A Bullet for Cinderella (3 page)

I went back and saw him before he saw me. He was heavier but otherwise unchanged. He stood with another man watching two men loading a stake truck. He wore khakis and stood with his fists in his hip pockets. The man said something and Earl Fitzmartin laughed. The sound startled me. I had never heard him laugh in the camp.

He turned as I approached him. His face changed. The smoke eyes looked at me, wary, speculative. “I’ve got the name right, haven’t I? Tal Howard.”

“That’s right.” There was, of course, no move toward shaking hands.

He turned to the other man. “Joe, you go right ahead here. Leave this slip in the office on your way out.”

Fitzmartin started walking back through the lot between the stacked lumber. I hesitated and followed him. He led the way to a shed on the back corner of the lot. An elderly Ford coupé was parked by the shed. He opened the door and gestured and I went into the shed. It was spotlessly clean. There was a bunk, table, chair, shelf with hot plate and dishes. He had a supply of canned goods, clean clothes hanging on hooks, a pile of magazines and paper-bound books near the head of the bunk. There was a large space heater in the corner, and through an open door I could see into a small bathroom with unfinished walls.

There was no invitation to sit down. We faced each other.

“Nice to see any old pal from north of the river,” he said.

“I heard in town you work here.”

“You just happened to be in town and heard I work here.”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe you’re going around looking all the boys up. Maybe you’re writing a book.”

“It’s an idea.”

“My experiences as a prisoner of war. Me and Dean.”

“I’d put you in the book, Fitz. The big ego. Too damn impressed with himself to try to help anybody else.”

“Help those gutless wonders? You types stone me. You wanted to turn it into a boys’ club. I watched a lot of you die because you didn’t have the guts or will or imagination to survive.”

“With your help maybe a couple more would have come back.”

“You sound like you think that would be a good thing.”

There was an amused sneer in his tone that brought it all vividly back. That was what we had sensed about him. He hadn’t cared if we had all been buried there, just so Fitzmartin got out of it with a whole skin. I had thought my anger and outrage had been buried, had thought I was beyond caring. Perhaps he, too, misjudged the extent of the contempt that made me careless of his physical power.

I struck blindly, taking him almost completely by surprise, my right fist hitting his jaw solidly. The impact jarred my arm and shoulder and back. It knocked him back a full step. I wanted him on the floor. I swung again and hit a thick, hard arm. He muffled the third blow and caught my left wrist, then grabbed my right wrist. I tried to snap my wrists free, but he was far too powerful. I was able to resist the grinding twisting force for several seconds. His face was quite impassive. I was slowly forced
down onto my knees, tears of anger and humiliation stinging my eyes.

He released my wrists suddenly and gave me a casual open-handed slap across the side of my head that knocked me down onto the bare floor. I scrambled to the chair and tried to pick it up to use it as a weapon. He twisted it out of my hands, put a foot against my chest and shoved me back so that I rolled toward the door. He put the chair back in place, went over and sat on the bunk, and lighted a cigarette. I got up slowly.

He looked at me calmly. “Out of your system?”

“God damn you!”

He looked bored. “Shut up. Sit down. Don’t try to be the boy hero, Howard. I’ll mark you up some if that’s what you want.”

I sat in the chair. My knees were weak and my wrists hurt. He got up quickly, went to the door and opened it and looked out, closed it and went back to the bunk. “We’ll talk about Timmy Warden, Howard.”

“What about Timmy?”

“It’s too damn late for games. Information keeps you alive. I did a lot of listening in that camp. I made a business of it. I know that Timmy stole sixty thousand bucks from his brother and stashed it away in jars. I know Timmy told you that. I heard him tell you. So don’t waste our time trying to play dumb about it. I’m here and you’re here, and that’s the only way it adds up. I got here first. I got here while you were still in the hospital. I haven’t got the money. If I had it, I wouldn’t still be here. That’s obvious. I figured Timmy might have told you where he hid it. I’ve been waiting for you. What kept you?”

“I don’t know any more about it than you do. I know he hid it, but I don’t know where.”

