“Hell,” Lou said, “why don’t we just roll ’em up in our sleeping bags?”
“Then what do you do with them at night, you dumb shit?” Jack demanded.
“Hang ’em on a fuckin’ tree,” Lou said.
“They’d be soaking wet by morning,” I told him.
“Can everybody get all the stuff I just read off together?” Mike asked.
“Shouldn’t be much trick to that,” Jack said. “The clothes shouldn’t be any problem, and Cal’s bringin’ most of the guns. Sleeping bag’s about the only big thing, if a guy can’t borrow one.” He took another drink of whiskey.
“Miller says its colder’n hell up there in the high country,” Mike said, “and we damn well better be ready for it. I wouldn’t recommend skimping on the sleeping bag. He says he’s got the tents and cookware, so we won’t have to worry about that.”
“Oh, hey,” I said, “I was down at that surplus store downtown. I got a pretty good bag — army job — for about ten bucks. Some of you guys might want to check them out.”
“That sure beats the twenty or thirty they cost at the department stores,” Jack said. His voice sounded a little thick. He’d been hitting the jug pretty hard.
“I’d have to take a look at them,” Lou said, his voice surly. By God! He was still fighting this thing, even now. If he didn’t want to go, why the hell didn’t he just say so and quit bugging the rest of us?
“I guess that’s about everything then,” Mike said, looking at the list. “We get together at Sloane’s on the evening of the eighth for a final check-through on all the gear, and then we leave at midnight on the ninth.”
“One thing,” Jack said. “Are we gonna take pistols or not?”
“What did Miller say about it?” I asked Mike. I hoped to hell that he’d vetoed the idea. A guy might stop and think with a rifle, but a damned pistol is just too easy to use.
“He didn’t say, one way or the other,” Mike said.
“Well,” Jack persisted, “are we gonna take ’em or not?” He’d been pushing the handgun business from the very start, but he’d never told me way.
“All right,” Sloane said, “let’s take ’em.” There went my last hope. Most of the guns that were going were Sloane’s, from the pawnshop. If he’d said no, that would have been it.
“I’ll take that .45 automatic,” Jack said. The gun he’d pulled on me that day. That just brightened hell out of my whole evening.
“Say,” Stan said, coming into the conversation for the first time, “while you’re all here maybe I can get a question answered. I’ve shot a lot of birds, but I’ve never shot at a big animal. This may sound a little silly, but where exactly are you supposed to aim for?” Stan was trying to be one of the guys, but he still seemed a little stiff.
“Right through the neck,” Lou said, poking at Stan’s windpipe with his finger. It was supposed to look like a demonstration, but like always, Lou poked a little harder than necessary.
“Depends on how far away you are,” I said. “I wouldn’t try for a neck shot at two hundred and fifty yards. Best bet all around is right behind the front shoulder.”
“Right through the boiler factory,” Jack agreed. “I’ll go along with Dan on that. You’ve got heart, lungs, and liver all in the same place. You’re bound to hit something fatal.” He sounded drunk.
“And you don’t spoil much meat,” I said. “A few spareribs is about all.”
“But for God’s sake, don’t gut-shoot,” Mike said. “A gut-shot deer can run five miles back into the brush. You’ve got to track for hours to find him.”
Stan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “When it gets right down to it, I wonder if I could really pull the trigger. I went out once after deer, but I didn’t see anything. I thought about it that time, too. A bird is one thing, but a deer is — well, a lot more like we are. It might be a little hard to shoot if you think about it too much.” Oh, God, I thought, the Bambi syndrome.
“Shit!” McKlearey exploded. “You make more fuss about a damn deer than I ever did about shootin’ people! It’s the same thing — just point and pull and down they go.” McKlearey had taken an instant dislike to Stan — just like I had to him.
Stan looked at him. “I guess it’s what you’re used to,” he said. These two were about as far apart as two guys are likely to get.
“If you feel that way about it, why are you comin’ along?” Lou said belligerently.
“Lou, why don’t you shut up?” Mike said. “You’re getting obnoxious.”
“Well, he gives me a pain.”
Stan stood up. His face was set. He looked like he was getting ready to paste McKlearey in the mouth. I was a little surprised to see him take offense so easily — maybe Monica’s chipping was putting him on edge.
“Sit down, Stan,” I said. “He’s drunk.”
“What if I am?” Lou said. “What if I am?”
“That’s enough, Lou,” Sloane said. His voice was rather quiet, but you could tell he meant what he said. Sloane could surprise you. He was such a clown most of the time that you forgot sometimes just how much weight he could swing. Not only was he big enough to dismantle Lou with one hand, but he could fire him when he got done.
Lou sat back and shut up.
We talked about it a little more, and then went back into the living room with the girls. I had a couple more beers and sat back on the couch, watching. Margaret seemed to be pretty well loaded. Her voice was loud, and she seemed to be hanging around McKlearey. I thought that she’d have had better sense. I hadn’t been counting drinks on her, but she was flying high.
Claudia came over and sat beside me. “You boys get everything all squared away in there?” she asked, her deep, soft voice sending the usual shiver up my back.
I nodded. “I think everything’s all lined up.”
“Sounded like there might have been a bit of an argument.”
“McKlearey,” I said. “I wish to hell he’d show up someplace sober some time.”
“He’s rotten when he’s drunk,” she agreed, “but he’s not much better sober.”
“He’s a real creep,” I said.
“I wish Calvin would get rid of him,” she said. “I just hate to have him around.” She paused for a moment. “Dan,” she said finally, “what’s the problem with Mrs. Larkin? She had no reason to talk to Margaret and Betty the way she did.”
“I don’t know, Claudia. I think what it boils down to is that she doesn’t want Stan to go on this trip, and she’s doing her level best to make things miserable for him.”
“Oh, that’s sad,” she said. “Is she that unsure of herself with him?”
“I thought it was the other way around,” I said. “She seems to have him on a pretty short leash.”
“That’s what I mean,” she said. “A woman doesn’t do that unless she’s not sure of herself.”
“Never thought of it that way,” I said. Suddenly it all clicked into place. Claudia knew about her husband and his affairs, and it wasn’t that she didn’t care — as Jack had said that first night. She probably cared a great deal, but she knew Cal and the squirming insecurity that kept driving him back to the gutter for reassurance. She could live with it — maybe not accept it entirely — but live with it. But why Sloane, for God’s sake?
“Oh-oh,” Claudia said, “trouble.” She nodded her head toward the dining room. I saw Jack and Margaret standing in there talking to each other intensely. Margaret’s face was flushed, and she looked mad as hell. They were both drunk.
Her voice rose a little higher. “I’ll drink as much as I damn well please, Mister Alders,” she said.
“You’re gettin’ bombed, stupid,” Jack said. Loaded with charm, my brother.
“So what?” she demanded.
“You’re makin’ a damn fool of yourself,” he said, his voice mushy. “You been crawlin’ all over Lou like a bitch in heat.”
“What if I have?” she said. “What’s it to you?”
“Grow up,” Jack said.
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” she said.
“He’s just bein’ polite.”
“That’s all you know, Mister Big Shot!” Margaret said, her voice getting shrill.
“Shut up,” he told her.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, Big Mouth,” she said loudly. “There’s a few things you don’t know, and maybe it’s time I wised you up.”
“Oh, boy,” I muttered, “here we go.” I glanced over at Lou and saw him easing toward the door. I shifted, getting ready to move. If anybody was going to get a piece of McKlearey, it was going to be me. If this blew, I’d stack him up in a coiner if I could possibly manage it.