The Best American Mystery Stories 2016 (20 page)

They spoke little during supper.

Julie thought of Ray Perris. She had gone with him during her senior year in high school and off and on during her first two years at Michigan State, whenever she came home to Detroit and Ray bothered to call her. Then, in her third year, shortly after Ray was called into the army, she met Evan. There was no formal breakup with Ray, no ring to return, no goodbye. Ray never wrote, only once called her when he was home on furlough; and as far as Julie knew, Ray was still unaware that she was married. Until now. Not long ago she'd heard that Ray was out of the army and had become a professional fighter. This didn't surprise her. He had entered the Golden Gloves in high school, but, it seemed to Julie, more for the sake of wanting to be known as a fighter than for the actual boxing. Since meeting Evan, the only time she thought of Ray was to wonder how she could have ever gone with him. Perhaps only because she had been seventeen.

Then the phone call this morning from Cal, her cousin. Ray was in Detroit and he was bringing him out. And from that moment, suddenly realizing she was going to see Ray again and not wanting to see him, she was afraid.

Evan thought about Cal. How he would pull up into the drive unexpectedly, uninvited, and sit in the living room with them until all the beer was gone. Cal was twenty-three, Julie's age, four years younger than Evan; but aside from that they had almost nothing in common.

The first few times he came, Evan tried hard to like him. He offered to show him around the farm, but Cal wasn't interested. For conversation he brought up the Detroit Tigers, Lions, and Red Wings, in that order, going from baseball to football to hockey. But Cal was a fight fan, and Evan was familiar with few names, none of them current, in the boxing world.

Cal did talk. After a few cans of beer he carried the conversation and invariably his remarks were directed to Julie.

Why would anybody who knew better want to live in the sticks? I mean what do you do for kicks, sit and look at each other? Nothing to do, you work your francis off and all you got to show for it is a one-story house and a four-year-old car. If Ev wants to be a vet—I mean it takes all kinds of people, believe me—why don't he get one of those dog and cat deals? Plenty of them in Detroit and those guys are making
dough.

Evan argued with him mildly the first few times, but when he realized his anger was rising he would stop. It wasn't worth it. Cal had more success with Julie. She was easily drawn into an argument, as if she were obligated to talk some sense into Cal, to make him see that living on a farm and not making much money didn't necessarily mean you weren't happy. And when she became angry, Evan would see Cal smile. A number of times he had to restrain himself from throwing Cal out bodily.

Evan would tell himself,
The next time he opens his mouth, out he goes.
Even if he is her cousin.
But he sat quietly and put up with Cal, because he couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him.

But it's not the same now,
Evan thought.
It's nice to be nice, but you can carry it too far.

He thought then,
You're feeling sorry for yourself.

But that wasn't it, for he was almost always completely honest with himself. He was thinking that he and Julie had been married for almost a year and everything was going smoothly, but for one moment this afternoon his wife had sounded like Cal and she had not even been aware of it.

You did not let a man ruin your marriage or even try to or begin to or even have it remotely in mind. That, you did something about.

They had eaten supper and were doing the dishes when the two-tone ivory-and-green station wagon swung onto the drive and came to a sudden, gravel-skidding, nose-down stop behind Evan's car. The horn blew, and kept blowing until Julie and Evan came out on the front porch.

They heard Cal's voice as he got out of the station wagon, almost stumbling, slamming the door, and Julie closed her eyes. When she opened them he was coming toward the porch. “We were starting to worry about you.”

Cal winked at Evan as if they were old friends. “That's the day.”

“What happened to you?” Julie's gaze went to the station wagon as she spoke. The curved windshield was green-tinted and she could not make out the figure behind the wheel, though she was certain it was Ray Perris.

“We stopped for some hunting,” Cal answered. “Ray figured if we're going out in the woods let's have some fun. So you know what the punchy guy does? He stops at a hardware store and buys two .30-30s.” Cal snapped his fingers. “Just like that. The guy's loaded.”

“You stopped for more than that,” Julie said.

“So we picked up a case of beer.”

