The Big Bounce

“That people,” her mother said quietly, “might hear about it?”

Nancy began to smile; she couldn’t help it. “Mother, you’re beautiful.”

“I don’t see anything amusing,” her mother said. “I want to know what happened.”

Nancy looked at Loretta, who looked at Nancy’s mother. “Whatever you heard is probably true.”

“Loretta said they left before midnight.”

“How long do you think it takes?” Nancy said.

Her mother’s solemn expression held. “I want you to admit you thought this up as a not very fu

“Mother, I did. I propositioned them.”

“All right,” her mother said, rising, smoothing her dress over her hips. “There doesn’t seem to be much point in talking about it.”

“Really. It’s true.”

“It’s up to you,” her mother said. “But until you admit the truth and start making sense, you won’t be allowed out of the house.” Her mother turned and started across the room.

“I’ll tell you everything we did,” Nancy said after her. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

Her mother didn’t. A few days later she told her mother only part of the story was true, the part about blocking Loretta’s door. Her mother said, then the boys made up the rest of it as some sort of perverted joke. Yes, Nancy said, and she was allowed to go outside again and play.

It had been all right but very minor. She had been a little girl then and now she was a big girl and had to think as a big girl. Everything was relative. It became relative as one changed one’s approach and went on to bigger and better bounces.

Playing with the two boys had been fun.

Faking out the fathers taking her home from babysitting had been fun.

Putting on Bob Jr. had been fun.

Fooling around with Jack Ryan and thinking of how to take Ray’s fifty thousand had been fun. But even this was fairly low key compared to what she had in mind now.

If she could set it up. If she could work out the timing, it would be the biggest bounce of all.

14

RYAN SKIMMED OUT the swimming pool, with the little Fisher kids watching and asking him if they could jump in and try and touch the end of the skimmer, but he told them he had to hurry and didn’t have time to fool around. He didn’t feel like playing. He got the rake and cardboard box without ru

First, was there anything to worry about or not?

There was always something to worry about when other people were involved.

Even before Nancy presented him with the beer case, there was something to worry about. He had gotten rid of the beer case. He had taken care of that early this morning, burying it five feet deep in the vacant lot. But he hadn’t gotten rid of Nancy. He hadn’t gotten rid of Billy Ruiz or Frank Pizarro. They were all hanging over him and could fall on him and maybe the only way was to run out from under. Disappear.

He could still go into Ray’s lodge. It would still be possible to pull it off.

It was a fu

He felt some sand inside his right sneaker. He had the shoe off and was pouring the sand out when he saw Mr. Majestyk coming across the beach. He hadn’t seen Mr. Majestyk since Wednesday night, after they had looked in his window. Ryan thought of it now, but he said to himself, the hell with him, and looked right at Mr. Majestyk.

Mr. Majestyk’s gaze shifted beyond Ryan and moved around the beach, squinting a little in the sunlight. He said, “What’re you doing?”

“What am I doing? I’m raking the beach.”

Mr. Majestyk was staring at Ryan now, for a moment frowning. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

“I can see nothing.”

“This guy and I had a disagreement.”

“Boy, you get in an argument you start swinging, don’t you?”

“I didn’t start it.”

“Listen, there’s some painting has to be done in number five. I painted most of it in the spring, but I didn’t get the kitchen.”

“What about the beach?” Ryan looked off in the direction Nancy would come.

“Leave it,” Mr. Majestyk said.

“They’ll be coming down pretty soon.”

“That’s all right. It’s not bad.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “There’s some junk over there and up by the steps.”

“All right, just get that. Then I’ll give you the paint. Just in the kitchen where the goddamn wall’s messed up. Number Five.”

Ryan looked at him, realizing Mr. Majestyk had said it before. “Five? The broad by herself?”

“Yeah, she checked out yesterday, so it’s a good chance before the new people come tomorrow.”

“Number Five?”

“I said Five, didn’t I?”

“What time did she leave?”

“In the afternoon.”

“What for? What’d she say?”

“How do I know what for. She says she’s leaving, she leaves. I don’t ask her why. I say hope you enjoyed yourself and come back. That’s all. Look, pick up that crap and then come by, I’ll give you the paint.” He started to walk off, then turned to Ryan again. “What were you making all the goddamn noise about this morning?”

“What noise?”

“With the bulldozer. Christ, seven thirty in the morning.”

“I wanted to finish it up. I figured there’d be a lot to do today.”

“Christ, seven thirty. I was about to come out, you stopped.”

“Well, it’s done now,” Ryan said.

He dragged out raking the beach another half hour, until Mr. Majestyk appeared again and yelled to him to knock off for lunch. Looking up the beach he still saw no sign of her. So quit worrying, he thought. If she wanted him, she’d have to find him.

They had tunafish salad and onions, tomatoes and peppers and some sweet corn and the homemade bread, and a couple of beers each. They discussed whether beer was better in bottles or cans, and then which was better, bottled or draft, and both agreed, finally, that it didn’t make a hell of a lot of difference. Long as it was cold.

Mr. Majestyk said hey, the game was on TV tonight. Detroit at Boston. McLain going against McDermott.

“About eight or eight thirty I think it starts.”

“I’ll see,” Ryan said.

He wouldn’t take a job as a painter for anything, though he didn’t mind it once in a while. It was something different and it was quiet in here.

Ryan finished a cupboard door and got down off the chair. He could see the broad’s face close to his. He lit a cigarette and went into the bedroom. Putting the cigarette in his mouth, he unlocked the window and pulled up on it. He pressed in closer and pushed up against the frame with the heels of his hands. He banged them against the frame and pushed up again. The window wouldn’t budge. He could see where the dried paint held the frame to the sill. The window probably hadn’t been opened since spring.