma is my guarantee, Tal. I know her name and her address. I don't think either you or she wants Max to have that information. After you call your wife, you can go home, and try to work things out with Max. I'll drive Thelma back to her place in Iowa City and give her back her license. Maxine won't have to know I was here at all."

             
Talmadge sighed heavily and nodded his head as I stood back up. He was smart enough to realize that I was offering him only two choices and neither one was great. But unless he could overpower me and kill me with a toilet fixture here in this five-by-five bathroom, he had only one real option.

             
"All right," he muttered, and got to his feet. "But let me say something to Thelma first, OK?"

             
"Sure."

             
I flipped off the rattling fan and we rejoined the now fully dressed and fur coated Thelma. She was seated on the chair. Talmadge's clothes had been tossed onto the unmade bed.

             
While he pulled his pants on, Talmadge addressed his now ex-lover.

             
"Thelma, I'm really sorry about all of this. I mean tonight and him showing up, but from the beginning, too. I was..." He stared down at the worn carpeting, searching for the words that could make everything all right again. "I was thinking only of myself and I ask you to forgive me. This never should have happened and it," he paused for inspiration. "It has to end now, tonight. I'm really sorry for what I've done to you." He looked up and tried to meet her gaze, but she turned away.

             
"Fine, Professor." Her voice was icy. "Take me home or call me a cab."

             
I removed Talmadge's cell phone from the pocket of his black wool topcoat and tossed it on the bed beside him. He avoided looking at it while he pulled on his socks.

             
"You know the number, Tal. I'll walk Thelma to my car and be right back."

             
I motioned Thelma toward the door. "It's me or a long walk," I said.

             
We went out into the frigid night and I hurried her over to my car, holding her elbow, which tensed her up considerably. I put her in the passenger seat but didn't try to start the engine or leave the key in the ignition. If the car was going to start, I didn't want to look out and see it shooting up the highway. "I'll be right back," I said, but she stared straight ahead at the windshield, holding the fur coat tightly around her while I closed the door.

             
When I stepped back inside the warm cabin, Tal was crying into the phone. "Honey, wait, please. I love you. Just let me come home and we can talk and I'll make it up to you. I promise." He was sniffling pretty loudly but when I stepped closer, I could hear the shriller sound of Maxine's outrage.

             
When I listened enough to be sure he was telling her the truth, I lifted my hand in a wave and left, closing the door on my brother-in-law's misery. I kind of felt sorry for him, but not much. Maxine had been crying for days now and she hadn't been having an affair. Plus, and most importantly, she was my big sister.

             
The Grand Am started on the first crank of the still warm engine. The drive back to Iowa City was a chilly one, even though the car heated up quickly. Thelma had nothing to say to me and I was too tired and annoyed to think of anything clever that might make the trip more tolerable. Looking back on it, I don't think it would have been possible, anyway. I dropped her at the address on her license. It was the third of several brick condo buildings in a park-like setting that overlooked the river, south of Iowa City. Maybe she'd liked using the more rustic cottage down by Keokuk rather than her own posh digs. I was willing to bet that the upscale hotel and restaurant in Des Moines had been more to her liking. Who knows, maybe she enjoyed the scenery farther south. Or, maybe she had a husband waiting for her here. I didn't ask.

             
Before she got out, I held Thelma's driver's license in front of her and she snapped it out of my fingers. The car shook when she slammed the door, but I still waited until she was inside before driving off; ever the gentleman.

             
It was a few minutes past two on Saturday morning when I got to Oak Grove. I was exhausted but I remembered to stop on Market Street, two blocks from my place, at The Oak Grove Garage. Working the ignition key free of my key ring, I shoved it under the floor mat, left the driver's door unlocked and walked away from my Grand Am. I'd call in the morning and have the guys put a new battery in. As I departed, I glanced across the street where light was barely visible through the dirty windows of the police station. I was so tired that I didn't even consider stopping in to see if Bill was around

             
After unlocking my front door, I checked the office for any new signs of disarray, and went through to the living room. I tossed my coat on the couch and was asleep in my bed in less time than it takes to say it.

Chapter 12

              By eight a.m. Saturday morning, I'd called the garage and ordered the best battery they had in stock that could be jammed under the hood of my Grand Am. It would be cheaper than building a garage to keep the car warm this winter. Then I went back to sleep for a few more hours before walking over to retrieve my wheels at eleven-thirty. I still felt tired but it was more like weariness than actual fatigue. Yesterday had been a rough day, on several fronts, and I was still smarting from my surprise encounter with Caroline at the mission store.

             
I needed to talk to somebody. If I'd been living back in Pittsburgh, I'd have driven over to Woody's place and hung out with him while we figured out what was what. Here, seven hundred and fifty miles away, it wasn't that simple. I could phone him, but it wasn't as easy to jump right into the discussion without the distraction of a ball game on the tube. Besides, long distance conversation didn't offer the luxury of interspersing the discussion with other things, like having a beer or shooting some hoops. So far, I hadn't made any close friends here in Iowa, though, so it was Woody or the mirror. I called him from the living room. It was noon where I was, so it would be one PM in Pittsburgh.

