Previously Loved Treasures Page 20

  Bertha Sweetwater wasn’t ready for Max, and neither was the world. It became the story of his life. He was an out-of-place boy who came wrapped in newspaper. It was a thing that stayed with him and caused him to be the object of ridicule. A joke. Years later when Bertha would tell and retell that story, Max found himself wishing there had been no newspapers.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Max finally came out of his room, he was more determined than ever. He’d taken a long hard look at his life and evaluated the things that could and couldn’t be changed. He’d never be any taller than he already was, but he could be more powerful. Money was the great equalizer. It made small men big and caused women like Maggie Sue to come knocking on your door. In the bleakest hours of night when he’d given himself over to the emptiness in his soul, he’d thought back on the way Maggie Sue had looked at the house and sighed, “Wow.”

  First he would need money. With money he would get a lawyer, a good lawyer from Atlanta or Macon, someone who knew what they were doing and could get back what should have been his. Jim would have wanted him to have the house, Max was sure of it. It would be Jim’s way of making up for the past. Max thought back and tried to remember their boyhood days of running and playing together, but the image was always the same: Jim, bigger than life, and Max, a dark shadow that faded into the background.

  That night when everyone else was asleep, Max unlocked the door of his room and stepped into the hallway. For a full minute he stood there listening for a sound: the voice of someone speaking, the hum of a television, anything that would warn of someone still awake. There was nothing. Once he’d figured out what he had to do he’d planned another raid, one more brazen than anything he’d dared before. He was no longer fearful of being caught, because his life could be no worse than it already was.

  He first eased open the door to Doctor Payne’s room, and there on the dresser a scant arm’s length from the door was the wallet he was looking for. Payne slept with his back to the door, so Max stepped into room and grabbed the wallet. He’d planned to pocket the whole thing but changed his mind at the last minute. He wasn’t afraid of Payne, but neither was he looking to get thrown out of the house before the right time. Max pulled out a ten-dollar bill and laid the wallet back in the same spot.

  He went in search of the things Edgar wanted to buy, practical things that could be sold to farmers getting by on a next-to-nothing budget. From the kitchen cupboard he took a cast iron skillet and a large spaghetti pot. From the hall closet, a stack of bath towels. He rummaged around looking for Louie’s toolbox and gave up when he couldn’t find it. As he headed back to his room with arms loaded, Max spied a pair of work shoes Louie had left laying in the parlor. He snatched them up and added them to the pile.

  Tomorrow Max would return to Mackinaw. If the pawnshop wanted crap like this, then that’s what he’d give them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Shortly before seven o’clock the sun crested the horizon, and the residents of the house began to wake. Max heard Clarence’s bark and the clip-clop of Sara’s footsteps. Moments later there were voices: Rose and Caroline. Pots began to clatter in the kitchen, but Max tugged the blanket over his head and closed his eyes again. It was the first time in more than two days he’d been able to sleep, and he cursed the interruption.

  After several minutes Max heard Louie’s voice, louder than the others and obviously agitated.

  “I left them right here in the parlor! Somebody moved them!”

  At that point Max knew he could no longer sleep. He climbed from the bed, crossed the room, and pressed his ear to the door. As the frustration in Louie’s voice increased, so did Max’s pleasure in listening. A strange lopsided smile crossed his face when Louie said somebody had obviously stolen his shoes.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Caroline answered. “Nobody wants those dirty old work shoes.”

  Max hadn’t planned on going to breakfast; he had no interest in any of the residents or their boring jib-jab conversations. But he delighted in their misery. He quickly got dressed and hurried to the dining room.

  On this particular morning the conversation focused on Louie’s shoes. None of the other items had yet been missed. One after the other, the residents offered thoughts and suggestions.

  “Could they be under your bed?”

  “Maybe the hall closet.”

  “When was the last time you actually wore them?”

  Max said nothing but sat with a smug look on his face, enjoying the party and trying not to let it show.

