To Sleep Gently (16 page)

"Worse," Mike told him.

"Thanks." Then, "Yeah, I suppose I had more fun than I should have."

"Good for you."

Dempster cringed and was glad Mike didn't see it. He recapped in his mind everything from the fight last night up until his fight this morning. He was hoping, even if it was only for a short while, to forget about it. "So how about lunch?"

Mike looked at the cart of books, then at the shelf and back to the books. "The covers they're putting on a lot of these science fiction and fantasy novels— I never cared much for most of them, but they were passable. Now they all have some Fabio impersonator holding a sword or some such crap." His eyes found Dempster's. "I'm telling you, the world is going to shit."

Dempster wanted to laugh but couldn't. "Oh, don't I know it."

"Yeah, to hell with this," Mike said. "Let's get some lunch."

4

"I'm gonna be taking off in a couple days."

Mike chewed, looked at Dempster and nodded slowly. With his mouth full he said, "I sensed you were getting ready to leave. You've seemed a bit frustrated here."

"Have I?"

"A little, yeah."

They were at the pizza place again. The food was pretty good, and neither of them had felt much like putting out the effort to think of something new.

"I don't think it's the place," Dempster said. "I mean, sure, let's be honest, anything is better than where I was. But Santa Fe—it's a lovely area. And being able to see you and Angela again has been terrific. I think it's more the timing. Finally being free after so many years, there's a lot I wanna do. It's like I wanna be everywhere at once."

"You can never be everywhere at once," Mike told him.

"No, but I think it's time to move on. There are other places I wanna go, and there are still other people I need to see."

Mike studied him, searched his face as though he were trying to penetrate and read his very soul. "Is there something going on, Demp?"

He'd been trying to hide it. He'd been pretty sure it had gone unnoticed. But gradually Mike was chiseling away, and gradually it must have started to show itself.

Dempster shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. You've been here several days. I've only seen you a handful of times, and from what I know, you don't have any other friends out here. You haven't given me a phone number or even told me what hotel you're staying at. You just kind of drop in when you feel like it, and you haven't told me a single thing about what you've done since you got here. Your entire life here has been a total mystery." He took a sip of his soda. "So what's going on?"

I wish I could tell you, his mind said. I wish I could tell you everything. I want to explain things as they are and not pull any punches. I want to tell you that I'm here to pull a job, and the only reason I haven't been up front with you from the beginning is because I want to protect you and Angela. I don't want to bring you guys into it. I don't want you to know anything, not because I want to hide from one of the only real friends I've ever had, but the more you know, the more trouble can come to you. And I could never forgive myself if anything happened to either of you. I could never forgive myself for that.

He stared at Mike. He had always considered himself a decent liar, but as he looked into his friend's eyes, the thought of out and out falsehood seemed virtually impossible. He could lie to a minor extent. He could avoid the truth until the cows came home, but he knew that no matter what the situation, he couldn't look into his oldest friend's eyes and feed him a load of shit.

"Mike," he said, "this is gonna sound crazy."

"Demp, I've known you since the first grade."

"I think I may have fallen in love. I made some mistakes and I lost her. I already know that sticking around here is gonna be too much for me."

"Fell in love? With who?"

"You don't know her."

"But you were just asking me about Carly not two days ago."

"I know. That was one of the mistakes I made. Maybe the biggest one."

"How? You never even talked to her." He paused, searched Dempster's face. "Did you?"

"We talked. We hung out."

"When?"

"The other day and then again last night."

"Jesus." He looked away, then back. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Look, I feel shitty enough about it, all right? It's too complicated to explain right now, so unless you know how to track down someone who has no phone and no address—"

"I can't believe you got together with Carly." His voice was incredulous. "I mean, no offense, man, but I didn't think you had a chance."

"I'm not proud of it, okay? Can you drop it?"

Mike's face turned to shame, while at the same time he was clearly impressed. "I'm sorry," he said. "What's her name?"

