Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [22]
I turned away from the walk and ran down the path to catch up with Ed.
When we entered the kitchen, Martha greeted us cheerfully and began to prepare our breakfast. Ed and I sat down across from each other at the breakfast nook and I inhaled the delicious fragrance of the frying bacon. It was quite a breakfast: crisp bacon, fried eggs, hot biscuits, grits and melted butter, orange juice, and plenty of orange-blossom honey to coil onto the fluffy biscuits.
As I sat back with a full stomach to drink my after-breakfast coffee, Ed told his wife that I was going to buy his remaining chickens.
“That's wonderful, Ed,” Martha said happily. She smiled at me and bobbed her chin several times. “You know Ed wouldn't sell those old birds to just anybody, Frank. But Ed has always had a lot of respect for you, and I know you'll take good care of them.”
I nodded, finished my coffee, and slid out of the booth.
“Frank isn't taking the cocks today, Martha,” Ed said, getting up from the table. “He'll be back for them later On.”
“Oh, I didn't know that! I thought he was taking them now.”
“These deals aren't made in an instant, sweetheart,” Ed said sharply. “But we've shaken hands on the deal, and Frank'll be back, all in good time.” He forced a smile and turned toward me. “Come on, Frank. I'll drive you into Orlando.”
“Where're you going, Frank?” Martha asked.
I shrugged indifferently and returned her smile. This was the kind of question that could only be answered by writing it down, and I didn't feel that it required an answer. Where I was going or what I was going to do couldn't possibly have any real interest for the old lady.
“Frank can't answer questions like that without writing them down,” Ed reminded his wife. “But you know we'll be reading about him in the trade magazines.”
“Well, I'll pack a lunch for you anyway. Wait out on the patio. Take some more coffee out there with you. It'll only take a minute and you can surely wait that long.”
While she fixed a lunch for me, I repacked my suitcase and took it out to the car. Ed unlocked the door, and I removed the coop and handed it to him before I tossed the suitcase on the floorboards.
“Sure, leave the coop with me if you like,” he said, leaning it against the concrete wall.
When I returned for Icky, I could use the coop to carry him, and I didn't feel like lugging it along to Jacksonville, not hitchhiking, anyway.
A few minutes later Martha joined us on the patio and handed me a heavy paper bag containing my lunch.
“I used the biscuits left from breakfast,” she said, “and made a few ham sandwiches. There's a fat slice of tomato on each one and plenty of mayonnaise. There wasn't any pie left, but I put in a couple of apples for dessert.”
Rather than simply shake hands with her, I put an arm around her narrow shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs. Middleton broke away from me and returned to the safety of her kitchen. Ed called through the door that he would be back from Orlando when he got back.
We drove down Ed's private road to the highway. I didn't know where he was taking me, but I hoped he wouldn't drop me off in the center of town. With the baggage I was carrying, the best place to start hitchhiking was on the I-4 Throughway on the other side of Winter Park. Several years had passed since I had been forced to use my thumb, and I wasn't too happy about the prospect.
Orlando is a fairly large city and well spread out. The streets that morning were crowded with traffic. Ed drove his big car skillfully, and when he hit the center of town, he made several turns and then stopped in front of the Greyhound bus station. I took my baggage out of the back and started to close the door, but held it open when Ed heaved himself across the seat. He got out on my side, reached in his wallet, and handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
“You can't hitchhike with all that stuff, Frank. You'd better