  Rose finally looked at him and asked, “Max, have you seen Louie’s work boots?”

  “Me? Why, I haven’t been out of my room for two days.” He forced a dry cough then added, “Nursing a cold.”

  The discussion of where they might search continued, but there were no further questions aimed at Max. Even if there had been, he wasn’t worried. He was smarter than them. Last night he’d bundled everything together and carried it to the trunk of his car, so they could search his room if they wanted and they’d find exactly what he wanted them to find: nothing.

  After breakfast Max was the last one to leave the table, and from there he went into the parlor and sat in the overstuffed club chair. Sooner or later they would discover the other things that were missing, so it was important for Max to seem nonchalant. He had to give the appearance of a man with no worries and nowhere to go. The only problem was Max did have someplace to go, and he was anxious to get started.

  For almost twenty minutes he sat there fidgeting with a loose thread he’d found on the chair bolster and nervously bouncing his right foot up and down. When he could stand it no longer he stood and announced, “Think I’ll drive over to Harrington and visit a friend.”

  “Sounds good,” Harriet said. “Mind if I tag along?”

  This was something Max hadn’t anticipated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” As he spoke the words Max had no idea what he could do with them; then it hit him. He gave a shallow little laugh and added, “I’m seeing a lady friend, and I don’t think she’d appreciate you being there.”

  “Gotcha.” Harriet nodded. She turned back to reading the year-old Glamour magazine.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Max left the house he was empty-handed, and he made a point of passing through a number of rooms so people would see it. In the kitchen he stopped to tell Rose it was doubtful he’d be back in time for dinner. As he passed through the house he wondered aloud if he should bring an umbrella, and as he crossed the side porch where Laricka sat he noted how tall her grandsons were getting.

  Max climbed in his car and headed west toward Harrington, but before he got to the highway he circled around and pulled onto the eastbound road that ran all the way to Mackinaw. Max smiled. He had a feeling this would be the best trip yet.

  When he passed the far edge of Rose Hill, Max had an urge to stop and see Maggie Sue. He could do it; he still had cash in his pocket and there’d be more coming. He passed the turnoff and continued to drive for another two miles, but then he got the itch.

  “What the hell,” he mumbled and made a U-turn.

  It was early afternoon, and Maggie Sue was still working on her first cup of coffee. When Max rang the doorbell she answered on the first ring. Standing there in a fleecy bathrobe and not a stitch of makeup, she said, “If you’re looking for anything other than coffee, it’s too early.”

  “Coffee’s good,” Max replied and followed her into the apartment.

  To Max’s eye she looked good, even without the red dress and makeup. She looked like the kind of woman he needed. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine her living in the Sweetwater house; maybe even bringing him coffee in bed.

  “Looks like I’m gonna be coming into some money,” he said.

  She answered with a smile.

  “A lot of money,” he added. “And that house you liked so much.”

  “The big house where you been rooming?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow,” she s
aid. It was the same silky soft word she’d uttered before.

  “If we was together,” Max said, “you could be living there.”

  “Together?”

  Max nodded. “Sleeping in the same bed, having ourselves some fun. That kind of together.”

  Maggie Sue gave a big smile, the kind of smile that didn’t need lipstick to look good. “You ain’t fooling with me, are you, Maxie?”

  Max leaned back in the chair and grinned the grin of a man with power. “Nope. I’m telling the God’s honest truth.”

  Maggie Sue gave a squeal of delight, then left her chair and came around the table to hug Max from behind. “You’re just the sweetest ever.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It was almost five o’clock when Max finally left Maggie Sue’s apartment and started for Mackinaw. When he pulled up in front of Edgar’s Pawnshop there was a handwritten sign taped to the door. It read, “Gone to Supper, be back later.”

  “Rat shit,” Max said with a groan. He went back to his car and sat. He waited for almost a half hour, then figured he could do with a drink. He locked the car and walked back toward Bucket Street. Two blocks down he spotted a bar and went in.

