Memories of Another Day (25 page)

Fifteen minutes later, Daniel was knotting the tie in front of the mirror. The clerk held the jacket while he slipped into it.

"If I may make a suggestion, sir?" the clerk said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Just one thing missing. A hat. We're direct agents for Adam Hats of New York and have a special on the new snap-brim style. One ninety-five."

When Daniel left the store, the hat sat squarely on his head. They walked carefully under the overhang of the buildings. He didn't want to get too much rain on it the first time he wore it. Tess hung proudly on one arm. He was a real good-looking man.

A few doors down was a sporting-goods store. Dan-

iel stopped abruptly and looked into the window. It was filled with rifles and shotguns. "Let's go in here," he said.

She followed him into the store. He went to the man behind the counter in the rear of the store. ''Howdy," the man said. ''What can I do for you?"

"I'm interested in a handgun. Nothing too big."

"Twenty-two caliber, .38, .45?"

"I'd prefer a .38, but it depends on the size."

The man nodded. He took a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked a drawer beneath the counter. He placed a long-barreled Colt Police Positive on the counter. "What do you think of that?"

Daniel shook his head. "Too big."

The man exchanged it for a Smith & Wesson Military and Police Model. He looked at Dan. Again Dan shook his head. "How about a Colt Government Automatic?"

"Don't like them," Daniel said. "Used them in the army. They don't shoot where you point 'em. Kick's too hard, anyway."

"Only got one other, then, in .38. If that don't do you, you'll have to go to a .22."

"Let me see it."

This time the man came up with a small leather case. Respectfully he opened it. The gun was silver-blue shining metal, and the grips mother-of-pearl. "Smith and Wesson Snub-nose .38 Terrier," he said reverently. "Comes complete with real leather shoulder holster. It's expensive, though."

Daniel looked at it. "How much?"

"Thirty-nine fifty."

"That is expensive," Daniel said. He picked it up and hefted it. "Doesn't feel like much."

"It's a fooler. It can do anything the big one can do. An' better."

Daniel broke the gun and spun the cylinder with his thumb. Then he snapped it closed and held it up. "Give me a price."

The man hesitated a moment. "Thirty-five."

''You can do better."

"Thirty-two fifty. That's the bottom."

"Got a test range?"

"Down in the cellar." He pressed a button under the counter. A young man in grease-stained work clothes came out of the back room. He gave the gun to the young man, together with a handful of cartridges. "Take the gentleman downstairs. He wants to try the gun."

They followed the young man down a flight of steps at the back of the store. At the bottom of the landing he switched on a light. There was a brightly lit shooting range at the far end, a white paper mounted circle target on a stand resting against sandbags. The young man gave the gun and six cartridges to Daniel.

Quickly Daniel loaded the gun. He spun the cylinder, tested the trigger for tension, then cocked the hammer. Satisfied that it was smooth, he held the gun with both hands outstretched, aiming at the target.

"Hold the nose down," the young man said. "It spins up about one foot in every twenty. The range is thirty feet."

"That's not so good," Daniel said.

"Snub nose," the workman said. "Got to give up something to get the size. It's okay, though. You get used to it real quick."

Daniel squinted down the barrel and squeezed off one shot. The gun kicked slightly. He checked the target. He had missed it completely.

"Hold it down," the workman said. "Aim with the hammer, not the muzzle."

Again Daniel squeezed off one shot. This time he hit the outer rim of the target. He nodded and fired off the remaining shots in rapid succession. Three were dead center, one just slightly off. He gave the gun back to the workman. "Okay," he said.

He turned to Tess. She was staring at him, her face

pale. He reached out and took her arm. She was trem-bUng. ''You aU right?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. ''Yeah."

He held her arm while they went back upstau-s. "I'll take it if you throw in a box of cartridges," he told the man behind the counter.

"Can't do that," the man said. "But I'll throw in the cleaning rag and rod and a bottle of oil."

"Deal," Daniel said. "And I'll take a box of cartridges."

"Okay." The man pulled out a form. "Regulations," he said apologetically. "Got to fill out this form with your name, address and identification."

