Frank struggled out from behind the wheel and came around the car to open the door for Charles. “Out,” was all he said.
Charles complied. There was about an inch and a half of new snow and Charles slid a little before regaining his balance. The bruises where he’d been hit by Frank’s billy club hurt more when he was standing.
Nat Archer and his companion trudged up to Frank and Charles.
“This the man?” asked Frank, bending a stick of gum and pushing it deep into his mouth.
Archer glared at Charles and said, “It’s him, all right.”
“Well, you want to press charges?” asked Frank, chewing his gum with loud snapping noises.
Archer trudged off toward the factory.
Frank, still snapping his gum, walked around the squad car and got in.
Charles, confused, turned to look at Brezo. The man stood in front of Charles smiling a toothless grin. Charles noticed a scar that ran down the side of his face across his cheek, making his smile slightly asymmetric.
In a flash of unexpected violence, Brezo unleashed a powerful blow to Charles’s midsection. Charles saw the blow coming and managed to deflect it slightly with his elbow. Still it caught Charles in the abdomen, doubling him up, and he crumbled to the cold earth, struggling for a breath. Brezo stood over him expecting more action, but he only kicked a bit of snow at Charles and walked off, limping slightly on his bandaged leg.
Charles pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. For a moment he was disoriented with pain. He heard a car door open and felt a tug on his arm, forcing him to his feet. Holding his side, Charles allowed himself to be led back to the squad car. Once inside, he let his head fall back on the seat.
He felt the car skid but didn’t care. He kept his eyes closed. It hurt too much just to breathe. After a short time, the car stopped and the door opened. Charles opened his eyes and saw Frank Neilson looking into the back seat. “Let’s go, buster. You should feel lucky you got off so easy.” He reached in and pulled Charles toward him.
Charles got out, feeling a little dizzy. Frank closed the rear door, then got back into the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window. “I think you’d better stay away from Recycle. It’s got around town pretty quick that you’re trying to cause trouble. Let me tell you something. If you keep at it, you’ll find it. In fact, you’ll find more trouble’n you’re bargaining for. The town survives on Recycle, and we law enforcement officers won’t be able to guarantee your safety if you try to change that. Or your family’s either. Think about it.”
Frank rolled his window up and spun his wheels, leaving Charles standing at the curb, his legs splattered with slush. The Pinto was twenty feet ahead, partially buried under a shroud of snow. Even through the pain, Charles felt a cold rage stirring inside himself. For Charles, adversity had always been a powerful stimulus for action.
Cathryn and Gina were cleaning up the kitchen when they heard a car turn into the drive. Cathryn ran to the window and pulled the red checkered curtain aside. She hoped to God it was Charles; she hadn’t heard from him since he’d fled from the hospital, and no one had answered his extension at the lab. She knew she had to tell Charles about the proceedings at the courthouse. She couldn’t let him learn about it when he got the court citation in the morning.
Watching the lights come up the driveway, Cathryn found herself whispering, “Let it be you, Charles, please.” The car swept around the final curve and passed the window. It was the Pinto! Cathryn sighed in relief. She turned back into the room and took the dish towel from Gina’s surprised hands.
“Mother, it’s Charles. Would you mind going into the other room? I want to talk to him for a moment, alone.”
Gina tried to protest but Cathryn put her fingers to her mother’s lips, gently silencing her. “It’s important.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“Of course,” said Cathryn, urging Gina toward the door. She heard the car door slam.
Cathryn went over to the door. When Charles started up the steps, she swung it open.
Before she could clearly see his face, she smelled him. It was a mildewy odor like wet towels stored in a closet in summer. As he came into the light she saw his bruised and swollen nose. There was a bit of dried blood crusted on his upper lip, and his whole face was curiously blackened. His sheepskin jacket was hopelessly soiled and his pants were torn over the right knee. But most disturbing of all was his expression of tension and barely controlled anger.
“Charles?” Something terrible was happening. She’d been worrying about him all afternoon and his appearance suggested her concern was justified.
“Just don’t say anything for a moment,” demanded Charles, avoiding Cathryn’s touch. After removing his coat, he headed for the phone and nervously flipped through the telephone pad.
Cathryn pulled a clean dish towel from the linen drawer, and wetting the end, tried to clean off his face to see where the blood had come from.
“Christ, Cathryn! Can you wait one second?” snapped Charles, pushing her away.
Cathryn stepped back. The man in front of her was a stranger. She watched him dial the phone, punching the buttons with a vengeance.
“Dawson,” yelled Charles into the phone. “I don’t care if you’ve got the police and the whole fucking town in your pocket. You’re not going to get away with it!” Charles punctuated his statement by crashing the receiver onto its bracket. He didn’t expect an answer, and wanted to beat Dawson in hanging up.
Having made the call, his tension eased a little. He rubbed his temples for a moment in a slow, circular motion. “I had no idea this quaint little town of ours was so corrupt,” he said in a near-to-normal voice.
Cathryn began to relax. “What happened to you? You’re hurt!”
Charles looked at her. He shook his head and to her surprise, laughed. “Mostly my sense of dignity. It’s hard abandoning all of one’s macho fantasies in one evening. No, I’m not hurt. Not badly anyway. Especially since at one point I thought it was all over. But for now, I need something to drink. Fruit juice. Anything.”
“I have a dinner for you in the oven, keeping warm.”
“Christ. I couldn’t eat,” said Charles, slowly sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. “But I’m thirstier than hell.” His hands trembled as he put them on the table. His stomach hurt where he’d been punched.
After pouring a glass of apple cider, Cathryn carried it to the table. She caught sight of Gina standing in the doorway with an innocent expression. In angry pantomime, Cathryn gestured for her mother to go back to the living room. She sat down at the table. At least for the moment she had abandoned her idea of telling Charles about the guardianship situation.
“There’s blood on your face,” she said solicitously.
Charles wiped under his nose with the back of his hand and stared at the flakes of dried blood. “Bastards!” he said.
There was a pause while Charles drank his cider.
“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been and what happened?” asked Cathryn finally.
“I’d rather hear about Michelle first,” said Charles, putting the glass on the table.
“Are you sure?” asked Cathryn. She reached over and put her hand on top of his.
“What do you mean, am I sure?” snapped Charles. “Of course I’m sure.”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” said Cathryn. “I know you’re concerned. I’m just worried about you. You took Michelle’s heart complication so hard.”
“What’s happened now?” demanded Charles, raising his voice, afraid that Cathryn was leading up to terrible news.
“Please calm down,” said Cathryn gently.
“Then tell me what’s happened to Michelle.”