The Transgressors (19 page)

Pellino was obviously a man of importance. There’d be a search for him, and to attempt flight would only draw attention to themselves.

They’d felt no better about their situation when they discovered that Lord was staying at his shack. To them, it was proof that his influence was still strong, that he’d been able to squeeze out of the frame into which Joyce’s murder had put him. Everything was Tom’s fault—all their terrible peril and misery. Yet Tom was living high off the hawg with a girl friend, and they had to skulk around like coyotes. Jumping at shadows. So damned sick and scared that they could hardly eat the little grub they were able to get.

“Couldn’t see but one way out,” Red went on. “Didn’t look like nothin’ was going to be done about Joyce’s death; not as things stood, anyways. So all we had to do was nail you for killin’ the fat guy, and we had it made. We could go on hidin’ at the lease for a while, until everything had cooled off. Then, we’d show up in town, like we’d just blew in…”

He paused wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, as Lord tensed himself to spring, the rifle snapped up again.

“Don’t do it, Tom. Gonna happen soon enough, anyway. O’ course, if you’re in a hurry—”

“No hurry at all,” Lord said hastily. “Suit me fine if you talked forever.” And he listened intently, tried to penetrate the darkness around him, as Norton continued.

Red had made no mention of a third man, an accomplice. So the man who had stopped down there in the road could be a friend. Someone, at least, who could help in this otherwise hopeless situation. For Red certainly intended to kill him. As soon as he had vented his hatred orally, rationalized the crimes he had committed and was about to commit.…

“…about all, Tom,” Red concluded, telling how he and Curly had disposed of the hunters. “Guess we wasn’t real smart, kinda screwed everything up, but then we never claimed to be bright. Ain’t like some people that make trouble for their friends, an’—”

Lord cut in on him sarcastically. Obviously, there was nothing to be gained by sympathy, but he might buy some time with an argument.

“You pore, pore fella you! You’ve known for years that cable tools was on the downgrade. Jobs were disappearin’ like snowflakes on a hot stove, and you don’t do nothin’ about it. Won’t have nothing to do with rotary rigs.”

“You’re damned right!” Norton snarled. “I’m no mudhog! Me, I’m—”

“Yeah, sure. You’re a cable-tool man, a rope-choker. So that’s what you’re gonna be, even if you wind up with a rope chokin’ you! A man with a boy’s head, that’s you. Can’t do nothin’ but bungle and blubber. If you could, you wouldn’t be in this spot!”

“Uh-huh. An’ what about the spot
you’re
in?”

“I’m stupid, too. If I wasn’t I’d ’ve known you were.”

Red whimpered angrily; he urged Lord to keep it up and see what happened. “Gonna get me somethin’ out of this deal, Tom. Me an’ your girl friend’s gonna have a lot of fun together.”

“You mean you are, don’t you?” Lord drawled. “Can’t see a puny little fella like you tacklin’ a ninety-eight-pound woman while she’s still alive.”

Norton didn’t get the ugly joke for a moment. When he did…

The rifle leveled and steadied; he looked down the barrel of it, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Turn around if you want to.”

“Not me,” Lord said. “My papa told me never to turn my back when I was close to a horse’s ass.”

And he flung himself forward as one last rifle shot rang through the night.

R
ed Norton shifted his bandaged arm in its sling and signed the confession which Donna had taken down. Buck Harris folded it and put it in his pocket. He and Lord helped the injured man into Buck’s car. And Lord asked if Buck was sure he could manage by himself.

“With two of ’em dead?” Buck shrugged; and then he lowered his voice a little. “What about this fella, Tom? What do you reckon they’ll do to him?”

Lord said he wished he knew; he kind of had Red on his conscience. “Prob’ly what should have been done long ago. Put him someplace where he might be helped, and he can’t do harm.”

“Well…” Buck scuffled his feet. “You positive your car’ll run, Tom? Looked pretty shot up to me.”

“It’ll get me into town, anyways. Go in with you right now, if you like.”

“No hurry. Prob’ly better if I go on ahead and clear things up with Bradley.”

Lord nodded. He held out his hand awkwardly. “I hardly know what to say, Buck. I—”

“Ain’t no need to say anything. After all, we’re friends, ain’t we?”

“You know it,” Lord said fervently. “If you hadn’t winged Red when you did—”

“Me?” said Buck. “That wasn’t my shot, Tom. Couldn’t get one in from where I was.”

“Yeah?” Lord frowned. “Then…Oh, yeah,” he said.

“Uh, it ain’t none of my business, Tom, but would you mind telling me somethin’?”

“Practically anything but my own name. I ain’t sure I remember it right off.”

“I mean, uh, about her. How come she seems right t’home here, when she was dead set on killin’ you?”

“I don’t know,” Lord sighed. “I guess I’m just unlucky.”

Buck drove away.

Lord stayed where he was, absently massaging his jaw—looking up into the night, as the slender moon fattened and grew full, and the stars pressed eagerly against the azure window of heaven.

Well,
he thought.
Well, what if she had saved his life? It was her fault, was it not, that his life had had to be saved. Except for her selfish attitude, her insistence that he ignore everything he lived by
—

The door behind him opened suddenly. With very awkward suddenness, since he was leaning against it. As he pitched backward into the room, Donna caught him by the elbow and jerked him erect.

“Now, what are you doing?” she said severely. “Haven’t you had enough nonsense for one day?”

Lord pulled away from her. He said she was to get changed into her woman’s duds, and be quick about it.

