I went to the door. Take it easy! I yelled. What the hell is wrong with you?
He came out with a suitcase and threw it toward the car. Get the hell out of here! he shouted. You and that whore make a good pair!
The clothes were all in a heap and I loaded them into the back of my car while he watched. When I got it all packed in I opened the door and sat down. Call me at the paper, I said. But wait till you calm down. I have enough trouble as it is.
He glared at me and I quickly backed the car out to the road. It had been just about as bad as I’d thought it was going to be, and I wanted to get away before it got any worse. I pushed the accelerator to the floor and the little car bounced over the ruts like a jeep, throwing up a huge trail of dust. It was almost noon and the sun was glaring hot. The sea rolled in on the dunes and the swamp sent up a steamy mist that burned my eyes and blotted out the sun. I drove past the Colmado de Jesus Lopo and saw the old man leaning on his counter and staring out at me as if he knew the whole story, and was not at all surprised.
When I got back to the apartment Chenault was washing the dishes. She looked over her shoulder and smiled as I came in. You’re back, she said. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.
He wasn’t happy, I said, dumping a load of her clothes on the bed.
She laughed, but it was a sad sound and it made me feel even worse. Poor Fritz, she said. He’ll never grow up.
Yeah, I said. Then I went back down to the car for more clothes.
Eighteen
On my way to work the next morning I stopped by Al’s and found Sala on the patio. He was drinking a beer and thumbing through a new issue of Life en Espanol. I got a jar of iced rum from the kitchen and went out to his table.
Are they in there? I asked, nodding at the magazine.
Hell no, he grumbled. They’ll never use ’em — Sanderson told me they were scheduled last fall.
What the hell? I said. You got paid.
He tossed the magazine aside and leaned back in the chair. That’s only half of it, he said. I can get paid anytime.
We sat for a while in silence, then he looked up. Ah, this is a shitty place, Kemp — the shittiest place I’ve ever seen. He reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. Yep, I think the time has come for old Robert to put his ass on the road. I smiled.
No, it won’t be long now, he said. Lotterman gets back today and I won’t be surprised if he folds the paper by midnight He nodded. The minute they hand out those checks I’m going to run like hell for the bank and get mine cashed.
I don’t know, I said. Schwartz said he got some money.
He shook his head. Poor Schwartz, he’ll still be showing up for work when they turn the place into a bowling alley. He chuckled. What else? El Headline Bowling Palace, with Moberg tending the bar. Maybe they’ll hire Schwartz to do publicity. He shouted toward the kitchen for two beers, then looked at me. I nodded. Four, he yelled. And turn on the goddamn air conditioning.
He fell back in the chair again. I have to get off this rock. I know some people in Mexico City — I may give it a try. He grinned. I know they have women there, anyway.
Hell, I said. Plenty of women around if you’d get off your ass.
He looked up. Kemp, I believe you’re a whorehopper.
I laughed. Why?
Why! he exclaimed. I’m onto your sneaky ways, Kemp. I suspected it all along — and now you’ve lured that girl away from Yeamon.
What? I exclaimed.
Don’t deny it, he said. He was in here earlier — told me the whole sleazy story.