Waltz in Marathon: a Novel by Charles Dickinson

Author:Charles Dickinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

ON THE OTHER side of Marathon he comes to the apartment of Joe Montague. Joe is surprised to see Waltz at his front door. He shakes hands, but with his other hand he surreptitiously shields his young and pretty wife behind him.

“Didn’t you get my money, Mr. Waltz?”

“Yes, Joe, I did.” He steps uninvited into the warm apartment. The TV is on. Joe’s wife has straight blond hair and large, pale blue eyes. Waltz can’t remember her name, though he remembers her growing up in Marathon. She is not yet twenty years old and watches Waltz with distrust and confusion. He smiles at her, wishes he had a hat to tip.

“You want some coffee, Mr. Waltz?” Joe asks.

“Yes, thanks. Call me Harry.” He pounds his arms. His need to hurry has robbed him of all heat.

“The reason I’m here, Joe, is to make you an offer,” he says. He takes Joe Montague by the arm and leads him to the front window. The car sits idling sleek and useless down in the parking lot.

“That is a 1981 LeSabre, Joe,” Waltz says. “It has less than three thousand miles on it. A beaut.”

“Sure is.” Joe nods.

“How many miles on your VW?”

“Shit,” Joe says, “close to forty thousand.”

“And you still owe me about five hundred on it.”

Joe swallows and nods.

“Here is my offer,” Waltz says. “I’ll swap you—­straight up—­that LeSabre for your VW. You just pay the rest of your note and we’ll be square.”

Joe Montague’s eyes darken, he gives Waltz a small, sly, confused smile.

“What’s wrong with the LeSabre?” he asks.

“Not a thing, Joe. Runs like a dream.”

“Then . . .”

“Fact is, Joe,” Waltz interrupts, “you’re dealing with a desperate man. I’m in a big hurry to get home and that beautiful LeSabre out there can’t get up the hill to my house.”

“You’re willing to trade for my Bug just because of that?” Joe Montague asks in bald wonder.

Waltz nods, rubs his hands together. He executes a small, nervous dance step, fearing Joe Montague’s wife will return with coffee which he will have to drink out of politeness.

Joe Montague takes this all in. He is a witness to legend; this is a Harry Waltz story unfolding.

“Write it down,” Joe says decisively, “and I’ll sign it.”

“Give me your keys. I’ve got some groceries in the LeSabre. I’ll move them into the VW. We’ll do the paperwork later.” He puts out his hand and Joe Montague shakes it. “It’s a deal then. The car is yours. It’s a sweet runner, believe you me.”

The VW, with its engine over the rear axle, is the answer. Waltz steers around the square, onto the street leading to the hill. He gooses the accelerator. The tires get a bite. He steers the car straight toward the hill. He notices the sun is out and everywhere he looks Marathon is blessed with a dripping jeweled crust. It is the promised warming.

The climb is so effortless he taps the brakes near the top, fearing he might fly right off the hill’s peak.

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