Страница 43 из 58
“Nobody stayed alive.”
She takes his face in both hands and kisses him. After a bit, he begins sluggishly to respond …
In the daylight he stands at the window in his stained trousers, sips coffee and looks out at parked cars and little kids splashing in an inflated wading pool. As the phone rings, A
She hangs up and says to Radford, “I promised some friends I’d go target shooting. Want to come along?”
He only looks at her, without any change in his expression.
The sign in the old building corridor a
The foyer needs paint. Its scratched metal reception desk is unoccupied. The decor consists of gun ads, hunting prints and NRA posters. A long window separates Radford and A
A
A
Harry says, “Hi.”
A
“Ha’re you?” And, to A
“No. Why?”
“That outfit of yours so tight I’m havin’ trouble breathing … Got a weapon you want to sight in?”
Radford shakes his head. “No. I’m just a spectator.”
A
Harry looks at him with sudden recognition. “C.W.—Wait a minute. You’re, what’s the name, no, don’t tell me, I’ll get it—”
On the range one of the shooters looks this way. All three wear goggles; perhaps Radford recognizes Conrad, from the van. Conrad pretends no interest in Radford or A
Harry is going right on with his recognition exercise: “You were just a kid, you won the Wimbledon Cup on the thousand-yard range at Camp Perry … I got it. Radford. C. W. Radford. Am I right, hey? Am I right or am I right!”
Harry claps Radford amiably on the bicep. Radford’s reaction is stony but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.
Harry puts on a pair of thin gloves before he selects a 308 target rifle from the rack. “Damn gloves—solvent on my hands, don’t want to soil the goods.” He turns, smiling, and proffers the rifle to Radford. “Here, try this 308. I’d admire to see you shoot.”
Radford shakes his head, refusing the rifle. “You go ahead.”
Harry is taken aback, then puts on a smile and ushers them forward toward the firing line. A
Harry says, “This here’s the rifle, for my money. Shoot across rooftops or shoot across the street. Great support for a GPMG team. Your perfect weapon for urban area combat.”
A
Harry gives her a look. He and A
Reflex: Radford catches it. He scowls at Harry, then studies the rifle briefly, then turns and aims casually and fires one shot downrange.
Harry puts his eye to a swivel-mounted telescope to spot targets.
“Jeez. A perfect bull’s eye. Wow. Awe-some!”
By this time Conrad, Gootch and Wojack are watching Radford with intense interest, but Radford doesn’t seem to notice this. With distaste he shoves the rifle back into Harry’s gloved hands. “No thanks.”
Harry says to A
And now, behind Radford’s back, Harry and A
A
“Thanks. For the lift and—everything.” Radford is about to get out. A
It’s a key. She slips it into his shirt pocket and gives him one of those bright smiles that can light up your whole day. Radford just looks at her—a grave beat. Then he gets out and she watches him walk to the cafe. She doesn’t drive away until he’s disappeared completely inside, but he never once looked back at her.
Night again, and the street’s deserted until Charlie’s side door opens. Radford, untying his apron, pokes his face out into the night air and takes a deep breath in an attempt to clear away his headache. Charlie appears behind him and takes the apron. “G’night, C.W. Take care.”
“Yeah.” It’s a noncommittal grunt. Radford walks around the corner, then past two hookers, then past the redheaded dealer, who gives him a glance. Radford is tired and everything hurts. When he puts his hands in his pockets, he discovers something in one pocket and takes it out and looks at it.
A
But he goes back to his flophouse and finds it unchanged, the cot as always unmade. Radford rummages through the few paltry possessions in his duffel bag, finds a worn envelope, takes a creased photograph out of it and sits looking at the photo. He was very young then, handsome in his tailored class-a uniform, posing proudly with his arm around his best girl.
Dorothy McCune. In the photo she’s quite young and very beautiful in a cocktail dress. On her other side stands her father, a very distinguished guy. They’re at a posh political rally; big ba
Radford broods at the picture, then puts it back where he got it.
Outside A
She’s in a nightgown, sleepy.
He’s apologetic, hesitant. “Hi. Sorry.”
“Well don’t just stand there.” She draws him inside.
In the afternoon Charlie’s Cafe kitchen staff go in and out on their errands. Don the waiter stacks dishes—and watches the aproned Radford scrub a griddle.
Charlie enters—with Harry. Charlie says to Radford, “Fella wants to talk to you.”
“Harry Sinclair. Gun club—remember me? Look, there’s a turkey shoot-out on the hill range tomorrow—small potatoes, but I’ll put up the side bets and you take a third of my wi
Radford studies him. “I guess not.”
Charlie razzes him. “Shit, go ahead, C.W. Shoot some bull’s eyes—have some fun.”
“Charlie, I haven’t shot targets in years. What if I get the shakes and come up Maggie’s drawers?”
Harry says, “Then I’ll eat my losses. But it won’t happen.”
Charlie says, “Man’s got confidence in you, C.W.”