Stephen King – Four Past Midnight

‘You paid him off the next day? How’d you do that?’

‘I told you, it was like a fever. Once we shook hands on the bet, the fever passed. I hoped like hell I’d win that bet, but I knew I’d have to think like I was going to lose. There was a lot more at stake than just four hundred dollars. There was the question of my job, of course, and what might happen if I wasn’t able to pay off the guy I’d bet with. He was an engineer, after all, and technically my boss. That fellow had just enough son of a bitch in him to have fired my ass if I didn’t pay the wager. It wouldn’t have been the bet, but he would have found something, and it would have been something that would go on my work-record in big red letters, too. But that wasn’t the biggest thing. Not at all.’

‘What was?’

‘Your mother. Our marriage. When you’re young and don’t have either a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, a marriage is under strain all the time. It doesn’t matter how much you love each other, that marriage is like an overloaded packhorse and you know it can fall to its knees or even roll over dead if all the wrong things happen at all the wrong times. I don’t think she would have divorced me over a four-hundred-dollar bet, but I’m glad I never had to find out for sure. So when the fever passed, I saw that I might have bet a little more than four hundred dollars. I might just have bet my whole goddam future.’

They were approaching the Emporium Galorium. There was a bench on the verge of the grassy town common, and Mr Delevan gestured for Kevin to sit down.

‘This won’t take long,’ he said, and then laughed. It was a grating, compressed sound, like an inexperienced driver working a transmission lever. ‘It hurts too much to stretch out, even after all these years.’

So they sat on the bench and Mr Delevan finished the story of how he happened to know Pop Merrill while they looked across the grassy common with the bandstand in the middle.

‘I went to him the same night I made the bet,’ he said. ‘I told your mother I was going out for cigarettes. I went after dark, so no one would see me. From town, I mean. They would have known I was in some kind of trouble, and I didn’t want that. I went in and Pop said, “What’s a professional man like you doing in a place like this, Mr John Delevan?” and I told him what I’d done and he said, “You made a bet and already you have got your head set to the idea you’ve lost it.” “If I do lose it,” I said, “I want to make sure I don’t lose anything else.”

‘That made him laugh. “I respect a wise man,” he said. “I reckon I can trust you. If the Celtics win, you come see me. I’ll take care of you. You got an honest face.’

‘And that was all?’ Kevin asked. In eighth-grade math, they had done a unit on loans, and he still remembered most of it. ‘He didn’t ask for any, uh, collateral?’

‘People who go to Pop don’t have collateral,’ his father said. ‘He’s not a loan-shark like you see in the movies; he doesn’t break any legs if you don’t pay up. But he has ways of fixing people.’

‘What ways?’

‘Never mind,’ John Delevan said. ‘After that last game ended, I went upstairs to tell your mother I was going to go out for cigarettes – again. She was asleep, though, so I was spared that lie. It was late, late for Castle Rock, anyway, going on eleven, but the lights were on in his place. I knew they would be. He gave me the money in tens. He took them out of an old Crisco can. All tens. I remember that. They were crumpled but he had made them straight. Forty ten-dollar bills, him counting them out like a bank-clerk with that pipe going and his glasses up on his head and for just a second there I felt like knocking his teeth out. Instead I thanked him. You don’t know how hard it can be to say thank you sometimes. I hope you never do. He said,

“You understand the terms, now, don’t you?” and I said I did, and he said, “That’s good. I ain’t worried about you. What I mean to say is you got an honest face. You go on and take care of your business with that fella at work, and then take care of your business with me. And don’t make any more bets. Man only has to look in your face to see you weren’t cut out to be a gambler. ” So I took the money and went home and put it under the floor-mat of the old Chevy and lay next to your mother and didn’t sleep a wink all night long because I felt filthy. Next day I gave the tens to the engineer I bet with, and he counted them out, and then he just folded them over and tucked them into one of his shirt pockets and buttoned the flap like that cash didn’t mean any more than a gas receipt he’d have to turn in to the chief contractor at the end of the day. Then he clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Well, you’re a good man, Johnny. Better than I thought.

I won four hundred but I lost twenty to Bill Untermeyer. He bet you’d come up with the dough first thing this morning and I bet him I wouldn’t see it till the end of the week. If I ever did.” “I pay my debts,” I said.

“Easy, now,” he said, and clapped me on the shoulder again, and I think that time I really did come close to popping his eyeballs out with my thumbs.’

‘How much interest did Pop charge you, Dad?’

His father looked at him sharply. ‘Does he let you call him that?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Watch out for him, then,’ Mr Delevan said. ‘He’s a snake.’

Then he sighed, as if admitting to both of them that he was begging the question, and knew it. ‘Ten per cent.

That’s what the interest was.’

‘That’s not so m -‘

‘Compounded weekly,’ Mr Delevan added.

Kevin sat struck dumb for a moment. Then: ‘But that’s not legal!’

‘How true,’ Mr Delevan said dryly. He looked at the strained expression of incredulity on his son’s face and his own strained look broke. He laughed and clapped his son on the shoulder. ‘It’s only the world, Kev,’ he said. ‘It kills us all in the end, anyhow.’

‘But -‘

‘But nothing. That was the freight, and he knew I’d pay it. I knew they were hiring on the three-to-eleven shift at the mill over in Oxford. I told you I’d gotten myself ready to lose, and going to Pop wasn’t the only thing I did. I’d talked to your mother, said I might take a shift over there for awhile. After all, she’d been wanting a newer car, and maybe to move to a better apartment, and get a little something into the bank in case we had some kind of financial setback.’

He laughed.

‘Well, the financial setback had happened, and she didn’t know it, and I meant to do my damnedest to keep her from finding out. I didn’t know if I could or not, but I meant to do my damnedest. She was dead set against it. She said I’d kill myself, working sixteen hours a day. She said those mills were dangerous, you were always reading about someone losing an arm or leg or even getting crushed to death under the rollers.

I told her not to worry, I’d get a job in the sorting room, minimum wage but sit-down job, and if it really was too much, I’d give it up. She was still against it. She said she’d go to work herself, but I talked her out of that. That was the last thing I wanted, you know.’

Kevin nodded.

‘I told her I’d quit in six months, eight at the outside, anyway. So I went up and they hired me on, but not in the sorting room. I got a job in the rolling shed, feeding raw stock into a machine that looked like the wringer on a giant’s washing machine. It was dangerous work, all right; if you slipped or if your attention wandered – and it was hard to keep that from happening because it was so damned monotonous – you’d lose part of yourself or all of it. I saw a man lose his hand in a roller once and I never want to see anything like that again. It was like watching a charge of dynamite go off in a rubber glove stuffed with meat.’

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