Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [11]
A moment later Dody caught up with me and trotted along at my side.
“Please, Frank,” she pleaded, “take me with you. I don't want to stay with Mr. Burke. He's an old man!”
Burke was only forty-five or—six and not nearly as old as Dody thought. I shook my head. Dody ran ahead of me then, and planted herself in my path, spreading her long bare legs, and holding her arms akimbo. I stopped.
“I'll be good to you, Frank,” she said tearfully. “Real good! Honest, I will! I know you don't like them TV dinners I been fixin', but I'm really a good cook when I try. And I'll prove it to you if you'll take me with you. I'll wash your clothes and sew and everything!” She began to blubber in earnest. Juicy tears rolled out of her moist brown eyes and flowed over her smooth round cheeks, cutting furrows in her pancake makeup.
I jerked my head for her to get out of my way. Dody moved reluctantly to one side and let me pass. At the open gate to the highway I put my luggage down and lit a cigarette. Ralph stopped the white pickup at the gate.
“I can carry you up as far as Kissimmee, Mr. Mansfield,” he offered. “Mr. Burke is going to bring your Caddy and trailer up tomorrow, he said.”
I shook my head friendly, and waved him on his way. I didn't want any favors from Jack Burke. After Ralph made his turn onto the highway, I looked back toward my old trailer. Jack Burke and Dody had their heads together, and it looked like both of them were talking at the same time. A moment later, Burke held the trailer door open for Dody and then followed her inside.
It occurred to me that I didn't know Dody's last name. She had never volunteered the information and, of course, I had never asked her. I hate to write notes, and I only write them when it is absolutely necessary. What difference did it make whether I knew her last name or not? But it did make a difference, and I felt a sense of guilty shame.
The long blue convertible came gliding down the trail from the cockpit. The driver stopped at the gate. The blonde sat between the two Miami gamblers on the front seat, and Bill Sanders, puffing a cigar, was sitting alone in the back.
“Do you want to go to Miami, by any chance?” Sanders asked.
I shook my head and smiled.
“We've got plenty of room,” the driver added cheerfully. “Glad to take you with us.”
I shook my head again and waved them on. Sanders raised a hand in a two-finger “V” salute, and the big car soon passed out of sight.
I didn't want to go to Miami, and I had turned down a free ride to Kissimmee. Where did I want to go? The lease on my Ocala farm had two more years to run, and it was all paid up in advance. But without any game fowl, and without hinds to buy any, there was no point in going there right now. The first thing on the agenda was to obtain some money. After I had some money, I could start worrying about game fowl.
Doc Riordan owed me eight hundred dollars. His office was in Jacksonville, and he was my best bet. My younger brother, Randall, owed me three hundred dollars, but the chances of getting any money from him were negligible. Doc Riordan was the man to see first. Even if Doc could only give me a partial payment of two or three hundred, it would be a start. With only a ten-dollar bill in my watch pocket, and a little loose change, I felt at loose ends. After collecting some money from Doc I could make a fast trip home to Georgia and see my brother. I couldn't go home completely broke. I never had before, and it was too late to start now.
As I thought of home I naturally thought of Mary Elizabeth. My last visit had been highly unsatisfactory, and I had left without telling her good-bye.
On my last trip home two years before, I had been driving a black Buick convertible, and I had worn an expensive white linen suit. Although I looked prosperous, most of it was front.