"Sorry to hear about that papa of yours," says Olin.
"Thank you, Olin," I say. My voice is not quite up to saying anything more, so it's real quiet while he throws the sheet over me, straightens it.
Thomas walks in, sees me sitting in Olin's chair, points at me. "That sister of yours," he says but doesn't go any further with it. He sits down in Corbin's chair. "Give me another flattop," he says. If there's one haircut Corbin can give, I hear it's a good flattop.
"Want me to trim the freckles, Thomas?" asks Corbin. Thomas doesn't have much to say about that.
"Yeah, I know all about my sister," I say. "So why did you take up with her if you don't like her."
Olin always pins the sheet and toilet paper too tight. Makes my neck want to stretch and twist. He always clips my hair a little close too.
"Hell, she won't go out with me graduation night."
"Sounds like good judgment finally got the best of her."
"Talk to her for me, would you, Bobby. I can't make it through graduation night without a girl."
"I don't have a girl for graduation and you don't hear me complaining."
"If that's true, it's the first thing you haven't complained about."
"I'm not a complainer. I'm real easy going."
"Like hell."
"Bobby's never complained about a haircut," says Olin. Runs a light comb through my hair then beats it out on the sink.
"Well that's the first," says Thomas. "Bobby Hammer bought a haircut and didn't complain about it. Somebody give him a medal."
Now here comes Charles in, that sonofabitch, and he has Herman with him. Where's Gordy, I wonder? Charles nods at Olin, takes Grant's chair acting like I'm not even in the room. Herman takes a seat and frowns up at me. I've been waiting for a chance like this.
"What'll it be, Charles. Shave and a haircut?" asks Ted.
"Just a haircut," says Charles. He's all business. Looks like he just got the stitches out of his forehead and nose.
I see a policeman through the window. It's Brock. He peeks through the door. "How long to get a cut, Olin?" he asks.
"Ten, fifteen minutes. We can work you in sooner if you've got police business."
Brock studies his watch for a minute. "Oh, what the hell," he says. So he takes a seat in front of me. Must be at least ten empty seats along the wall. "The world's gone to shit anyway. What's another half hour?"
I hear the hum as Olin starts his clippers. Sounded like they stripped a gear getting going. My locks start hitting the floor.
I'm starting to sweat. I've been thinking about what to do about Charles for a long time. Had something new all worked out in my head for a few days and told myself that I was just waiting for the right situation. Trying to figure out how to set it up. Now I feel like I have set up myself. And here comes the Korenski family.
"Looks like you started the gold rush on haircuts, Bobby," says Olin. "You sure are good for business."
It's Leon, Ken and Cletis, haven't seen them since Leroy died, and my father, their good old Uncle Jess, their Uncle Jake plus their daddy. Guess Jake wants a head shine. The littlest one doesn't get haircuts yet. He must be along for the ride. Jess slaps me on the foot, sits down in front of me, gives me a nod.
"Heard your wife had a baby the other day," Olin says to Leon.
"You betchy. A big boy too. Ten pounds, two ounces."
"What does old grandpa over there think about that?"
"It's the first grandchild. I hope it's the last," says Mr. Korenski. "The world doesn't need another mouth to feed, not a Korenski's anyway."
Olin's clippers always get hot, burn the back of my neck when he dips 'em down. Here comes Delbert and he has two of his little kids by his second wife with him. She's from Texas.
"Hello, Delbert," I say. "How you doing?"
He puts his hat on the rack and takes a seat. The top of his head is white like it hasn't seen the light of day in six months. His two kids sit at his feet, start playing in the loose hair on the floor. "Great, Bobby. Just great. Came in here to get a haircut cause I'm celebrating getting a new job."
"When you starting?"
"Start tomorrow morning. Bright and early. While the frost's still on the punkin."
"Who you working for," I want to know.
"Just talked to old man Grissom, and I'm going to work for him."
"What's he up to that he can afford a first-rate hand like you?"
"Well, your mama has rented her ground to him. So he needs all the help he can get."
"Well, he can use you. I'll tell you that."