“You’re gettin’ out of here,” he added. “I’m takin’ you into town tonight, and you ain’t comin’ back.”

“I see,” she said. “You have it all settled, do you?”

“Reckon I do, yes, ma’am. I just found out it was you that took care of Red out there, and maybe I ought to be grateful to you. But—”

He broke off as she turned and went over to the stove, began ladling stew into two plates. Placing them on the table, along with bread and butter, she sat down and began to eat.

Lord hesitated, fidgeted, and sat down across from her. “Now, looky,” he said. “I told you we was goin’ into town. We’re leavin’ right now.”

“Eat your dinner,” Donna said. “I’ve warmed it up about fifteen times now, and I’m not going to do it again.”

“And I’m not going to tell you again.” Lord’s eyes glinted dangerously. “You get switched into your store duds and do it quick, or I’ll do it for you!”

“That would be typical of you,” Donna nodded, spooning stew into her mouth. “When you can’t win an argument through reason, you resort to force.”

Lord scowled; this was definitely a very low blow. Even the Plaintiff Lord, of the legendary
Lord vs Lord,
had never filed such a sweeping charge.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll reason—if you know how. I’ll tell you how I look at things, and you just show me where I’m wrong.”

Donna said that was fine with her. “Now, hadn’t you better eat, dear? Or can’t you do it while you’re reasoning?”

Lord snatched up a spoon, took a huge mouthful of stew. It was boiling hot, and he choked and sputtered, his eyes watering. Donna buttered a slice of bread and handed it to him.

“Eat that with it, dear,” she said gently. “And maybe you’d better take smaller bites.”

Lord accepted the bread shakily. He took a very small bite of the stew.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll take it right from the beginning. For a marriage to work, people have to have a lot in common. You’ll agree to that, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t.”

“But—but you got to! Everyone knows that!”

“I don’t,” said Donna, and she looked up at him levelly. “Believe me, Tom, people can have a very miserable marriage and still have a great deal in common.”

“Well…well, look, now,” Lord said. “You want a home, comfort, security. You do want that, don’t you?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“Well—uh—to a degree, yes. But they don’t mean everything to me.”

“They don’t mean everything to me, either. The only thing that really matters is love. And”—she gave him another level-eyed look—“you can believe that, too.”

“All right!” Lord pounced on the statement. “But how can you love a man when you’re hell-bent on changing him? Tryin’ to make him knuckle under to you like you tried to tonight. I was only doin’ what I had to do—couldn’t face myself in the mirror if I didn’t—and—”

“And I tried to stop you. I loved you that much.”

“Love? What kind of love is that?”

“My kind. And it isn’t the kind that you think it is, something that measures everything in terms of a bank balance and a full belly. If it was, I wouldn’t have tried to stop you, because I knew how you’d feel about me. I knew I’d probably lose you, and I loved you enough to do it anyway.”

“Well, now…” Lord hesitated uncomfortably. “I—uh—”

“I tried to protect you. When I couldn’t do it one way, I did it another. I took the rifle that I wouldn’t let you take, and I went out there where I didn’t want you to go. And—a—and”—her voice broke briefly; became firm again. “But that was very wrong of me, wasn’t it, Tom? That was very selfish of me. It proved that all I was looking for was a meal ticket and a place to sleep.”

Lord couldn’t think of much to say to that. He couldn’t think of much, period.

Donna arose suddenly, snatching up the plates from the table and carrying them over to the corner washstand. After a moment, her back still turned, she said she’d change clothes as soon as she’d done up the dishes.

“I think you’re right, Tom. We couldn’t make a go of it. It’s best that you take me into town tonight.”

“Well,” Lord said. “I ain’t so sure about that.”

“I think you must be. You couldn’t have said the things you did unless—”

“Dagnabbit!” Lord yelled, smashing his fist down on the table. “Why didn’t you stop me from sayin’ ’em, then? Gonna stop me from doin’ things, why didn’t you do that?”

“B-but.…” She faced him timidly, the beginning of hope in her eyes. “But, Tom—”

“Don’t ‘but’ me! You wasn’t on the job, was you? Wasn’t lookin’ after me like you’re supposed to?”

“No, Tom,” she nodded meekly. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“Well, you ought to be! Lettin’ all sorts of things slip by you. Why”—he pointed to the bunk—“just look at that bolster there! You let me put that up, didn’t you? Wouldn’t bother you a bit if I got bolster bumps, one o’ the most insidious diseases known to man.”

Donna assumed an expression of horror. She said something would have to be done about the bolster right way, and she would be glad to assist.

“I’ll run out and get the hammer, Tom.”

“I’ll get the hammer. You just get them dishes cleared up, and make a big pot of strong coffee.”

“C-coffee? But I thought—won’t it keep us awake?”

“You’re doggone right it will,” said Lord enthusiastically. And as Donna blushed to her hair roots, he went out for the hammer.

He knocked the bolster loose.

She made coffee.

He threw the bolster out the door.

She poured coffee.

They drank the coffee together, and they blew out the lamp together.…

And in the far-west Texas night, in the incredible, heartbreaking beauty of the night, peace came to Tom Lord and Donna McBride.

James Meyers Thompson was born in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in 1906. In all, Jim Thompson wrote twenty-nine novels and two screenplays (for the Stanley Kubrick films
The Killing
and
Paths of Glory
). Films based on his novels include
The Getaway, The Killer Inside Me, The Grifters,
and
After Dark, My Sweet.

In July 2012, Mulholland Books will publish Jim Thompson’s
Recoil
. Following is an excerpt from the novel’s opening pages.