Installment #19
Chapters 32 & 33
32
“What’s up, Sheriff?”
“You tell me,” Sheriff Cady said, stepping into Walt’s motel room. “Got a call about some commotion down at the pool hall.”
“Yeah. Some of the locals showed me around.”
“Showed?”
“Showed, shoved,” Walt said. “It weren’t nothing.”
“You all right? That jaw looks swollen. Want to press charges?”
“Hell no. No, just a misunderstanding. Hate to say it, but you came out here for nothing.”
Walt started for the door to show the sheriff out.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” Sheriff Cady said, standing by the television. “Since you been in Eden, nothing’s gone right for you. Girlfriend, dead. Girlfriend not even your girlfriend anymore. Heck, you can’t shoot pool without getting into a brawl. So, I got to ask myself what could possibly be keeping you here, son?”
“I was just asking myself that same thing, Sheriff. I’m gone soon enough, trust me.”
“You get some sleep first. Okay?”
Walt nodded and started again for the door, hoping the sheriff would take the hint.
“Mind if I use your facilities?” Sheriff Cady said.
Walt thought quickly.
“You know what I like, Sheriff?” he said, opening the motel door.
Walt unzipped his pants as he stepped outside.
“Taking a whiz in the great outdoors. Something primal about it. Marking your territory. Know what I mean?”
“Taking a leak ain’t what I had in mind,” the sheriff said. “Sorry to impose. Sometimes it just comes on me all of a sudden.”
The sheriff breathed heavily, shifting his weight from boot to boot. Then without waiting for an answer he turned and started for the bathroom.
Walt wanted to yell. But what?
Toilet’s clogged?
Broken flusher?
Or just Hey!
Anything to stop the sheriff from going into the bathroom?
Just then Sheriff Cady stopped on his own. His eyes searching the room.
“Looking for something, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Cady didn’t answer. He kept scanning. The table by the window. The table by the bed. Still saying nothing, Sheriff Cady crossed the room to the bedside table.
Walt glanced at the clock radio, the lamp, the TV remote next to the ashtray. What-what-what?
Walt considered faking a seizure, though he figured he was close enough to an aneurysm that he might not have to fake it. Sheriff Cady picked up a book of motel matches sitting in the ashtray.
“Might come in handy,” Sheriff Cady said.
When the sheriff opened the bathroom door, Walt waited for a scream. Whose scream he wasn’t sure. But he was certain someone would scream at the shock of it all. Walt wouldn’t have been surprised if he himself had been the one to let out a scream, if only to let out all his tension.
But the sheriff simply disappeared into the bathroom, quietly closing the door.
Walt heard the ventilation fan kick on. He waited to hear the thud of the porcelain toilet lid on the lawman’s skull as Geri jumped out from behind the shower curtain. The word accessory flashed through Walt’s head.
But there was no thud. No sound at all other than the faint whir of the fan.
Walt contemplated warning the sheriff. Walt snuck closer to the bathroom. He listened. Silence. Then came the gaseous sounds of the sheriff going about his business.
Walt wandered out of the motel room. The chirp of crickets filled the night. Walt walked around to the backside of the motel. There was nothing out back except an unused pasture overgrown with grass.
As Walt walked back into his room, Sheriff Cady came out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
“Might want to let it air out for a bit,” he said. “Window was already open so that should help.”
Walt nodded in agreement.
After Sheriff Cady had gone, Walt ran into the bathroom. Other than the odor of burnt sulfur, the bathroom was empty. Fresh air fought its way in through the open window.
Walt knew Geri was petite enough to shimmy through the window. That crazy woman. She’s here, she’s gone. She’s dead, she’s alive.
Cautiously, Walt lifted the lid to the toilet seat. Two burn matches floated in the bowl. Walt pressed the handle but nothing happened. He removed the porcelain lid off the back of the toilet. Walt saw the cistern was empty and not refilling.
He hadn’t noticed the folded piece of toilet paper pinched between the tank lid and the back of the toilet. He didn’t notice when that piece of toilet paper fell behind the toilet.
But when Walt knelt down to open the water valve that had been shut off, he finally noticed the folded toilet paper where it had landed on the bathroom tile. On the outside of the toilet paper, writing in candy-apple red lipstick: tomorrow-11pm.
Remaining on his knees, Walt pulled the toilet paper note out from behind the toilet and unfolded it. Inside he found a crude map. It was labeled Vern’s junkyard. Arrows pointed around to the back of it.
Walt refolded the toilet paper and brought it with him to the bed. He sat and held it. He looked at all of it again: tomorrow-11pm in red lipstick. He glanced at the digital clock radio reading 9:54 pm, also in red.
Can’t get away from red, he thought.
33
Walt slept fitfully, jerking like a dog hunting dream rabbits. He awoke late and his first thought was of taking a bath. He never took baths. Showers were quicker. No hurry today, though.
It all came flooding back to him, the reality of Geri. Still alive. Still sexy. Still sneaky.
He flipped the pillow to the cool side—she wanted him, right? But for what?
He wondered if he would really go through with it, meeting her later. He freed one leg from the twisted sheets and it was enough to cool his whole body. He could just leave town. Walt buried his head under his pillow.
Disgust for his own laziness finally drove him from the bed. He sat on the edge of the tub and ran the water. He touched his jaw, still sore, a little swollen. His shoulders and back ached, legs too.
He’d decided a bath might help his soreness. But then out of habit he turned on the shower and stepped in before remembering he’d wanted to take a bath. He diverted the water back to the faucet, plugged the drain and sat down as the warm water rose around him.
He had turned on the clock radio and could hear Johnny Horton singing about springtime in Alaska. Walt soaked and thought he might like to visit Alaska sometime. Would even consider moving up there if Geri liked it enough. Anything’s possible.
He laughed at himself, remembering how having Geri in his life always got him thinking of possibilities. Laughing, really, at what little he had to show for all that.
When his fingertips and toes started to prune, Walt got out of the tub, drained it and refilled it. He rinsed out his jeans, shirt, boxers and socks by hand.
While his clothes dried on the sill of the bathroom window, Walt sat around in his towel flipping channels on the television—talks shows and game shows and old situation comedies. He didn’t want to watch any of it so he kept flipping from one to the next so he wouldn’t have to.
Walt’s stomach growled. He glanced at the clock, saw it was coming up on noon. Walt ruled out the café. He remembered that when he checked in, the motel manager had mentioned Knocky’s, a convenience store down the road. At first, Walt had misunderstood the manager’s word as knocking down the road. Walt mistaking that maybe the man was sharing more indigenous wisdom.
But Walt didn’t want to chance running into Sheriff Cady or Randall at Knocky’s. Walt decided he’d rather not see either of them if he could help it.
Then Walt remembered promising Randall he would drive out to his farm, check on Shep for him. Walt considered skipping it but decided to put off thinking about it until after he’d gotten something to eat.