"I was sure sorry to hear about your papa. I figure if there's a way I can help out, I'd like to do it. I can sure as hell use the work too."
"If there's anyone knows how to farm that home place, it's you."
Delbert looks over at Charles. "How you doing Charlie Koonzass."
Charles just grunts because he doesn't much care for that.
I have my courage back up after that piece of good news from Delbert. "Brock, I've been meaning to tell you something," but I still can't believe it's my voice I'm hearing. My palms are sweating enough for it to run down the barber chair, puddle up on the floor.
"What's that, Bobby, you got another car I need to sign a muffler ticket on?"
Olin snorts. "Bobby still stuffing steel wool in those glasspacks."
"Hell, it's worse than that," says Brock. "Him and Melvin Swensen switched cars on me the other day. I had to sign the ticket just to keep them out of the mental hospital. Anybody find out about that, they're sure to put them away."
Herman laughs like a sonofabitch. I can tell my face is turning red but I can't help that. You'd have thought Brock would've said something at the time if he known what we were doing.
"No, Brock," I say, and then I have to stop to catch my breath because I'm winded already. "It's about Charles Kunze, sitting here next to me."
Olin kills the clippers, starts the sharp point of the scissors around my ear. More locks hit the floor.
"I always figured Charles could speak for himself. Isn't that the way you figure it, Charlie?" says Brock.
"You won't get this story out of him," I say, "cause he's the biggest thief in the San Joaquin Valley. Thieves aren't noted for talking about their work."
I hear a grunt come from Charles. Brock shuffles his feet, leans forward, then back. He's still looking at Charles.
"I've run around with Charles since September, and we've done some things you should know about. Cause Charles, he has plans."
"What is this, Charles? You know anything about this?" asks Brock.
"Bobby has a troubled mind. Hasn't been all there since his brother died," says Charles. "When his papa did himself in, it was more than he could take."
"Back in September," I say, and now I figure I'm doing this for Papa, "Charles and I broke into Duane Powers tool shack, shot all the windows out of it, and stole a water pump. Pulled the generator off his John Deere."
"The county sheriff gets a lot of vandalism reports," says Brock. "They could use some help closing some of them."
"A few months ago, me and Charles shot up Fairmead. Made two runs through town at night shooting rooftops. Charles shot on one pass, I shot on the other."
"Just a goddamn minute," says Charles. "You may do shit like that but not me. You want to send yourself to jail, go ahead. But leave me out of it. I don't do stuff like that, Brock."
"Don't remember any report coming in to the station," says Brock.
I think that I'm not doing so good on this. Don't sound too convincing. "Probably so," I say. "I don't know what the coloreds feel free to report and what they don't. But we did it anyway."
"He's a liar about me, Brock," says Charles. "But I don't doubt that he did what he says he did."
It's just real quiet, again. Snip, snip, snip go Olin's scissors.
Old crippled Ben from the Beacon station walks through the door, s
its down in a chair. "Ben," says Olin like he's real disgusted. "I've told you no haircut until you take a bath." Ben jumps up and walks out like he's going to cry. Maybe he can't take baths with that bad leg of his.
I'm not letting up on Charles. "How much gas, hubcaps, fender skirts he's taken is anybody's guess. I've helped him take a few."
"Don't listen to him, Brock. It's all lies. Him and his old man came out to my place just before Hershel killed himself. Hershel came to kill me, but Bobby stopped him. He's feeling guilty about that. I tell you, Bobby's gone crazy with guilt, so he's out to get me."
Brock straightens the belt that holds his pistol to his side.
"Uh-oh," says Uncle Jake. Jess is looking a mite uncomfortable in his chair too, but he nods for me to go on. Gives me a wink.
"Can you prove any of this, Bobby?" asks Brock.
"That's just it. Most of it doesn't really amount to much. On the important stuff, it's just my word against his. But somebody needs to watch him. I'm counting on you."
I hear Olin start mixing the lather in that old shaving mug of his.
"Charles likes little girls. He'll screw a fourteen year old, if you let him near one."
I feel the warm wetness of the lather that Olin paints around my ears. When Olin puts the mug back on the counter top, it chatters.
