went up to the bar and paid my check. I walked to the door and looked out into the rain. Turning up my coat collar. Getting ready to make a run for my car.
Night was setting in early, but it wasn't quite dark yet. I could see pretty good, and I saw him down near the end of the building. A big husky guy in work clothes, standing back under the eaves of the building.
I couldn't get to my car without passing him.
I guessed I'd stopped a little too close to that greenhouse.
I went back to the bar, and ordered a quart of beer to take out. Gripping it by the neck, I sauntered out the door.
Maybe he didn't see me right away. Or maybe he was just trying to work his nerve up. Anyway, I was almost parallel with him before he moved out from under the eaves and placed himself in front of me.
I stopped and backed up a step or two.
"Why, Pete," I said. "How's it going, boy?"
"You sonabitch, Dillon," he said. "You get my chob, hah? You get chob, now I get you!"
"Oh, now, Pete," I said. "You brought it on yourself, fellow. We trust you and try to treat you nice, and you-"
"You lie! Chunk you sell me. Suit no good-like paper it years! In chail you should be, chunk seller, t'ief, robber! A fine chob I get, and because I no pay for chunk, you-you-I fix you, Dillon!"
He lowered his head, clubbed his big hands into fists. I moved back another step, tightened my grip on the bottle. I was carrying it back behind my thigh. He hadn't seen it yet.
"Jail, huh?" I said. "You've hit a few jails yourself, haven't you, Pete? You keep on fooling around with me and you'll land in another one."
It was just a guess, but it stopped him for a moment. You couldn't go very far wrong in guessing that a Pay-E-Zee customer had made the clink.
"So!" he sputtered. "In chail I haf been, and my time I serve. Dot has nodding to do mit dis. You-"
"What about a sentence for rape?" I said. "Spit it out, goddamn you! Tell me you didn't do it! Tell me you didn't have that poor, sick, starved-to-death kid!"
I moved in on him, not giving him a chance to deny it. I knew damned well that he had and it made me half-crazy to think about it. "Come on, you ugly, overgrown son-of-a-bitch," I said. "Come on and get it!"
And he came on with a rush.
I sidestepped, swinging the bottle like a bat. My feet slipped in the mud. I caught him squarely across the bridge of the nose, and he went down sprawling. But his right fist got me as he went by. It landed, skidding, just below my heart. And if I hadn't bounced back against the building I'd have gone down with him.
I was doubled up for a moment, feeling like I'd never breathe again. Then, I got pulled together a little, and I staggered over to where he was.
He wasn't completely out, but there wasn't any more fight in him. There was no sense in socking him again or giving him a kick in the head. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over against the side of the building. I propped him up so that he was kind of out of the rain and wouldn't get run over. And then I knocked the beer open on a rock and pushed it into his hand.
It wasn't the kind of treatment he'd expected. Or was used to. He looked up at me like a beaten dog. On an impulse-or maybe it was a hunch-I took five ones from my pocket and dropped them into his lap.
"I'm sorry about the job," I said. "Maybe I can turn up another one for you… Like to have me do that? Let you know if I hear of anything?"
He nodded slowly, brushing the blood away from his nose. "I like, yess. B-but-but vy, Dillon? Mis-ter Dillon. Vy you do dis an' den you do-"
"No choice," I shrugged. "The company says get the money, I have to get it. You say you want to fight, I fight. When I have my own way, well, you can see for yourself. I treat you like a long-lost brother. Give you dough out of my own pocket, try to find another job for you."
He took a drink of the beer; took another one. He belched and shook his head.
"Iss badt," he said. "Vy you do it. Mis-ter Dillon? Soch a nice man,
Night was setting in early, but it wasn't quite dark yet. I could see pretty good, and I saw him down near the end of the building. A big husky guy in work clothes, standing back under the eaves of the building.
I couldn't get to my car without passing him.
I guessed I'd stopped a little too close to that greenhouse.
I went back to the bar, and ordered a quart of beer to take out. Gripping it by the neck, I sauntered out the door.
Maybe he didn't see me right away. Or maybe he was just trying to work his nerve up. Anyway, I was almost parallel with him before he moved out from under the eaves and placed himself in front of me.
I stopped and backed up a step or two.
"Why, Pete," I said. "How's it going, boy?"
"You sonabitch, Dillon," he said. "You get my chob, hah? You get chob, now I get you!"
"Oh, now, Pete," I said. "You brought it on yourself, fellow. We trust you and try to treat you nice, and you-"
"You lie! Chunk you sell me. Suit no good-like paper it years! In chail you should be, chunk seller, t'ief, robber! A fine chob I get, and because I no pay for chunk, you-you-I fix you, Dillon!"
He lowered his head, clubbed his big hands into fists. I moved back another step, tightened my grip on the bottle. I was carrying it back behind my thigh. He hadn't seen it yet.
"Jail, huh?" I said. "You've hit a few jails yourself, haven't you, Pete? You keep on fooling around with me and you'll land in another one."
It was just a guess, but it stopped him for a moment. You couldn't go very far wrong in guessing that a Pay-E-Zee customer had made the clink.
"So!" he sputtered. "In chail I haf been, and my time I serve. Dot has nodding to do mit dis. You-"
"What about a sentence for rape?" I said. "Spit it out, goddamn you! Tell me you didn't do it! Tell me you didn't have that poor, sick, starved-to-death kid!"
I moved in on him, not giving him a chance to deny it. I knew damned well that he had and it made me half-crazy to think about it. "Come on, you ugly, overgrown son-of-a-bitch," I said. "Come on and get it!"
And he came on with a rush.
I sidestepped, swinging the bottle like a bat. My feet slipped in the mud. I caught him squarely across the bridge of the nose, and he went down sprawling. But his right fist got me as he went by. It landed, skidding, just below my heart. And if I hadn't bounced back against the building I'd have gone down with him.
I was doubled up for a moment, feeling like I'd never breathe again. Then, I got pulled together a little, and I staggered over to where he was.
He wasn't completely out, but there wasn't any more fight in him. There was no sense in socking him again or giving him a kick in the head. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over against the side of the building. I propped him up so that he was kind of out of the rain and wouldn't get run over. And then I knocked the beer open on a rock and pushed it into his hand.
It wasn't the kind of treatment he'd expected. Or was used to. He looked up at me like a beaten dog. On an impulse-or maybe it was a hunch-I took five ones from my pocket and dropped them into his lap.
"I'm sorry about the job," I said. "Maybe I can turn up another one for you… Like to have me do that? Let you know if I hear of anything?"
He nodded slowly, brushing the blood away from his nose. "I like, yess. B-but-but vy, Dillon? Mis-ter Dillon. Vy you do dis an' den you do-"
"No choice," I shrugged. "The company says get the money, I have to get it. You say you want to fight, I fight. When I have my own way, well, you can see for yourself. I treat you like a long-lost brother. Give you dough out of my own pocket, try to find another job for you."
He took a drink of the beer; took another one. He belched and shook his head.
"Iss badt," he said. "Vy you do it. Mis-ter Dillon? Soch a nice man,
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