             
"'Lo."

             
"Wood. Wake up, man. It's Rudy."

             
"Hey, Rude, 's'up with you? Something wrong?"

             
"No, not really. Just some crazy events happening here that I wanted to chew over with you. "

             
"OK." I heard him clear his throat. "I'm awake. Wait'll I get to the portable and I'll catch you in the kitchen. I need coffee. What time is it, anyway?"

             
I told him and held on while he lumbered to the kitchen for coffee and his other phone. I could picture him in the gray sweats that served as pajamas as well as every day wear. At his job, Woody always looked neat and trimmed, even if none of the off the rack suits could accommodate his shape. Away from his bouncer position, though, my old friend was a member of the sweat suit set.

             
"Rudy? Ok, I got some coffee here now. What's going on?"

             
"Well, I saw Caroline yesterday."

             
"And...?"

             
"And I acted like an idiot. I sounded like a fool. I didn't know what to say to her. She told me to call her and we'd talk. I don't know whether I will or not."

             
"So you acted stupid. So what? She's a nun now, so she has to forgive you, right? What else did she say?"
              "Oh," I sighed. "She said a lot of her other friends felt uncomfortable around her now, too. Do you believe that? She acted as if I was like any one of her other ...friends." I almost spat it out at the phone.

             
"Rudy." Woody bellowed. "What the hell's wrong with you? The woman's a nun, for God's sake. What did you think? She was going to faint when she saw you and beg you to take her back? What the hell's going on in your head, man? This has been over for years. Over and done and buried, except for whatever the hell movie you've been playing in your mind."

             
I didn't have an answer for that. He was right, including the part about the movie in my head. In that self-produced play, Caroline and I meet, our eyes lock and that old magic is still there. It was embarrassing to hear it from my best friend, though.

             
"Rudy? You still there?"

             
"Yeah. You know what, Wood? You're probably right about me and my dreams. But I think I have to go see her and find out once and for all. Maybe I'm just a slow learner."

             
"Hey, it's your heart you're rippin' out, buddy, not mine. Go for it."

He paused, changing the tempo as well as the topic of our conversation. "What else is happening out there on the plains?"

              "Interestingly enough, yesterday was a bad day in more ways than one." I told him about catching Talmadge and his girlfriend at the motel. Then I filled him in on the case of Charlie Wilson's accidental death and how I wasn't the only one interested in him. I explained that the fact had been driven home by the break-in, also yesterday, at my place. Understandably, as a single man, Woody's first concern was his invitation to Maxine's for Thanksgiving.

             
"I'll take care of it, Wood. I'm sure she'll still be cooking dinner on Thanksgiving. Everybody has to eat. You want me to call her and tell her I know about your surprise visit?"

             
"Yeah," he said. "That would be good."

             
"I'll tell her that I'm going to pick you up, too. She probably figured you'd want to stay here at my place anyway. Right now, she'll just be relieved to know that everything's taken care of and that she won't have to meet your plane or anything."

             
After he'd given me the flight number and time that he'd be arriving, Woody asked me for the details on the Wilson thing and we talked about that for a while. Before we hung up, he reminded me to be careful. "You never know about these things. Sometimes they look simpler than they are, buddy. Remember to take a look over your shoulder once in a while."

             
He was right, of course. There must have been more to this Wilson character than the front he presented. A slick ladies’ man and a well-dressed salesman, yes. But maybe more than that, too.

             
I looked around the living room. Everything was pretty much back in order, at least as much as it ever was. Whatever the burglar had been looking for, he was better than I was if he found it. The only thing I could even remotely classify as a clue was that black-and-white photo from California, which hadn't turned up yet. That reminded me that I wanted to call the California Wilsons again and see what they could tell me about the exact contents of the picture. I went over to get the Post-it paper with their number on it. I'd left it stuck to the corner of the framed photograph on my desk, but had forgotten that a whirlwind had blown through here yesterday. It probably got knocked off when the burglar was prying the frame apart and was on the floor someplace. I lost interest in it then, and decided to look for it later.

             
I spent that Saturday on my couch, watching college basketball. I had a few beers and a lot of snacks from the kitchen drawer. By late that night, I was out of both beer and snacks. Time for a walk to the grocery store.

             
Another nice thing about Iowa was that beer and liquor could be purchased in grocery stores, hardware stores and even at gas stations. Pennsylvania still had the state owned liquor stores for the sale of everything except beer. That particular brew could be sold only by licensed distributors and never in grocery stores. Here, I could do my one-stop shopping three blocks away at French's Market. French was really named Francis, after his father, who helped out at the store. To distinguish between the two Francises, the son was known as French. They looked alike, tall blond men who had worked hard and were built for it.

