1960 - Come Easy, Go Easy Read online

  The voice was loud and aggressive.

  “No. Who’s calling?”

  “I want Mr. Jenson. Tell him it’s Hal Lasch. I want to talk to him.”

  I looked at Jenson’s body as it lay on the truck. Sweat was running down my face and into my eyes,

  “Mr. Jenson is asleep,” I said. “I can’t disturb him.”

  “You tell him it’s Hal Lasch. He’ll talk to me. I want his advice on the president’s funeral. I want to know if he will do the oration; He won’t mind you waking him. You tell him it’s Hal Lasch.”

  “I’ll tell him in the morning. He’ll call you. I’m not disturbing him now.”

  “Who the hell are you?” His voice was now a bellow. “You do what I tell you! I know Carl. He’ll want to talk to me!”

  I drew in a long, deep breath.

  “Never mind who I am,” I said, matching his own aggressive tone. “You or no other goddamn Swede is disturbing Mr. Jenson at this hour. He’s in bed, and his wife is sleeping with him. Do you imagine I’m going in there and wake them because you want to talk about a funeral oration at four o’clock in the morning? You call tomorrow,” and I slammed down the receiver.

  I stood by the telephone waiting for him to call back, but he didn’t. I waited maybe for three minutes—it seemed like three hours, then still sweating and with my nerves sticking a yard out of my skin, I went once more to the front door, checked the empty road, then manhandled the truck out of the bungalow. I trundled it over to the shed and got it alongside the grave I had dug.

  I got him into the grave and then shovelled in the soil.

  It took me the best part of an hour to get the grave filled in and stamped flat. It was a hell of a way to bury a man as good and as fine as Jenson, but there was nothing I could do better if I were going to save myself from the gas chamber.

  I felt I should have said a prayer over him, but I had forgotten any prayers I might have known, I just hoped he would understand and I let it go like that, but I felt bad.

  I moved a heavy work bench over the grave, swept up, put the pickaxe and shovel away and then surveyed the scene. I had made a thorough job of it. No one would know nor even guess that a dead man lay four feet below that work bench.

  I turned off the light and went across to my cabin. I stripped off and took another shower, then I went to my bed and lay down.

  Already the grey light of the dawn was making the mountains sharp etched against the sky. In another hour the sun would be up.

  My mind was too restless and uneasy to think of sleep. I lit a cigarette, and stared up at the ceiling.

  Now was the time to cook up a story to take care of Jenson’s permanent absence. This Swede— Hal Lasch—would be telephoning sometime in the morning. I had to take care of him. I felt sudden panic grip me. If my story wasn’t good and wasn’t put over convincingly, someone, even if it wasn’t Lasch, would become suspicious and the police would move in. They would only have to check on me and I would be cooked. My story had to be good.

  By six-thirty, when the first truck to go over the mountain pulled in for gas, I had a story that satisfied me. It wasn’t one hundred per cent foolproof, but at least it was believable.

  I rolled off my bed, feeling hot and tired, and I walked over to the pumps.

  The trucker nodded to me. He was fat and elderly and his sweaty unshaven face told me he had been driving all night.

  “How about some coffee, bud?” he said. “You open yet?”

  “Sure. Stick around. I’ll fix it for you.”

  I shot gas into his tank, then went over the lunch room, opened up and heated some coffee.

  He came in and sat on a stool, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

  I put the cup of coffee in front of him.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” I said, “Eggs and ham?”

  “Yeah. Eggs and ham is fine.”

  While I was fixing the meal, he lit a cigarette, and putting his elbows on the counter, he groaned to himself.

  “I guess I’ll have to quit in a year or so. This racket’s getting too tough for a guy my age,” he said. “Where’s the big Swede? In bed?”

  That was what it was going to be now for months: Where’s the big Swede? You couldn’t have the personality Carl Jenson had and get forgotten.

  “He’s out of town,” I said. “He’s gone down to Parker, Arizona. He plans to open another filling station down there.”

