everything about them—more, probably, than they knew about
themselves. He had memories of each man's childhood and adolescence. He was
familiar with each man's service record. He'd been to every wedding and knew
the name of every child born. He knew the lives of these men as well as he knew
his own. There were no secrets in the slack, wrinkled faces before him.
But
there was worry. It was a tangible thing, an odorous cloud in the thick, greasy
air of his diner. If he chose, he could open his mouth and banish the cloud
with a single sentence. But he decided to leave it hanging for the moment. He
enjoyed watching them breathe in the worry and blow it helplessly out again in
his direction. Always in his direction.
"He
let a total stranger move into the house," Vogel the grocer said in
disgust. "Now, I know Myra's a nice-lookin' gal and all, but that boy a
hers is pretty damn spooky. There's such a thing as bein' too smart."
How
would you know? Jinx thought.
"Just
ain't right," Vogel went on. "Pretty soon she'll be sleepin' with
'em. You know how city women are."
All eyes
fixed on Jinx, waiting. When he said nothing they gazed at each other again,
ready to chew on the bone as long as it was available.
"Can't
afford to pay for the Kimmler place," Fred Bauer mumbled finally, and
several of the others nodded their heads and murmured their agreement. Jinx
remained aloof.
"Ain't
enough left over from the stud money," Bauer continued. "The horses
brought in enough to replace those two old combines, but what's left ain't near
enough to buy that place from Vic outright."
Bauer
ran the hardware store and liked to think he was something of an expert on farm
equipment and finances. Jinx knew better. Bauer was dumb as a toad and twice as
warty. Reading stock quotes in the paper and subscribing to ten different money
magazines didn't make one an expert on anything but timing a trip to the
bathroom to coincide with the end of an article. Though Compound W Bauer had
his aspirations, Jinx was the actual treasurer. He always had been, and as long
as he was the only one who understood fractions and decimals, he always would
be.
"You're
not telling us anything we don't know, Fred," the white-haired Doc Stade
said. "But what are we going to do if someone else buys Vic's place? We
can't have that."
More
murmurs of agreement.
"Maybe
we can get a loan from a bank," Tom Hamm, owner of the gas station and
garage suggested.
"No,"
Kent Vogel said. "That's invitin' trouble into your living room. You want
some bank officer snooping around out here to check up on the collateral? Hell
if I do. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I say nay to riskin' our
equipment for that pissant place. And the equipment's all we got for
collateral, really, 'cause I sure ain't puttin' up my store or my house."
"Well
what do you suggest?" Bauer said. "You're the one who got us into
this pot of dog doo. It was your idea to put the screws to Darwin."
Vogel
puffed out his chest and showed everyone the titties he'd developed over the
years. The men had taken to teasing him about pencil tests and such, so he
usually tried to keep his breasts hidden. Today he simply forgot. "He
brought the Callahan’s in. He told us it was only gonna be that Patrick fella
and then Myra and the boy showed up to make it three. He knew better. If we
hadn't stopped him, how many others would he a brought in? It was his fault. He
got what was comin' to him."
"And
we lost what he gave to us," Hank Nenndorf said with a contemptuous spit
into a paper cup he carried. "Any of you think about that yet? Anyone
beginning to feel the bite? I might have to disconnect my cable here in a few
weeks."
"Me
too," Tom Hamm lamented. "And that means I'm gonna miss that new show
comin' out next month."
"Yeah?"
Fred Bauer said. "Which one?"
Jinx was
slowly shaking his head. Doc Stade noticed first, and one by one the others
finally looked around. Jinx thought he had let them stew long enough. When
themselves. He had memories of each man's childhood and adolescence. He was
familiar with each man's service record. He'd been to every wedding and knew
the name of every child born. He knew the lives of these men as well as he knew
his own. There were no secrets in the slack, wrinkled faces before him.
But
there was worry. It was a tangible thing, an odorous cloud in the thick, greasy
air of his diner. If he chose, he could open his mouth and banish the cloud
with a single sentence. But he decided to leave it hanging for the moment. He
enjoyed watching them breathe in the worry and blow it helplessly out again in
his direction. Always in his direction.
"He
let a total stranger move into the house," Vogel the grocer said in
disgust. "Now, I know Myra's a nice-lookin' gal and all, but that boy a
hers is pretty damn spooky. There's such a thing as bein' too smart."
How
would you know? Jinx thought.
"Just
ain't right," Vogel went on. "Pretty soon she'll be sleepin' with
'em. You know how city women are."
All eyes
fixed on Jinx, waiting. When he said nothing they gazed at each other again,
ready to chew on the bone as long as it was available.
"Can't
afford to pay for the Kimmler place," Fred Bauer mumbled finally, and
several of the others nodded their heads and murmured their agreement. Jinx
remained aloof.
"Ain't
enough left over from the stud money," Bauer continued. "The horses
brought in enough to replace those two old combines, but what's left ain't near
enough to buy that place from Vic outright."
Bauer
ran the hardware store and liked to think he was something of an expert on farm
equipment and finances. Jinx knew better. Bauer was dumb as a toad and twice as
warty. Reading stock quotes in the paper and subscribing to ten different money
magazines didn't make one an expert on anything but timing a trip to the
bathroom to coincide with the end of an article. Though Compound W Bauer had
his aspirations, Jinx was the actual treasurer. He always had been, and as long
as he was the only one who understood fractions and decimals, he always would
be.
"You're
not telling us anything we don't know, Fred," the white-haired Doc Stade
said. "But what are we going to do if someone else buys Vic's place? We
can't have that."
More
murmurs of agreement.
"Maybe
we can get a loan from a bank," Tom Hamm, owner of the gas station and
garage suggested.
"No,"
Kent Vogel said. "That's invitin' trouble into your living room. You want
some bank officer snooping around out here to check up on the collateral? Hell
if I do. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I say nay to riskin' our
equipment for that pissant place. And the equipment's all we got for
collateral, really, 'cause I sure ain't puttin' up my store or my house."
"Well
what do you suggest?" Bauer said. "You're the one who got us into
this pot of dog doo. It was your idea to put the screws to Darwin."
Vogel
puffed out his chest and showed everyone the titties he'd developed over the
years. The men had taken to teasing him about pencil tests and such, so he
usually tried to keep his breasts hidden. Today he simply forgot. "He
brought the Callahan’s in. He told us it was only gonna be that Patrick fella
and then Myra and the boy showed up to make it three. He knew better. If we
hadn't stopped him, how many others would he a brought in? It was his fault. He
got what was comin' to him."
"And
we lost what he gave to us," Hank Nenndorf said with a contemptuous spit
into a paper cup he carried. "Any of you think about that yet? Anyone
beginning to feel the bite? I might have to disconnect my cable here in a few
weeks."
"Me
too," Tom Hamm lamented. "And that means I'm gonna miss that new show
comin' out next month."
"Yeah?"
Fred Bauer said. "Which one?"
Jinx was
slowly shaking his head. Doc Stade noticed first, and one by one the others
finally looked around. Jinx thought he had let them stew long enough. When
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