Spencerville

A few seconds later, the postmaster, Tim Hodge, came on the line and said, "Help you, Chief?"

"Yeah, Tim. Check and see if you got a new customer, name of Landry, RFD, from Washington. Yeah, D.C."

"Sure, hold on." A few minutes later, Hodge came back and said, "Yeah, one of the sorters saw a couple of bills or something with a forwarding sticker from D.C. Keith Landry."

"How about a missus on that sticker?"

"No, just him."

"This a temporary?"

"Looks like a permanent address change. Problem?"

"Nope. Used to be a vacant farmhouse, and somebody noticed activity there."

"Yeah, I remember the old folks, George and Alma. Moved to Florida. Who's this guy?"

"Son, I guess." Cliff thought a moment, then asked, "Did he take a P.O. box?"

"No, I'd have seen the money if he did."

"Yeah. Okay... hey, I'd like to take a look at what comes in for him."

There was a long pause, during which the postmaster figured out this wasn't a routine inquiry. Tim Hodge said, "Sorry, Chief. We been through this before. I need to see some kind of court order."

"Hell, Tim, I'm just talkin' about lookin' at envelopes, not openin' mail."

"Yeah... but... hey, if this is a bad guy, go to court..."

"I'm just askin' for a small favor, Tim, and when you need a favor, you know where to come. Fact is, you owe me one for your son-in-law's drivin' while totally fucked-up."

"Yeah... okay... you just want to see the envelopes when they're sortin'?.."

"Can't always do that. You make photocopies of his stuff, front and back, and I'll stop in now and then."

"Well..."

"And you keep this to yourself, and I'll do the same. And you give my regards to your daughter and her husband." Cliff hung up and continued to drive down the straight county road, oblivious to his surroundings, contemplating this turn of events. "Guy comes back, no phone yet, but wants his mail delivered. Why's he back?"

He put the cruiser on speed control and chewed on a beef jerky. Cliff Baxter remembered Keith Landry from high school, and what he remembered, he didn't like. He didn't know Landry well, at least not personally, but everyone knew Keith Landry. He was one of those most-likely-to-succeed guys, hotshot athlete, a bookworm, and popular enough so that guys like Cliff Baxter hated his guts.

Cliff remembered with some satisfaction that he'd jostled Landry in the halls a few times, and Landry never did a thing, except to say, "Excuse me," like it was his fault. Cliff thought Landry was a pussy, but a few of Cliff's friends had advised him to be careful with Landry. Without admitting it, Cliff knew they were right.

Cliff had been a year behind Landry in school, and he would have ignored the guy completely, except that Keith Landry was going out with Annie Prentis.

Cliff thought about this, about people like Landry in general who seemed to have all the right moves, who went out with the right girls, who made things look easy. And what was worse, Cliff thought, was that Landry was just a farmer's son, a guy who shoveled barnyard shit on weekends, a guy whose folks would come to Baxter Motors and trade in one shit car for a newer piece of shit and finance the difference. This was a guy who didn't have a pot to piss in, or a window to throw it out of, and who was supposed to shovel shit and bust sod all his life, but who went on to college on a bunch of scholarships from the church, the Rotary, the VFW, and some state money that the taxpayers, like the Baxters, got hit for. And then the son-of-a-bitch turned his nose up at the people he left behind. "Fuckhead."

Cliff would have been glad to see the bastard leave, except that he left for college with Annie Prentis, and from what Cliff heard, they fucked up a storm at Bowling Green for four years before she dumped him.

Cliff suddenly slapped the dashboard hard. "Asshole!" The thought of this prick who'd once fucked his wife being back in town was more than he could handle. "Cocksucker!"

Cliff drove aimlessly for a while, trying to figure out his next move. For sure, he thought, this guy had to go — one way or the other. This was Cliff Baxter's town, and nobody, but nobody, in it gave him any shit — especially a guy who fucked his wife. "You're history, mister." Even if Landry kept to himself, Cliff was enraged at the mere thought of him being so close to his wife, close enough so that they could run into each other in town or at some social thing. "How about that? How about being at some wedding or something, and in walks this asshole who fucked my wife, and he comes over to say hello to her with a smile on his fucking face?" Cliff shook his head as if to get the image out of his mind. "No way. No fucking way."

He took a deep breath. "Goddamnit, he fucked my wife for four years, maybe five or six years, and the son-of-a-bitch shows up just like that, without a goddamn wife, sittin' on his fuckin' porch, not doin' shit..." He slammed the dashboard again. "Damn it!"