Border Town Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

certificate. “This do?”
    “Fine. Now open up the trunk, please.”
    The man shone a flashlight around inside the trunk, then climbed into the car and looked down into the well, where the top folded.
    He turned around. “I have the idea I ought to know that name. Lane Sanson.”
    “There was a book, six years ago. Battalion Front.”
    The customs man grinned. “Hell, yes! I read that thing five times. I was a dough, an old infantry paddlefoot, so it meant something to me.” He backed out of the car. “You haven’t written something since that I missed, have you?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Okay, that’s all the red tape, Mr. Sanson. Good luck to you.”
    “Thanks.”
    He drove down into the main street of Baker. Directly ahead and on the right he saw the Sage House, a three-story frame building painted a blinding white. The entrance was dark green. He parked in front and went in. People stared at him. He was conscious of his heavy beard, the badly rumpled suit.
    “I’d like a room, please,” he said.
    The clerk looked at him with obvious distaste. “I’ll have to see if there are any vacancies.”
    Sanson slipped the Bank of America traveler’s checks out of the inside pocket of his wallet. “While you’re looking, tell your cashier I want some of these cashed. If you have a room, I want a barber sent up in thirty minutes. And I’ll want a portable typewriter, and my car put in your parking lot in the rear. I have no baggage. It was stolen over in Piedras Chicas. So I’ll pay you in advance.”
    Under the impact of the flow of imperious demands the clerk’s dubious look faded away.
    “As a matter of fact, I notice that we do have a pleasant room on the second floor front. It’ll come to—”
    “I’ll take it. Send the boy up to open it up and wait for me while I cash my traveler’s checks.”
    “Number 202, Mr.—ah—Sanson,” the clerk said, reading his signature as he wrote it. “If you’ll leave your keys here—”
    “They’re in the car.”
    “I’ll have a typewriter sent up, sir.”
    “With a twenty weight bond, black record ribbon and glazed second sheets.”
    “Yes, sir,” the clerk said, thoroughly quelled.
    Once in the room, Lane threw his jacket on the bed. He stripped off his trousers and emptied the pockets onto the bureau top. He said to the boy, “Go over to the desk and write this down.” The bellhop shrugged and sat down. “Waist 32, inseam 33. That’s for the slacks. For the shirts, 16 collar, 34 sleeve. Buy me two pairs of slacks, gabardine if you can get them. Pale gray or natural. And two sport shirts, plain, white, short sleeves. Take my suit along and leave it to be cleaned. Fastest possible service. I want a doctor as soon as he can get up here and, exactly one hour from now, a good barber to give me a shave and haircut. Oh, yes. Get some underwear shorts and some dark socks, plain colors, three pairs, blue or green, size 12. This ought to cover it.”
    The bellhop scribbled some more. “Three pair shorts?”
    “That’ll do it. Any questions?”
    “You give me a fifty. How high you want to go on the pants and shirts?”
    “Fifteen for the slacks, three and a half for the shirts. With what you have left over get some fair rye. Bring up ice and soda.”
    “This town is dry, sir.”
    “It doesn’t have to be the best rye.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    The doctor arrived when the bathtub was almost empty. He inspected the cut, sighed, rebandaged it. “If you’d called me when it happened I could have put clamps in it and it wouldn’t have made as much of a scar as it’s going to now. Five dollars, please.”
    When he came out of the bathroom the barber had spread newspapers and put a straight chair near the windows. Just as he finished the bellhop arrived, laden with packages. Lane checked the purchases and tipped the boy. Ten minutes later, as he was dressing, the typewriter arrived, the ice and soda following soon after. Lane sent the boy back for