Cul-de-Sac (11 page)

“Probably.”

“
Or ever will have
.”

“Yes.”

None of which Annie Milton could tell her husband so when Paul finally answered the phone at Cul-De-Sac she told him lies and half-truths, committing those sins of omission to which marriages are docked like little boats too fragile for the open sea.

Paul put the phone down and touched his face. Everything hurt. His nose had been freshly broken, a tooth knocked out, the older injuries along the left side of his face still being heard from … but it was Growler’s final violation that hurt the worst, both physically and mentally, causing Paul Milton’s already fragile hold on sanity to slip. I did this for Annie, he told himself. I lost all her money, I did this for Annie. Telling himself these things didn’t help.

He wished he could sleep or, failing that, could simply and peacefully die, Paul no longer cared if Annie went to the police. Is that where she was? On the phone just now she said she was with a policeman … Paul couldn’t remember everything she’d told him, something about a policeman coming out later this evening to … what, to
what
?

“What?” he asked aloud. He was lying on his side on that big black leather couch in the middle of the old library he’d made into his workshop … finding it difficult to concentrate because of all the whispering from the chimney, that girl, those men. What were they whispering? “
What?
” he asked again.

“You talking to me?”

When Paul sat up everything hurt.

“Jesus buddy what happened to you?”

Paul looked to the doorway of the workshop and saw a golfer standing there … wearing green pants, pink shirt, white shoes, white golfing cap. He was smoking a cigar and holding a club. Considering the mysteries of Cul-De-Sac this apparition didn’t surprise Paul as much as one might think.

“You want me to take you to the hospital?” the golfer asked, removing the cigar from his mouth.

Paul touched his swollen lips and misshapen nose … and thought, he can’t see where it hurts the worst.

“I’ll run you to the hospital,” the golfer offered again.

Was this the policeman Annie had mentioned on the phone, an old friend of her mother’s she’d said.

McCleany came into the room and stood in front of the couch. He looked at Paul for a long time then addressed an imaginary ball, aimed down an imaginary fairway, taking a real swing … then held up the club for Paul to see and said, “Three-wood.”

But there wasn’t any wood on the club, the grips were plastic, the shaft was graphite, the head was metal … Paul knew there was a parable in this if he could just figure it out.

“He’s been pretty rough on you?” the golfer asked as he walked to the fireplace and threw his cigar in.

Paul said nothing.

The golfer came back to stand very close to him. “Where is he?”

Paul shook his head.

“You ain’t telling or you don’t know?”

The question struck Paul as incredibly difficult to answer.

“You sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” McCleany asked.

Another tough question.

“He won’t let you sleep will he?”

“No he won’t.” There was an assumption between the men, who they were talking about.

“I know what the two of you are looking for, where is he?”

“I …” Paul wasn’t sure how much he should tell this man.

“Yeah?”

Paul thought if he could just close his eyes and go to sleep, maybe when he woke up the golfer would be gone.

“I’m waiting.”

Paul reached up to see if his glasses were on … they were but then why couldn’t he focus?

“Photographs,” the golfer said.

“What?”

“That’s what the two of you are hunting.”

“We’re hunting elephants,” Paul said.

McCleany’s turn to be confused. “Elephants?”

“I would like to confess now.” Paul found the golfer vaguely reassuring, he was squat and waddly and grandfatherly … but was this a golfer from God or was he from Satan?

“Ever hear of Moe Norman?” McCleany asked, swinging the club again.

Paul hadn’t.

“Greatest natural ball striker the game has ever seen.”

Paul listened carefully.

“Set forty course records, so accurate they called him the Pipeline, could put a ball in a bushel basket at two hundred yards, weird-ass swing though. Canadian.”

It was like a story in the Bible, you had to listen carefully and then pray for understanding.

“You find those pictures or not?”

“Elusive,” Paul said.

“What?”

“More elusive than any elephant.”

“Jesus buddy you’re—”

“Jesus
is
my buddy.”

“Where’s Growler?”

“Who?”

