Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [59]
I traced the map and found Bernice's street. Her house was about three miles out of my way. I didn't really owe her anything, but I knew my conscience would be eased if I repaid the woman the thirty dollars she had advanced me when I had needed it. I turned around, and drove slowly until I reached a shopping center that had a florist's shop. I parked, entered the shop, and selected a dozen yellow roses out of the icebox. The stems were at least two feet long.
“These will make a beautiful arrangement,” the gray-haired saleswoman smiled. “Do you want to include a card?”
When I nodded she gave me a small white card and a tiny envelope that went with it. I scrawled a short note:
Dear Bernice:
Drop me a line sometime. RFD #1. Ocala, Fla.
Frank Mansfield
Whether Bernice would write to me or not I didn't know. I did feel, however, that the roses and thirty dollars in cash would make up for my abrupt leave-taking without saying good-bye. And I did like the woman. I tucked the money inside the little envelope, together with the card, and licked the flap.
“And where do you wish these delivered, sir?” the saleswoman asked, handing me a pink bill for twenty-five dollars and fifty cents. I put the money on the counter, and tugged at my lower lip. By having them delivered I could save time.
“We deliver free, of course,” the woman smiled.
That settled it. I had to deliver the roses and the note myself. The woman was too damned anxious. Her gray hair and kindly, crinkle-faced smile didn't fool me. I had selected the twelve yellow roses with care. If I had allowed them to be delivered she would have either switched them for older roses, or changed them for carnations or something. After pocketing my change, I pointed to the stack of green waxed paper and made a circular motion with my hand for the woman to wrap them up.
When I reached 111 Melrose Avenue, I rang the bell several times, but there was no one at home. I waited impatiently for five minutes, and then left the flowers at the door. I slipped the note containing the money under the door. Maybe it was better that way.
The next move, if any, would be up to Bernice. If she had been home, I probably would have stayed overnight with her and lost another day. There was too much work ahead of me to waste time romancing a wealthy widow.
The old pickup drove well on the highway, but I was afraid to drive more than forty miles an hour. When I revved it up to fifty, the front wheels shimmied. Long before reaching Orlando I was remorseful about the grand gesture of giving the roses and thirty bucks to Bernice Hungerford. It would have been wiser to wait until I was flush again. The damned money was dripping through my fingers like water, and I'd have to win some fights before any more came in. But when I pictured the delighted expression on Bernice's jolly face when she discovered the flowers at her front door, I felt better.
I reached Orlando before midnight. I saved eight dollars by driving through town to Ed Middleton's private road, and by sleeping in the back of the truck in his orange grove. The excitement had drifted out of my mind, and, as tired as I was, I slept as well in the truck as I would have slept in a motel bed.
The next morning, when I parked in his carport, and knocked on his kitchen door at six a.m., Ed wasn't happy to see me. Martha Middleton, however, appeared to be overjoyed by my early morning appearance. She cracked four more eggs into the frying pan and decided to make biscuits after all.
“I didn't expect you back so soon,” Ed said gruffly, after he filled my cup with coffee.
I grinned at his discomfiture, took the money out of my jacket, and peeled off five hundred dollars on the breakfast-nook table. Ed glared at the stack of bills. Martha stayed close to her stove, pursing her lips. I drank half my coffee, and started in on my fried eggs before Ed Middleton said a word. In the back of my mind, I was more or less hoping he would change his mind and renege on the deal. Icarus was a mighty fine rooster,