“For a moment the crafty grin resurfaced on Ed’s face-a look that said I know a trick worth two of that-and then it subsided into puzzlement again as he found nothing farther down but more fertilizer.
When he drew his arm out of the barrel, it was dusty and aromatic with the mix. Another flash of lightning exploded above the airport.
The thunder which followed was almost deafening.
“Get that off your skin before it rains, I’m warning you,” Heavyset said. He reached through the Ranger’s open passenger window and produced a McDonald’s take-out sack. He rummaged in it, came out with a couple of napkins, and handed them to Ed, who began to wipe the fertilizer dust from his forearm like a man in a dream.
While he did this, Heavyset replaced the lid on the barrel, tamping it into place with one large, freckled fist and taking quick glances up at the darkening sky. When Ed touched the shoulder of his white shirt, the man stiffened and pulled away, looking at Ed warily.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Ed said, and to Ralph his voice sounded completely clear and sane for the first time.
“You’re damn tooting,” Heavyset said, but he sounded relieved.
He stretched the plastic-coated tarpaulin back into place and tied it in a series of quick, efficient gestures. Watching him, Ralph was struck by what a sly thief time was. Once he could have tied that same sheetbend with that same dextrous ease. Today he could still tie it, but it would take him at least two minutes and maybe three of his best curse-words.
Heavyset patted the tarp and then turned to them, folding his arms across the substantial expanse of his chest. “Did you see the accident?” he asked Ralph.
“No,” Ralph said at once. He had no idea why he was lying, but the decision to do it was instantaneous. “I was watching the plane land. The United.”
To his complete surprise, the flushed patches on Heavyset’s cheeks began to spread. You were watching it, too.” Ralph thought suddenly.
And not just watching it land, either, or you wouldn’t be blushing like that… you were watching it taxi!
This thought was followed by a complete revelation: Heavyset thought the accident had been his fault, or that the cop or cops who showed up to investigate might read it that way, He had been watching the plane and hadn’t seen Ed’s reckless charge through the service gate and out to the Extension.
“Look, I’m really sorry,” Ed was saying earnestly, but he actually looked more than sorry; he looked dismayed. Ralph suddenly found himself wondering how much he trusted that expression, and if he really had even the slightest idea of (Hey, hey, Susan Day) what had just happened here… and who the hell was Susan Day, anyhow?
“I bumped my head on the steering wheel,” Ed was saying, “and I guess it… you know, it rattled my cage pretty good.”
“Yeah, I guess it did,” Heavyset said. He scratched his head, looked up at the dark and convoluted sky, then looked back at Ed again.
“Want to make you a deal, friend.”
“Oh? What deal is that?”
“Let’s just exchange names and phone numbers instead of going through all that insurance shit. Then you go your way and I go mine.”
Ed looked uncertainly at Ralph, who shrugged, and then back at the man in the West Side Gardeners cap.
“If we get into it with the cops,” Heavyset went on, “I’m in for a ration of shit. First thing they’re going to find out when they call it in is I had a D.U.I last winter, and I’m driving on a provisional license. They’re apt to make problems for me even though I was on the main drag and had the right-of-way. See what I mean?”
“Yes,” Ed said, “I guess so, but the accident was entirely my fault. I was going much too fast-”
“The accident part is maybe not so important,” Heavyset said, then looked mistrustfully around at an approaching panel truck that was pulling over onto the shoulder. He looked back at Ed again and spoke with some urgency. “You lost some oil, but it’s stopped leakin now. I bet you could drive her home… if you live here in town. You live here in town?”
“Yes,” Ed said.
“And I’d stand you good on repairs, up to fifty bucks or so.”
Another revelation struck Ralph; it was the only thing he could think of to explain the man’s sudden change from truculence to something close to wheedling. An D.U.I last winter? Yes, probably.
But Ralph had never heard of such a thing as a provisional license, and thought it was almost certainly bullshit. Old Mr. West Side Gardeners had been driving without a license. What complicated the situation was this: Ed was telling the truth-the accident had been entirely his fault.
“If we just drive away and call it good,” Heavyset was going on, “I don’t have to explain all over again about my D.U.I and you don’t have to explain why you jumped out of your car and started slapping me and yelling about how I had a truckload of dead bodies.”
“Did I actually say that?” Ed asked, sounding bewildered.
“You know you did,” Heavyset told him grimly.
A voice with a wispy French-Canadian accent asked, “Everyting okay here, tellers? Nobody urt?… Eyyy, Ralph! Dat you?”
The truck which had pulled over had DERRY DRY CLEANERS printed on the side, and Ralph recognized the driver as one of the Vachon brothers from Old Cape, Probably Trigger, the youngest.
“That’s me,” Ralph said, and without knowing or asking himself why-he was operating purely on instinct at this point-he went to Trigger, put an arm around his shoulders, and led him back in the direction of the laundry truck.
“Dem guys okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Ralph said. He glanced back and saw that Ed and Heavyset were standing by the truckbed with their heads together. Another cold spatter of rain fell, drumming on the blue tarpaulin like impatient fingers. “A little fender-bender, that’s all. They’re working it out.”
“Beauty, beauty,” Trigger Vachon said complacently.
“Howdat pretty little wife of yours, Ralph?” Ralph twitched, suddenly feeling like a man who remembers at lunch that he has forgotten to turn Off the stove before leaving for work.
“Jesus!” he said, and looked at his watch, hoping for five-fifteen, five-thirty at the latest. Instead he saw it was ten minutes of six. Already twenty minutes past the time Carolyn expected him to bring her a bowl of soup and half a sandwich. She would be worried.
In fact, with the lightning and the thunder booming through the empty apartment, she might be downright scared. And if it did rain, she would not be able to close the windows; she had almost no strength left in her hands.
“Ralph?” Trigger asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s Just that I got walking and lost all track of time. Then this accident happened, and… could you give me a ride home, Trig? I’ll pay you.”
“No need to pay nuttin,” Trigger said. “It’s on my way. Hop in, Ralph. You tink dose guys gonna be all right? Ain’t gonna take after each udder or nuttin?”
“No,” Ralph said. “I don’t think so. just one second.”
“Sure.” Ralph walked over to Ed. “Are you okay with this? Are you getting it worked out?”
“Yes,” Ed replied. “We’re going to settle it privately. Why not? A little broken glass is all it really comes down to.” He sounded completely like his old self now, and the big man in the white shirt was looking at him with something that was almost respect. Ralph still felt perplexed and uneasy about what had happened here, but he decided he was going to let it go. He liked Ed Deepneau a lot, but Ed was not his business this July; Carolyn was.
Carolyn and the thing which had started ticking in the walls of their bedroom-and inside her-late at night.
“Great,” he told Ed. “I’m headed home. I make Carolyn her supper these days, and I’m running way late.”
He started to turn away. The heavyset man stopped him with an outstretched hand. “John Tandy,” he said.
He shook it. Ralph Roberts. Pleased to meet you.”
Tandy smiled. “Under the circumstances, I kinda doubt that… but I’m real glad you showed up when you did. For a few seconds there I really thought him and me was gonna tango.”