He was silent as he thought it over. “Maybe I won’t buy that. I came here on a long shot. I didn’t have much to go on. I wanted to be here and all set when you came after it. It was a long shot, but one town is the same as another to me. I can’t see you coming here to find the money and not knowing any more than I do. You’re a
more conservative type, Howard. You know something I want to know.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I know exactly where it is. I can go and dig it up right now. That’s why I waited a year before I came here. And that’s why I came here to see you instead of going and digging it up.”

“Why come at all?”

I shrugged. “I lost my job. I remembered the money. I thought I’d come here and look around.”

“I’ve spent a year looking around. I know a hell of a lot more about Timmy Warden, the way he lived, the way his mind worked, than you’ll ever know. And I can’t find it.”

“Then I won’t be able to either, will I?”

“Then you better take off, Howard. Go back where you came from.”

“I think I’ll stay around.”

He leaned forward. “Then you do have some little clue that I don’t have. Maybe it isn’t a very good one.”

“I don’t know any more than you do. I just have more confidence in myself than I have in you.”

That made him laugh. The laughter stung my pride. It was a ludicrous thought to him that I could do anything in the world he couldn’t do.

“You’ve wasted better than a year on it. At least I haven’t done that,” I said hotly.

He shrugged. “I have to be somewhere. It might as well be here. What’s wasted about it? I’ve got a good job. Let’s pool everything we know and can remember, and if we can locate it I’ll give you a third.”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

He sat very still and watched me. “You have something to work on.”

“No. I don’t.”

“You can end up with nothing instead of a third.”

“Or all of it instead of a third.”

“Finding it and taking it away from here are two different problems.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

He shrugged. “Well, suit yourself. Go and say hello to George. Give him my regards.”

“And Eloise?”

“You won’t be able to do that. She took off while we were still behind the wire. Took off with a salesman, they say.”

“Maybe she took the money with her.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But she knew Timmy was hiding it, had hidden a big amount. From what he said about her, she wouldn’t leave without it.”

“She did,” he said, smiling. “Take my word. She left without it.”

T
he lumberyard had looked reasonably prosperous. The retail hardware store was not what I expected. From talks with Timmy I had expected a big place with five or six clerks and a stock that ranged from appliances and cocktail trays to deep-well pumps and pipe wrenches.

It was a narrow, dingy store, poorly lighted. There was an air of dust and defeat about it. It was on a side street off the less prosperous looking end of Delaware Street. A clerk in a soiled shirt came to help me. I said I wanted to see Mr. Warden. The clerk pointed back toward a small office in the rear where through glass I could see a man hunched over a desk.

He looked up as I walked back to the office. The door was open. I could see the resemblance to Timmy. But Timmy just before and for a short time after we were taken, had a look of bouncing vitality, good spirits. This man looked far older than the six years difference Timmy had told me about. He was a big man, as Timmy had been. The wide, high forehead was the same, and the slightly beaked nose and the strong, square jaw. But
George Warden looked as though he had been sick for a long time. His color was bad. The stubble on the unshaven jaw was gray. His eyes were vague and troubled, and there was a raw smell of whisky in the small office.

“Something I can do for you?”

“My name is Tal Howard, Mr. Warden. I was a friend of Timmy’s.”

“You were a friend of Timmy’s.” He repeated it in an odd way. Apathetic and yet somehow cynical.

“I was with him when he died.”

“So was Fitz. Sit down, Mr. Howard. Drink?”

I said I would have a drink. He pushed by my chair and went out to a sink. I heard him rinsing out a glass. He came back and picked a bottle off the floor in the corner and put a generous drink in each glass.

“Here’s to Timmy,” he said.

“To Timmy.”

“Fitz got out of it. You got out of it. But Timmy didn’t make it.”

“I almost didn’t make it.”

“What did he actually die of? Fitz couldn’t say.”

I shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. We didn’t have medical care. He lost a lot of weight and his resistance was down. He had a bad cold. He ran a fever and his legs got swollen. He began to have trouble breathing. It hurt him to breathe. A lot of them went like that. Nothing specific. Just a lot of things. There wasn’t much you could do.”

He turned the dirty glass around and around. “He should have come back. He would have known what to do.”

“About what?”

“I guess he told you about how we were doing before he left.”

“He said you had a pretty good business.”

