Ironweed (1984 Pulitzer Prize) - William Kennedy [75]
“I don’t know why the hell they gotta do that,” Francis said. “Bums don’t hurt nobody.”
“Maybe it’s just cops don’t like bums no more.”
Francis checked out the old house first, for it was close to the mission. He stepped through its doorless entrance into a damp, deep-black stairwell. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and then he carefully climbed the stairs, stepping over bunches of crumpled newspaper and fallen plaster and a Negro who was curled up on the first landing. He stepped through broken glass, empty wine and soda bottles, cardboard boxes. human droppings. Streetlights illuminated stalagmites of pigeon leavings on a windowsill. Francis saw a second sleeping man curled up near the hole he heard a fellow named Michigan Mac fell through last week. Francis sidestepped the man and the hole and then found Rudy in a room by himself, lying on a slab of board away from the broken window, with a newspaper on his shoulder for a blanket.
“Hey bum,” Francis said, “you lookin’ for me?”
Rudy blinked and looked up from his slab.
“Who the hell you talkin’ to?” Rudy said. “What are you, some kinda G-man?”
“Get your ass up off the floor, you dizzy kraut.”
“Hey, is that you, Francis?”
“No, it’s Buffalo Bill. I come up here lookin’ for Indians.”
Rudy sat up and threw the newspaper off himself
“Pee Wee says you was lookin’ for me,” Francis said.
“I didn’t have noplace to flop, no money, no jug, nobody around. I had a jug but it ran out.” Rudy fell back on the slab and wept instant tears over his condition. “I’ll kill myself, I got the tendency,” he said. “I’m last.”
“Hey,” Francis said. “Get up. You ain’t bright enough to kill yourself You gotta fight. you gotta be tough. I can’t even find Helen. You seen Helen anyplace? Think about that woman on the bum somewheres on a night like this. Jesus I feel sorry for her.”
“Where the wind don’t blow,” Rudy said.
“Yeah. No wind. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Outa here. You stay here, you wind up in jail tonight. Pee Wee says they’re cleanin’ out all these joints.”
“Go to jail, at least it’s warm. Get six months and be out in time for the flowers.”
“No jail for Francis. Francis is free and he’s gonna stay free.”
They walked down the stairs and back to Madison because Francis decided Helen must have found money somewhere or else she’d have come looking for him. Maybe she called her brother and got a chunk. Or maybe she was holding out even more than she said. Canny old dame. And sooner or later, with dough, she’d hit Palombo’s because of the suitcase.
“Where we goin’?”
“What the hell’s the difference? Little walk’ll keep your blood flowin’.”
“Where’d you get them clothes?”
“Found ‘em.”
“Found ‘em? Where’d you find ‘em?”
“Up a tree.”
“A tree?”
“Yeah. A tree. Grew everything. Suits, shoes, bow ties.”
“You never tell me nothin’ that’s true.”
“Hell, it’s all true,” Francis said. “Every stinkin’ damn thing you can think of is true.”
o o o
At Palombo’s they met old man Donovan just getting ready to go off duty, making way for the night clerk. It was a little before eleven and he was putting the desk in order. Yes, he told Francis, Helen was here. Checked in late this morning. Yeah, sure she’s all right. Looked right perky. Walked up them stairs lookin’ the same as always. Took the room you always take.
“All right,” said Francis, and he took out the ten-dollar bill Billy gave him. “You got change of this?” Donovan made change and then Francis handed him two dollars.
“You give her this in the mornin’,” he said, “and make sure she gets somethin’ to eat. If I hear she didn’t get it, I’ll come back here and pull out all your teeth.”
“She’ll get it,” Donovan said. “I like Helen.”
“Check her out now,” Francis said. “Don’t tell her I’m here. Just see is she okay and does she need anything.