Blowback(5)

He smiled crookedly as he approached. “Well,” he said, “new blood in no man's land. You joining our happy little group?”

“For a day or two.”

“I wish I could say the same thing. You alone?”

“I'm alone.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and stepped around me to the cooler, lifted the lid, and took out a beer. When he had it open he sipped a little, made a face, and gave me his crooked grin again. “This stuff is rat piss, you know? I like imported beer if I have to drink it at all.”

“Is that right?”

“Sure. I'm Todd Cody. Vegas.”

I told him my name and where I was from. He gave no indication of wanting to shake hands, and that and the beer comment made me decide I was not going to like him much. I said, “Do you know where Harry is?”

“Burroughs? Nope. I've been taking a nap; too damned hot to do anything else.”

“You been here long, have you?”

“Two weeks. With another two to go, unless I can get time off for good behavior.”

“How's that?”

“My old man,” Cody said. “He sends me to places like this periodically, when he thinks I've been getting out of hand. If I don't go, he stops sending checks. So I go. I suffer, but I go.”

So that was the way it was. I said, “It takes all kinds.”

“Sure,” he agreed. He thought I was talking about his old man.

In the hot stillness I heard the distant hum of an outboard, and I turned to look out over the lake. A fourth skiff was just pulling out from the southwest shore, heading across the lake at an angle away from the camp. There were two men in it, the one at the tiller wearing what looked like a jungle helmet; they both appeared good-sized and they were both wearing white T-shirts.

Cody said contemptuously, “Knox and Talesco.”

“Guests here too?”

“Yeah. You're in for a treat when you meet them.”

“Why is that?”

“A couple of machos straight out of Hemingway,” he said. “But wherever you see one, the other's not far away. Closet fags, if you want my opinion.”

I didn't. I said, “Who else is staying here right now?”

“Guy named Bascomb, an artist or something. Spends all his time painting and sketching. A real fun dude.”

“Anyone else?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jerrold,” Cody said. The crooked smile again, with a leer in it this time. “You're also in for a treat when you meet little Angela-a genuine treat. The lady is a fox of the first order, you know what I mean?”

But that question turned out to be rhetorical, because a voice called sharply “Cody! You, Cody!” and turned both our heads toward the rear of Harry's cabin.

There were two men on the narrow, irregular path that came down out of the woods to the immediate right of the shed. One was several steps in front of the other, moving with purpose and what appeared to be anger. I didn't know him, but the second man was Harry Burroughs.

The grim-looking guy came up to where Cody and I were and stopped and planted his feet. He wore beige corduroy slacks and a thin cotton pullover and a fisherman's hat festooned with flies, patches, bits of felt, and buttons that said things like You Should Have Seen the One That Got Away; held easily in the crook of his right arm was a Winchester automatic shotgun. He was big and heavy-chested, with a tangle of unruly black hair and penetrating gray eyes that looked a little wild just now. White ridges of muscle made half-crescents at the corners of his clamped mouth; his face was glossy with beads and runnels of sweat.

He looked straight at Cody, and I was not even there. “All right,” he said thickly, “where's Angela?”

Cody seemed amused. “How would I know, Jerrold?”

“You haven't seen her, is that it?”

“Not since yesterday.”

“You're a goddamn liar.”

“Hey, now wait a minute…”

Harry came up, glanced at me in a disturbed way, and put a hand on this Jerrold's arm. “Take it slow, Ray. Cool down.”

“The hell I will. This-”

“Ray, ease off now.”

“Big man,” Cody said to Jerrold. He tried to curl his Up like Bogart used to do, but it only came out looking silly. “If you don't trust your wife, or me, or any of the others, why'd you go off hunting or whatever with Burroughs? You hand out plenty of freedom, and then you come in playing the outraged husband-”

Jerrold said “You son of a bitch!” and took a step forward with his free hand balling into a fist. Cody flinched, backed away, but Harry tightened his fingers on Jerrold's arm and pulled him back.

“Let it alone, Ray, come on. Go on over to your cabin, Angela's probably there waiting for you.”