“Would you believe that her name really is Mary?” he told Raphael.
“Whoopee.”
“They’re going to give her kids back this weekend. Somebody finally got smart enough to really sit down and listen to that mother of hers. I guess the old bag’s genuinely certifiable. They ought to fit her for a straitjacket.”
“I could have told you that. So, what are you proving by all of this?”
“Just verifying your theory. You know-scientific method, empirical data, independent observer, all that shit. A theory isn’t worth much if it isn’t subject to verification, right?”
“I think there’s also some question about the presence of the observer as a factor in the validity of the tests, isn’t there?”
“Shit!” Flood said disgustedly. “Next you’ll be talking about the noise in the woods.”
“Why not? It’d be a damn sight more useful than all these fun and games.”
“Oh no, Raphael. You’re not going to put me off the track that easy. I’m going to run down each and every one of your losers before I’m through. We’re going to have a good hard look at the face of reality-warts, pimples, and all-and nothing less than getting run down by a garbage truck is going to stop me.”
“That’s an interesting thought.”
“Be nice.”
And again, in conversation with Freddie the Fruit under the hard and watchful eye of Freddie’s girlfriend. Freddie, almost girlish, wriggled under the full impact of Flood’s charm. Even the girl thawed a bit, though her expression was still suspicious.
“Harold and Wanda,” Flood told Raphael. “He’s Harold, she’s Wanda.”
“Obviously.”
“Not entirely. A very tough broad, that one. She had a boyfriend named Douglas once. She’s got his name tattooed on her shoulder-D-U-G. Can you imagine carrying an illiteracy to your grave like that? Anyway, they’ve completely reversed the traditional male-female roles, and they’re really quite happy. He flirts with men to make her jealous, but he’s probably not very serious about it. It’s all part of a very elaborate game they play. Your original theory was an oversimplification this time. That’s a very subtle and complex relationship.”
“So?”
“I just thought you’d like to know, is all. After all, they’re your losers, not mine.” And Flood grinned, his dark eyes glittering in the sunlight.
And again on the porch with Sadie the Sitter, both of them lounging at their ease. “He drinks, of course,” Sadie told Flood.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, sure. He has for years now. Sometimes when he comes home, it’s all he can do to make it into the house, he’s so drunk.”
“Then why does she act as if they were so special?” Flood asked, playing the straight man.
Sadie smiled knowingly. “Her family had money. They’re the ones who set him up in business-and she never lets him forget it, let me tell you. That’s why he drinks, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
“And the one next to her,” Sadie went on, pointing. “She’s always bustin’ a gut tryin’ to keep up. They spend all their time tryin’ to out-uppity each other. It makes me sick.”
“I don’t know why people have to be like that.”
“That’s all right. 1’11 be comin’ into some money pretty soon. Then we’ll see who’s gonna outfancy who.”
“Good for you,” Flood approved.
Sadie nodded smugly and stuffed another handful of potato chips into her mouth. “Get the hell away from that rosebush, you little bastard!” she bellowed at one of the children she was watching.
“That woman is an abomination,” Flood told Raphael later. “I’m moderately immoral myself, but she’s not even human. She hates everything. Talking to her is like crawling into a sewer.”
“It was your idea,” Raphael pointed out. “Had enough yet?”
“What keeps her alive?” Flood exclaimed. “What keeps her from exploding from all that sheer, overwhelming envy. Oh, by the way, her name’s Rita. They call her husband Bob the Barber.”
“So?”
Flood shrugged. “I just thought you’d be interested.”
“What made you think I’d be interested? I could see what she is from here. I didn’t have to sit on her porch and let her spew on me to find out everything I needed to know about her.”
“I don’t see how she fits into your theory, though.”
“She’s a loser. You can smell it from here. There’s a catastrophe just around the corner-something crouching, waiting to pounce on her.”
“That’d be one helluva pounce.” Flood laughed. “Maybe it’s Jamesean-‘Beast in the jungle’ and all that crap. Maybe her catastrophe is going to be the fact that no catastrophe ever happens to her.
