Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [9]
“Why don't you answer me!” Dody yelled, pounding me on the back with her doubled fists. “You drive me almost crazy sometimes. You pretend like you can't talk, but I know damned well you can! I've heard you talking in your sleep. Now answer me, damn you! Where're we going?”
I drank a glass of water at the sink, set the glass down on the sideboard, and pointed in a northerly direction.
“I don't consider that an answer! North could be anywhere. Do you mean your farm in Ocala?”
Dody had an irritating voice. It was high and twangy, and there was a built-in nasal whine. I certainly was sick of listening to her voice.
The pink slips for the Caddy and the mobile home were in the drawer of the end table by the two-seater plastic couch. I opened the drawer, removed the pink slips and insurance papers and put them on the Masonite dinette table. In the linen cupboard of the narrow hallway I found a ruled writing pad and a dirty large brown Manila envelope. I took the five twenty-dollar bills out of the utensil cupboard and sat down at the table. Now that I had lost, I was happy about having had the foresight to hide the money from Dody to cover my bet with Burke.
Standing at the sink, her arms folded across her breasts, Dody glared at me with narrowed eyes. Her lips were poked out sullenly and drawn down at the corners. I put the insurance policies, pink slips and money into the envelope. With my ballpoint lead pencil I wrote out a bill of sale on the top sheet of the ruled pad:
To Whom It May Concern,
I, Frank Mansfield, hereby transfer the ownership of a 1963 Cadillac sedan, and one Love-Lee-Mobile Home to Jack Burke, in full payment of a just and honorable gambling debt.
(Signed) Frank Mansfield
That would do it, I decided. If Burke wanted to transfer the pink slips and insurance to his own name, the homemade bill of sale would be sufficient proof of ownership.
“Is that note for me?” Dody asked sharply.
Although I answered with a short, negative shake of my head, Dody rushed across the narrow space, snatched the pad from the table and read it anyway. Her flushed face paled as her lips moved perceptibly with each word she read.
“Oh, you didn't lose the trailer?” she exclaimed.
I nodded, curiously watching her face. The girl was too young to have control over her features. Every emotion she felt was transmitted to her pretty, mobile face. Her facial expressions underwent a rapid exchange of dismay, anger, frustration and fear, settling finally on a fixed look of righteous indignation.
“And, of course,” she said, with an effort at sarcasm, “you lost all your money, too?”
I nodded again and held out a hand for the pad. She handed it to me, and I ripped off the top sheet and added it to the contents of the bulging envelope.
“You don't give a damn what happens to me, do you?”
I shook my head. I felt sorry for her, in a way, but I didn't worry about her. She was pretty, young and a good lay. She could get by anywhere. Twisting in the seat, I reached into my pocket for my key ring. I unsnapped the two car keys and the door key for the trailer. After dropping them into the envelope, I licked the flap, sealed it and squared it in the center of the table.
There was a rap on the door. I jerked my head toward the door, and Dody opened it, standing to one side as Jack Burke came inside.
“Afternoon, ma'am,” Burke said politely, removing his hat. He turned to me. “I'm sorry, Mr. Mansfield, but I made the bet in good faith and sure didn't know Sandspur had him a cracked bill. But if you'd won, I know damned well you'd of come around for eight hundred dollars from me. So I'm here for the car and trailer.”
Still seated, I shoved the envelope toward him. Burke unfastened the flap, which hadn't quite dried, and pawed through the contents. He put the hundred dollars into his wallet before he read the bill of sale. His face reddened, and he returned the bill of sale to the envelope.
“Please accept my apology, Mr. Mansfield. I don't know why, but I guess I expected an argument.”
Either he was