Tumbler, p.4
Tumbler, page 4
“She say that, too,” said Bassman. “Now, you going to go on, the compliments, or maybe I can have another beer?”
“Oh, you bet,” said Madelaine, fishing one out of the cooler.
“What is Kim doing with Julie?” said Bart.
Bassman sucked down his beer.
“Having a nice big joint,” said Bassman.
“Jesus Christ!” said Bart, “my sister’ll kill me! She sent Julie here to get her away from all that.”
“Bart!” yelled Madelaine, “what I just tell you!”
“Oh,” said Bart.
“Sit down!” said Madelaine.
Bart sat down and looked bewildered.
Madelaine patted his hand.
“You got to trust us,” she said.
“My sister’ll kill me,” said Bart.
“Non,” said Madelaine, “we see she don’t. You get smart, try to think on this, tell Julie you got, do this, do that, that kid blow up like a volcano, get in trouble. Then your sister she will kill you.”
Bart looked beseechingly at Du Pré.
“They got this union, man,” said Du Pré. “Don’t fuck with them.”
Bart shook his head.
“Why me?” he said.
“Builds character,” said Madelaine.
“I don’t want any more character,” said Bart.
“Me, either,” said Bassman, “but we get it anyway.”
Susan Klein, the owner of the saloon, came in.
“Lo!” she said, smiling.
She looked around the little group.
“Parents and Teachers Association meeting?” she said.
Bart nodded. Then he looked up.
“How did you know?” he said.
“Well,” said Susan, “I heard your niece was coming to stay with you for a while.”
“So,” said Bart, “so what?”
Susan patted Bart’s hand.
“I’m a mother, kid,” she said. “Now, don’t you worry, everything’s gonna be all right.”
Bart nodded.
CHAPTER 8
“YOU WANT ME TO DO what?” said Bart.
Madelaine looked at him with real pity before her eyes narrowed down to mean slits.
“Your sister, she tell you what happen, Julie?” said Madelaine.
“She was hanging around with the wrong people,” said Bart.
“I been doing that all my life,” said Madelaine. “They are more interesting than the right people.”
Bart thought about that for a moment.
“Julie, she was a gymnast,” said Madelaine, “damn good, too, made the Olympic team almost. Then she really starts turning into a woman. Tits, hips, those things. You know about those things.”
“I read about them once,” said Bart.
“So,” said Madelaine, “she is, she thinks, too fat to be a gymnast.”
“OK,” said Bart.
“She wants to be a gymnast. Thing she does in her life better than anything else and better than almost anyone else does it,” said Madelaine.
“OK,” said Bart.
“But she is a woman now, so she can’t be a gymnast anymore, she gets a little slower when she gets a little heavier,” said Madelaine.
“OK,” said Bart.
“All you are wanting to do you can’t do, you get upset,” said Madelaine.
“OK,” said Bart.
“Made her special,” said Madelaine.
“OK,” said Bart.
“So get her the fucking airplane,” said Madelaine.
“Her mother will kill me,” said Bart.
“Not before I do,” said Madelaine, “and I am closer. Your sister, she is in Portland.”
Bart nodded.
“Don’t cost much, the ultralights,” said Madelaine.
Bart rubbed his eyes.
“It’s dangerous,” he said.
Madelaine grabbed Bart by the throat and she pulled his face down to hers.
“GRRRRRRR,” she said pleasantly.
“OK,” said Bart.
“Bozeman,” said Madelaine. “They sell them there.”
“No!” said Bart, “Bozeman is full of goddamned yuppies and general purpose assholes and I hate it and it’s not fair.”
“Missoula,” said Madelaine.
“Bozeman it is,” said Bart.
“Now,” said Madelaine, “you get to be a really good uncle and take your niece to Bozeman, let her pick out her airplane.”
“She really wants one?” said Bart.
Madelaine sighed.
“She does but she doesn’t know that yet,” said Madelaine.
“Oh,” said Bart.
“I think he’s getting it,” said Kim. She put her cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Give up,” said Bassman. “Just go get the fucking airplane. I am tired, listening to you squawk.”
Du Pré stared off at the wall. It was a really nice wall.
“Go pick her up at school,” said Madelaine. “Just say you have to take her to an appointment. Surprise her!”
“Women like surprises,” said Kim, “long as they know about ’em in advance and it is the right sort of surprise.”
“Du Pré …” said Bart.
“Nice wall,” said Du Pré.
Bart went out and they heard his big SUV start and roll away.
“OOOOOKAAAY,” said Kim. “Bassman and I must away to deepest North Dakota.”
“Nice meeting you,” said Du Pré.
“Don’t give him no slack,” said Madelaine, pushing a twelve-pack of beer across the counter. Bassman tucked it under his arm and he nodded.
“Two weeks we do the roadhouse again,” said Du Pré.
“He’ll be there,” said Kim.
Bassman belched long and pleasurably.
“Time we get back,” said Kim, “he’ll be better.”
Du Pré looked at Madelaine and then at Bassman and Kim as they went out. Bassman was dressed like a wino and Kim had on her leathers and high black boots.
“She is a redhead,” said Madelaine. “Next time we see them she will be anyway.”