Evan watched him. Cal stood with his hands on his hips, one blunt-toed cordovan shoe in front of and almost perpendicular to the other in a fencinglike pose. “You're a little early for the hunting season,” Evan said.

Cal looked up at him. “Is that right, doctor?”

“What were you hunting?”

“I don't know. What lives in the woods?”

Don't let him get you,
Evan thought, and he said, nodding to the station wagon, “What about your friend?”

“He's a shy guy.” Cal grinned. “Waits to be invited.” His eyes went to Julie. “Ask your old boyfriend in for a beer.”

“I think you've already had enough.”

“Is that right?”

“You could hardly get out of the car.”

“Is that right?” Cal turned to the station wagon. “Ray, we're going to get a drunkometer test!”

“Cal, act right today,
please!
”

They heard the car door open and slam closed. Cal said, “There's a real bomb. Two hundred and thirty horses. Digs out from zero to sixty in ten flat. Something?”

Neither Julie nor Evan answered. They were watching Ray Perris rounding the back end of the station wagon, taking his time, his hands in the back pockets of his khaki pants.

He wore a tight-fitting short-sleeved yellow-and-white sport shirt, and both of his forearms bore tattoos: a tombstone with the inscription
IN MEMORY OF MOTHER
on the right arm, and on the left a dagger with
RAY
in ornate, serifed letters on the hilt. Air Corps–type sunglasses covered his eyes (though the sun was off behind the trees and it was almost dark), and his dark hair, curling low on his forehead, was thick and combed straight back on the sides. At the nape of his neck his hair ended abruptly in a straight line.

Cal scratched idly about his shirtfront. He was hatless, with light-colored hair that was crewcut on top and long on the sides, and his entire face, pale and angular, seemed creased as he smiled.

“Ray's next fight's in Saginaw,” Cal said. “So he figured, hell, train at home for a change.”

Perris nodded. “Besides wanting to see Julie.” He was staring at her, ignoring Evan.

She tried to smile. “It's nice to see you, Ray. I don't believe you've met my husband—”

It was Evan's turn to smile, but his mouth was set firmly and his expression didn't change as he extended his hand and almost drew it back before Perris eased his from his back pocket.

“Cal said you were hunting,” Julie said to him.

“We shot sixteen beer cans.”

“You should've had Ev with you.” Julie stopped. “I mean, if it was the season. Ev was practically born in the woods—hunts every year, sets traps in the winter.” She watched them shake hands briefly.

As they did, Cal said, “Like in the ring, huh, man?”

Perris's hands went to his back pockets again and he stood hip-cocked, looking at Julie. “This cousin of yours, all he wants to talk about is fights.”

“He's already notched twenty-three wins,” Cal said. “Only lost four and drawed one. Another year and he's in line for a shot at the middleweight title. How about that?” Cal paused. “You know what they call him around the gym? Tony.”

“Tony?” Julie said.

“Tony Curtis! You don't see it?”

Julie nodded, not sure if he was serious. “There's some resemblance.”

“Some
—hell, he looks like his twin!”

Perris was studying the house. His gaze moved to the chicken house and, beyond that, the barn. His eyes returned to Julie as he said, “How much land you got?”

“Eighty-five acres, most of it wheat. Some corn. Of course Ev doesn't have time to work it all now, with his practice. A neighbor sharecrops it for us.”

“How much money does this Ev make?”

The question startled her and she hesitated before saying, “We get along fine.”

“He makes about four thousand a year,” Cal said. “Tops.”

Perris grinned. “I can lose and make that in one night. Honey, if all you got out of school was him, you should've stayed home.”

She glanced at Evan and away from him quickly. “You can't help whom you fall in love with.” She smiled as if carrying on a joke.

Cal said, “While Ray is off in the Arm Service.”

“Ev and I would've gotten married even if Ray had stayed home!”

Cal shrugged. “That's not the way I see it. Ray turns his back and the horse doctor comes along.”

“I don't care how you see it! All you want to do is argue. You've nothing better to do than that.”