"Sandra."

Mike finished his pizza. "That's a nice name."

"It is," Dempster said. Or was, he thought.

"You have no idea where she is?"

"None."

"You don't know where she lives?"

"She doesn't live anywhere, that's the problem. She could be on her way up to Oregon right now for all I know."

Mike frowned. "So this is why I haven't seen you much."

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Just leave it at that, would you?"

Mike picked up his soda, contemplated it, then drank as though it was liquor. "So when do you think you're taking off?"

"Probably the day after tomorrow. Figured I'd give it another day or so, just for the hell of it. Maybe hang on to a little more hope than I should."

"You wanna have dinner tonight, or maybe tomorrow?"

Dempster looked at him and then looked away. "Yeah, I would like that."

5

For the next hour or so Dempster walked along the downtown streets. When he came to the Eldorado he circled it once, gave it his full attention, being professional for a short while. The rest of the time he wandered aimlessly, both physically and mentally. He watched people meander about like so many rats in a large cage full of sky. Children shrieked while people forced strained laughter and spurious conversations through the loud, sardonic humming of passing cars. It was the breath of the street, the unheard groans and cries of self-pity, the weary sigh of acceptance that no one was what they seemed, wearing masks so phony they might as well have no movable features at all. A town of walking mannequins, always smiling, not knowing why but knowing that they should, afraid that if they let their facade drop for even a second, their entire world would come tumbling down.

He crossed over the Santa Fe River, and eventually crossed back, thinking about his fantasy with Sandra, now and forever to be nothing more.

Down Paseo de Peralta, away from the river, past mediocre shops and boutiques, he drifted left onto Palace Avenue, and passed several galleries and high-end tourist shops, an office building or two, and Cathedral Park, where a man sat reading a book, a couple held hands, and another man played with his Australian shepherd. He began to realize what a bewildered state of mind he was in. A thick clouded fog, the haze of his mind transporting him through the mists of time, dwelling on the deplorable past, the present non-existent other than the sight of his walking feet carrying him forward, step by step, taking him somewhere—wherever they felt like—whether he wanted them to or not.

He snapped to and shook away the past, and asked himself what the hell he was doing. He commanded his feet to stop, and that's when he saw the two-story stucco building, white trimmed windows, double doors, a small group of homeless men gathered around a radio on the small spread of lawn.

The library. The wonderful world of books, discount tickets to everywhere, bound pages capable of taking one beyond the limits of imagination. His savior, his sanity, the one thing, other than the knowledge of eventual freedom, that kept him going for five years. The one thing that let him know he was not alone.

He allowed his feet to carry him up the walkway, agreed with his hand as it opened the door. His senses sparkled as he stepped in and found himself in a foyer with two large bulletin boards on the left and front walls. A generous magazine rack packed to the gills with periodicals free for the taking. On the low windowsill sat a box filled with romance novels and Reader's Digests. Someone had written FREE on it in black magic marker.

Glancing at the bulletin board, amidst fliers for concerts and lectures, services and garage sales, used furniture and cars, his eyes were drawn to a bright yellow sheet pinned just below eye level. He read it three times, each time a little slower, then glanced over his shoulder, saw that no one was around, removed it from the board, folded it in half, and entered the lobby. There was a checkout desk on the left, an information desk on the right. Two people sat behind each, all of them as bored as if they were at an insurance seminar. People of all types wandered about. Everyone from soccer moms to has-been hippies to intellectuals and pseudo intellectuals who wore clothes that didn't fit right. There was a sign written in calligraphy for Josh Willis, a painter who had his work displayed upstairs. The show was titled
Summer Mornings in a Summer Sun.
Dempster didn't feel a need to check it out.

Instead he just stood there a while, taking in the same sights over and over again. Between the two desks he saw a second entrance/exit, as well as several computer stations just to the right of it. To his immediate left was a short corridor that opened up into a large area with a series of shelves. A sign said FICTION. To the right was non-fiction, as well as copy machines, restrooms, and a water fountain. He walked between the desks and veered right. There were more computer stations, also several computer card catalogs and shelves of reference (FOR LIBRARY USE ONLY) books. Many desks and chairs stood about like tiny islands, some with individuals stranded on them.

