“Hey,” Jack said, “did you pick up that pistol the other day in Seattle?”
“Yeah, it’s over at the trailer.”
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to take along a handgun, too. There are bears up there, and you know what Mike was saying.”
So we kicked that idea around for a while. We had another pitcher of beer.
Sandy kept smoking, but she still didn’t say much.
9
I worked — off and on — at the gun all the next week, and by Saturday it was beginning to take shape. I did most of the work over at Mike’s since he had a vise and a workbench in his garage. Also, it was a good place to get away from Clydine’s three-hour-long telephone calls. I began to wish that classes would start so she’d have something to keep her busy.
I had the shape of the rifle stock pretty well roughed in, and I was working on the metal. I’d filed off the front sight, and now I was taking the lathe marks off the barrel with emery cloth — a very long and tedious job.
Betty was feeling punk, and I was checking in on her now and then to see if she was OK. She had a recurrent kidney problem that had Mike pretty worried. She’d had to spend a week in the hospital with it that spring, and he was afraid it might crop up again.
I was about ready to start polishing on the barrel with fine-grade emery cloth when Betty called me from the back door. I made it in about two seconds flat.
“Are you OK?” I demanded breathlessly.
“Oh, it’s not me” — she laughed —”I’m fine.”
“Please,” I said, “don’t do that anymore. I like to had a coronary.”
“You’ve got a phone call.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! How did she find the number?” I grabbed up the phone. “Now look, you little clothhead, I’m busy. I can’t spend all day —”
“Hey.” It was Jack. “What’s got you so frazzled?”
“Oh. Sorry, Jack, I thought it was that dizzy little broad again. I swear she spends at least six hours a day on the horn. I’m starting to get a cauliflower ear just listening to her.”
“Why don’t you do something about it?”
“I am,” I said, “I’m hiding.”
He laughed. “Could you do me a favor?”
“I suppose. What?”
“I’m over here at Sloane’s pawnshop sittin’ in for him. He said he was going to be back, but he just called and said he was tied up. I’ve got some stuff at the cleaners on Thirty-eighth Street — you know the place. They close at noon today, and if I don’t get that stuff outta there, I’ll be shit out of luck until Monday. You think you could make it over there before they close?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m about due to take a beer break anyway. Will you be at the shop?”
“Yeah, I’ll stick around till you get here. Sloane ought to be back before then, but you can’t depend on him.”
“OK,” I said, “I’ll crank up and bag on over there — on Thirty-eighth Street?”
“Yeah — you know the place. Right across from that beer joint with the shuffleboard.”
“Oh. OK.”
“Thanks a lot, buddy. You saved my bacon.”
“Sure. See you in a bit.”
I made sure that Betty was feeling OK and then took off. My hands were getting a little sore anyway.
The weather had begun to break, and it was one of those cloudy, windy days we get so often in Tacoma. It’s the kind of day I really like — cool, dry, windy, with a kind of pale light and no shadows. I made it to the cleaners in plenty of time and then swung over onto South Tacoma Way.
Sloane still hadn’t shown up, and Jack was puttering around in the shop. “Thanks a million, Dan,” he said when I came in with his cleaning. “How much was it?”
I told him and he paid me.
“How you comin’ with that gun?” he asked me.
“I’m about down to the polishing stage on the barrel,” I told him. “I’ve still got to dress off the receiver and trigger guard. A couple more days and I can blue it. Then I’ll finish up the stock.”
“You get a kick out of that stuff, don’t you?”
“It’s kind of fun,” I said. “Gives me something to do besides drink beer.”
“Let me show you the gun I’m takin’,” he said.
We went on into the back of the shop. He took a converted military weapon out of one of the cubbyholes.
“Eight-nun German Mauser,” he said.
“Good cartridge,” I told him. I looked the piece over.
Somebody’d done a half-assed job of conversion on it, but it had all the essentials. “It’ll do the job for you, Jack.”
“Oh, hey, look at this.” He reached back into another bin and came out with his hand full of .45 automatic. The damned thing looked like a cannon. He stood there grinning, pointing that monster right at my belly. I don’t like having people point guns at me — even as a joke. The goddamn things weren’t made to play with. I was still holding the Mauser, but I was being careful with the muzzle.
“Let’s see it,” I said, holding out my left hand.
He pulled back the hammer with the muzzle still pointed at me. His face got a little funny.
Slowly, with just my right hand, I raised the Mauser until it was pointing at him. I thumbed off the safety. It was like being in a dream.
“All right, Jack,” I said softly, “let’s count to three and then find out which one of these bastards Sloane forgot to unload.”
“Christ, Danny,” he said, quickly turning the .45 away from me. “I never thought of that.”
I lowered the Mauser and slipped the safety back on. Jack hadn’t called me Danny since we were very little kids.
“You ain’t mad, are you?” he asked, sounding embarrassed.
“Hell, no.” I laughed. Even to me it sounded a little hollow.
We checked both guns. They were empty. Still, I think it all took some of the fun out of Jack’s day. We put the guns away and went back out into the pawnshop.
“Where the hell is that damned Sloane anyway?” he said to cover the moment.
“Probably visiting Helen What’s-her-name,” I said. I’d run into Sloane and Helen a few times, and I didn’t like her. Maybe it was because of Claudia.
“I wouldn’t doubt it a goddamn bit. Say, that reminds me, you want to go on a party?”
“I’m almost always available for a party,” I said with more enthusiasm than I really felt. I wanted to get past that moment in the back room as badly as he did.
“It’s Sloane’s idea really. That’s why I kind of wanted to wait for him to show up, but piss on him. He owns this house out in Milton that he rents out — furnished. The people who were livin’ there just moved out, and the new people aren’t due in until the first of the month — Wednesday.”
“What’s all this real estate business got to do with a party?” I asked.
“I’m gettin’ to it. Anyway, the place needs cleanin’ — you know, sweep, mop, vacuum, mow the lawn — that sort of shit.”
“That’s your idea of a party?”
“Keep your pants on. Now, Sloane’ll provide the beer and the booze and some steaks and other stuff.”
“And brooms, and mops, and lawnmowers, too, I hope,” I said.
“All right, smart ass. Here’s where the party comes in. We each bring a tomato — Sloane’ll bring Helen, I’ll bring Sandy, and you can bring What’s-her-name. We’ll bag on over there tomorrow afternoon about four, hit the place a lick or two — the girls can get the inside, and we’ll do the outside — and then it’s party-time. Give me and Sloane a perfect excuse to get away from the wives.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure Clydine would go for the domestic scene,” I said. “That’s not exactly her bag.”
“Ask her,” Jack said. “I bet she goes for it. Where else can you stir up a party on Sunday afternoon?”
“I’ll ask her,” I said. It was easier than arguing with him. “But I’m not making any promises.”
“I’ll bet she goes for it,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
We batted it around for about half an hour, and then Sloane called. He was still tied up. Jack grumbled a bit but promised to hang on. I wanted to swing on by the trailer court to check my mail, and he asked me to drop the cleaning off at his trailer so Marg could hang it up before it got wrinkled. I took his clothes on out to my car again and drove on up the Avenue toward the court.