“Nobody's asking me,” Perris said. “I don't think you'd of married him either. What do you think of that?”

Julie hesitated to control her voice. “I think you've had too much to drink.”

“And what's Ev think about it?” Perris turned, his expression cold and partly concealed by the sunglasses. “What's old Ev the horse doctor think about it?”

Evan met his gaze squarely. He stood with his feet apart, unmoving, and said, “You better get out of here right now. That's what I think.”

“Ray,” Julie said quickly. “There was never anything between us. That's what makes this whole thing so silly.” She stopped. Perris was not paying any attention to her.

“What was that, Ev?”

“You heard what I said.”

“Something about getting out.”

“I can't say it any plainer.”

Cal grinned. “Man, he's talking now.”

“Asking for it,” Perris said.

“Sure.” Cal nodded. “Why don't you deck him and get it over with.”

“I'm waiting for him.”

“You got a long wait.”

“Stop it!” Julie stared at Ray Perris, her face flushed and tight with anger. “What are you, some kind of an animal that you fight over nothing? Ray, I swear if you even make a fist I'll call the state police!”

Perris glanced at Cal. “Take her inside and open the beers. I'll be right in.”

“Ray, I swear—” Cal's hand closed on her arm and pulled her off balance. “Let go of me!” She saw Evan rushing at Cal and then she screamed.

Ray Perris took a half step and drove his fist into Evan's body, stopping him in his stride, and as he doubled over, Perris's left stung against the side of his jaw and he went to his knees.

Perris stood close to him, waiting. Beyond, past his legs, he saw Cal forcing Julie up to the porch. Cal stopped to watch and called out, “Ray, be careful of those hands!”

Evan breathed in and out, getting his breath, then lunged at Perris, swinging his right with everything he could put behind it.

Perris came inside, taking the roundhouse on his shoulder, and threw four jabs pistonlike into Evan's body. Even went back, staggered by the force of the short punches, and Perris came after him. Evan tried to bring up his guard, but Perris feinted him high and drove his left in; and when Evan's guard dropped, Perris threw the right that had been cocked, waiting. It chopped into Evan's face and he felt the ground slam the back of his head and jolt through his whole body.

He felt himself being dragged by his legs, heard his wife's voice but wasn't sure of it. Then he was lying, half leaning against a tree. He felt his shoes being pulled off and he opened his eyes.

Perris was walking away from him toward the station wagon. He saw him look at it, then open it again and take out the two .30-30s. He held both under one arm, the shoes in the other hand, and called to Evan, “You touch that car and I'll break your jaw!”

He turned and walked to the house. On the porch he said something to Cal, who was standing in the doorway holding Julie. Cal came outside. He went to Evan's car and let the air out of both rear tires, then returned to the house. The door closed and there was no sound in the yard.

He was perhaps sixty feet from the porch, not straight out from it but off toward the side where the cars were parked; and as he lay propped against the tree staring at the house, at the lighted living room windows, not believing that this had actually happened, his lips parted with a thick throbbing half numbness, he tried to assemble the thoughts that raced through his mind.

He thought of Julie, forcing himself to remain calm as he did. He pictured himself getting a pitchfork from the barn and breaking down the door. Then he remembered the .30-30s.

They wouldn't shoot.
No?
You think they're not capable of it?
And they're drunk—beyond what little reason they have.
This doesn't happen, does it?

He could run for help. Even without shoes he could run down to the highway and stop a car, get to the state police at Brighton.

He pictured the blue-and-gold police car pulling up and two troopers going into the house and Cal and Ray looking up, surprised, and one of the troopers saying, “Don't give your pals so much to drink and they won't get out of hand.” He saw Cal wink at Ray, waiting for the troopers to leave.

He was aware of the night sounds: an owl far off; crickets in the yard close to the house and in the full darkness of the woods behind him.

No,
he thought.
You do it yourself.
You have to get them out.
You have to do it so that it's once and for all, or else they'll come back again.
They're not afraid of you, but they have to be made afraid.
Do you understand that?