  That was my story and I might as well rehearse it. I saw the trucker look interested.

  “Is that right?” He took a drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift down his wide nostrils. “That Swede is smart. I’ve been coming through No Return now for the past fifteen years: regular every two months. I’ve watched this place grow. Sooner or later, I’ve said to myself, that Swede is either going to quit or expand. Arizona, huh? That’s a hell of a long ways from here.”

  “I guess so. There’s a station already there and it’s going for a song. All he has to do is to walk in, and in three months he reckons he’ll double the take.”

  “That’s smart.” The trucker wagged his head. “What’s going to happen here? You looking after it?”

  “That’s right ...” I hesitated before I went on, knowing this was the curse. “Me and Mrs. Jenson.”

  He looked up sharply, frowning.

  “Mrs. Jenson is staying on here then?”

  “Just for a couple of months until Mr. Jenson can get a good man to take care of the Parker station. I couldn’t handle this setup on my own.”

  “That’s a fact.” I could see the surprise and the growing ‘Hey-hey-hey! What’s going-on-around-here?’ expression in his eyes. “Mighty nice looking girl—Mrs. Jenson.”

  Go on, you big sonofabitch, I thought. Think what you like. You’ll never prove anything.

  “Certainly is.” I dished up the ham and slid three eggs onto a plate. I put the plate down in front of him.

  I saw he was studying me the way everyone else when they heard the news would study me.

  “So you and she are running this place from now on—that it?”

  “She’s running it. I’m just the hired man,” I said. “But only for a couple of months. Mr. Jenson will be back by then.”

  He grunted and started eating.

  I went into the kitchen, leaving the door open, and began loading potatoes into the peeling machine. When I had the machine working I went over to the deep freeze cabinet and checked on the food we had in store. Then I sat down and wrote out the lunch menu, aware this had been Jenson’s job; aware now I was taking his place.

  I took the menu card into the lunch room and hung it up. The trucker had finished his meal. He paid me.

  We went out together to his truck, talking. As he was climbing into the cab, I saw Lola come out of the bungalow.

  She was wearing a pair of scarlet shorts and a white halter. In that rig-out her shape was sensational.

  The trucker paused and sucked in his breath sharply while he stared at her, then he looked at me and grinned.

  “I wouldn’t mind being in your place, pal. Strikes me you have a pretty sweet job.”

  He slammed the cab door shut, winked at me, gunned his engine and drove off. As he passed Lola, he gave a shrill wolf whistle.

  chapter eight

  I

  I found Lola in the kitchen. As I came in, she turned and faced me. She looked pretty bad. There were circles around her eyes, her face was pale and drawn and I guessed, like me, she hadn’t had much sleep.

  I was furious that she had been so stupid and thoughtless to have put on the get-up she wore.

  “Do you have to show your body off like this?” I snarled at her. “Do you want every goddamn tongue to start wagging about us?”

  She looked blankly at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Use your head!” I reached for her overall and threw it at her. “That trucker saw you just now. He said I had a sweet job. He knows we’re alone together. That’s
the way talk starts. Before we know it, we’ll have the police here!”

  Sulkily, she put on the overall.

  “What have you done with him?” she asked, not looking at me.

  “I’ve buried him. Now listen, we’re going to run this place together,” I said. “I won’t interfere with you and you’re not going to interfere with me. When I think it’s okay to move, I’ll go, and when I go I’ll open the safe and you’ll get the money.”

  She looked sharply at me, her eyes glittering.

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not moving from here until I’m satisfied the hunt for me is over. You’ll have to make up your mind to wait.”

  Her mouth became sulky again.

  “Carl has friends. They’ll want to know where he is.”

  “Do you think I haven’t got that worked out?” I said, impatiently. “You will tell them he has gone to Arizona to investigate another filling station. We don’t expect him back for a couple of months. In the meantime you are running this place and I’m helping you.”

  “And then? What happens? They won’t forget him. They’ll keep asking.”