“This store used to be over on Delaware. We moved about six months ago. Sold the lease. Sold my house too. Still got the yard and this. The rest of it is gone.”

I felt uncomfortable. “Business is bad, I guess.”

“It’s pretty good for some people. What business are you in?”

“I’m not working right now.”

He smiled at me in a mirthless way. “And I suppose you plan on sticking around awhile.”

“I’d thought of it.”

“Did Fitz send for you?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t know he was here.”

“But you talked to him. He phoned me and said you’d probably be in for a little chat. And that you’re an old friend of Timmy’s. He’s been working for me for nearly a year. I don’t see how I can give you a job. There just isn’t enough coming in. I couldn’t swing it.”

“I don’t want a job, Mr. Warden.”

He kept smiling. His eyes were funny. I had the feeling that he was either very drunk or out of his head. “Maybe something nice out of the store? We still have some nice things. I could unlock the gun rack for you. Need a nice over and under, with gold inlay, French walnut stock? On the house.”

“No thanks. I don’t understand, Mr. Warden. I knew Timmy and I thought maybe it would be the right thing to do to just stop in and chat.”

“Sure. But you went out to the yard first.”

“Yes. I went out there because I put my car in a garage here and I told the man I’d known Timmy in prison camp. He said there was another man here who’d been in the same place. Earl Fitzmartin. So I went out there and saw him. Then I came here. I could have come here first and then gone out there. I don’t know why you think you have to give me a job or a gun or anything.”

He looked at me and then bent over and picked up the bottle again. He put some in both glasses. “Okay,” he said. “So it’s just like that. Pay no attention to me. Hardly anybody does any more. Except Fitz. He’s a good worker. The yard makes a little money. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

It wasn’t anything like the conversation I had expected. He was a strange man. He seemed defeated and yet amused, as though amused at his own defeat.

“Timmy talked a lot about Hillston,” I said.

“I guess he did. He lived here most of his life.”

Though I didn’t feel right about it, I took the plunge. “We had a lot of time to talk. They made us go to lectures and read propaganda and write reports on what we read, but the rest of the time we talked. I feel as though I know Hillston pretty well. Even know the girls he used to go with. Ruth Stamm. Janice Currier. Cindy somebody.”

“Sure,” he said softly, half smiling. “Ruthie Stamm. And it was Judith not Janice Currier. Those were two of them. Nice girls. But the last couple of years before he went away he stopped running around so much. Stuck closer to the business. Lots of nights he’d work on the books. He was getting almost too serious to suit me.”

“Wasn’t there one named Cindy?”

He frowned and thought and shook his head. “No Cindy I know of. Either of those other two would have made him a good wife. Ruthie is still around town, still single. Judy got married and moved away. El Paso, I think. Either one of them would have made him a better wife than the one I got stuck with. Eloise. He talk about her?”

“He mentioned her a few times.”

“She’s gone.”

“I know. Fitz told me.”

“Lovely little Eloise. Two-faced bitch. While you’re around, stop in again any time. We’ll have a nice little chat. I’m usually here. Hell, I used to have a lot of other things to do. Zoning board. Chamber of Commerce. Rotary. Always on the run. Always busy. Now I have a lot of time. All the time in the world.”

I was dismissed. I walked back through the narrow store to the street door. The clerk leaned against one of the counters near the front, picking his teeth with a match. It felt good to get back out into the sunlight. The cheap liquor had left a bad taste in my mouth. It was too early to go after the car. I went into the nearest bar I could find and ordered an ale. It was a dark place, full of brown and violet shadows, with deer antlers on the wall
and some dusty mounted fish. Two elderly men played checkers at a corner table. The bartender was a dwarf. The floor was built up behind the bar to bring him up to the right height.

I sipped the ale and thought about Fitz, about my own unexpectedly violent reaction that had been made ludicrous by his superior strength. I had not thought that I cared enough. It was a long time since camp. But he had brought it all back. The time with him had not been pure fiasco, however. I sensed that I had won a very small victory in the talk that had followed the one-sided fight. He was not certain of where I stood, how much I knew. The talk with George had canceled that small victory. George puzzled me. There was a curious under-current in his relationship with Fitz, something I could not understand.