The Plot Thickens

The manager gave me detailed directions to his place. I knew how to get out there, but even so I listened carefully. Every so often, he asked me if I was getting it all, and I repeated back the last two directions he had given. The guy with him was short and stocky, with dark hair combed over the top of his head. He was going through what looked like an appointment book. He had a high forehead owing to his baldness and a lump on his nose, like it had been broken. His mouth was set and hard. The manager held a twenty in his hand. He told me it was for my trouble.

By the time I got out to the house, I wanted the whole thing to be over with. I'd gotten up early that morning, and now I just wanted to drive the manager's wife to her job and then go to sleep. Her name was Lainie. That's what she went by. Lainie answered the door wearing a man's shirt and blue jeans. This was a surprise to me, having seen her only in fancy clothes up until now. Her hair was done up behind her head and she was ready for work.

"What are you doing here?" she said, looking out over my shoulder. "Where's Max?"

"He sent me," I said. "He said to take you to work."

She looked at me, then back into the house, then at me again. She started cursing in another language, the one she grew up with, probably, dark and Eastern European sounding. It was a kind of shrieking. The sound of it went right through me, and I wondered what to do next. It was also hypnotizing in a way so that I couldn't move, and I wondered when the neighbors would start shouting back that she should tone it down. Then she went quiet, and said that we should get going or she'd be late for work.

Neither of us said anything. I could see that she was working on some kind of decision. I only wanted the night to be over. About a mile from her job, she started opening up, talking about how this thing had happened before.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"What are you sorry for? You had no part in this."

"I'm driving, right?"

"That?" she said "That's nothing. You're just an accessory."

For a moment, being called an accessory felt like an insult, but then I didn't care. "Does he do this to you often?" I was surprised that I asked this question. It seemed too personal.

"Every few months," she said, resigned. "It was Burt talked him into this. I know."

"A lump on his nose and a bald head?"

"Bald, yes. Burt is a bad influence."

I thought about Janice and made a promise to her on the spot never to do this sort of thing to her. I had no idea what sort of men Max and Burt were or what made them do what they did. I couldn't answer for them.

"You think I'm cheap," she said.

Barbara, how is the research coming along?

Bob;-)