Come Easy, Go Easy (15 page)

She didn't lower her blind when she went to bed, but although the temptation was great, I kept away from my cabin until her light went out.

The picture I had in my mind of her nakedness remained to torture me. The heat didn't help either. After the fourth day, a strong wind got up, blowing sand everywhere, a hot wind that frayed my nerves.

I began to sleep badly.

The heat got so bad the traffic dropped off. The Cantaloup growers began to send their produce by train as the eighteen hour run from Oakland over the mountain to Tropica Springs spoilt the fruit. Fewer tourists used the blistering, sun scorched road. Receipts dropped off. There were less meals to serve and no repairs. I found I had time on my hands, and as my mind was constantly tormented by the thoughts of Lola, this was a pretty bad period for me.

Eight days after Jenson's death, Lola made her first trip to Wentworth for provisions.

I was working on the magneto of the Station wagon for something to do when I heard the Mercury start up. Looking out, I saw her driving away. I guessed where she was going. It irritated me that she had gone, not telling me when she would be back, not caring that I would have to handle whatever trade came in single handed.

Around eleven o'clock, and as I was reassembling the magneto, I heard a car draw up. I was in the middle of fixing the timing and I cursed under my breath. I couldn't leave what I was doing, so I carried on, letting the driver wait.

Three minutes or so later, I had got it fixed, and I straightened up, reaching for a rap to wipe off my hands when I saw the shadow of a man lying across the opening of the shed. I looked up. My heart contracted as I saw George Ricks standing there, in his dirty overalls, his straw hat resting at the back of his head. His dog stood behind him, staring mournfully at me.

I had completely forgotten Ricks. Here was danger. The sight of this tall, stooping vulture of a man sent a chill crawling up my spine.

"Mornin'," he said, squinting at me. "Where's Carl?"

I picked up the rag and began to wipe my sweating hands with it.

"Mr. Jenson is away. What do you want?"

"Away?" He moved a few steps into the shed. The dog moved with him, keeping close to his right leg. "What do you mean— away?"

"What do you want?"

"Look, young fella, it's my business what I want and not yours. You're the hired hand, aren't you, or do you suddenly own this place?"

"I don't own it. I'm asking you—what do you want?"

"Where's that Jezebel? Isn't she here?"

"I don't know what you mean. What Jezebel?"

He leered at me.

"His wife. Who do you think you are kidding? Where is she?"

"If it's any business of yours—she's in Wentworth."

"So you're in charge?"

"Someone has to be."

He leaned forward and scratched the dog's head. The dog flinched as if expecting a blow.

"Where's Mr. Jenson gone?"

"He's away on business."

He gave the dog a sudden impatient shove with his leg as he asked, "What business?"

"You'd better ask him."

He eyed me, moving a few steps forward.

"When will he be back?"

"I don't know: a couple of months: maybe not so long."

"A couple of months?" His mean face showed his surprise. "What's going on around here? Didn't he take his wife with him?"

"Look, I'm busy," I said curtly. "Mr. Jenson won't be back for a couple of months. What do you want?"

"I want to see him. It's important. Where is he?"

"Somewhere in Arizona. He's buying a filling station if you must know."

"Is that right?" He put his head on one side, squinting at me. "Another filling station? I guess he has more money than sense. You mean he didn't take his wife with him?"

"No."

"She's staying here while he's away?"

"Yes."

I could see his dirty mind was already buzzing like a beehive.

"Well, I'll be darned! I always thought he was an old fool, but I didn't imagine he would be that much of a fool."

"Who cares what you think?"

He stared at me, then his crafty, mean face lit up with a sly grin.

"Well, I can't call you a fool. You seem to know a good tiling when you find it, don't you?"

"Mr. Jenson told me about you," I said, and I didn't bother to conceal my contempt for him. "He said you were the biggest scrounger in the district. He said if you ever came around here trying to take something, I was to throw you out. Are you getting out or do I throw you out?"

