Where the Heart Is Read Online Free PDF Page B

three.
    He never made it past a bar called Tom Pony’s, a squat concrete building painted the color of weak coffee.
    Willy Jack was afraid the place might be closed. An old pickup parked in front was missing the two rear tires and had been there for 3 a while. The neon signs on the building were unlit and it looked dark behind the windows, but he could hear the sounds of music playing inside, a steel guitar sliding along the edges of a song. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then he went to the window, rubbed away a circle of grime, cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside.
    In a few seconds his vision adjusted enough for him to realize he was staring into another pair of eyes on the other side of the glass.
    “Jesus,” he yelled as he jumped back.
    He heard someone inside laughing. A moment later a lock clicked and the door opened, but just inches. He moved to it, tentatively, then leaned in a little closer. That’s when the door flew open and a hand reached out, grabbed Willy Jack and pulled him inside.
    “What the hell you think you’re doing peeking in my window?”
    A girl who looked to be twelve or thirteen had hold of him. She had short cropped hair, a beak of a nose, a thin, sharp face dotted with pimples. Willy Jack almost laughed at how ugly she was, lean and stringy. She reminded him of pictures he had seen on television, pictures of starving people in Africa, except this girl was white. And strong.
    “You can get shot doing that, you know.”
    “Look,” he said, brushing her hand off his arm. “It’s not like I was peeking in your bedroom or anything. This isn’t a house.”
    “How do you know it’s not, Mr. Smarty Pants.”
    “Well, is it?”
    “What does it look like?”
    Willy Jack scanned the room, but without interest. He had spent a thousand nights in such places, but never saw in them more than he saw in this one: jukebox, pool table, bar, girl. He never saw the cracked plastic or the splattered walls or the torn Naugahyde or the yellowed Where the Heart Is
    pictures of Indians, haggard and beaten. He couldn’t see the gleam and shine of things still new already dulled and scarred—like the girl.
    “So, is this place open or not?” he asked.
    “If we were closed, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
    “All I want—what I’m after is just a cold beer.”
    “Well, that’s what we sell.”
    She went behind the bar, drew a beer, then slid it across the counter to him. He drank most of it in one swallow.
    “So, where you from?” she asked.
    “Nashville.”
    “Tennessee?”
    “I don’t know of but one Nashville. And it’s in Tennessee.”
    “You’re a smartass, ain’t you?”
    Willy Jack grinned.
    From somewhere in the back, in a room behind the bar, Willy Jack heard a toilet flush.
    “You know who you look like when you smile?” she said. “John Cougar Mellencamp. Anyone ever told you that before?”
    “Sure. Lots of people. You know why? ’Cause he’s my brother.”
    “Bullshit. He ain’t your brother.”
    “That right? My momma thinks he is.”
    “You’re not.”
    Willy Jack finished the beer and held the empty glass out to her.
    “Show me your driver’s license.”
    “Why? You a cop?”
    She laughed then, and Willy Jack saw that she was missing her two front teeth. Her gums, where the teeth should have been, were deep red, like she’d put lipstick in that place. Willy Jack was surprised to feel the beginning of an erection.
    She filled his glass and handed it back to him.
    “Come on. Prove you’re who you say.”
    “Wish I could.”
    “I knew that was bullshit.”
    “Some son of a bitch stole my wallet last night. Right out of my hotel room. Money, credit cards. The works.”
    “You mean you don’t have no money? How you gonna pay me for them two beers?”
    “Oh, I got a little change.” Willy Jack acted like he was going for his pocket.
    “That’s okay. They’re on the house.”
    “Jolene?” The voice from the back room, a