"But it ain't cholera. And don't you go scarin people sayin it is. There'll be an autopsy and you can read about it in the paper."
Miserable little pissant, Norm thought, slowly dressing himself in yesterday's clothes. His headache was turning into a real blinder. Those kids had better be quiet or they were going to have a pair of broken arms to mouth off about. Why the hell couldn't they have school the whole year round?
He considered tucking his shirt into his pants, decided the President probably wouldn't be stopping by that day, and shuffled out into the kitchen in his sock feet. The bright sunlight coming in the east windows made him squint.
The cracked Philco radio over the stove sang:
But bay-yay-yaby you can tell me if anyone can,
Baby, can you dig your man?
He's a righteous man,
Tell me baby, can you dig your man?
Things had come to a pretty pass when they had to play nigger rock and roll music like that on the local country music station. Norm turned it off before it could split his head. There was a note by the radio and he picked it up, narrowing his eyes to read it.
Dear Norm,
Sally Hodges says she needs somebody to sit her kids this morning and says shell give me a dolar. Ill be back for luntch. Theres sassage if you want it. I love you honey.
Lila.
Norm put the note back and just stood there for a moment, thinking it over and trying to get the sense of it in his mind. It was goddam hard to think past the headache. Babysitting... a dollar. For Ralph Hodges's wife.
The three elements slowly came together in his mind. Lila had gone off to sit Sally Hodges's three kids to earn a lousy dollar and had stuck him with Luke and Bobby. By God it was hard times when a man had to sit home and wipe his kids' noses so his wife could go and scratch out a lousy buck that wouldn't even buy them a gallon of gas. That was hard f**king times.
Dull anger came to him, making his head ache even worse. He shuffled slowly to the Frigidaire, bought when he had been making good overtime, and opened it. Most of the shelves were empty, except for leftovers Lila had put up in refrigerator dishes. He hated those little plastic Tupperware dishes. Old beans, old corn, a leftover dab of chili... nothing a man liked to eat. Nothing in there but little Tupperware dishes and three little old sausages done up in Handi-Wrap. He bent, looking at them, the familiar helpless anger now compounded by the dull throb in his head. Those sausages looked like somebody had cut the cocks off'n three of those pygmies they had down in Africa or South America or wherever the f**k it was they had them. He didn't feel like eating anyway. He felt damn sick, when you got right down to it.
He went over to the stove, scratched a match on the piece of sandpaper nailed to the wall beside it, lit the front gas ring, and put on the coffee. Then he sat down and waited dully for it to boil. Just before it did, he had to scramble his snotrag out of his back pocket to catch a big wet sneeze. Coming down with a cold, he thought. Isn't that something nice on top of everything else? But it never occurred to him to think of the phlegm that had been running out of that fellow Campion's pump the night before.
Hap was in the garage bay putting a new tailpipe on Tony Leominster's Scout and Vic Palfrey was rocking back on a folding camp chair, watching him and drinking a Dr. Pepper when the bell dinged out front.
Vic squinted. "It's the State Patrol," he said. "Looks like your cousin, there. Joe Bob."
"Okay."
Hap came out from beneath the Scout, wiping his hands on a ball of waste. On his way through the office he sneezed heavily. He hated summer colds. They were the worst.
Joe Bob Brentwood, who was almost six and a half feet tall, was standing by the back of his cruiser, filling up. Beyond him, the three pumps Campion had driven over the night before were neatly lined up like dead soldiers.
"Hey Joe Bob!" Hap said, coming out.
"Hap, you sumbitch," Joe Bob said, putting the pump handle on automatic and stepping over the hose. "You lucky this place still standin this morning."
"Shit, Stu Redman saw the guy coming and switched off the pumps. There was a load of sparks, though."
"Still damn lucky. Listen, Hap, I come over for somethin besides a fill-up."
"Yeah?"
Joe Bob's eyes went to Vic, who was standing in the station door. "Was that old geezer here last night?"
"Who? Vic? Yeah, he comes over most every night."
"Can he keep his mouth shut?"
"Sure, I reckon. He's a good enough old boy."
The automatic feed kicked off. Hap squeezed off another twenty cents worth, then put the nozzle back on the pump and switched it off. He walked back to Joe Bob.
"So? What's the story?"
"Well, let's go inside. I guess the old fella ought to hear, too. And if you get a chance, you can phone the rest of them that was here."
They walked across the tarmac and into the office.
"A good mornin to you, Officer," Vic said.
Joe Bob nodded.