"He keeps talking about things he's done with my little sister. If I find out that he has, I'm going to kill him."
"Ken," says Mr. Korenski, "you and Cletis wait out in the car. I'll come get you when it's your turn." They get up and walk out slow like they'd sure like to stay to see what happens.
"Now he's started messing around with my thirteen year old brother. I hear Charles has a queer streak in him, so you can't trust him with little boys either. And during the Fair, he bought hard liquor for eighth graders. A bunch of them passed out in the bathroom of the Little Theater."
Grant turns the chair so that Charles is facing away from us. He's talking to the wall. "Goddamn you, Bobby Hammer!" says Charles. "You can't talk about me like that. You hear me, Brock? He's provoking me. He better be ready to pay the consequences."
I don't know how I keep talking except that I'm focusing on that twisting barber pole outside, it winding tighter and tighter. "Heard any dynamite go off around town lately, Brock?" I ask him.
That gets his attention. "Not since Halloween night."
"That's cause me and Charles haven't set any off since then. Charles took Leroy to help him steal the dynamite."
"Bobby," says Mr. Korenski, "Leroy was my son. And he's dead. Don't you go dragging him into this. I won't stand for it."
"What me and Leroy got into is a sight more than you'll ever want to hear about, Mr. Korenski. But Leroy was a good kid. Let's just leave it at that. I don't mean to try to drag Leroy down. Charles is the one I'm after. I tell you, Charles is dangerous. He shouldn't be running loose."
"There's no truth in any of it, Brock," says Charles. "Bobby, I'm warning you. I'll fuck you up right here in the barbershop, police or no police, if you don't shut up."
Uncle Jake gets up, heads for the door too. "Goddamn!" he says. "I can get a haircut another time. Jesus Keerist."
Leon follows him out. Delbert picks up his youngest kid off the floor, brings the other one to stand by his leg. I feel the pressure of Olin's thumb stripping the soap from behind my ear, feel the tingle of the razor slicing along my hairline. Jess looks up at me, gives me another wink, nods his head for me to keep going.
Thomas clears his throat. Shuffles his feet on the flat metal footrest. "I know about shooting up Fairmead," says Thomas. "I'm not too proud of it, but I was there too. Believe me, Brock. Bobby's telling the truth. Word for word."
"How many dogs have been found shot dead lately, Brock?" I ask.
"Old man Wynsum, over on Defender Street, had one shot in his front yard a week ago. Before that, about one a month, sometimes two."
"Charles shoots dogs like Buffalo Bill shot buffalo. Shoots 'em, lets 'em lay. At least if he's been skinning 'em, I haven't seen him yet. Wants a colored man real bad, but he'll settle for a dog. Same thing according to him anyway. Now, every time a dog or a colored is missing, you have a suspect."
Olin has the hot steam towel on my neck cleaning off the soap.
"Siphon pipes are his specialty. He'll take an order for them if you're not too particular where they come from." I hear a ruckus. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charles climbing out of Grant's barber chair, the sheet still around his neck.
"Goddamn, you, Hammer. I don't have to sit here listening to this shit." He pulls at the sheet until the pin pops loose, throws it at me with the big clumps of his hair still on it. Still has soap on his ears. "Let's go Herman." But when Charles gets even with me, he grabs the sheet Olin has covering me, jerks it, and since it's wrapped around my neck, he jerks me toward him.
"Hey, watch it," says Olin. "Bobby's a paying customer. Get out of here, if your leaving. I don't won't tolerate trouble."
Brock stands up out of his seat, puts his hands on his hips. "Not going to be any trouble, is there, Charles?"
Charles just keeps glaring at me with his pale blue eyes, but he can't say anything to me here in front of Brock. Finally, he lets go of the sheet. I lean back into the barber chair.
"Pay your money, and get out," says Olin, pointing a black comb at him.
"I didn't get a full haircut," Charles says, turning on Olin.
"Pay the man," says Brock. "He didn't ask you to leave before he was finished."
Charles reaches in his pocket, throws a fifty-cent piece on the floor. "That's all the haircut I got, that's all I'm paying for," and he heads for the door behind Herman.