Du Pré shook his head.
“Got ever’thing figured out,” he said.
“Most,” said Madelaine, “of the time.”
“How you know about that Kim?” said Du Pré.
“Know what?” said Madelaine.
“She is not going, kill Bassman,” said Du Pré.
“I talk to Kim, six months ago maybe. She is ver’ smart. She want that Bassman dead, he would be dead. She is shooting at him, some twenty-five, she does not want him dead. She just wants him, pay attention.”
“How come you don’t shoot at me?” said Du Pré.
“Haven’t had to yet,” said Madelaine.
She went back to beading the little purse she was working on.
The bar telephone rang and Madelaine answered it, then handed it to Du Pré.
“Is this Gabriel Du Pré?” said a voice, a man’s, very soft.
“That is me,” said Du Pré.
“Ah. Good,” said the voice. “I … represent a man who wishes to be anonymous. He understands that you have some journals buried by the Lewis and Clark Expedition, specifically ones written by William Clark.”
Du Pré waited.
“My client will offer you ten million dollars for them,” said the voice.
“Not for sale,” said Du Pré.
“My client will be very disappointed,” said the soft voice. “Do you want more money than that?”
“Not for sale,” said Du Pré. “Goodbye.” He hung up the telephone.
“Somebody wants the journals,” said Du Pré. “Offer me ten million dollars.”
Madelaine nodded.
“Think that you have them,” she said.
Du Pré nodded.
The telephone rang and rang.
Du Pré went to it and he picked it up.
“Mr. Du Pré,” said the soft voice, “my client means to have those journals.”
“Not for sale,” said Du Pré. “Don’t call back again.”
“You will hear from me,” said the voice. The line went dead.
“Same guy,” said Du Pré.
Madelaine nodded.
“What him say?” she said.
“Him, he say, My client means to have those journals,” said Du Pré.
“It is a threat,” said Madelaine.
Du Pré shrugged.
Madelaine held a bead on her needle and she put the tip of the steel through the buckskin and she drew the bead into the pattern.
“Don’t say any more?” said Madelaine.
Du Pré shook his head.
Madelaine nodded.
“Be careful,” she said.
Du Pré looked at her.
“Him don’t make threats,” said Du Pré, “him just say, you will hear from me.”
Madelaine nodded. She picked up another bead with the point of the needle.
“Not a threat,” she said, “just don’t seem right.”
Du Pré looked at her.
“What?” he said.
Madelaine picked up the telephone from behind the bar and she set it on the scarred wood in front of Du Pré.
“Kids they were calling here, making dumb jokes,” said Madelaine, “So Susan got one of them things, tells you where the call is from, the number.”
Du Pré nodded.
Madelaine tapped on the little crystal display.
“Don’t got a number there, Du Pré,” she said.
“Shit,” said Du Pré.
CHAPTER 9
DU PRÉ PUSHED THE levers and the old one-lung donkey engine hacked and coughed and the cable tightened and the log began to rise up.
“OK OK OK,” yelled Raymond, “don’t you knock me off here!”
He was up on top of a jungle gym made of logs pegged together, with ropes here and there and an old cargo net draped off one side.
The ancient crane shuddered and clanked and squealed and creaked.
Du Pré pulled back on the levers, slowly, and the log began to swing over toward Raymond, who threw a light rope around the end and then he moved away.
He tugged gently and the log swung four or five feet.
“Down!” he yelled.
Du Pré pulled all the way back on two levers and he tugged a bit on a third and the log dropped into place.
Raymond moved to the other end. He put his shoulder against the log and he shoved and it dropped into the socket.
“Good!” said Raymond. He lifted a huge electric drill and he bored a hole clear through the log and the socket beams and then he set the drill down and he picked up a sledge and a long peg and he drove the peg home.
He carried the drill and the sledge down to the other end and he did the same thing there.
“Done!” he said.
Several of Madelaine’s children looked up at the jungle gym with dubious expressions.
Raymond let down the drill by its cord and he looked carefully below and he dropped the sledge.
Du Pré pulled the cables up, the weight on the end swaying, and then he locked them and he shut off the engine.
It was suddenly quiet.
The air was filled with thick blue smoke from the old engine’s exhaust.
“He is trying, kill us,” said Alcide, looking up at the logs.
“So many, you little shits,” said Du Pré, “maybe he is culling his herd here.”
Pallas grinned at her grandfather.
“Lots of lawsuits maybe,” she said.
“Who you going to sue?” said Du Pré. He put his arm around her.
“Everybody!” said Pallas.
“OK!” said Raymond. “I have to go, work now. You have a good time on that!”
“I don’t see you again, Papa,” said Alcide, “give my stuff to … Hercule.”
“This morning,” said Raymond, “you and Hercule beating the shit out of each other.”
“Yeah,” said Alcide, “he got a black eye and I feel bad. I am going to die now. It is the least I can do.”
“All these thanks,” said Du Pré, “I am going, have some lunch.”
The kids scrambled up the jungle gym and shrieked with joy.
Du Pré got in his old cruiser. He looked across the street, at a little white SUV. There was a young woman at the wheel. She had a camera pointed at him.
