Cradle of the Deep by Dietrich Kalteis

Author:Dietrich Kalteis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2020-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

. . . sixteen

“Beats the cot last night.” Bobbi dropped back on the double bed, her head on the piled pillow, the springs creaking. Looking at Denny, saying, “What’s this smell like? Cabbage, right?” Holding a pillow out to him, putting her nose to the other one, she tossed it from the bed. Propped up on her elbows.

“Got bigger things than cots and cabbage.” Denny put the pillow down, looked out the window, the Ripley House, this one-time brothel painted yellow, with new wiring and plumbing since those days when it serviced miners, loggers and the crews from the freighters moored in the Tootega Canal, a couple miles away. Denny thinking, only so much Sherwin-Williams can cover up, all that history drenching its soul. New owner, Nils Skerritt, had hung a bronze sign out front of the office: “The Ripley House, formerly The Brothel.” Nils making it a point of pride, tourists snapping photos of loved ones next to it — look, Ma, we stayed at a brothel.

The single room was up an outer flight of stairs, a wing of three rooms with a shared bath at the end, Nils posting a sign warning that the pipes may freeze up in the winter months. The mattress with its sway-back, the iron headboard against the paneled wall. A Morgan armchair upholstered in something pretending to be leather under the drafty bay window. The front of one arm taped over, the tape almost matching the leather. The dresser had the look of being dragged here behind sled dogs, its drawers scraped up and sticking. A couple of knobs missing, bolts showing through.

“Guy calls it renovated. Can hear the scrabbling inside the walls.” Bobbi told him rodents freaked her out. Nothing like that back at Lonzo’s, the master bedroom looking over the lit pool.

Denny stood at the bay window and looked across the empty street. Kate stood outside of her place, sweeping a dusting of fresh snow with a broom, knocking more from the sandwich board. The Repeat Offenders playing again tonight.

Getting a picture of the Cortina sinking to the bottom again, the twins in the trunk, all that money going down, Denny’s mood sinking, too. Saying, “Think they’re any good, the Repeat Offenders?”

“Caught a bit last night, chick singer’s pretty good.”

“Good as Boppin’ Beppe?”

“Guess we can check it out. Seeing how we’re stuck here.” Bobbi twisted her mouth into something that wasn’t a smile, more an accusation. “Make it look like we just met. Or hey, I can let you pick me up.”

“Or how about you see me across the room . . .”

“Act like I can’t help myself.” Bobbi getting that thought again, like she should’ve shot him back at Lonzo’s.

Denny told her what Mose said about folks placing bets at the bingo hall, the exact time the Cortina dropped through the ice. How the volunteer fire department was taking turns going out there with a stopwatch, marking the exact time. Some old lady winning the jackpot, two hundred and fifty bucks.

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