“Aren’t we getting a little far afield? How much longer are you planning to play this little game?”
“Only as long as necessary, Angel,” Flood said with an infuriating blandness. “Only as long as necessary.”
Jimmy and Marvin were on the lawn of the house up the street laboring with Jimmy’s new car-a battered Ford in only slightly better shape than his old one. They had brought speakers out of the house and connected them to the car’s radio and had turned the volume all the way up. The mindless bawling they called music bounced and echoed off the front of the houses and shook windows from one end of the block to the other. As they worked they had to scream at each other to be heard over the noise, but that was not as important as the fact that the music attracted attention-that everyone knew that they were out there doing something important.
And then, inevitably, Flood came sauntering down the street, hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth, though Flood rarely smoked. “Hey, man,” he said to Jimmy, who had just come out from under the gaping hood of the Ford to stare at him truculently, “what’s happening?”
Jimmy answered shortly, his face still suspicious, but his words were lost in a fresh blare of noise from the radio. Flood walked a few steps toward him, his face questioning, and Jimmy nervously backed up a step or two. Raphael had noticed that Jimmy’s mouth often got him into more trouble than he could handle.
“What’d you say, man?” Flood asked pleasantly. “I didn’t quite catch it.” He spoke quite loudly.
Jimmy mumbled something, his eyes down.
“I’m sorry,” Flood said over the music. “I still can’t hear you.” He went closer to Jimmy, who backed up a little farther.
“What’s the matter with it, man?” Flood asked Marvin, who was struggling under the hood with the stubborn guts of the sick car.
Marvin answered shortly and then began to swear as his wrench slipped and his knuckles smashed against the solidity of the engine block.
“Ouch,” Flood said, “I’ll bet that hurts like a son of a bitch. Did you check the coil?” He pointed at something under the hood and murmured some instructions.
“Jimmy,” Marvin shouted exasperatedly, “will you turn that fuckin’ radio down?”
“What for?” Jimmy’s tone was still belligerent.
“Because I can’t hear myself think, for Chrissake.”
Jimmy glowered at him.
Flood reached into the engine compartment and carefully disconnected a wire. The music stopped abruptly in midsquawl. The sudden silence was stunning.
“Sorry,” Flood said. “Wrong wire.”
“What the hell you think you’re doin’, man?” Jimmy screamed at him. He went to the side of the car and started to bang on one of the speakers.
Flood reattached the wire, and naked noise erupted into Jimmy’s face. The pasty-faced young man flinched visibly and stepped back a few paces. “Jesus!”
The music stopped again.
“Hang on,” Flood said. “I’ll get it.”
Jimmy approached the car again, and once again the full volume blasted into his face. “Aw, for Chrissake!” He climbed into the car and turned the radio off. “Hey, man,” he said to Flood, “quit fuckin’ around with my car, huh?”
“Shut up, Jimmy,” Marvin told him, still leaning into the engine compartment.
“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Jimmy demanded. “It’s my goddamn car, ain’t it?”
“Okay.” Marvin straightened up. “You fix the bastard then.” He threw down his wrench.
“Come on, Marv,” Jimmy pleaded, “you know more about this than I do.”
“What’s the problem with it?” Flood asked.
“Son of a bitch runs like a thrashin’ machine,” Marvin replied. “Half the time it won’t start at all; and when it does, it sounds like it’s tryin’ to shake itself to pieces.”
“Timing,” Flood diagnosed. “You got a timing strobe?”
Marvin shook his head.
“Leon’s got one,” Jimmy offered hopefully. “You think you could fix it, man?” He looked at Flood with an almost sick yearning on his face.
“Shouldn’t be too tough. I’ll need that strobe, though.”
“Lemme use your car, Marv,” Jimmy said. “I’ll go get it.”
“Why not?” Marvin gave Jimmy his keys and then turned back to Flood. “Hey, man, what’s your name?”
“Jake.”
“I’m Marvin. This is Jimmy. Let’s have a beer while we’re waitin’ for him to get back.”
“Don’t drink up all the beer, man,” Jimmy protested.