McCleany put the head of the club on Paul’s neck. “I don’t care if you
are
beat up, I’ll finish the job you get cute with me … now where’s Growler?” He was pronouncing the name Grow-ler, Paul had been told it was Growl-er. McCleany pushed on the club until Paul choked. “Donald Growler goddamn you.”

“Goddamn me,” Paul readily agreed, making no effort to remove the club head from his neck.

“You’re weird,” McCleany said, withdrawing the club and taking a casual half-swing.

Paul agreed with that assessment too.

“Give me the photographs or tell me if Growler’s found them yet, you do either of those things for me and I’m out of your life … now ain’t that simple?”

“Simple?”

“Yeah. You know what I’m talking about don’t you … dirty pictures.”

“Filthy,” Paul concurred.

“You see them?”

“Did I see them?”

McCleany’s shoulders sagged. “I’m going to fucking shoot you.”

“Okay.”

While studying Paul, trying to figure out what to do with him, McCleany leaned on the three-wood like it was a cane.

“Sometimes I hear a piano playing,” Paul said.

“Hope played a piano.”

Paul thought about that for a moment then declared with great emotion, “What a beautiful thing to say.” Tears filled his tired, itching eyes. “
Hope played a piano.
”

“I met your wife.”

“Annie doesn’t play the piano.”

“She plays the flute.”

“She does?” Paul genuinely surprised by this bulletin.

“I caught her playing Camel’s flute.”

He didn’t understand.

“Your wife’s a sexy woman … red hair, cute little caboose. Know where she is right now?”

“With the police?”

As McCleany laughed he used thumb and forefinger to press the bridge of his fat nose. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. She’s staying with an ex-cop, I walked in on them … there’s no polite way of putting this, son, she was giving him a blow job.”

Paul’s heart squeezed tight in his chest.

“Oh yeah,” McCleany said, examining his club. “They were
going at it hot and heavy.” He looked at Paul. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“I saw Satan, he has genitals hanging from his face.”

“Jesus kid you are seriously fucked up.”

“Yes,” Paul agreed. “I seriously am.”

McCleany regripped the three-wood. “Moe Norman holds the club the way you would a hammer, stands way back from the ball. He’s still around you know, didn’t have the temperament for the pro tour. I can’t get the hang of his swing.”

In response Paul told him, “Crazy people don’t hear voices inside their heads, they hear the voices talking to them from outside … if it was just a voice inside your head, you could ignore it … more or less.”

McCleany stared at him.

Paul asked, “Are you the policeman Annie sent to pick me up?”

“She’s sending a cop over to take you in?”

“She said something about a camel.”

McCleany laughed. “This particular Camel is the guy whose dick your wife was trying real hard to swallow.”

“Oh.” It was a lament.

“Come on I’ll give you a ride to Camel’s office, let you sort him and your wife out … but first you level with me about those pictures. Growler found them yet?”

“No.”

“You telling me the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Okay good, now we’re making some progress. Where’s Growler?”

“He’s looking for … a friend?”

“A friend?”

“What a friend we have in Jesus.”

McCleany raised the club. “Don’t start.”

“Kenny?”

“Growler’s out looking for Kenny Norton?” This pleased McCleany enormously.

“Can’t find him though.”

“Shit, if all he needs is an address, I can help him there.”

“You said Annie is … committing adultery?”

This question also cheered McCleany, he hadn’t been sure that his lie about Annie had registered.

“Is she?” Paul asked in anguished voice.

“She’s fucking Teddy Camel, yeah.”

“Please don’t say it that way.”

“It hurt less if I say she’s ‘committing adultery’?”

How can you tell what hurts less or more when everything hurts?

The golfer was speaking to him, asking something about how long does it take Paul to recover.

“From what?”

“A blow job.”

“Oh.”

“Me, my age, takes twenty-four hours to reload, ain’t that a kick in the ass … in my day I could fuck them on an assembly line but no more. A young guy like you, what … half an hour and you’re ready to go again? The question is, how about Teddy Camel?”

Paul was almost sure that’s the name Annie mentioned, she said he was an old friend of the family.

“Hey buddy.”

“Yes?”