"Is that what he said?" The sly grin slipped a little. "He said that about his own brother-in-law? You take it easy, young fella. If Carl is fool enough to leave you and that wife of his alone together, it's no skin off my nose. More fool he: that's what I say. I've got to see him. What's his address?"

"I don't know."

He took off his straw hat and scratched his dirty, scaly scalp while his little eyes probed my face.

"I've got to talk to him. I want his signature on my pension papers. He always signs them. You must know where he is."

"I don't know! He's somewhere in Arizona. He's moving around. He said not to expect to hear from him until he got back."

He gave the dog a sudden flick with his hat before putting the hat back on his head. There was now an alert, suspicious expression on his face.

"She must know how to get hold of him."

"I tell you neither of us do!"

"Then what am I going to do about my pension papers? If I don't get them signed, I don't get my pension."

"Get someone else to sign them."

He shook his head.

"I can't do that. Carl always does it. If I get someone else to do it, those dopes will want to know why. They could hold up my pension: then what would I have to live on?"

"I can't help that," I said. "I haven't his address. If I had, I'd give it to you. You'll have to wait until he gets back."

He continued to stare at me, his head on one side. The dog stared at me too.

"Two months you say? What am I going to live on for two months while I'm waiting?"

"I don't know and I don't care!" I found I was shouting at him and I throttled my voice back. "Why don't you do some work for a change?"

He didn't like that. His face turned mean.

"Don't talk that way to me, young fella. I'm a sick man. My doctor won't let me work. I have a bad heart. Are you sure she doesn't know where he is?"

"How many more times do I have to tell you—neither of us do!"

There was a pause while he bent to pat his cringing dog. Then he said, "Suppose something happened? Suppose she got ill? Suppose the place burned down? You'd have to tell him, wouldn't you? How would you find him in an emergency?"

"She's not going to get ill and this place isn't going to burn down! Now, get out! I've things to do."

"If I don't get my pension papers signed I'll have no money." His voice had changed into a whine.

I was tempted to give him a few dollars to get rid of him, but I realised the danger of this. Once I began handing this scrounging rat money, he would keep pestering me.

"Oh, get the hell out of here!" I shouted. "I'm busy!"

I went back to the Station wagon and began to tighten the bolts on the magneto.

"When will she be back?" he asked.

"I don't know—late."

There was a pause, then he said, the whine still in his voice, "How about lending me twenty dollars?"

"It's not my money to lend—beat it!"

I was now working on the magneto, my back turned to him. I was putting pressure on a nut when he said, "I guess if I wrote to the Arizona police they'd find him fast enough."

He had spoken casually, but to me it was like taking a punch under the heart. The spanner slipped and I lost the skin off a knuckle.

I tried to assure myself that the State police wouldn't do a thing about such an inquiry, but there was the risk that they might. If Ricks made enough of it, created suspicion, they might just possibly get in touch with the Wentworth police, and some smart, inquiring cop might come out here and start asking questions. He might even be smart enough to recognise me.

"Mr. Jenson would like it fine to have the police looking for him," I said, trying to make my voice sound casual. I sucked my damaged knuckle. "You be careful what you do. He'd be so mad he'd never sign your goddamn papers."

"Well, I've got to find him!" His voice was now aggressive. "If you can't tell me where he is, the cops might. You talk to her. I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't told her where he could be found and she isn't telling you. I'll come out tomorrow. You tell her that. If she doesn't know, I'm going to write to the Arizona police."

By now I had my face under control and I turned.

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to her. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know, but I'll ask her."

This was making a concession, and to a man like Ricks, it was a sign of weakness, but the idea of some nosy cop coming out here scared the life out of me.

He nodded: the sly grin once more in place.

"You tell her I'll be out tomorrow evening. Well, I'll run along. That reminds me. I'm nearly out of gas. I may as well fill up while I'm here. I'll have to owe it to you. Carl wouldn't mind."

My one thought was to get rid of him. I shouldn't have let him have the gas, but I was sure if I didn't, he would stay whining until he got it.

