He knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again and listened. There was no sound from inside.
“Hey, Tobe?” he called, his face close to the door.
There was still no sound.
He tried the door. It was unlocked, and he opened it an inch or two. Their yellow dog started to bark.
“Tobe?” he called again. “Sam? Are you guys okay?”
The dog kept on barking, and the sour stink of the house exhaled out through the partially open door.
“Tobe? It’s Rafe. You guys all right in there?” He did not want to go into their house uninvited.
“Hi, buddy,” Sam’s wheezy little voice said weakly from inside. “Come on in an’ have a drink.”
The dog kept on barking.
Raphael steeled himself and shoved the door open.
The yellow dog stood and barked at him, his tail wagging.
“Shut up, Rudy,” Raphael told the dog.
The dog barked a couple more times dispiritedly, came over to sniff Raphael’s leg, and then padded on into the dining room, his nails clicking on the linoleum.
Sam sat at the table, a half-full bottle of wine in front of him. He looked up, smiling blearily. “Hi, buddy,” he said in his wispy voice.
Tobe lay on the floor, his wiry little body twisted grotesquely. His mouth was agape, and his eyes, half-open, were glazed. A piece of grayish lint was stuck to one of his eyeballs, and he did not move. He had fouled himself, and a filthy brown puddle had oozed through his pants and dried on the floor under his scrawny haunches. The stink was overpowering.
“All right, Sam,” Raphael said disgustedly. “What happened?”
“Hi, buddy,” Sam said happily.
“Never mind the `hi, buddy’ crap. What’s the matter with Tobe?”
Sam slowly moved his head to look at the man lying on the floor. He took a long drink.
“Come on, Sam,” Raphael insisted. “What happened to Tobe?”
“Poor old Tobe,” Sam said, shaking his head. “He had the fits. You wanna drink, buddy?” He offered the bottle.
“No, I don’t want a goddamned drink. How long has he been like this?”
“Two-maybe three days. I dunno. I forget.”
“Jesus Christ! You said he had fits. What kind of fits?”
“He took to jerkin’ an’ twitchin’. Then he fell down an’ started bangin’ his head on the floor. Then he kinda stiffened up a little, an’ then he went all limp, kinda. That’s when he shit his pants like that. You sure you don’t want a drink, buddy?” He held up the bottle and squinted at it. “I could get you a glass, if you like.”
Raphael took a deep breath. “No thanks, Sam,” he said in a gentler tone. “Not right now.” He braced himself, reached out, and touched Tobe gently with the tip of his crutch. The body seemed soft, yielding. He pushed a little harder, and Tobe moved loosely on the floor. The yellow dog growled at him from under the table. “Have you got a telephone, Sam?” Raphael asked. “Why would we want a phone, buddy? Ain’t nobody gonna call us.
“Just sit tight,” Raphael said, and then realized how stupid a thing that was to say. He turned and crutched on out.
Flood’s car was parked behind his own, and Flood was coming back down the outside stairway, his face puzzled.
“Damon,” Raphael called, “I need some help.”
“What’s up?” Flood came quickly across to the shabby little house.
“I think there’s a dead man in here.”
“No shit? Who is he?” Flood’s eyes narrowed, and his face grew wary.
“Tobe Benson,” Raphael told him. “He lives here.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t get involved.”
“Flood, this isn’t a dead dog we’re talking about.”
Flood looked at him. “All right, Raphael,” he said finally. “It’s going to be a pain in the ass, but if it’s that damned important, let’s see what we can do.” He came on into the house. “Jesus! What the hell is that stink?”
“They drink. Old men who drink don’t smell very good.” Raphael stumped on into the dining room, and the yellow dog started to bark again.
“Rudy,” Raphael snapped, “will you shut your goddamn mouth and lay down?”
The dog glowered at him and slunk back under the table.
“Hi, buddy,” Sam said.
Flood looked quickly at Raphael.
