Rose Madder

“You’ll work at the Whitestone until you find something that suits you better, as you almost certainly will-Providence, remember.”

“With a capital P.”

“Yes. While you’re at the Whitestone, we ask only that you do your best-in order to protect the jobs of all the women who’ll come after you, if for no other reason. Do you follow me?” Rosie nodded. “don’t spoil it for the next person.” “don’t spoil it for the next person, just so. It’s good to have you here, Rose McClendon.” A

“I have three more things to tell you,” A

“They’re important, so I want you to clear your mind and listen carefully. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Rosie said. She was fascinated by A

“First, taking the bank card doesn’t make you a thief. That was your money as well as his. Second, there’s nothing illegal about resuming your maiden name-it will belong to you your whole life. Third, you can be free if you want to.” She paused, looking at Rosie with her remarkable blue eyes from above their clasped hands. “do you understand me? You can be free if you want to. Free of his hands, free of his ideas, free of him. Do you want that? To be free?”

“Yes,” Rosie said in a low, wavering voice.

“I want that more than anything in the world.” A

“Then you’ve come to the right place. Welcome home, dear.”

It was early May, real spring, the time when a young man’s fancy is supposed to lightly turn to thoughts of love, a wonderful season and undoubtedly a great emotion, but Norman Daniels had other things on his mind. He had wanted a break, one little break, and now it had come. It had taken too long-almost three goddam weeks-but it had finally come. He sat on a park bench eight hundred miles from the place where his wife was currently changing hotel sheets, a big man in a red polo shirt and gray gabardine slacks. In one hand he held a fluorescent green te

“Help you, bro?” the man with the te

“Is your name Daniels?” The man with the te

“Guy in there told me to come over here and see you. He said maybe you could help me with my problem.”

“Was it Lieutenant Morelli?” the man with the te

“Yeah. That was his name.”

“And what problem do you have?”

“You know,” the man with the Errol Fly

“Tell you what, bro-maybe I do and maybe I don’t. Either way, I’m the man and you’re just a greasy little halfbreed cockgobbler with a very troubled life. I think you better tell me what I want to hear, don’t you? And what I want to hear right now is what kind of problem you’ve got. Say it right out loud.”

“I’m up on a dope charge,” the man with the Errol Fly

“Ooops,” the man with the te

“That’s a felony. It can be a felony, anyway. But it gets worse, doesn’t it? They found something of mine in your wallet, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. Your fuckin bank card. Just my luck. Find an ATM card in the trash, it belongs to a fuckin cop.” “sit down,” Daniels said genially, but when the man with the Errol Fly

“Other side, dickweed, other side.” The man with the moustache backtracked, then sat gingerly down on Daniels’s left side. He watched as the right hand squeezed the te

“Beautiful dog,” Daniels said. “shepherds are beautiful dogs. I always like a Shepherd, don’t you?” “sure, great,” the man with the moustache said, although he actually thought the dog was butt-ugly and looked like it would happily chew you a new asshole if you gave it half a chance.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” the cop with the te

“In fact, I think this is going to be one of the most important conversations of your young life, my friend. Are you ready for that?” The man with the moustache swallowed past some sort of blockage in his throat and wished-for about the eight hundredth time that day-that he had gotten rid of the goddam bank card. Why hadn’t he? Why had he been such a total goddamned idiot? Except he knew why he had been such a total goddamned idiot-because he’d kept thinking that eventually he might figure out a way to use it. Because he was an optimist. This was America, after all, the Land of Opportunity. Also because (and this was a lot closer to the nub of the truth) he had sort of forgotten it was there in his wallet, tucked in behind a bunch of the business cards he was always picking up. Coke had that effect on you-it kept you ru

“Listen, man, I never used your bank card. Let’s just get that up front. They told you that, didn’t they? I never fuckin used it once.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the cop said, half-laughing.

“You couldn’t get the pin-number. It’s based on my home phone number, and my number’s unlisted… like most cops.” But I bet you already know that, right? I bet you checked.”

“No!” the man with the moustache said.

“No, I didn’t!” He had, of course. He had checked the phone book after trying several different combinations of the street address on the card, and the zip-code, with no luck. He had punched ATM buttons all over the city at first. He had punched buttons until his fingers were sore and he felt like an asshole playing the world’s most miserly slot machine. “so what’s go

“We’re not going to find my card in the CANCEL/RETRY column about a billion times? Hey, if we don’t, I’ll buy you a steak di

“Your name’s Ramon Sanders,” the cop named Daniels said.

“You got a rap sheet long as my arm. Theft, con, dope, vice. Everything but assault, battery, crimes of that nature. No mixing it up for you, right? You fags don’t like getting hit, do you? Even the ones that look like Schwarzenegger. Oh, they don’t mind wearing a security tee-shirt and flexing their pecs for the limousines in front of some homo club, but if anyone actually starts hitting, you guys go flat in a hurry. Don’t you?” Ramon Sanders said nothing. It seemed by far the wisest course.