"Oh, help yourself, but let me get on with my work!"

"That's a good fella." He grinned widely. "You tell her I've got to get those papers signed. I'll be out here tomorrow evening, around supper time "

He shambled off, followed by his dog, back to his car. I watched him fill the tank and then a couple of five gallon cans. He was one of those mean scroungers who grabbed a yard when you gave him an inch. He got in the car and drove off.

When he was out of sight, I went over to the lunch room. I felt in need of a drink. I poured a big shot of Scotch and drank it, then lighting a cigarette, I paced up and down, trying to assess the danger from this old vulture.

Would the Arizona police take action if he wrote to them? It depended on what he said. If he pointed out that Jenson had disappeared, and his wife and the hired hand were sleeping together, the police might react. Often enough I had read in the newspapers that murders had been discovered by neighbours passing on gossip and rumours to the police. If the police did make enquiries and couldn't find any trace of Jenson coming out of Arizona—his description was an easy one to remember—they might alert the Wentworth police who were never over-worked, and they could come out here. They would want to know who I was and where I had come from.

But how to shut Ricks's mouth? The obvious way would be to give him money. That would hold him for a couple of months. Would he believe my story that at the end of this time, Jenson had found some other woman and had given Point of No Return to Lola? Unless we could show him a letter, telling him it had come from Jenson, he would most certainly not believe such a story. Had he ever seen Jenson's handwriting? I thought it was more than likely. He most certainly knew his signature. It would be too dangerous to attempt to forge the letter.

The more I thought about it, the trickier the situation became. When dealing with a man of Ricks's character, a man with nothing to do and with a flair for smelling out trouble, I would have to watch every move I made.

Finally, when the lunch trade started, I had to give up trying to solve the problem. I had to talk to Lola. We had a common enemy now. Maybe between the two of us, we could think of a way to stall Ricks.

Lola didn't get back until after ten o'clock. By that time, I was pretty worked up, and I had found no solution how to deal with Ricks.

I had just finished clearing up the kitchen and stacking the dishes when I heard the sound of an approaching car. I looked out of the window and saw Lola driving the Mercury into the garage.

I went out and caught up with her as she was crossing over to the bungalow.

"I want to talk to you," I said.

She quickened her step, ignoring me. I walked with her up the path, waited until she had unlocked the front door of the bungalow, then I crowded in with her.

She turned, her green eyes pools of fury.

"Get out!"

"We've got to talk," I said. "Your pal George Ricks was here this morning."

That gave her a jolt. She stiffened. Wariness took the place of anger in her eyes.

"I'm not interested. Get out!"

"You will be."

I crossed the hall and entered the sitting-room. I noticed she had washed out the blood stain in the carpet. I went over to an armchair and sat down.

She stood in the doorway, waiting. She had taken off her hat. Her red hair went well with the green dress. She looked pretty good.

"He wanted your husband to sign his pension papers," I said. "He's going to make trouble. He wanted to know where he could find Jenson."

She didn't say anything. Her face remained expressionless.

"I told him he was somewhere in Arizona. He said he had to get his papers signed or he wouldn't get the pension. When I told him he would have to wait, he said he would write to the Arizona police and ask them to find him."

That jolted her out of her sulky indifference. She moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. She walked over to a chair and sat down. The skirt of her green dress rode up over her knees. She didn't attempt to pull it down. I didn't even look twice. I had too much on my mind to bother about a pair of pretty knees.

"So …" She drew in a deep breath. "So much for your bright idea. Well, you'd better start thinking up another idea, hadn't you?"

"Let's quit fighting," I said. "Ricks could make a lot of trouble for both of us. He's coming here tomorrow night to talk to you. Between then and now we'll have to decide what we should do about him. So stop fighting me and start thinking. We're in this jam together, even if you don't think so now. If the police come here, I'll be in trouble and I'll take care you'll be in trouble too. How are we going to keep Ricks quiet?"