Fletch

10

When he arrived, the chain light hanging from the ceiling was on. Bobbi was lying naked on the groundmat, on her back, asleep.

The room Fletch had rented at The Beach for the duration of this assignment was over a fish store. It stank.

He had furnished it with a knapsack, a bedroll, and his only luxury in that room, the groundmat.

In an ell of the room, in grossly unsanitary juxtaposition, were a two-burner stove, a tiny refrigerator which did not work well, a sink, a shower stall and a toilet. For this room he paid a weekly rate that amounted to more per month than his city apartment. It had been rented to him by a fisherman who had the character in his face of an Andrew Wyeth subject. It was impossible to lock the door.

The noise of the pan on the stove woke Bobbi.

“Want some soup?”

She had been up, but now she was down..

“Hi.”

“Hi. Want some soup?”

“Yeah. Great.”

She remained inert. Her “great” had sounded a proper response to the news that pollution had killed all the rabbits on earth.

Bobbi was fifteen years old and blond. She had lost weight even in the few weeks Fletch had known her. Her knees had begun to appear too big for her legs. The skin of her small breasts had begun to wrinkle. Even with her deep tan, the skin under her eyes, almost to the base of her nose, was purple. Her cheekbones appeared to be pulling inside her head. Each eye looked as if it had been hit with a ball-peen hammer.

On her arms and legs were needle tracks.

He sat cross-legged on the mat with the pan of soup and one spoon.

“Sit up.”

When she did, drawing her knees up to make room for him, her shoulders looked narrower than her ribcage.

“Been trickin‘?”

“Earlier,” she said.

“Make much?”

“Forty dollars. Two tricks. Nothing extra.”

“Have some soup.”

He tipped the spoon into her mouth.

“One guy had a great watch I tried to hook, but he didn’t take his eyes off it once. The bastard.”

“Did you spend the forty?”

“Yes. And used it. Now it’s gone. All gone.” A childlike, ladylike tear built on the lower lid of her left eye and rolled down her cheek without her appearing to notice it.

“Cheer up. There are always more tricks tomorrow. Where did you get the stuff?”

“Fat Sam.”

“Any good?”

“Sure. But he doesn’t have much.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He said he hopes he can deal the weekend.”

“Where does he get it, anyway?”

“Why?”

“I was just thinking: his source might be cheaper.”

“I don’t know. Somewhere on the beach, I guess.”

“Did you find him on the beach?”

“Yeah. He’s always there.”

“He sure is.”

“Where did you go, Fletch? You’ve been gone all day. You smell different.”

“I smell different?”

“You smell more like air than like a person.”

“Like air?”

“I don’t know what I mean.”

He said, “I was in an air-conditioned building for a while today.”

“Ripping off?”

“Yeah. I was doing some lifting from a couple of stores on the Main. It takes time.”

“Get much?”

“A couple of cameras. Tape recorder. Trouble is there’s this store dick in one store always hassling me. Minute I show up, he eye-bugs me. I had to wait for him to go to lunch.”

“It’s lousy the way they always hassle you.”

“Shits.”

“Rip off much?”

“Twenty-three dollars’ worth. Big deal.”

“Not so much.”

“Not so much.”

“I mean, for all day. You were gone this morning, too.”

“All fuckin‘ day.”

“Why do they have to hassle?”

“Because they’re shits. They just see you coming and they’re against you. Fuck ‘em.”

“Fuck ‘em,” she said.

“Fuck ‘em all. The shits.”

“You know, Fletch, you could probably turn tricks.”

“No.”

“There are plenty of boys out.”

“Kids.”

“You got a better body than they have.”

“Too old.”

“You’re only twenty-three.”

“Twenty-six,” he said.

“So. You could turn tricks. You’d be surprised at the men cruising.”

“I’ve seen them.”

“Sometimes they don’t know which they want. A guy settled with me once, and a boy cruised by, and he said, ‘Forget it,’ and went off after the boy. I don’t know who was more surprised—the boy, or me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“It doesn’t hurt, Fletch. Honest it doesn’t.”