I only have one more thing left to say, then I'm through, and I want to get it in before they get out the door. "Now Charles has imported Herman Nelson here, and Gordon Smith, both from Mountain View, and they've set up shop here in Chowchilla. The other night I followed them out by Dos Palos. Looked like they were stealing a tractor. They're moving into a big-time operation, Brock. Stop them, if you can."
Herman goes on out, but Charles turns back, holding open the glass door. Gives me the finger with his arm outstretched, shakes that stiff finger for me. They walk out, stand by Loretta's pickup, talking and looking back at me through the glass. Charles sees me looking at him, gives me the finger again.
That powdered brush of Olin's always makes me cough when he flicks it across my nose.
"Goddamn," says Mr. Korenski, letting out a big breath of air. "Fella could have a heart attack waiting to get a haircut from you, Olin."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Korenski," I say, "but I had to throw everything I had at him. Maybe that about Leroy was one I should've left out."
"By god, Bobby Hammer. You've got the nerve," says Olin.
"Think I made a mistake?"
"Why do you kids get into stuff like that anyway?"
Brock climbs into the chair Charles just left. "Bobby, you better watch your step around town for a while," he says. "Charles may not leave this one alone."
Olin pulls the sheet off me, shakes it hard enough to get a pop. Motions for Jess to hit the chair. I stand up and have to stretch a little while I search through my billfold for a dollar. Take a quick look in the mirror. Sure enough, skinned again.
"Put your wallet back in your pocket," says Olin. "Consider it a graduation present. As a matter of fact, let me shake your hand. You just bought yourself a lifetime haircut. As long as I'm alive, you've got a free haircut."
"What are you so happy about, Olin," Brock wants to know.
"Charles shot my German shepherd five years ago. Pulled up in the street out front of my house and waited for my dog to make a run at him. Shot him dead with me standing there watching him. Damn good watch dog too. Hadn't bit anybody but the postman."
"Come here, Bobby," says Brock. Grant has the sheet on him now.
I stand in front of him, look down at the old li
noleum floor.
"How much of this stuff about Charles do you know to be the truth?"
"Bobby's the best boy in the town of Chowchilla," says Jess. "Charles is a scum bucket. Everybody knows that."
Delbert puts his two cents in. "Bobby doesn't lie about anything. If he says it, you can believe it."
Brock gives them both a shut up look.
"I might have guessed on a couple of things. Damn good guesses though," I say, looking up. "This is just the tip of his iceberg."
"Two cotton trailers were taken during the night a week ago from Grey's Gin here in town. And a cultivator stolen out at Redtop yesterday."
"So maybe it wasn't a tractor. I don't see very good in the dark."
"I doubt there's any way we can bring charges against Charles for any of this."
"If I thought there was, I would've come to the station."
"Most of it's in the County's jurisdiction anyway. Then he smiles, shakes his head. "You watch yourself."
Here come the rest of the Korenski's back in. I give Jess a nod and, as I walk out I hear Thomas say, "Corbin, you call that a flattop?"
CHAPTER 55: Waylaid on Robertson Boulevard
I'm on the Boulevard, a little past Highway 152, when it feels like I have a flat. I don't think Loretta keeps a jack in her pickup, so I pull over and get out to check. Sure enough. But I'm in luck, because here's a car pulling over to help. Then I see that it's Herman driving, Charles sitting in the passenger seat. Looks like that may be Gordy's head in the back. I jump the fence and take off running in a cotton field, but Charles is faster than me. Herman and Gordy each get an arm, and Herman just broke my left one. They have my knees on the ground, each in a furrow so I'm straddling a row, the green cotton stalks standing halfway to my belt buckle. Charles bends over me. Pulls my head up by my hair so I'm looking at him.
"I'm going to kill you, Bobby Hammer."
"Oh, no! Charles. No killing," says Gordy. "Please, Charles. No more killing."
I hear Herman snigger.
"Hang on, Gordy," say Charles. "You're going to have a bad heart if you keep taking things so seriously. I can't do it now because they'd have me behind bars before I got the knife through Bobby's throat good. But there'll be a time. The next one'll be the right time."