"No problem." Daniel took out his wallet and placed his driver's license on the counter. "That do?"

The man nodded. "Give me one minute to fill it out; then I'll clean the gun out for you."

While he waited for the man to finish the form, Daniel took off his jacket and put on the shoulder holster and cinched the cross strap tight. By the time he had it comfortable, the man had the form filled out and the gun clean.

"That'll be thirty-seven fifty with a box of fifty cartridges."

Daniel counted out the money and took the gun from the man's hand. Quickly he loaded it and slipped it into the holster, then put on his jacket. He patted the jacket. It fell smoothly across the gun as if there were nothing there at all.

They went back into the street. He looked at his wristwatch. "It's early yet. Want to take in a movie before we go back to the hotel?"

She shook her head. "No," she said in a strained voice. "Let's go back to the hotel right away."

There was surprise in his voice. "You sure you're aU right?"

A hint of annoyance came into her voice. "I'm jes' fine, stupid. But jest how long do you think you kin keep a lady waitin'?"

''Better git me a towel from the bathroom," she said.

''What for?"

"It don't look nice to have your come all over the sheets."

"Hotels expect that," he said. "Even married folks ^fuck more when they go to a hotel than when they're at home."

"You sound like you know. You ever been married?"

He shook his head. "Never."

"How come?"

"Never been in one place long enough to feel settled down, I reckon."

"Didn't you never want to git married?"

"I thought about it. Maybe, someday."

"I was married twice."

"I know," he said. "You told me."

She felt her nipples harden and a flush came up into her cheeks as she remembered what they had done. "And in none of them times did I ever do the things I did with you."

"Whatrf/Wyoudo?"

"You know. Just fuck. Stick it in. Sometimes from the front, sometimes from the back—that's all. I never frenched a man before."

He laughed. "It wasn't so bad, was it?"

She laughed with him. "No." She looked up into his eyes. "Was I all right?" she asked shyly.

"You were just fine," he said. "If you hadn't told me, I would have thought you'd been doing it all your life."

"I have," she said suddenly. "Inside my head. But I was always afraid to do it to my husbands because they might think I was a whore."

"Too bad you didn't," he said. "You might have still been married."

"I'm glad I didn't," she said quickly, "Neither of

them was a lovin' man like you are. They was jes' fuckers."

He took a sip of whiskey from his glass. "Want a drink?"

"No, thanks." She picked up her robe from the floor where it had fallen and put it on as she slipped out of bed. She started past him for the bathroom. "Fm gom' to take a bath."

He put his hand on her arm and stopped her. "Don't take a bath."

"Why?"

"I like the smell of your cunt all over you."

"Oh, Jesus!" She saw the appetite in his eyes. "You're makin' me all wet ag'in."

He laughed and reached for her hand. "Look what you're doing to me."

Her hand closed around his growing hardness. A weakness came into her legs, and she didn't need his hands on her shoulders pushing her down to her knees on the carpet before him. He guided himself into her open mouth. He kept one hand on the back of her head. "Cup my balls and squeeze them," he said.

She felt them turn into heavy rocks in her hands, then suddenly contract. His semen spattered into her mouth and down her throat. She felt herself choking, almost gagging as she tried to swallow the flooding from him. Then, when she thought she couldn't take any more, it was over.

Still gasping for breath, the comers of her mouth and chin covered with him, she looked up. "I never knew a man like you."

He looked down at her without answering. He reached for the whiskey and tossed the rest of the drink down his throat, then reached down to raise her to her feet.

"No." She shook her head. "Hit me first. Slap my face."

"Why?"

**Because I want you to make me feel like a whore. Because if'n I don't feel like a whore with you, I'm goin' to fall in love with you."

His open hand caught her on the cheek and she sprawled on the floor on her side, one heavy breast falling from her open robe, crushed against the floor by her heaving chest. Slowly her fingers reached up to touch her cheek. The white imprint of his hand was still there and slowly turning red and flushed. She stared up at him almost angrily. ''Every time," she said.

