The Devil All the Time - Donald Ray Pollock [106]
The storekeeper was sitting on a stool behind the candy case when he went inside. It was still the same Hank, just a little older now, a little more frazzled. “Howdy,” he said, looking down at Arvin’s gym bag.
The boy nodded, set the bag on the concrete floor. He slid the door open on top of the pop case, searched out a bottle of root beer. He opened it and took a long drink.
Hank lit a cigarette and said, “You look like you been traveling.”
“Yeah,” Arvin said, leaning against the cooler.
“Where you headed?”
“Not sure exactly. There used to be a house on top of the hill behind here some lawyer owned. You know the one I’m talkin’ about?”
“Sure, I do. Up on the Mitchell Flats.”
“I used to live there.” As soon as he said it, Arvin wished he could take it back.
Hank studied him for a moment, then said, “I’ll be damned. You’re that Russell boy, ain’t you?”
“Yeah,” Arvin said. “I thought I’d just stop and see the old place again.”
“Son, I hate to tell you, but that house burned down a couple year ago. They think some kids did it. Wasn’t nobody ever lived there after you and your folks. That lawyer’s wife and her buck boyfriend went to prison for killing him, and as far as I know, it’s been tied up in court ever since.”
A wave of disappointment swept over Arvin. “Is there anything left of it at all?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Just the foundation mostly. I think maybe the barn’s still there, part of it anyway. Place is all growed up now.”
Arvin stared out the big plate-glass window up toward the church while he finished the pop. He thought about the day his father ran the hunter down in the mud. After everything that had happened the last couple of days, it didn’t seem like such a good memory now. He laid some saltines on the counter and asked for two slices of bologna and cheese. He bought a pack of Camels and a box of matches and another bottle of pop. “Well,” he said, when the storekeeper finished putting the groceries in a sack, “I figure I’ll walk on up there anyway. Heck, I come this far. Is it still okay to go up through the woods behind here?”
“Yeah, just cut across Clarence’s pasture. He won’t say nothing.”
Arvin put the sack in his gym bag. From where he stood, he could see the top of the Wagners’ old house. “There a girl named Janey Wagner still live around here?” he asked.
“Janey? No, she got married a couple year ago. Lives over in Massieville the last I heard.”
The boy nodded and started for the door, then stopped. He turned back and looked at Hank. “I never did get to thank you for that night my dad died,” he said. “You was awful good to me, and I want you to know I ain’t forgot it.”
Hank smiled. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. “You had that pie on your face. Damn Bodecker thought it was blood. Remember that?”
“Yeah, I remember everything about that night.”
“I just heard on the radio where his sister got killed.”
Arvin reached for the doorknob. “Is that right?”
“I didn’t know her, but it probably should have been him instead. He’s about as no-good as they come, and him the law in this county.”
“Well,” the boy said, pushing the door open. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“You come back this evening, we’ll sit out by the camper and drink some beer.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Hey, let me ask you something,” Hank said. “You ever been to Cincinnati?”
The boy shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ve heard plenty about it.”
52
A FEW MINUTES AFTER BODECKER got off the phone with his wife, Howser came in with a manila envelope that contained the slugs the coroner had dug out of Carl. They were