Charlie Martz and Other Stories Read Free Page B

much preparing to do—no tickets to buy—because I thought everything would be easier if we drove. So all afternoon I moped around, smoked two packs of cigarettes, and lost two thousand bucks to myself playing Canfield. About seven I was ready to blow my lid. Cliff was sleeping—much needed—so I elected to go out for a while. Out of cigarettes anyway.
    The room adjoining the general store of Henderson’s Corner boasted of a short mahogany bar, stained, and about a dozentables marred with names, initials, and intimate ads like J.H. loves M.M. It was fairly crowded. Mostly farmers and a few of their wives, but not many cottagers this time of the year. I sat at the bar, minding my own business until a little after nine. It was at this time that I noticed a fellow at a table close to the bar tearing into a very rare-looking steak. This inspiration, plus the fact that I hadn’t eaten all day, moved me to a table where I had the same, plus two beers. At after dinner drink time, I was back at the bar, feeling much better, and even ready to put up with any farmer who wanted to discuss girls, wheat, the new calf, girls, beer, sports, or even girls. Twenty minutes later I was right in the middle of all of them, and didn’t finally pull myself free until going on twelve. I’d had it.
    A little more than halfway back to the cottage I noticed the red glow in the sky. A few people were walking hurriedly down the road in the general direction. I had never chased a fire before and didn’t plan on starting now.
    I didn’t plan on starting, but when I turned into the cottage drive, I saw that I had chased it whether I liked it or not.
    I wasn’t able to get more than halfway up the drive. The volunteers were out full force, along with a few dozen ardent fans blocking the drive and doing everything they could to get in the way. It took me fifteen minutes to get a straight story out of someone. All the watchers were eager to relate the details, only they all talked at once and every story was different. But I did find out that no one had gone into the house since the fire was discovered . . . and no one had come out.
    I felt numb and kinda drained. Cliff couldn’t have dragged himself out without help. I thought of the cigarettes mashed out on the table, matches thrown on the floor, I even toyed with a defective wiring notion. But I wasn’t even close.
    It was close to me though. I felt the nudge and looked around.
    â€œNice homey fire, huh Jack?” Buddy. His hand in the usual place.
    I let go with all I had. Brought both fists up under his chin and a knee into his groin. He staggered back, went down, and the momentum carried me over him. I landed on his face with both knees, rolled over him and kept going. I ran down the drive a few steps, saw that my car was blocked, so I cut to the left and raced for the woods and thick bushes.
    I ran, stumbled and staggered through the foliage, the branches tore at my face and clothes, but kept going. If I stopped I was as good as dead. A guy with a gun was behind me, somewhere, itching to pull the trigger in my face. I was breathing hard, and the hot, fast breaths seared inside my chest. It kept going through my mind that I had to get away . . . get far enough then out back to the road . . . bum a ride to Detroit . . . but why did they do it? . . . Then it dawned on me. The bullet I mailed! Carrito got it after he had talked to us, so figured I was still playing the hero. Why hadn’t he looked at the post date!
    I stopped short and sunk to my knees. Slowly I fell back in a sitting position. I was thinking what a hopeless mess it all was when I heard the faint crackling noise from the direction I had just come. He was near. He wanted to kill me.
    Buddy was about twenty yards away when I picked up the rock—as big as two fists. I crouched in the brush and held my body close to a tree.
    I wanted him to get a few feet past the tree, then let him