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."Even if you don't intend to shoot it," Troy said, "you have to look like you know what you're doing.It's like with the shotgun.People have to think that you'll shoot.Now Dale, on the other hand, has to keep her pistol loaded because she might have to fire it from the car to warn us when I come out of the market.That way, if someone tries to follow me out, her firing into the air will make 'em stay inside."Troy oiled and loaded his shotgun.He bought a khaki windbreaker at Sears, one like James had, and crammed double-aught shells into the pockets.Sometimes Troy was silent for hours at a time.He would sit in the back yard with his shirt off, brooding, not moving, soaking up the sun.In the evenings, after dinner, and after Dale had finished cleaning up the kitchen, Troy made her dance for them.She needed to keep in practice, he said, to be ready for her night club debut in Haiti.Dale was not, in Stanley's estimation, a very good dancer, but he kept his opinion to himself.Troy tuned to a rock station on the radio, and Dale would gyrate in her G-string, and her bare breasts would bounce up and down; but she was awkward; she stumbled frequently; and she seemed to be out of synchronization with the music, Stanley thought.But Stanley figured that night-club patrons in Haiti wouldn't be so critical.After all, Dale had a spectacular figure, and as Troy said, she would be wearing a voodoo mask to hide her face.James, drinking his rum neat, watched Dale gloomily and without comment.One evening, joyous on rum, he showed them all how to limbo.With Stanley and Dale holding a broom, and with salsa blaring on the radio, James kept saying, "Lower, lower, limbo like me!" Finally, he writhed under the broom without touching it while it was held less than a foot above the floor.Troy and Stanley both tried it, but they couldn't get below three feet.Dale, bottom-heavy, couldn't limbo as low as Stanley and Troy.Stanley had enjoyed watching James limbo, but he hurt his stiff back after his third try and had to lie down.After the heavy meals and the dancing, everybody except James went to bed early.Stanley missed his color TV set.He still took afternoon naps, and he couldn't go to sleep so early.He would lie there on his bed on the porch, listening to Troy and Dale make love in the bedroom.Afterwards, Troy always sent Dale out to sleep with Stanley, because Troy didn't rest well if there was another person in the bed with him.Dale, exhausted from her long day of housework, dancing, and love-making, and wearing her shorty nightgown, would fall asleep immediately.Sometimes, in her sleep, she would snuggle up against Stanley, and her body was so hot she reminded him of an overloaded heating pad.By this time, James would be quite drunk, muttering to himself and dropping ashes on Dale's clean floor.It would be better, Stanley thought, when the job was all over and James was up in New York, and they were down in Haiti.He was looking forward to the trip.After Dale got her operation, and was recuperating, he and Troy could bum around town together, just the two of them, taking in the sights, and they could eat some of that Creole food Troy had talked about.But he really couldn't go with them right after the job, not with all of his responsibilities.In Detroit, if a man left his car at the airport for a week or so, when he came back the car--or at least the battery--would be missing.It was undoubtedly the same way at the Miami airport.Besides, he did have the house to worry about; he would have to arrange with the bank to have his mortgage payments made while he was away.And there was Stanley Junior.If Junior couldn't get ahold of him, he would report him missing to the police.The best thing to do was to go home first, call Junior, and tell him and the neighbors that he would be away on a vacation.That way, he could leave his car in his own carport, take the bus to the West Palm Beach airport, fly to Haiti from there, and save ten dollars a day in airport parking fees.He could get a plane to Haiti just as easily from West Palm as he could from Miami.Besides, he didn't know how long he would be away.This way, if he didn't like it down there, he could use his return ticket to fly back to West Palm whenever he felt like it.Troy hadn't liked it much when he told him he would join them later in Haiti.He could tell, by the way Troy squinted his eyes.He should have worked it around so that Troy could have been the one to make that suggestion, the way Maya had got around him when she wanted to do something.But Troy would get over being mad about it, once he had joined them down there.Stanley pushed his cart to the back of the store, passing a pimpled teenage employee who was mopping the floor with a wet mop and whistling tunelessly.The boy wore a black bow tie, a white short-sleeved shirt, and blue jeans.A red plastic tag, with white letters spelling RANDY, was pinned to the pocket of his shirt.Stanley stopped at the meat counters, but the meat had all been collected and put away for the night.The refrigerated bins were bare, and the butchers had left.He went to the gourmet section and began to drop small items into his cart, taking them at random from the shelves--a can of anchovies, a bottle of capers, a flat can of smoked oysters, a jar of cocktail onions, an oval tin of pâté.He felt in his pocket for his car keys; for a panicky moment he thought he had left them in the Honda.But the keys were there.Stanley looked at his watch.Ten fifty-five.His cart was filled to the brim; it was so full of canned goods it was hard to push [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]