Bloody River Blues

"How do you mean?"

"What you told the detectives, about believing me."

Buffett shrugged. Pellam noticed him rub his eyes in a resigned way. He seemed as tired as the wilting flowers that littered the radiator cover of the room. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I guess. My wife came for a visit." He opened his mouth and was suddenly overwhelmed by the volume of things he wanted to say, they rushed forward. But just before he spoke, the torrent dried up instantly, and he asked, "Hand me the TV Guide, would you?" Buffett motioned across the room. "Son of a bitch orderly left it on the dresser. What good's it doing me over there? I mean, some people, they just don't think."

NINETEEN

A knock on the half-open door woke Do

The door pushed wider open and a blond woman's face appeared, her head tilted sideways. The face, which he did not recognize immediately, was delicate and pretty. She stepped into the doorway. The lope of her walk, combined with the delicacy and prettiness, made her sexy. This in turn depressed Buffett even more than Pellam s visit.

"Hi. You're not asleep?"

Hearing her voice, he remembered her name. "Nina, right? Pellam's friend?"

As if she now had permission she entered the room. She wore a tight-fitting brown silk dress. A beige raincoat was over her arm. Do

"You're Do

"You just missed him." He smoothed his hair and stroked his two days growth of beard with forked fingers. "Did I?" She grimaced and Buffett wondered why he had thought even momentarily that she had come to visit him. She asked, "When did he leave?'

Buffett looked at his watch, surprised. He thought he had slept for hours. "Thirty, forty minutes ago."

'That's John. Hard to pin him down. Oh hey! Nice roses. The ones I get never open up."

"There's this stuff in a packet that comes with them. You put it in the water."

'They smell nice, too. You don't know where he's gone off to?"

If you only knew, lady.

"Sure don't, no. Look, take some flowers. You want the roses, take them." Bu£ she shook her head. He remembered that he'd tried this once before. Nobody liked hospital flowers. He figured people thought they were bad luck.

"Pellam told me about what happened to you in that factory downtown. That's a tough neighborhood. You okay?"

She nodded but said nothing, as if the memory were too troubling; Buffett was sorry he'd brought up the attack. But he felt compelled to add, "Maybe you should, I don't know, leave town or something, until they find who did it."

"I could do that. I was thinking I would."

What she did at the moment, though, was straighten a disordered pile of magazines on the bedside table until the corners were perfectly aligned.

Buffett's eyes returned to the TV. Watching sports increased his depression but he had developed a taste for bad afternoon movies, provided the sound was off.

Hearing the dialogue spoiled the experience. He had fallen asleep watching a silent, bad movie about the hijacking of a ship. He wanted either to go back to sleep or to watch his movie. He was becoming irritated with her. "I thought visiting hours are over."

"I smiled at the cop outside and he told the nurses to let me in."

Buffett grunted but he tried to make it a pleasant grunt.

She walked further into the room. He did not like her putting her raincoat over the back of the chair. This meant she intended to stay. She kept looking at him. He felt like a freak. Why wouldn't she leave?

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Great. I'm great." On the screen the ship hijackers were chasing the good guys around the decks. Or maybe it was the good guys who were doing the chasing.

"You don't sound real great."

He looked back at her. "I get kind of groggy sometimes. Just sitting here."

Her eyes flicked to his hand. "You're married, right?"

"Yep."

"Your wife visits you everyday?"

"Sure." She's a great little trouper. "Brings me cookies. You want a cookie?"

"No, thank you. Any lads?"

"Nope. Sour cream dip? I think it's onion. I don't remember."

Nina was not going away. Why was she forcing him to have a conversation with her? Why was her mouth curled into a tiny little smile when there was nothing to smile about?

Buflett said, "You've got a relative here, right?"

She nodded. "My mother. I was just visiting her. I got bored and left. Is that bad of me?" She asked this in a pouty way- the schoolgirl routine that she seemed to have perfected-and he understood he was supposed to tell her that it was not bad of her, which he did, though not very sincerely. Buffett watched the silent machine guns firing at fleeing sailors, who called silently for help. A number of them got gu

"Well," she said, no longer smiling. "You're sure Mister Quiet."

Commandos were coming to save the ship.

"I guess I'm watching TV."

"With the sound oft?"

He clicked the off switch. He'd denied himself the treat of the commandos' rescue and now she'd sense his resentment and leave.

But, no, she was walking around the room in a very leisurely way, straightening his magazines. Then she started on the vases.

"I think I'm becoming a curmudgeon," he said by way of apology. "What is that exactly?"

"Got me. An old fart, I guess." She began to throw out the dead flowers. "I'd think the nurses'd take better care of them."

"They're pretty busy. Everybody's busy."

Except me. I sit on my ass all day long. I can tell you all about fabric softener, breakfast cereal, and tampons. I could learn how to hijack ships if you'd leave me the hell alone.

She washed the vases in the bathroom and left them upside down to dry on the top of the toilet. Buffett took grudging pleasure in watching her. The glass was immaculate. Some women are good at this, he thought. Give them a dirty bar of Ivory and a cheap paper towel and they'd make anything spotless. Pe

Pe

Nina walked to a low dresser across the room. Nothing more to wash. No more silent hijackers or Monistat commercials.

No more crazy location scouts.

No more nothin'.

"Well, I'm pretty tired," Buffett said, and yawned a fake but large yawn. "I think I'd like to get some sleep."

"Naw," Nina said, picking up a deck of cards from the dresser. "Don't you think you'd really like to play gin rummy?"

John Pellam, his bomber jacket covering Samuel Colt's deadly brainchild, walked with the oblivion of landed gentry through the streets of Maddox, Missouri.

He kicked at a tuft of tall grass springing from a perfect hole in the middle of a cracked sidewalk slab. He continued on. There was no traffic here, foot or auto, along this row of buildings. The tallest structure on the block-a three-story factory-may have bustled in its heyday but the building now mocked its past; the roof had collapsed long ago and the old green sign on the facade read FINERY, the RE ironically worn down by some trick of erosion.

Looking behind him, looking down alleys, looking more often in the reflections of windows than at*the sidewalk where he planted his brown Nokonas, Pellam saw no one following.

He turned from this part of town and ambled down Third-past the spot where Do