“Will you shut your goddamn stupid mouth?” Jack demanded.
“No, I won’t,” she said. “I’m gonna tell you something, and you’re gonna —”
Then he hit her. It was an open-handed slap across the face but a good solid shot, not just a pat. She rocked back, her eyes a little glazed. I came up moving fast and got hold of him. Claudia and Betty got Margaret and led her off toward the bathroom. She seemed a little wobbly, and she hadn’t started hollering yet.
“Let’s get some air, buddy,” I said to Jack and took him on out through the kitchen door into the backyard.
“That stupid big-mouth bitch!” he said when I got him outside. “She was gonna blab it all over the whole damn room about her and McKlearey. I shoulda had my head examined when I married her.”
He knew about it. He’d known about it all along.
“That was a pretty hefty clout you gave her, wasn’t it?” I said.
“Only way to get her attention,” he said, trying to focus his eyes on me. “Got to hit her hard enough to shut her up.”
“Maybe,” I said. There’s no point in arguing with a drunk.
“Sure. Only way to handle ’em. Couldn’t let her shoot her mouth off like that in front of everybody, could I?”
I could sure see why he didn’t stay married for very long at a time. I took his car keys out of his pocket and sat him on Mike’s lawn couch. I didn’t want him getting any wild ideas about trying to drive anyplace.
“Why don’t you cool off a bit?” I suggested.
“Good idea,” he said, leaning back. “It was gettin’ pretty hot in there.”
“Yeah.”
“God damn, I’m glad you came back home, little brother,” he said. “You’re OK, you know that?” He patted my arm clumsily. “Never knew how good it’d be to have you around.” His eyes weren’t focusing at all now.
I stood there for a few minutes, and then I heard a snore. I decided it was warm enough. I’d pour him in the back seat of my car later. I went back inside.
“Really? That sounds terribly exciting,” Monica was saying. She was sitting on the couch with Lou, and he was telling her war stories. She was up to something else now, and I thought I knew what. Lou, of course, was just stupid enough to go along with her. Somebody was going to have to shoot that son of a bitch yet.
I glanced at Stan, and his face made me want to hide. “Or maybe her,” I said to myself. Her little tactic was pretty obvious.
Mike came over to me. “Jack OK?” he asked quietly.
“He’s asleep on that couch thing in the backyard,” I said. “We’ll have to wring him out to get him home.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, “he gets drunk pretty easy sometimes.” He stopped a minute. “Come on out in the kitchen,” he said, jerking his head. I followed him. “Dan,” he said hesitantly, “is something going on between Margaret and Lou?” I looked quickly at him. I’d thought that he was about half in the bag. He was a shrewd bastard and no more drunk than I was.
“Yeah,” I said shortly. Again I knew I could trust him. “Jack knows about it, too,” I added.
He whistled. “Son of a bitch! This could get a little intense. And the way that Larkin broad is throwin’ her ass at him, Lou’s likely to get a piece of her before too long, too. You know, Dan, this has the makings of a real fun trip.”
“You know it, buddy,” I said. “We may have to haul that Jarhead son of a bitch out of the woods in a sack.”
“He’s pure trouble. I wish to hell he was out of this little hunt.”
“You and me both,” I agreed. “Mike, you’re not screwing anybody’s wife, are you? I don’t think my nerves could take any more of this crap.”
He laughed. “Betty would castrate me,” he said. “You got no more worries.”
“God” — I chuckled —”what a relief.” I looked on into the living room. Monica was really snuggling up to old Lou, and he was lapping it up. “We’d better get McKlearey away from her before he throws the blocks to her right there on the couch,” I said. “She doesn’t know what she’s messing with, I don’t think. Or maybe she does — anyway, she can diddle with King Kong for all of me, but I’d rather not have Stan watching.”
“Right,” he said. “I’ll get him to help me with Jack. You want us to put him in your car?”
“Yeah,” I said, “you’d better. Here are the keys. Why don’t you drive him on over and take McKlearey and Sloane with you? I’ll bring Marg along in Jack’s car when the girls get her straightened out. Then I can run you guys back here. That ought to break up the action a little.”
“We can hope,” Mike said and went to get McKlearey and Cal.
This whole damned thing was getting wormier and wormier. We’d be damn lucky if any of us got out of the woods alive. I went on back to the bedroom to see how the girls were doing with Margaret.
12
By the next Saturday we were all getting things pretty well in shape. I had decided that I could find enough doming in my duffle bag to keep me warm and dry in the woods. All I needed was a good warm jacket and a red hat. There was no trick to locating those.
It took a little more scrounging, but I found a guy — a GI out at the Fort, I think — who sold me a whole bucketful of .30-06 military ammunition at five cents a round. I suspect that he’d stolen it, but I didn’t ask.
That morning I took my guns to the police range and began the tedious business of sighting in the rifle. It was cool and cloudy, with no wind — a perfect day for shooting. I finally got it honed into a good tight group about an inch high at two hundred yards and decided that would do it. Then I went over to the pistol range and pumped a few through that old single action .45.I came to the conclusion that if I ever had to shoot anything with it, I’d better be pretty damn close.
I was supposed to pick up Clydine about three thirty, but I still had plenty of time, so I swung on by Stan’s place on the way back from the range. I knew he was having a real bad time, and he needed all the support he could get. Monica was making life miserable for him, if her behavior at the party was any indication. For some reason this hunt had become a major issue between them. I figured that if he could just win this one, it might change the whole picture.
“How’s it going, old buddy?” I asked with false cheerfulness when he answered the door. The place was still uncomfortably neat.
“Not too well,” he said with a gloomy face. “Sometimes I think this was all a mistake.”
“Oh, come on now,” I said. “You’ve just got the pre-season jitters.”
“No. Monica isn’t really very happy about my going. She said some pretty nasty things about you and the others when we got home Wednesday.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. “Wednesday night was kind of a bummer anyway. Don’t let it shake you — her being against it, I mean.”
“Still,” he said dubiously, “it’s the first really serious disagreement we’ve ever had. I don’t know if it’s worth it.” She just about had him on the ropes. I was goddamned if I’d let her win now.
“Look, Stan,” I said, “no woman has ever been that excited about her man’s wanting to hunt and fish. It’s in the blood — you know, basic functions, cave-keeping and bringing home the meat. Modern women have got us cave-broken, and they hate to see us reverting. But a man needs to bust out now and then. Give him a chance to get duty and smelly and unhousebroke. It’s good for the soul. Deep down, women really don’t mind all that much. Oh, they put up a fight, but they don’t really mind. It puts things back in perspective for them.” It was crackpot anthropology, but he bought it. I kind of thought he would. He wanted to win this one, too.
“Are you sure?” he asked, wanting to believe.
“Of course,” I told him, “you’re dealing with primitive instincts, Stan. Monica doesn’t even know why she’s fighting it. You can be damn sure, though, that she really wants you to stand up to her. She’s testing you, that’s all.” That ought to throw some reverse English on the ball.