             
I bundled up against the cold, even tucking my heavy wool scarf around my neck under the down filled parka. Pulling the hood up, I tied the strings to hold it in place against the wind. I hated gloves and just stuffed a pair in my pockets to wear when I carried the bags home. In the meantime, I'd keep my hands warm in the deep pockets of my coat. The wind was actually howling as I started south toward the market, swirling the snow around my face. New lamp posts had been installed along this stretch of Main Street last month and I could just see the warm glow of the first light on the next block, barely visible through the blowing snow flakes. I thought I spotted Norman Rockwell strolling ahead of me. Probably not, though.

             
I didn't see anyone else crazy enough to be out walking on the street. Only one car passed me and I saw it turn into the parking lot of French's up ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a layer of ice building up around the edges of the fur lined hood. I felt the trickle of melting frost in my eyes and nose as I entered the warmth of the market. French called out a greeting from his butcher's counter at the back of the small store.

             
"Hey, there.  You look frozen."

             
"Just about," I answered as I pushed the hood back and stamped my boots to knock the snow loose and restart the circulation in my feet. I picked up a six pack of Killian's Red, a pack of Oreos and several bags of jerky and went through the check-out. Francis was on duty and inquired about my health and the warmth offered by my canary yellow parka. He was thinking of buying one just like it.

             
I pulled on the thick wool gloves and went back out into the icy night, a six pack in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. It seemed longer than three blocks walking back, probably because the wind was now blowing right in my face rather than at my back. It hadn't occurred to me that the easy part of this two way jaunt was the walk to the store. I passed the last of the new lamp posts near the cafe, a half block from home and was glad to see the dim light from my living room through the side window. Otherwise that section of the street was dark. The buildings on the near side of me were in bad shape and were currently vacant. On the far side of the old post office was a series of apartment buildings, set back a hundred yards from Main Street. Tonight, I wasn't able to see even a glimmer of the light from the apartment parking lot. 

             
My mind was filled with those tiny bits of nonsense as I started across the frozen expanse that was my paved front yard. I should have left the light on over the front door, so I didn't walk right by the place in this blizzard. I'd meant to turn it on. I thought I had. Wait a minute, I knew I had. What a lousy time for the bulb to burn out. As I stepped up to the door, I felt the crunch of broken bits of glass under my boots.

             
My mind slowly assimilated the information. I realized something was amiss here and started to tense and look around. I could feel the adrenalin rush as my heart responded with an accelerated beat that pulsed into my ears. I whirled toward my left, then my right. As I leaned down to set the two bags on the ground at my feet, a dark form stepped out from the corner of the building beside the doorway and punched me full force in the stomach. I dropped both packages and sank to my knees in the snow, emitting that embarrassing "ooooff" sound as the wind went out of my lungs. I tried to say something, but was stopped mid-sentence by a powerful kick delivered to my right side by a very hard boot. My head dropped to the ground and I could feel the cold snow on my cheek. My arms were somewhere at my sides, I thought, but I wasn't really thinking very much. The man leaned down and knocked the hood back off my face. He put his face near my ear and spoke loudly enough for me to hear him in the yowling wind.

             
"Be a quick learner, asshole. Keep your nose out of Wilson's business." His boot tip dug into my side twice more before he moved away. It was a good thing for him, too. In this cold night air, he could have gotten a leg cramp if he'd continued kicking me.

             
As he trotted away, I lifted my head a little and tried to get a look at the man, but it was too late, and too dark. I heard an engine start around the side of the building and a skidding sound as he turned around in the parking lot and drove off down Cherry Street.

             
A moment later, while I was trying to get up, I heard a car approaching. It slowed as it went by, then stopped on the crunching snow at the edge of my property and two doors opened. A woman ran to me and took hold of my left elbow.

             
"Are you all right? Did you fall? Oh my, this ice is terrible. Wait, my husband will help you."

             
By that time, a man had stepped up to my other side and gotten a firm grip on my other arm. Between the two of them, they got me to my feet and up to the door. I pulled off the gloves and found my key so the man could open the door for me. After getting me inside and onto one of the old wicker porch chairs I'd set near the front windows, the man went back out and retrieved my groceries, while his wife helped me pull my arms out of the parka. I was starting to stiffen up already. Damn.

             
"Hey, this is your lucky night," he said when he came back in. "Only one beer was broken and your other stuff is fine. What happened? It looks like your light bulb froze and broke there above the door." He had a flashlight in one hand that he must have brought from his car.  He went on, "That's the first time I've ever seen that!"

             
"Yeah," I lied. "It popped and I jumped a little and went down on the ice. Thanks for your help. I'll be fine now." I started to get up but he held a hand out to keep me seated.

             
"No, no. Now you just sit there until you feel better. Martha and I will let ourselves out. Is there anyone you want us to call? Do you need a doctor?"

             
I assured them once again that I would be fine and they left me there, slumped back in the wicker rocker. After they had pulled out, I reached down and retrieved one of the bottles of Killian's Irish Red from its cardboard holder and opened it. Thank God for twist top bottles, I thought.