  “At the end of a couple of months you will get a letter from him. He’ll tell you he has found another woman he likes better than you and be is not coming back. That kind of bad news is believed because people want to believe it. Because he feels he has treated you badly, he is giving Point of No Return to you. You will continue to run it with me until I’m sure it is safe to quit, then when I’ve gone, you can get rid of it if you want to.”

  “I have a better idea,” she said, resting her hips against the kitchen table. “Open the safe now and you can have the thirty thousand dollars Carl was going to give you. With that money you can get away.”

  “No! I wouldn’t touch his money. I’m safe here and I’m staying here! When I’m ready, you’ll have the money, but not before.”

  Two little spots of red showed in her cheeks and she started to say something but stopped as we heard the sound of a car pulling up.

  Leaving her, I went out into the lunch room as the screen door pushed open. A heavily-built man, tall and beefy, with sandy hair, prominent blue eyes and around forty, came in.

  He gave me a long hard stare before saying, “Where’s Jenson?”

  I had an idea who he was. Obviously he was a Swede and besides, I recognised his aggressive voice.

  “He’s out,” I said. “Anything I can do?”

  “Out? At this hour? Where’s he gone?”

  “Anything I can do?” I repeated, “or do you want to talk to Mrs. Jenson?”

  Hearing voices, Lola came to the kitchen door. As soon as she saw the big Swede, the sulky look went away and she smiled at him.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Lasch, you’re early.”

  He relaxed a little and tipped his hat.

  “Morning, Mrs. Jenson. I came over to talk to Carl about Wallace’s funeral. I guess Carl told you the poor guy had a heart attack last night. The Legion want to do the right thing by him. As Carl was an old friend and an important member of the Legion, we thought maybe he would do the oration. This fella tells me Carl isn’t here.”

  I looked at Lola. She was quite calm. At the mention of Wallace’s death, her smile faded and she looked sorrowful. She was certainly some actress.

  “That’s right. You’ve just missed him. He left for Tropica Springs about half an hour ago.”

  Lasch gaped at her.

  “Carl did? His car’s in the shed. I saw it as I came in.”

  My heart began to pound, but I needn’t have worried. She was a fluent liar, and she was more than capable of handling a big, dumb Swede like Lasch.

  “He didn’t take the car. He’ll be away for a few weeks. He got a lift into Tropica Springs on a truck. I couldn’t be left here without the car for so long. He’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

  I could see Lasch was surprised and puzzled by all this. He lifted his hat to scratch his head, then he said, “You mean he won’t be back in time for the funeral, Mrs. Jenson?”

  “Oh no. I don’t really know quite when he will be back. Several weeks ... He had the chance last night to buy another filling station. He had just got back after the meeting had been cancelled. Someone called and made him this offer. We talked it over. He decided to go down there and take a look.”

  Lasch squinted at her. “Down where?”

  “Some place in Arizona,” Lola said. “He has always wanted to own another filling station. This sounded like a bargain so he rushed off before it is snapped up.”

  I couldn’t have done better myself. She really could tell the tale.

  “Arizona? Why, that’s miles away,” Lasch said blankly. “He isn’t planning to leave here for good, is he?”

  “We haven’t got around to that yet. I think his idea is to put someone in charge down there. I’m sure he’ll tell you about it, Mr. Lasch, when he comes back.”

  That pulled him up short. He looked a little embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean to sound inquisitive. I’m surprised not to find him here. Well, if he won’t be back for some weeks I guess I’ll have to deliver the oration myself.” He looked at me. “Who’s this fella?”

  “Jack Patmore,” Lola said “He’s helping out while Carl is away.”

  Lasch looked me over, his eyes hostile.

  “Are you the guy who called me a goddamn Swede last night on the telephone?”

  I matched his look.

  “At four o’clock in the morning I’m likely to call anyone anything.”

  He hesitated, grunted, then turned his back on me.

  Lola said, “Won’t you have breakfast, Mr. Lasch? It’s all ready.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve a lot to do. When Carl gets back, ask him to call me, will you?”

