“Right there,” Ray said, looking at a small white house with two doors and two mailboxes on the porch. He craned his long neck to look as they passed. Suddenly Tony felt sorry for him.
“A few questions to help us out,” Andes said. “Turn right, Tony.”
They drove two or three blocks in Hacksport and came out on the main valley road where the sign pointed to Topping 10 and Bear Valley 25 and Grant Center 40.
“Live alone, Ray?”
“What’s it to you?”
“It don’t matter.”
“I live with someone.”
“I know you do. You live with a woman.”
“So why do you ask?”
“You married?”
“Hell.”
Bobby Andes laughed. Tony driving could not see Ray’s face. He was conscious of the large white baseball uniform in the back seat. All he could see in the rearview mirror was his baseball cap. He felt an ugly responsibility: that man the substitute right fielder, picked up and tortured because of me.
“The reason I want to talk to you, we got a friend of yours in Grant Center, maybe you can help us with him.”
No word from Ray.
“Name of Lou Bates, he’s in jail, maybe you heard. Two friends in fact, only one’s dead. Steve Adams, you know him.”
“Never heard of either of em.”
“That’s funny,” Bobby Andes said. “You sure you never heard of Lou Bates?”
“Don’t know nobody by that name.”
“Maybe you know him by a different name. Think about it. At least you heard what he’s in jail for.”
“Nah, what’s that?”
“You hear about the holdup at the Bear Valley Mall supermarket? You musta heard about it, the guy getting killed.”
“Why are you asking me? I never heard none of it.”
“Like I say, that’s strange. There’s a bunch of folks says you and those two was good friends.”
“What folks?”
“Folks. You know a place in Topping called Herman’s?”
Long pause before Ray said, “Yes.”
“You know it? Good. You hang around there a lot?”
“Not a lot. Some.”
“You hang around there with other guys?”
“That doesn’t mean I know who they are.”
“No? They’s folks say you was hanging around at Herman’s with these here Lou Bates and Turk Adams. You know anything about that?”
Another long pause from Ray. “Is that who they was?”
“You want me to believe you don’t know who they was?”
No answer from Ray. Silence in the car, wind blowing by the windows, the long straight road through new green fields in the valley floor between ridges. Heading for Topping, then Bear Valley, with Ray. Tony Hastings must not forget his hate, this man in his head for almost a year.
Ray said, “What do you want from me?”
“For the moment, just some questions.”
“I ain’t done nothin.”
“I ain’t said you did.” Another windy silence. Tony could hardly hear the question: “What would you have done that you say you ain’t done?”
“Wha-at? You trying to trap me or something?”
Bobby Andes laughed again. “What kind of trap could I set, Ray? How could I trap you if you ain’t done nothing?”
“It’s dumb.”
“What?”
“You’re asking dumb questions. What do you want to know? Go on, ask me.”
“I just want to know what you know about that holdup your friends was involved in. If you heard anything, I mean. Or know anything. Only you say they wasn’t your friends, only maybe you know them under a different name. So what do you say, Ray?”
Tony Hastings listening longed to hear an opening in Andes’s questions, yet he felt uncomfortable about what was going on. Conscious of the baseball uniform and the right fielder wiggling his hips at the crowd, while he tried to remember a man in the woods.
“I don’t know nothing about it. They didn’t consult me.”
“You did know them?”
“If they was the guys at Herman’s, I must of. Slightly.”
“Under a different name.”
“I don’t remember their name.”
“Okay, now we have established you’re a liar—”
“I ain’t no liar. Why do you call me a liar, goddammit?”
“Forget it. I notice a reluctance on your part to tell the truth. There’s no reason you shouldn’t know Lou and Turk. Lots of people knows them wasn’t in that holdup with them. Only one of their friends was in it.”
No sound from Ray.
“You any idea who that was?”
“Not me.”
“No rumors, no nothin?”
No answer.
“I heard a rumor,” Bobby Andes said.
“Yeah?”
“Some folks is telling me you was the third party.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t me.”
This pity Tony was feeling for Ray, it shocked him. He tried to remember. For example: Mister, your wife wants you.
“I never said that, did I? I never said it was you, I never said it wasn’t.”
“Hey,” Ray said. “Are you questioning me?”
“Why yes, that’s what we’re doing, ain’t it?”
“You ain’t read me my rights.”
“You know your rights, Ray.”
“You’re supposed to read em to me.”
“I read you your rights. Didn’t I, Tony?”
Did he? Here’s a jolt, if Andes expects Tony to play along.
“Hell. It ain’t legal.”
“You’ve heard them before, Ray, you know them by heart. Any you want me to repeat?”
“It ain’t legal. I’m supposed to have a lawyer.”
“Informal questions, Ray, you’re helping me out. I haven’t charged you with anything yet. If you want a lawyer, we’ll have to take you to Grant Center and book you for something.”
“Looks like we’re going to Grant Center anyway.”
“Right now we’re just driving around. What do you want a lawyer for if you ain’t done nothin?”
“Damn right I ain’t done nothin.”
“I’ll get you a lawyer when we get to Grant Center.”
“You said we wasn’t going to Grant Center.”
“Changed my mind. Since you got rights on your mind.”
Pity for a man who slammed his car off the road, muscled Laura and Helen into a trailer, dug a hammer in her head, but now is just a dumb jerk outclassed in cat and mouse. Tony Hastings tried to rebuild his villainy, find the devil in him.
“Aw come on, man, you don’t need to take me to Grant Center. I’m answering your questions, ain’t I?”
“Well I don’t know. Seems like I don’t know no more about that holdup than I knew before.”
“It’s sure a mystery, ain’t it?”
“Well frankly Ray, I don’t think it’s no great mystery. Nah, I got most of the facts pretty straight. Tell you what. There’s something else I’d like to ask you about. You recognize this car?”
“What car?”
“This. The one we’re in.”
Tony Hastings felt a chill in his ribs. His ugly responsibility for having brought the man here, which he would now have to face. Either that or some cat glee in getting closer to the point. Both, probably.
“This car? What should I recognize this car?”
“It ain’t familiar to you? It don’t remind you of nothin? It don’t take you back?”
“Nohoo man, why should it? It may be taking me somewhere but damned if I know where.” Joke. Think scum, Tony said. No compassion.
“You don’t remember driving it?”
“What is it? Was this mine? I never had a car like this.” Clearly he did not remember it.
“How about the driver?”
“What?”
“The guy driving, my friend Tony there. You remember him?”
“I can’t see him. Make him turn around.”
“Stop the car, Tony.”
Tony Hastings slowed and stopped on the gravel shoulder by a long straightaway. He felt the heavy thumping strokes of his heart, with shocking lustful fright, and other things. And a test to take he had forgotten would be so frightening.