Rock Island Line David Rhodes (ereader iphone .txt) 📖

“Just a creep—some degenerate who keeps forcing himself on her. I think he’s some kind of pervert.”

“Come on,” said Earl to his sister in an authoritative tone, as though she were a small troop of men. “We better hurry. Even now we may be too late.”

“I never noticed that,” said July, and fastened greedily on the little cat as a safe place for his eyes. “I never noticed that!” he exclaimed again. “And look here—here’s a box of fish.” Then he turned toward her again. “God, you must think I’m a fool.”

“You’re so nervous,” she said. “I guess it makes me feel brave. Then maybe you’d be me and I’d be you,” and she laughed.

July’s concentration was riddled with holes. Emotions swirled through him like sticks in a flooding creek. Joy and suspicion, openness and aversion. “Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked, looking back at the painting, then remembered an old joke of Bob Reed’s, “Or go for a ride on a bus?”

Mal laughed, but looked at him a little oddly, he felt. She seemed to hesitate, then her face resumed her earlier friendliness and she said that, yes, that would be fun. They walked toward the front doors, Mal pulling her coat around her and July nervously zipping and unzipping his jacket and laughing whenever he had the slightest chance. I shouldn’t trust her, he thought, then thefront door burst open with a loud bang, and Earl Schmidt hurled himself into the museum in full officer dress uniform, grabbing July by the front of his shirt and throwing him back toward the entrance with such force that he fell against the bar opening the door and stumbled outside. “Keep away from her, you creep,” he heard as the door began to fall back again.

July’s mind raced. He got up. A small, dark girl stood on the steps to the museum. The cars along the street were watching him.

He turned back to the glass door and through it saw the uniformed figure staring at him with obvious hatred. Behind him, Mal Rourke seemed to be shouting, but he couldn’t hear because the door was closed.

Then it was flung open and the attacker came at him again, moving quickly and hunched over in a kind of fighting stance. The dark girl, in a low, private growl, said, “Get him, Earl.” Mal Rourke, now outside, was hurling insults—at whom July didn’t know, and thought perhaps at himself. This is serious, he thought. The man in the uniform sank several inches lower and was just about close enough to reach him.

Mal had inadvertently been bumped to the side in the quick shuffle that followed the burst through the door. She was in complete bewilderment when after July Montgomery had been hurled through the door, the uniformed man had called after him to keep away from her. She thought that this might well be an old enemy from July’s past—something that, so to say, went with him. But when she looked outside she saw Gladys, and remembered she had a brother who wore a uniform and was coming home soon. Seeing through the window that July was completely bewildered, she decided there must have been an error somewhere, and began shouting, “You idiot! What did you do that for!” But by then it was too late.

Though July had completely forgotten Earl Schmidt as surely as if he had never existed at all, Earl Schmidt had not forgotten him. And as soon as he’d turned around and Earlhad seen him through the closed glass door, he remembered where he’d seen the face before: in the parking lot . . . the flashlight on his face. Here before him was a phantom from his own imagination, and as though locked in a dream, he filled with private hatred. Mal Rourke, screaming abuses directly behind him, might as well have been in another state. He pushed the door open and went out.

To July it looked as if he’d have no more luck in outrunning him than he would in fair combat. He decided to charge, raised his fists and went toward him in one long lunge. Earl stepped quickly and professionally to one side, easily avoiding the assault, and July in passing, feeling helpless, managed only to kick him in the knee. Then he turned and waited for the inevitable.

“Stop!” yelled Mal, but at this moment Earl was impervious to all sounds. He was overcome with the single-minded confusion of battle. All thoughts, all shades and lines were gone. Only the sensation of the fight. He went forward in blind, destructive joy, but felt himself sinking. Now six feet away stood July. How he wanted to get hold of him! He tried again to take the step, and sank down farther. Then he fell and tried to get up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t believe it. What had happened? He could get up on his right leg, but the left one wouldn’t work. It took a long time for him to figure out that his kneecap had been shattered by that one lucky kick, but even after he knew what had happened he couldn’t feel anything. He was speechless with rage.

“What luck,” he heard his sister growl.

“Hey,” said July, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know who you are. Believe me, there’s been some mistake.” With that he walked away down the steps. Earl hardly heard him. Mal was talking to Gladys, and she ran to catch up with him, the back of her head receiving a look of unforgiving malice from Gladys.

“July,” she said when she had reached him, halfway across the street. “July, wait!”

“What?” he said, still walking.

“I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before. He’s a friend’s brother. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“You can say that again.”

“Wait, listen. Believe me, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing!”

July stopped and turned abruptly. “That’s nice,” he said. “But listen, really, I don’t know what all this is about.