The Weight (33 page)

“Now?”

“Right now. Pack up your stuff.
Everything
, understand?”

“What about your—?”

“The keys are in the Lincoln,” she said, stepping over what I wanted to ask her. “Put all your stuff in the trunk. Then come back to the living room. I’ll have stuff, too. A lot more than yours. If it doesn’t fit in the trunk, we’ll just throw it into the back seat.”

“What hap—?”

She put her finger over my mouth. Then she jumped up and ran out the door.

It was easy for me to pack. The only problem was that new stuff Rena had bought for me. I didn’t have a suitcase for that, so I just threw it in the back seat, loose.

In the living room, there was Rena. And about half a dozen different bags.

“If I had a strap, I could—”

“Just make a couple of trips, Sugar. I’ll be carrying some of them, too.”

The garage was dark. She got behind the wheel of the Lincoln and hit the button for the door, then hit it again as soon as we rolled out.

Only, Rena didn’t take the driveway. She turned and drove out behind the garage. It looked like a damn forest, but she drove through it like there was a road somewhere.

A few minutes later, she stopped.

“Unload it all,” she said. “Don’t worry about being neat—just get
everything
out of the car.”

It only took us a couple of minutes. When Rena saw my loose stuff, she popped one of her suitcases open and stuffed it all inside.

“Wait right here. Don’t
move
.”

The Lincoln went back the way we came. When she came back to where she left me and all that stuff, she started snapping off sentences like she was firing jabs.

“It’s about a half-mile from here to the road. You stay here.
Right
here. But lie down, like, okay? I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but I’ll be back for you.”

She looked at me the way you look at a pawnbroker, trying to get him to believe you really
are
coming back to claim what you hocked. I didn’t know what the deal was, but I didn’t know what else to do except sit there and listen.

“Keep this cell on,” she said, tossing a new one at me. “Then you’ll know it’s me coming.” She handed me a big plastic bag. “There’s your bars and drinks in there. Now
wait
.”

She threw some of her stuff in a little carryall and disappeared.

Waiting never bothered me, but I didn’t like being in those woods—I wasn’t used to places like that. When it finally got light, I could see why she picked that spot—it was almost like a cave of trees.

The fucking bugs were making me crazy. I had to take my mind off everything. I had to do that or go nuts. I still didn’t know what was going on.

So I opened one of Albie’s books—that tiny flashlight Solly gave me was enough for me to read by. After a while, I could figure some things out. Like the dates. They started in 1966, and they went all the way to a couple of months ago, probably just before he
died. Every page was laid out the same. I couldn’t understand much more than the dates, but I knew all those words and numbers had to stand for
something
. I just couldn’t make any sense of them.

I took a few deep breaths, then I started over. Albie was in the same business as Solly, right? I used that. Looked at the capital letters in blocks, like initials. Some I found over and over again. Like, whoever JBR/H/C was, he had the same phone number for years. The first number, it was inside a box. Not crossed out, just this box around it. Then nothing for a long time. Then a
different
number. With no box around it. So that one, it was probably still good.

I’d picked up on that because I was looking for a “J.” Like in “Jessop.” I kept trying. Found “AJ/WT/X.”

Whoever that was, Albie kept his record the same as he had for the other one. Phone number started in 1978, all in those boxes. Nothing until 1985. Then a new one.

Only this one was different from the others. The phone number was still the same, but the name, there was a circle around it, starting in 1990. And just the number “100.” In the very last book, “AJ/WT/X” had a line drawn through it. Not a line, more like an arrow. Pointing down.

The cell went off. It didn’t ring, just kind of throbbed. I opened it up, but I didn’t say anything.

“I’m coming in,” Rena said. Then she cut off.

Maybe ten minutes after that, I heard her crashing through the woods. At least I thought it was her.

It was. She had on jeans and boots. Work boots, not show-off things; lace-ups, with heavy soles.

“Hurry! I’m parked on the shoulder. Some cop could come by.…”

It took three trips. It wasn’t the weight, it was all those different little bags. She didn’t have any big suitcases, like for traveling.

The car was a white Cadillac with a monster of a trunk. Everything fit.

Rena stomped on the gas, and we got out of there. After a few
turns, she kind of calmed down. I could tell, because she lit a cigarette.

We drove for a while. She was on her third smoke when she finally said something.

“All we’ve got to do now is
not
get a ticket.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Tampa. It’s, I don’t know exactly, maybe three, four hours from here.”

“Okay.”

“ ‘Okay’? That’s it, ‘Okay’?”

“What do you want me to say? I figure you’ll tell me whatever you want to, sooner or later.”

She kept on driving. She looked like she hadn’t been to sleep at all, but I didn’t offer to take over. I could see she was locked on, concentrating.

We went through little clots of traffic, but it was mostly trucks. Rena was a good driver, smooth with the wheel. I felt my body easing. If she didn’t want to talk, maybe I’d just …

“This isn’t fair,” she said.

“What isn’t?”

“What I’m doing. There’s no reason you have to go where I’m going. They’ve got bus stations in Tampa if you don’t want to get on a plane.”

“I want—”

“Yeah. I know what you want. I’m sitting on it.”

I felt bad when she said that. Not that she was wrong, but she wasn’t exactly right, either. I don’t know why I felt bad, but I knew for sure that I did.

I looked out my window. There was nothing to see.

A long time passed. I kept looking out the window.

“I’m sorry, Sugar.”

“What?”

“I said I’m
sorry
. What I said, you took it wrong. But that’s not your fault; it’s mine. I’ve been playing a role so long that I don’t pay attention anymore. That’s over now. All over. Everything. It’s over.”

“I don’t get what you—”

She shifted in her seat, twisted herself below the waist so I could see the right cheek of her butt. Her jeans were so tight that I could see the outline of something in the back pocket.

“I can’t keep driving like this. Just take it, okay?”

I didn’t even try and get my fingers inside the pocket of her jeans. I could see the only way I could get it out was to push it up. It came out slow. But as soon as I saw the top of it, I knew what it was. I got my finger and thumb around it and pulled it free.

The twin to Solly’s book.

“What you came for, right?” she said, staring through that windshield.

“Half of it, anyway.”

“What else do you—?”

“This Jessop guy, remember?”

She made a funny sound, like laughing and spitting something out at the same time. Then she went back to staring out the windshield.

I opened the little blue book. It was all in the same kind of Jewish writing that I saw on that bag Albie had hidden in that desk.

“Nothing in English, right?” she said.

“No,” I said. But I knew it was the right one for sure—the old bloody thumbprint was right where Solly said it would be. I looked a little closer. There
was
some English—that thumbprint was stamped over “Goliath, 22/7/46,” whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Yeah? Well,
this
is,” she said, reaching inside her shirt and pulling a folded-up piece of paper out of her bra. “Be
careful
with it, Sugar.”

I unfolded it the same way I had seen her unwrap that prayer-bag thing. I knew by then that she wasn’t just being careful, she was showing respect. So that’s what I did, too.

The paper wasn’t any bigger than a dollar bill. The writing was so small, I had to move my hands a little away from my eyes to make it out.