Norwood Read Online Free PDF Page B

sleeping Bill Birds quite a start.
    â€œGet out of here,” said Bill Bird.
    â€œWhat is it, bubba? What do you want?”
    â€œI found the note that was on that sausage, Bill. You didn’t look hard enough.”
    â€œTurn that light off and get out.”
    â€œWhat does it say, bubba?”
    â€œIt says, ‘Dear Bill Bird. If you know what’s good for you you’ll stop talking about things you don’t know anything about. Yours truly, the Commandant of the Marine Corps.’ ”
    â€œThat’s very funny. Now get out. I’m not going to tell you again.”
    â€œWe’re trying to sleep, bubba. Bill needs his rest.”

VERNELL and Bill Bird did not approve of the New York trip. “You don’t even know anybody in New York,” said Vernell. Norwood was shining his thirty-eight-dollar stovepipe boots. They were coal-black 14-inchers with steel shanks and low walking heels. Red butterflies were inset on the insteps. He was putting a mirror gloss on the toes with lighter fluid and a nylon stocking.
    â€œYou can’t reason with him, Vernell,” said Bill Bird. “It’s like talking to a child. I think we have made our position clear. Even to him. I hope so. I hope he’s not planning on wiring us for money when he gets up there stranded.”
    Norwood ignored him. “Vernell, don’t be driving my car much while I’m gone. If you have to use it take it easy. That bad rod is liable to go at any time. I’m afraid it’s already scored the crankshaft. I’ll have to turn that goose when I get back. . . . I don’t want him driving it at all.”
    Vernell thought this was unfair. “Bill can drive a car all right.”
    â€œNaw he can’t.”
    â€œHe can too. He’s just used to an automatic transmission.”
    â€œUh huh.”
    â€œBill can drive as good as I can.”
    â€œWell, you can’t drive either. The only thing is, you’re my sister. I might as well turn my car over to a rabbit.”
    â€œYou’d have to get special extensions for the pedals,” said Bill Bird.
    â€œNow I mean it, Vernell,” said Norwood. “I don’t want to come back here and have somebody tell me they seen Bill Bird driving around town in that car. Let him walk. It’ll do him good.”
    Norwood rode to Texarkana early Sunday morning in the rain with a boy in a butane truck who had a date over there for church. He wore his black hat, the brim curled up in front to defy wind resistance, and his stovepipe boots. One trouser leg was tucked in and the other hung free, after the fashion. The boots were glorious. He had his sunglasses on too, and his heavy Western belt buckle, which portrayed a branding scene in silver relief.
    Except for those stylish items, he was not really dressed up. There was a job to be done and a long drive ahead. His good slacks and his tight tailored shirt, with curved arrow pockets and pearl snaps, were packed away in a canvas AWOL bag. He was dressed for the trip in a starchy, freshly ironed Nipper uniform. At the last minute he decided to take along the West Germany guitar. It was zipped up in a soft clear plastic case.
    The Kredit King was waiting in his Buick in front of the Texarkana post office as per the arrangement. He was deep in conversation with a man who was leaning on his window. The man was holding a cardboard bucket with GRADY’S BAIT RANCH printed on it. Norwood put his gear in the back seat and got in the front. The man outside straightened up to leave and Grady shook his hand through the window. “There’s plenty of corn meal in there. They don’t eat much. All you want to do is sprinkle a little water in there every two or three days.” When the man left, Norwood said, “Who was that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Grady. “Some fellow passing through town. He wanted to know if there were any opportunities here for