“He’s bombed,” Raphael explained. “Ignore him.” He pointed at Tobe with his crutch. “What do you think? Is he dead?”
“Christ, how the hell should I know?”
“See if he’s breathing. I couldn’t get down there to find out.” Flood’s face was a pale green. “I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.” He knelt beside Tobe and put a hesitant hand on the little man’s chest. “He’s still warm, and I think I’m getting a beat. It looks like he’s still alive-if you want to call it that. What the hell zonked him out like this?”
“Booze. They drink a lot.”
“Hi, buddy,” Sam said to Flood. “You wanna drink?”
“How long’s he been down like this?” Flood asked.
“Two or three days, I guess. It’s a little hard to get specifics out of Sam there. He doesn’t know Tuesday from Saturday.”
“Really,” Flood agreed. “What do you think?”
“Here’s my keys.” Raphael dug them out of his pocket. “They don’t have a phone. Why don’t you go over to my place and get hold of the police?”
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”
“Let the police handle that. It’ll save time in the long run.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Five minutes later the house was filled with the official stomping of two policemen. “What made you think there might be a problem here, Mr. Taylor?” the one who had come to Mousy Mary’s house the day before asked Raphael.
“I was at the grocery store over on Boone,” Raphael replied. “One of the clerks there-Darrel-said that he hadn’t seen them in several days. I came by to see if they were okay.”
“Not many people would have taken the trouble.”
“Mr. Taylor has a unique concern for his fellow man,” Flood said dryly from the rickety chair across from Sam. “Will the old man live?”
The policeman shrugged. “Hard to say. He’s not in very good shape-neither one of them is, really. We’re going to send them both to the hospital and then out to the detoxification center-see if they can’t dry them out a little.”
“You don’t sound very optimistic.”
“They’re both in their sixties, Mr. Flood, and they’ve been drunk for ten or fifteen years now. Their brains are pickled, and their livers are shot. I don’t see too much to hope for, do you? Is there somebody who can take care of the dog?”
“The backyard’s fenced,” Raphael told him. “Put him out there. I’ll see to it that he gets fed.”
“I don’t think there’s any need for you gentlemen to hang around,” the officer decided. “We know these two. We know what has to be done.”
“It’s happened before?” Flood asked.
“They haven’t been any problem since we took the gun away from them.”
“The gun?” Raphael was startled.
The policeman laughed shortly. “They got all boozed up one night here four, maybe five years back. The fat one there shot the little one in the belly with a twenty-two.”
“Sam?” Raphael exclaimed. “Sam wouldn’t hurt anybody-least of all Tobe. He loves the little old guy.”
“He had a pretty good head of steam that night.”
“What happened?”
“The little one wouldn’t press charges. Claimed it was an accident. All we could do was take the gun away.” He looked at Raphael. “I’m glad you came by when you did, Mr. Taylor. It’s messy if somebody dies in a situation like this. There are always questions and not too many answers. Thanks.”
Later, on the roof, as they watched the ambulance carry off the two old men, Flood started laughing.
“What’s so funny now?” Raphael demanded.
“It just goes to prove what I said last night, Gabriel. Your two old drunks had a big shoot-out. God only knows what else is happening on this block.”
As always when Flood made that strange slip, Raphael felt a peculiar chill in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Flood was not even aware of the fact that he had used that name. He also knew that the name had a much deeper significance. He somehow felt that if he could only find out exactly who this mysterious Gabriel was, he would have the key to Flood’s entire personality.
“Reality, Angel, reality,” Flood went on. “Reality is infinitely more interesting than fantasy. Look at the real world. Look at the real people. Come down from Zion. Fold your wings and walk among us. I’ll show you a world your wildest imaginings could never approach.” And he threw back his head and laughed. But the laugh sounded hollow somehow and savagely mocking.
In taberna quando sumus
i
Toward the end of May the weather broke, and there were five or six days of sunshine. Raphael moved outside to luxuriate in the warmth, coming in off his rooftop only to eat and sleep or to go to work.