The Patrolman - 38

 

 

38.

 

 

 

She appreciated Evelyn taking her in, but the house left her feeling cold. When she lived with her family, the house held trinkets and personal keepsakes. The Lacey house, however, left no lasting impression.

Evelyn Lacey must've sensed this, because she said, 'It's only the two of us here.'

Hartsfield looked up at her, wanting her to explain, but she turned back to the stove. She was fixing them lunch. Toasted fried egg and fried potato sandwiches. She'd been rationing carefully, so she used melted American cheese and Worcestershire sauce. The pan sizzled. It smelled delicious.

Hartsfield tamped her cigarette out and took a pull of her coffee – it had turned cold.

Evelyn poured the old one away and refilled it. She flipped the sandwich over. Satisfied, she brought it to the plate and set it in front of June Hartsfield. She waited before heading back to the stove.

It was her cue to try it. Hartsfield nodded and took a bite. The yolk broke against the salt of the potatoes, and the tang of the sauce rose up behind the mellow cheese. It was like someone had tucked a Sunday morning between two slices of bread.

She must've seen the satisfaction on her face because she went back to her own lunch.

'You're a much better cook than I am,' she said.

Evelyn laughed. 'Believe me, I got better with age. My Mom said I was terrible when I lived at home. Used to make me cook for my brother, but I'd rather be out with him playing baseball or something. Anything other than getting stuck in a kitchen with her.'

Hartsfield understood. Her mother had been the same. Once she'd birthed her brother and her, she had stayed at home.

'Eat,' Evelyn said.

She realized she'd set the sandwich back down. She had another bite and took a mouthful of coffee.

Evelyn finished cooking and joined her.

'When do you leave for work?'

'The bus'll be here in twenty minutes,' Evelyn said. 'I've got time.'

They ate in silence for a moment. It made Hartsfield uncomfortable. Being here, in this woman's house, when she would be away at work. It was strange. Strange that she hadn't asked her anything about it. Whatever Lacey had whispered to her earlier for a few seconds had done the trick.

'Where do you work?'

Evelyn finished chewing and wiped her mouth. 'It's fine,' she said. 'We're only happy to help.'

What did that mean? She was only asking a question. She didn't mean anything by it. Did this woman think that she was looking down on her by asking? Why would she think that? There wasn't any difference between them.

It struck her as she drank the woman's coffee. Of course, there was. She had come in here wearing a mink coat - which would've cost what this woman made in a month. Someone had attempted to take her life, something this ordinary woman had never faced. Evelyn Lacey was a few years older, but she was the kind of woman that Hartsfield might've become had she stayed. If she hadn't made off with the money on that December morning a year ago. Evelyn Lacey was a glimpse of the future Hartsfield might've had if she hadn't taken that risk.

For the first time in a long time, June Hartsfield felt genuinely embarrassed. She thought about apologizing when Evelyn made the first move, holding out a pack of Fatimas.

Hartsfield used to love Fatimas. She went through a phase of smoking them when she first got to Los Angeles. They weren't cheap, but she'd since switched to Du Maurier's - designer cigarettes for women.

'Thank you,' she said. She went into her clasp and took out her cigarette case and lighter. She pushed the case over to Evelyn and the two of them sparked up and smoked in silence.

It was a comfortable silence. They'd figured each other out, and now there was no pressure to act any different than usual.

Evelyn was a quick smoker. People who worked service jobs normally were. Waitresses couldn't stand around smoking between serving people's food. They often had to hide out back and have one. Evelyn looked like she could've finished a whole cigarette in a single drag. She headed out to the back garden for a moment and returned with a single silver key.

'Here,' she said. 'I don't expect you to hide all day. I know Jake wouldn't be happy about it. If you want out, there's no stopping you.'

'Really? You trust me?'

'Any reason I shouldn't?'

Hartsfield shook her head.

'You're a busy woman,' she said. 'I can see that. You've got things to take care of. You can hide here as long as you need to. But take care of those things now. We don't know how this is gonna go. This could be a short or a long stay.'

'What do you know about me?'