  It was little more than a hole in the wall with a handful of stools and one lone customer sitting at the far end of the bar. Max ordered a bourbon and sat. He had two more, then went back to the pawnshop. Finding it still closed, he returned to the bar.

  When Max walked in the second time, the bartender was nowhere in sight and the glass he’d emptied earlier sat right where he’d left it. Max nodded to the guy at the end of the bar. “Where’s the barkeep?”

  Joe Mallory shrugged. “More ’n likely gone for a smoke.”

  “So I can’t get a drink?” Max replied sarcastically.

  Joe reached a long arm across the bar, grabbed the bottle of bourbon, and filled Max’s glass to the brim. “This one’s on the house,” he said and replaced the bottle.

  Max grinned and stuck out his hand. “Max Sweetwater.”

  “Joe. Joe Mallory,” he answered; then he turned back to his own drink.

  Nothing more was said for several minutes; then Max asked if Joe knew what time the pawnshop would reopen.

  “No idea.” Joe shrugged. “Edgar closes up whenever he’s a mind to.”

  “Damn,” Max grumbled. “I was hoping to get out fast. I got this woman who—”

  “So you’ll have a few more drinks,” Joe cut in. “At least you got a woman and something to sell.”

  “Yeah, but she ain’t one who’s big on waiting.”

  “Shit, man, none of them are. Mine left me sitting in jail and took off with my kid.”

  “That stinks.” Max gulped down a swig of bourbon. “So, in case Edgar don’t make it back tonight, are there any other pawnshops around here?”

  “Nah, Edgar’s it.” Joe gave a slant-eyed glance at Max and realized he was the same guy who’d stopped in at the gas station asking about a pawnshop. “You been here before, ain’t you?”

  Max nodded. “Last week.”

  “If you got a bunch of stuff to sell, you sure ain’t from around here. Ain’t nothing here but a hard-ass sheriff and some dirt-poor farmers.”

  “Rose Hill,” Max replied. “I got me a house there.”

  “Man, you must’ve stepped in some serious dog shit,” Joe said. “You got all that, and I got nothing.” He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked down into what was now an empty glass. “Damn, this is one helluva life.”

  A minute, maybe two, passed without anything more being said. Then Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He fumbled through some papers, then pulled out a faded photograph. “If you’re traveling back and forth between here and Rose Hill, maybe you seen Rowena.” He passed the picture to Max. “Rowena’s real pretty and she’s got this long blond hair—”

  Max took the photograph and studied it for a moment then asked, “Who’s the girl?”

  “Our kid.”

  “I ain’t seen the woman, but I seen the kid. She’s at the rooming house where I live.”

  “Rooming house?” Joe repeated. “I thought you said you owned a house.”

  “Almost own a house. Soon as I get enough money for a lawyer, I’ll get what’s rightfully mine.”

  Joe had a built-in distrust of people like Max. People who say they got this, that, and the other thing, then start looking to pick your pocket. If this guy was looking for a scam, he’d met his match. “Could be there’s reward money, if you got knowledge of Rowena.”

  Max looked at the picture again. “I’m pretty certain about the kid, but I ain’t all that sure of the woman.” He turned to Joe. “How much reward you offering?”

  “Five hundred.” The truth was Joe couldn’t scrape together five hundred if his life depended on it, but the truth didn’t matter when you were scamming a scammer.

  “It could be she’s the woman,” Max said, “but her hair’s different. Dark brown and shorter.”

  Joe took the picture and tucked it back into his wallet. “Okay, how about you give me the address, I check it out, and if she’s Rowena, I give you the five hundred?”

  “I ain’t no sucker,” Max said. “Once you find this babe you ain’t gonna give nobody nothing. I already said I’m sure about the kid, so gimme two-fifty now, and I’ll trust you for the other two-fifty.”

  “No dice. For all I know you ain’t seen neither one of them. I ain’t ready to do business less you got solid proof.”

