She eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t suppose Carl and Axel’s going to Leavenworth had anything to do with it.”
“Actually it did. With my reputation and their conviction, I wouldn’t blame the feds if they had me under suspicion. That’s why I changed my name. To Karlson, with a K. Same initials.”
She nodded, suspicions verified. “Well, get your butt in off the porch.” Stepping aside, she let him pass. “Nobody here just now but you and me, so you can talk. How in hell do you expect to get a job with a false name? You’ll need a Social Security number, which’ll go into that big government computer, and if anything’s strange about it, the FBI’ll be coming around to talk to you.”
Koskela shook his head. “There are ways.”
She fixed him with a hard eye. “There are ways to get your butt in a sling, too.” She eased off then. “My rate is $60 a month for a room, and $150 for meals—breakfast and supper. I put makings out for you to pack your own lunch. And there’s a $40 security deposit. Pay at the start of the month. I refund half if you leave before the tenth; no refund if you leave later. You get a room to yourself, with a cable connection for TV. No women visitors allowed. No loud TV or radio, no ruckuses. Otherwise out you go. My roomers don’t need hassles. Just a decent orderly place to live.”
“Sounds like just what I want, Aunt Sing. Believe me, things I’ve seen, all I want is to live down the past. And if I hadn’t changed already, what happened to Carl and Axel would have done it for me. You know, Axel wasn’t ever much for trouble, but crippled like he was, he depended on Carl.” Lute shook his head, not entirely insincere. “Carl was the troublemaker, and even he wasn’t bad at heart. Just had some screwy ideas.”
Signe Johnson grunted. “How do you figure to get a job these days? An honest job.”
“I hoped you could help me. I’d take anything, seasonal or whatever. Something where there’s turnover, and job openings come up, like roofing, cutting scrap, working on hazardous waste cleanup . . . But what I’d like best is security work. With the papers I’ve got, I’m eligible.”
Her expression had gone beyond skeptical, to scowling.
“I’m not asking you to find me work,” he went on. “Only give me a recommendation if I need one. You know: ‘Seems like a cleancut young man. Quiet, pays his rent on time . . .’ ”
She nodded curtly. “I’ll go that far, but that’s all. Let’s see your money. You’re family, so I’ll skip the security deposit.”
Taking out his wallet, he slid out several bills. Signe examined them front and back, nodded again and put them in an apron pocket. Taking a book of receipts from a drawer, she filled one out and gave it to him. “I hope to hell you’re telling me the truth, Luther. I really do. I dearly loved your mom. She was my favorite cousin and best friend. Goddamn cigarettes! And you were a cute little boy. That’s what got you so damned spoiled. I even liked your dad. His getting shot to death should have taught you something.” She sighed. “Don’t disappoint me, Luther.”
He reached and took her hand, genuinely touched by her words. “Sing, I surely don’t plan to. I really do want to keep straight. And I guarantee not to get mixed up with bad company. That’s for sure. For me, they’re like booze to an alcoholic.”
She’d looked away as if not wanting to risk seeing insincerity in his eyes. Now she gestured. “If you want coffee, there’s some in the urn from breakfast. You eat yet today?”
“A hamburger in Lewiston.”
“How’ll pan-scrambled eggs do? You can toast your own bread.” She gestured at the large breadbox. “Margarine’s in the fridge.”
They ate together, neither saying much. Afterward he spent a few minutes with the telephone directory, printing out some addresses. After that he left. He didn’t even look at the want ads.
* * *
Lute had withheld his real plans. He knew just where he wanted to work, and his optimism was not unreasonable. The documents he’d had made identified him as Martin Luther Karlson. He was stuck with Luther; Signe would never have used a calling name different than his own. He added Martin for the religious impression. The pro had made the documents to match his personal resources—people in positions to enter false but official records into the Web. He took pride in his work. It had cost Lute more than he liked to think about.