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Show •102 dancers p a s s i n g by looked l i k e shadows in the smoke. "Make Mary-Ellen happy." She whispered i t f i e r c e l y . "You do that for my l i t t l e g i r l and you can have a l l my money a f t e r I'm dead. I t ' s a p r o m i s e ." " J e s u s , " Jacob s a i d. "Wasn't she a remarkable old woman?" "Jesus! What did you do?" "Oh, I tried. Then when I couldn't stand it any more I stole Wayne Thorneberry's truck and drove away out of her life." It was a sentimental thing to do. After having washed and waxed it so many times I loved that old machine. It had round pedals sticking up out of the floor like metal mushrooms, old-fashioned bakelite knobs on the dashboard, a divided windshield that could be cranked open one-half at a time for fresh air. It was a high-riding stately vehicle, and with its yellow paint, red boom and ladder and silver wheels, it was as gaudy as a circus wagon. I didn't steal it out of meanness; revenge didn't enter my mind. It just seemed like the only reasonable thing to do at the time. When I was done with it I left a note= on the dashboard so that the cops could call Wayne and tell him where to come and collect it. By then I hadn't been mad at him for a long time. "It's a wonder you weren't arrested," Jacob said, shaking his head. |