  She said she would and he left without looking at me.

  There was a pause, then Lola went back into the kitchen.

  Well, at least, the story was accepted. There would be talk of course about Lola and me out here alone together. I remembered what Carl had told me, how when she first came here to work for him the talk got so bad he married her to shut their mouths.

  This day was Sunday. On Sundays we had a lot of traffic over the mountain, and we were both kept busy. We served thirty lunches and twenty-three dinners. I had a major repair job, to say nothing of serving gallons of gas.

  By the time the traffic slacked off, it was close on midnight.

  During the day Lola hadn’t said a word to me. Now when I walked into the kitchen just as she was finishing clearing up, she didn’t look round nor show she knew I was there.

  “Pretty good day,” I said, leaning against the door post. “I reckon we’ve taken close on four hundred bucks.”

  She put the pan she had been scouring on the shelf. I might not have spoken for all the notice she took of me. She took off her soiled overall, rolled it and tossed it into the laundry basket.

  I felt a stab of desire go through me to see her again in those halter and shorts. It was a physical urge and made me go hot. I had to fight down the impulse to cross the room and grab her.

  She went out by the back door, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  I turned off the lights and locked up.

  So she was going to sulk, I thought as I walked over to my cabin. Well, okay, we’ll see who gets tired of that first. I went into my bedroom, crossed over to the window to pull down the blind, then paused.

  The light was on in her bedroom. She hadn’t pulled down the blind. I could see into the room. She was standing directly under the light. She had taken off her halter and as I watched she stepped out of her shorts.

  I stood there, watching her, my heart bumping unevenly against my ribs. I watched her, naked as the back of my hand, turn and walk to the bathroom, enter and close the door.

  I had to make a conscious effort to reach out and pull down the blind.

  II

  The next four days followed the same p
attern.

  Lola didn’t speak to me. It was as if I wasn’t there. She ran the kitchen entirely on her own, and she kept the kitchen door locked. We had a service hatch at the back of the lunch counter. I called the orders through this and I only caught an occasional glimpse of her when I peered through the opening at her. I did all the waiting, the servicing of the cars, and I ran the lunch room snack bar single handed.

  The nights also followed the same pattern. She did no night duty, leaving it to me. Around eleven o’clock she would unlock the kitchen door and go out the back way to the bungalow, leaving me to manage as best I could.

  She didn’t lower her blind when she went to bed, but although the temptation was great, I kept away from my cabin until her light went out.

  The picture I had in my mind of her nakedness remained to torture me. The heat didn’t help either. After the fourth day, a strong wind got up, blowing sand everywhere, a hot wind that frayed my nerves.

  I began to sleep badly.

  The heat got so bad the traffic dropped off. The cantaloupe growers began to send their produce by train as the eighteen hour run from Oakland over the mountain to Tropica Springs spoilt the fruit. Fewer tourists used the blistering, sun scorched road. Receipts dropped off. There were less meals to serve and no repairs. I found I had time on my hands, and as my mind was constantly tormented by the thoughts of Lola, this was a pretty bad period for me.

  Eight days after Jenson’s death, Lola made her first trip to Wentworth for provisions.

  I was working on the magneto of the Station wagon for something to do when I heard the Mercury start up. Looking out, I saw her driving away. I guessed where she was going. It irritated me that she had gone, not telling me when she would be back, not caring that I would have to handle whatever trade came in single handed.

  Around eleven o’clock, and as I was reassembling the magneto, I heard a car draw up. I was in the middle of fixing the timing and I cursed under my breath. I couldn’t leave what I was doing, so I carried on, letting the driver wait.

  Three minutes or so later, I had got it fixed, and I straightened up, reaching for a rap to wipe off my hands when I saw the shadow of a man lying across the opening of the shed. I looked up. My heart contracted as I saw George Ricks standing there, in his dirty overalls, his straw hat resting at the back of his head. His dog stood behind him, staring mournfully at me.