He didn't speak.

"Every time you fuck me, you do that," she said. ''So I don't fergit where I'm at."

For a moment he didn't move. Then he reached down and helped her to her feet. "Get dressed," he said almost gently. "We better have dinner if we want to get an early start in the morning."

He had just finished putting on the shoulder holster when she came from the bathroom. She stood there watching him while he checked the cylinder and put the gun into the holster. He looked up into the mirror over the dresser in front of which he was standing and Saw her. He nodded approvingly. "That's a right pretty dress you have on."

"Thank you." She felt pleased that he had noticed. It was her very favorite. Beige and black. Made her look sHmmer, her breasts and hips not as large. He finished knotting his tie. "You don't look too bad yer-self."

He touched the bandage on his forehead. "Except for this."

"On'y a few more days. Then we'll find a clinic and it'll be gone." She crossed the room for her coat while he put on his jacket. "Daniel."

He turned. "Yes?"

"Maybe I oughtn't to ask, but what are you runnin'

away from?" She tried to keep the nervousness she felt from her voice.

"I'm not running away from anything."

"But you bought a gun."

He turned away from her without answering. He buttoned his jacket and reached for his hat. She came close to him.

"You don't have to tell me if'n you don't want. But if yer in trouble, mebbe I kin help."

He reached for her hand and pressed it gently. "I'm not in trouble. Not with the law, not with anybody. And I'm not running away. I just wanted time for myself to go off and think."

"An' a gun helps you think better?"

"No." He laughed. "But I'm in a rough business. Just a few days ago some men in a car took me as I came out of my office. For three days they drove me around while they decided what to do with me. They could have killed me at any time and there would have been nothing I could do about it. Finally, they threw me out of the car and emptied a pistol into the ground around me. I thought they'd killed me, and I was so scared I shit in my pants. That's something that never happened to me, even during the war—and I was in Sergeant York's squad in France and saw lots of death there. I made up my mind right'then and there that nobody would ever again take me without a fight."

"I don't understand. What kind of a business are you in anyway that people would want to do a thing like that to you? Only gangsters have things like that happen to them."

"I'm a union organizer," he said.

"I don't know what that is," she said.

"I'm on assignment from the U.M.W. to the C.I.O to help in the organization of new unions in different industries.'^

"Are you one o' them Communists I been readin' about in the papers, then?"

He laughed again and shook his head. "Nothing like

that. Most of the men I work for are Republicans, though I myself lean toward the Democrats."

''I never heard of nothin' like that before," she said.

''Come," he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the door. 'TU try to explain it to you over dinner."

''Looks too expensive," he said. "We'd do better off the main streets."

They found a small hotel off La Brea on Fountain. The charge was a dollar a night with bath included. It was a new^ kind of hotel. Motel, they called it. You parked your car right in front of your room.

The first thing she noticed when they entered the room was a small kitchenette complete with stove, sink, refrigerator and dishes. "How would you like me to make us a couple of steaks tonight?"

He opened his valise and took out a bottle of whiskey. He pulled the cork with his teeth, then took a long swig. He put down the bottle without speaking.

"You must be as tired of eating in restaurants as I am," she said quickly. "Besides, Fm a really good cook an' Fd like to make dinner for you."

He took another pull at the bottle, still without speaking.

"I saw a market on the next block," she said. "I kin run over there and git the fixin's. You git into a hot bath an' rest yourself from all the drivin'."

"Sure you want to?" he asked.

She nodded.

He reached into his pocket and gave her a ten-dollar bill together with the car keys. "Get me another bottle of whiskey an' some cigars while you're at it."

She gave him back the bill. "This is my treat. You paid fer enough already."

Quickly she went out the door. He stood there for a moment listening to the sound of the motor starting up, then the car pulling away. He took another drink, then .wearily began to undress. He threw his clothes over a chair and naked went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub. He went back into the other room and took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. He rubbed his cheek reflectively. He needed another shave. He took his razor and shaving soap from his suitcase. He saw her valise near the window. He went over to it, picked it up and put it on a luggage rack,