“If we hurry up and get to Camel’s place maybe you can prevent a doubleheader.”

Baseball?
Paul’s mind was such a muddle.

The golfer asked him if he had a gun.

“A gun?”

“Don’t repeat every goddamn thing I say!”

“Okay.”

“Now do you own or have access to a firearm?”

Paul thought carefully before answering, he didn’t want the golfer to get mad at him again. Finally he said, “No.”

“I sure as hell can’t loan you mine … how are you with a knife?”

“A knife?”

McCleany jammed him hard in the gut with that three-wood. “I
saw some butcher knives down in your kitchen, we’ll grab one on the way out.”

Holding his stomach Paul leaned over on his side, putting both feet up on the couch. “I’d like to sleep now.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Our Lord and Saviour,” Paul said dreamily.

McCleany grabbed an ankle and pulled him from the couch, when Paul landed on his ass he cried out in pain.

McCleany helped him to his feet, brushed him off a little, put an arm around Paul’s shoulder. “Got something for you.” The golfer held out a meaty hand, centered in the palm was a key.

Another parable, Paul thought … a
key
.

“The key to Camel’s office,” the golfer said. “Got it from a security guard. Go ahead,
take it
.”

Paul did, sensing inevitability.

“You’re back.” Annie got out of Teddy’s recliner and came to him but then wasn’t sure what to do when she got there, a kiss on the cheek, a friendly hug? She’d been in love with the idea of Teddy Camel for twenty-five years but they’d been together only two times, once when she was ten and then that summer when she was twenty-one … in some ways he was a stranger. And now that she was no longer immediately terrified about what had happened at Cul-De-Sac, no longer emboldened by vodka, Annie felt awkwardly shy around Teddy … ended up speaking too loudly and cheerfully, “Hey how’d that stakeout go, you catch the guy?”

Camel’s reply came as always in cool understatement. “No.” He didn’t tell her about it. “You ready for dinner?”

She made those exaggerated facial expressions a woman will use when seeking empathy. “Well I bought some food and a bottle of wine so we could eat here …”

“Good.”

Her big smile was followed by a broad look of concern. “But I finally got through to Paul and he sounds really disturbed, I’m not even sure he understood what I was telling him … I’m feeling guilty about what he’s going through so maybe we shouldn’t take
the time to have dinner, maybe you should just go out to Cul-De-Sac and get him right now.”

“Okay.”

That’s what’s so maddening about this man, she thought … he won’t try to talk me into having dinner with him, won’t say he’s disappointed we’re not going to have some time together, doesn’t even act ticked off, just says
okay
.

“You got the keys to your truck?”

“Sometimes I could just slap you.”

“You’ve done that.”

“Don’t you want to know why you infuriate me?”

“Not really.”

She made a growling sound, wanted to shake him.

“Maybe we have time for a glass of that wine you bought,” he said.

She almost asked, And now I’m supposed to be grateful?… but knew it would sound bitchy. “Paul’s been out there at Cul-De-Sac for a month on his own, I suppose he can survive another half hour … I’ll get the wine.”

Camel accepted the bottle from her without looking at the label and while he was pulling the cork he told Annie, “You look pretty.”

Which caught her by surprise … not that she hadn’t given thought to the clothes she’d bought: a simple white cotton dress that went down to her ankles, the bodice closed with a white cord that Annie had tied in a bow. She’d put on makeup, used a brand of lipstick called Red Abandon, wore dangly earrings. Annie was barefoot. She was also in the middle of her cycle.

Last month she read a magazine article that said women, married or single, more often than not initiate affairs at a time in their cycle when they’d normally be most fertile … and this holds true even if the women are using birth control measures, which of course Annie was not.

Being in the middle of her cycle was one reason Annie traveled from North Carolina to surprise Paul, hoping to get pregnant on their wedding anniversary … except now she was with the man
who made her pregnant fourteen years ago, is it any wonder that clear-eyed people claim there are no accidents, no coincidences.

When he handed her the glass of wine, Annie took note of two things … one, the glasses he’d brought out were expensive crystal and, two, age had bent him over a little.