Du Pré sighed and he started the engine and he drove down to the Toussaint Saloon.
The little white SUV followed.
Du Pré parked and he got out.
The SUV pulled up beside him.
The young woman opened the door and she stood up and she looked at him.
“Gabriel Du Pré,” she said.
Du Pré nodded.
She marched toward him, hand out. They shook.
“Allison Ames,” she said. “I am doing an article on the lost journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Would you answer a few questions? I will be happy to buy lunch.”
“Non,” said Du Pré, “I buy my own lunch.”
He tipped his hat to her and he walked away, shaking his head.
“I am staying until I get the story!” said the young woman.
Du Pré ignored her.
He went in to the cool dark main room of the Toussaint Saloon. Susan Klein was on her high stool behind the bar, knitting.
Du Pré mixed himself a drink and he came round and sat. He rolled a smoke.
The door opened and Allison Ames came in.
“Out!” said Susan Klein. “Right now! I told you you may not come in here again, or trespass on my property. I meant it. Go!”
“I’ll sue!” said Allison Ames.
A shadow rose behind her.
“Miss,” said Sheriff Benny Klein, “this here’s a court order. You are not to come on this property again. I will arrest you if you do. Leave now.”
Allison Ames retreated and Benny came in.
“Dear Lucky Customer,” said Benny, “you may have won a million dollars.”
“Benny,” said Susan, “I thought you got the court order.”
“Not yet,” said Benny, “had to make do with this crap. Hi, Du Pré.”
Du Pré laughed.
“What she do here?” he said.
“She came in this morning,” said Susan, “and started asking questions. Then she offered me money if I would call you and ask the questions she wanted answered. I got a little hot at that. She has no manners.”
Du Pré sighed.
“I maybe send her to Benetsee,” he said.
“Du Pré,” said Susan, “the last time you played a joke on Benetsee, you ended up in jail in North Dakota. Remember?”
Du Pré nodded.
“OK,” he said, “Pelon maybe.”
“Poor Pelon, the apprentice sorcerer,” said Susan Klein, “who was last seen starving himself to death on Box Butte. By the way, has anyone been up there to see if he’s dead or anything?”
“Long climb,” said Du Pré. “But I look over there each morning, there are no buzzards, I say, Pelon, him, he is holding up well.”
Susan squinted at her knitting.
“Damn,” she said, “dropped a stitch.”
She fussed with the wool.
“These damn journalists,” said Susan. “God, they are pushy. I guess as the Bicentennial of the Lewis and Clark Expedition gets closer they will get worse.”
“Well,” said Benny, “not much we can do about it.”
Du Pré nodded.
“She is worse than most,” said Susan. “I wonder who she writes for.”
Du Pré laughed.
“Trust fund snot,” he said. “She is waiting, sell it.”
“Ah,” said Susan. She picked up the pace of her needles.
“Maybe I tell her, Pelon is fasting, praying, and him, he is the one knows about the journals.”
“Du Pré,” said Susan, “quit. With Benetsee picking on Pelon you don’t have to pile on.”
Du Pré nodded.
“Me,” he said, “we find those things and then there is all of that trouble. Government suing me. Bart he finds me a lawyer, but me, I don’t know where those things are now, Benetsee has them.”
“They figure you can get ’em from him,” said Benny.
“They can go get them from him,” said Du Pré.
Like those two fools, the Forest Service, come to give Benetsee a ticket for his sweat lodge fire. Benetsee show them fire. He show them how it can run, turn green and blue, dance in the trees and not burn them. Forest Service men, they look each other once, run, don’t come back.
Du Pré finished his drink. He went to the john and then he came back and he clapped his old hat on his head and he went out.
Allison Ames and the little white SUV were still there. She took several pictures of Du Pré when he went to his old cruiser and he got in.
He looked at the dashboard.
There was an ordinary white envelope there.
Du Pré looked at it for a moment.
It wasn’t sealed.
There was a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills there, and a single yellow stick-on note.
“You need to talk to us,” it said.
Du Pré put the flap back inside the envelope.
He tossed it out the window and he backed out and he drove off.
The little white SUV followed.
CHAPTER 10
THE ULTRALIGHT AIRCRAFT ZIPPED down the asphalt road and it lifted into the air very slowly, and Julie climbed at a very shallow angle until she was perhaps a hundred feet above the earth.
“Jesus,” said Du Pré.
Bart nodded grimly.
“She had some lessons,” he said, “and took off. You don’t need any sort of license for them.”
“Probably they don’t live long enough to bother with,” said Du Pré.
“I needed that,” said Bart. “That friendly, supportive word. It is so good to have friends to help at times of stress.”
“Sister going to kill you, huh?” said Du Pré.
“I won’t die alone, you half-breed son of a bitch,” said Bart.
Julie banked, very slowly, and she sailed out over the sagebrush.
“She is pret’ good,” said Du Pré.
“She should be,” said Bart. “She has amazing strength and reflexes. She’s a small woman, but graceful. Very graceful. I watched a couple of videos Angie sent me. She worked the horse and the parallel bars and most strikingly the free exercise.”