'That you're her. The lady who worked at the Hollywood Bank & Financial Trust.'

Hartsfield came over hot. 'What has he said about me?'

'It doesn't matter because you're here now, you're doing the right thing.' Evelyn touched her hand over the kitchen table. A tender moment. She asked if she'd finished her lunch and took the dishes to the sink. She saw to it that Hartsfield was good for coffee and went off to get ready for work.

She sat there at that kitchen table, smoking another Fatima. It reminded her of old times. When it was her, Colm, and the kids. They were poor, and Colm was an unreliable husband, but they made do. They'd made it work, somehow. She'd been happy then, though she'd never said it out loud. Now, she lived in a large house in Brentwood all alone. Her club had thrived, every desire catered to, but the one thing she wanted most she couldn't have.

Evelyn came back and searched the living room for her purse.

'What should I do, Evelyn?'

'There's a pack of cards in that drawer,' she said.

'That's not what I mean,' Hartsfield said, smiling.

'I know, I know. What do you want me to say?'

'Just need some advice.'

Evelyn perched on the edge of the couch and leaned forward.

'When me and my brother were children, my mother told us a story about a man who came to her town. This little place called Bronson, it's in California state, but I have no idea if it's still there. Might be one of those Wild West amusement parks now. Anyway, she told us about this man. Josh something. He was an outlaw, wanted in almost every state. He came to Bronson in 1899 - the year before the Wild West came to an end.

'I won't go into it all that much. She would tell us stories every night before bed. I can’t remember how many times it took, but sure as hell, one of us would ask a question and she’d start the story all over again. My brother, who was named after him, usually got it going.

'This outlaw was known as one of the fastest surviving gunslingers in the West. Of course, they all were then. Wild Bill Hickok, Jesse James, Belle Starr, Butch Cassidy and whatnot. But most of these were dead by the time he passed through Bronson.

'The story went that he was so fast, he could flip a coin, shoot a man between the eyes, and catch the coin before it landed. When my mother asked why he flipped it, he said that by the time it left his thumb, he already knew what to do. Once it's in motion, the choice is clear.'

Hartsfield put her hands in her lap and looked at them.

Evelyn put on her shoes and found her handbag behind the cushion of the armchair she’d been sitting in.

'What happened to him?'

'The gunslinger? He died. Apparently, he went up against the whole Sheriff's Department, and half the town that had been deputized didn't stand a chance.'

'Over what?'

'Something that mattered to him, I suppose.' She stopped at the door. 'I won't be back until late. There's a corn beef hash in the refrigerator.' She smiled and disappeared behind the frame. The door closed behind her and she headed along the path, down the street, and out of view.

Hartsfield was alone.

She sat in the armchair and smoked herself hoarse. She got up for a glass of water, but that was about it. She thought about Evelyn, the gunslinger, Lacey, Elmer, Colm, and Brenda. Her business partner. Brenda Allen, the Vice Queen Bee, the most infamous woman in Los Angeles. A tear ran down her cheek as she went out into the hallway and dialed the number for the club.

'Madre Jalisco's,' Lenora answered in a higher pitch than normal.

'Lenny, it's me,' Hartsfield said.

'June,' she cried but lowered her voice to a mere whisper. 'Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick.'

'I'm fine,' she said. 'I need you to do me a favor.'

'Brenda's been here, Elmer's been here. She's taken over your office. Elmer's interrogated every one of us. What have you done?'

'Nothing I can't finish,' she said. 'Listen. There's a key. It's taped under a model of a farmer on a corn binder. Behind the counter on the top shelf.'

'The cowboy on the wagon?'

‘It's not a wagon,' she started. No bother correcting her. 'Yes, that. Take it and don't let anybody see you.'

'Take it where?'

'Meet me at Union Station in half an hour. Can you get away?'

'I guess,' she said, hesitant.

'It'll be worth your while.'

'It will? Then what the hell are we doing?'

Hartsfield gripped the phone a little tighter. 'Something I should've done long ago.'

 

© J. A. Stapleton 2025 - Image Source: Wikimedia Commons