“I suppose not.”

“You might make more money, is all.”

“I guess. Finish the soup.”

Between her knees, she stirred the soup in the pan with the spoon, concentrating on how the soup moved.

“I mean, I was just thinking you could make more money.”

“I like girls.”

“So what. If someone’s willing to pay, and it doesn’t hurt…”

“Maybe I’ll try it.”

“Sure, you try it. You could get more. I mean, I’ve only seen you shoot up once or twice, Fletch.”

“I can’t rip off enough.”

“You have this room.”

“I haven’t paid for it yet.”

“How are you staying here?”

“The guy who owns the place fences for me. That’s why I get screwed all the time.”

“You give him the stuff you rip off from the stores?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t leave much left over.”

“No. Not much.”

“The bastard.”

“He’s always hassling me for more,” Fletch said.

“Not a very good arrangement,” she said.

“You’re from the Midwest.”

“Why?”

“You sound it. You sound like you’re from the Midwest. Very practical.”

Bobbi said, “You don’t get to have much junk.”

“I pop. You know that.”

“I know. But still. Pills aren’t good for you. They’re not natural.”

“They’re not biodegradable?”

“Natural substances are better. Like heroin.”

“The guy I’d like to rip off,” Fletch said, “is Fat Sam.”

“Why?”

“All the junk he’s got.”

“He hasn’t got much now.”

“Maybe next time it comes. Next delivery. Rip off both the cash and the junk same time. That would be beautiful.”

“He’s a good man.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s not a department store or something. He’s Fat Sam. A person. He takes care of us.”

“Think how much you could get if I ripped him off.”

“You’ll never be able to. You’ll never even find his stash.”

“He never seems to leave the beach. He never leaves the area of the lean-to.”

“He must. To get food,” Bobbi said.

“The chicks bring it to him. Wendy and Karen.”

“I’ve brought him food.”

“You have?”

“When he’s asked. He gives me money and tells me what.”

“Where do you get the food?”

“At the supermarket.”

“You just go in and take it off the shelves?”

“Yes. How else?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to rip him off. Just once. If only I could figure out where the stuff comes from.”

“I don’t care. It’s good stuff.”

“You said he’s going to be having a delivery in the next few days?”

“He’s got to have. He said he was short tonight, but he gave me all I could pay for. He’s always been good to me.”

“Did he ball you, too?”

“No. Wendy was there and Karen. I think they had just made it together.”

“It would be beautiful to rip him off.”

With apparent absent-mindedness, Fletch began to play with his wallet. He tossed it up in the air to catch it and a picture fell out. Bobbi said, “Who’s that?”

“Nobody.”

She put the soup pan down and picked up the picture. She looked at it a long time. “It must be somebody.”

“His name’s Alan Stanwyk. You’ve never seen him.”

“Who’s Alan Stanwyk?”

“Somebody I used to know. Back when I was straight. He saved my life once.”

“Oh. That’s why you carry his picture?”

“I’ve never thrown it away.”

“On the back it says, ‘Return to News-Tribune library.’‘

“I ripped it off from there.”

“Were you ever in the newspaper business?”

“Who, me? You must be kidding. I was in with a friend once and happened to see the picture. On a desk. I grabbed it. He saved my life once.”

“How?”

“I smashed up a car. It was on fire. I was unconscious. He just happened to be passing by. He stopped and dragged me out. I understand he lives somewhere here on The Beach. Are you certain you’ve never seen him anywhere?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“I never had a chance to say thank you.”

Bobbi handed him back the picture. “I want to go to sleep now, Fletch.”

“Okay.”

Still sitting, he lifted off his T-shirt. When he stood up to take off his pants and turn off the light, she got into the bedroll.

He joined her.

She said, “Are you really twenty-six?”

“Yes,” he lied.

“I’ll never be twenty-six, will I?”

“I guess not.”

“How do I feel about that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

She said, “Neither do I.”