  “Okay, gimme a week, and I’ll be back with a picture of the woman and kid.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” Joe nodded. He said he’d meet Max in the bar a week from Thursday, then climbed down from the stool and walked out the door.

  Max drained the last of his drink and returned to the pawnshop.

  Searching for Rowena

  When Max went back the pawnshop was open. He retrieved the bundles from the trunk of his car and carried them in.

  “This time I got just what you wanted,” he said. He set the big spaghetti pot on the counter, then followed it with the clang of the cast iron skillet.

  Edgar smiled. “Now this is stuff I can sell.” He picked up the skillet and measured the weight of it. “Seventeen bucks.”

  “Eighteen,” Max countered.

  Edgar turned the skillet over in his hand, hesitated a minute, then said, “Yeah, okay, providing the stuff ain’t hot. I ain’t looking for trouble with the cops.”

  “It’s good,” Max answered. “I’m just cleaning out my house.”

  To Max it didn’t seem like that much of a lie; in a few short weeks it would be his house and everything in it would belong to him. So what if he wanted to get rid of some stuff a bit early. He was entitled.

  On every item they dickered back and forth, a dollar more, a quarter less, until both parties were satisfied they’d made the best deal. After all of the household items were tallied up, Max collected seventy-two dollars. He also had the ten he’d lifted from Doc Payne’s wallet, plus thirty-eight bucks from the previous trip. As he pocketed the money, he gave a grin. “I’ll be back next week,” he told Edgar.

  With more than a hundred dollars in ready cash, Max was well on his way to having enough to hire a lawyer. Next trip he’d probably be collecting two-fifty from Joe Mallory; maybe if it was the same woman he’d get the whole five hundred. After that a few more raids and he’d be good to go. Things were looking so rosy, he could afford to splurge a bit, maybe buy a bottle of bourbon and stop by Maggie Sue’s for another visit.

  Max had a grin on his face when he climbed into the car. He was already thinking about Maggie Sue. He made a U-turn on Graymoor and headed back toward the highway.

  ~ ~ ~

  Joe Mallory didn’t have five dollars to spare, never mind fivehundred, but he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through his hands. Max Sweetwater was the first lead he’d had on the whereabouts of Rowena.

  When he left the bar, Joe walked back to the gas station
. Frankie, the day kid, left in fifteen minutes, and Abe never worked evenings. He’d be the only one there and slow as it was at night, Abe would never be any the wiser.

  On the way back to the station, Joe kept a sharp eye out for the cars that whizzed past him. He watched for a green Pontiac, the 1960 green Pontiac Max drove. The car rattled and coughed so you could easily enough hear it coming. Joe remembered it from Max’s earlier visit to the gas station, and he knew exactly what he was looking for.

  Max had to pass the station. It was the only road out of town. Now it was just a question of waiting and being ready.

  As soon as Joe arrived at the station, he told Frankie he could go ahead and leave.

  “I got fifteen minutes yet,” the kid answered.

  “Abe ain’t gonna know,” Joe said. “So take off.”

  “I owe you one.” Frankie gave a grin and disappeared out the door.

  Joe lifted the key off the hook where it was kept and checked that the tow truck was parked out back. Then he waited. It was nearly an hour before he spotted the green Pontiac turn at the corner of Graymoor.

  When Max drove past, Joe Mallory had already locked up the gas station and was waiting in the truck. He sat there until the car went a block beyond the station, then pulled out and followed at a distance. On a road that zigzagged back and forth and ran through stretches of farmland where there was not even a shadow of moonlight, it was not easy. Rose Hill was an hour away, and there were a number of times when he nearly lost sight of the Pontiac. When that happened Joe clamped his hands to the steering wheel and pressed hard on the gas pedal, edging closer until the Pontiac was again visible. Once they ran through a patch of fog, and before Joe knew what happened he was a scant two car lengths behind Max. A feeling of panic whooshed through him. He clicked off the headlights and drove for more than a mile in darkness black as pitch. To Joe driving through the dark of night was nowhere near as risky as having Max spot the headlights behind.