Okay, so why are you here? You could putz around here all day but to what end? What good is it gonna do you?

It was a good question, and he didn't have an answer. But he had been drawn here for something, he knew. There was some reason why he'd come here.

He entered the non-fiction area, which crossed by the lobby where he'd entered, and continued down into another long room. He stopped at the water fountain and had himself a drink, then wandered through the aisles looking at nothing in particular.

Coming to the end of the room where a series of large windows looked out onto Washington Avenue—the street he'd entered from—he folded the yellow flier once again in half, and slid it into his back pocket.

A red Nissan drove by, out on the street. He jolted, gave it his full attention. But unless Sandra had all of a sudden become a bald, heavy-set Hispanic man with a beard, it wasn't her.

Is that why I'm here? To have a joke played on me?

He turned around and walked back to the lobby, deciding there wasn't any reason for him to be here. Strange emotions tugged at him. For some unexplainable reason he felt jealous, though he had no idea of what. He entered the foyer, passed the magazine rack and the bulletin boards, then pushed his way out the door.

6

Freddy called half an hour later. "You guys ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be."

"Everything still looks okay?"

"As good as it's ever gonna look."

"You all right?"

"As all right as I'll ever be."

"Nervous?"

"No."

"Having self doubt?"

"Always."

"Well, if there are any problems, call."

"I know," Dempster said. Then, "I've been watching this town, Freddy. This is not the kind of place used to something like this. It's gonna be a really big deal when it happens."

"And a really big haul," Freddy told him. "Also, not being used to it, they won't know as well how to deal with it. Get the stuff and bring it to Corrales. If you're gonna be delayed, call. Any problems you have with the police down there, that's your problem, but Dempster—please try not to kill anybody. Like you said, it's gonna be a big deal. We don't wanna make it any bigger."

"We're on the same page."

"You think you can keep those kids under control?"

"I hope so. I don't think they should be much of a problem, I'm more concerned about Gardner."

"I know you are."

Silence lumbered through the phone.

"You're worried about him too."

"I'm not," Freddy said. "He'll be just fine. You just keep everything together. As far as I'm concerned, you're in command down there. You're in charge. I've spent a hell of a lot of money and a lot of sweat setting this thing up. I want it to pay off."

"Like I said," Dempster told him, "we're on the same page."

"So we'll see you in Corrales in a couple of days."

"Right."

"Good luck and be careful."

"Will do, you too."

Chapter Twelve

Just before ten o'clock that night, Dempster entered the Eldorado. He took a seat at one of the glass-topped tables in the lounge and waited patiently until a tall woman with pretty green eyes and a black tie about her neck flung a coaster down in front of him.

"Just a coke," he told her, and didn't bother to watch her leave.

The lights were dimmer in here than in the rest of the hotel. Somehow at night the contrast was clearer. He paid for the coke right away, leaving a good tip, then stared at the reflection of the overhead chandelier in his tabletop. He wasn't exactly sure why he had come here. It wasn't as though he was casing the joint or anything like that. He practically wasn't even aware of where he was. Maybe he just didn't want to deal with the adolescent behavior back at the house. Maybe he just felt like being out. Or maybe he was still refusing to let go of some inane hope clinging steadfast to his heart. The kind that seems impossible to get rid of, like stubborn mildew in a dingy shower. Scrub and scrub and scrub, but no matter how hard you try, it just won't go away.

All around him were voices and faces, blurred and smeared, having no meaning to him.

He sipped his coke, shifted his focus from the reflection of the chandelier to that of his own face. It was odd to watch himself in such a strange lighting. He never looked how he imagined himself to. He always pictured himself more handsome, a bit more of a caricature, but always found himself plain.