The Auctioneer

Cogswell hesitated a moment, glanced at Red Mudgett, then grinned at Ma and folded his long body up like an Indian on the lawn at Ma’s feet.

“And you, Red,” Ma said to Mudgett. “You set too. You make me nervous jerkin around like that. Just as antsy now as you was at eight.”

Mudgett laughed quickly, then squatted on his haunches. He was small and wiry. He watched the old woman with small black eyes that seemed to have no need to blink.

“Now just suppose you tell me, Mickey, what you’re doin’ here,” Ma said.

“Collectin’ for the auction, ma’am,” he said.

She shook her head. “You been involved in some hare-brained schemes in your day, Mickey,” she said. “I keep expectin’ you to make good, everybody’s favorite like you be. How come you keep doin’ such crazy things?”

“That’s what my wife keeps askin’,” Mickey said. “Must be I was born under the wrong star.”

“What if I was to tell you we got nary a stick left we care to part with?”

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am, if I was you. You can give a little somethin’ this week, a little maybe next week.” Mickey picked up a stone and tossed it into the road, then looked up at Ma.

“If this is Perly Dunsmore’s little project, how come he ain’t here hisself?”

Mickey shrugged. “It’ll all be over pretty soon, Mrs. Moore. Why make trouble?”

“Trouble,” Ma said. “It’s you that’s maltin’ trouble.”

“I think I been a decent neighbor,” Mickey said, pulling at the grass between his knees. “I wouldn’t tell you what I didn’t think was right.”

“Right!” cried Ma.

“Well, smart then,” Mickey said.

“Smart,” Ma said, making room for Hildie beside her in the broad chair. You tryin’ to tell me it’s smart to give away what’s mine? It ain’t even natural. And as for you, Red Mudgett, you was always playactin at somethin. Now tell me is it cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers with that gun—”

“Mickey,” Mim said, stepping closer. “Take the extra bed in Hildie’s room.”

Mudgett jumped up like a released jack-in-the-box. “Where’s that?” he asked.

Cogswell followed more slowly. “That’ll make another week chalked off,” he said to Mim, nodding gravely.

John turned abruptly and went into the barn, leaving Ma to watch the two men load the bed frame and spring into the back of Cogswell’s truck. They left the mattress behind, explaining that it was illegal to sell mattresses. Cogswell left Mudgett tying the bed into the truck, and went over to Ma. “Everything will work itself out, Mrs. Moore,” he said, touching her hand.

“That’s the last thing,” she said, clutching the arms of the chair. “The very tail end of it. You hear me, Mickey Cogswell?”

“Maybe,” Mickey said. “Try not to fret.” He turned away from Ma and went into the barn. John was sitting on a sawhorse in the corridor between the stalls.

Cogswell said nothing. He stood waiting for John to turn.

Finally John looked up and said, “I didn’t know you was so thick with Red.”

Cogswell shrugged. “You think I take to it? It’s me has to ride around with him all day.” Cogswell kicked at a post as if to test it, then leaned against it, tipping his head back wearily. “Never mind,” he said, pulling the flask from his back pocket and offering it to John. “They’re goin’ to round us up one of these days real soon and put a bullet through our heads.”

John shook his head. “Who is?”

Cogswell shrugged again. “I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “If I knew I might just liquor up a bit and turn myself in. Oughta be the state troopers, but I don’t know. There was a trooper I didnt know at Mudgett’s when I picked him up this morning. And that same one and another one was comin’ out of the old Fawkes place, I think it was last Tuesday. Makes you wonder. There’s some money kickin’ around in this, and I for one ain’t seein all that much of it.”

“Old Ike Linden, he in on it?” John asked.

“Who knows?” said Mickey. “I don’t collect from him myself. But Perly has this big thing about privacy. We ain’t supposed to say who gave what, or even who we asked. I think there’s some he even leaves alone. Like Ike, maybe. He’s not one you’d want against you. But I can’t see him gettin’ into the kind of pickle I’m in neither.” Cogswell shook the liquor around in his flask. It was nearly empty. “It can’t go on. Somebody—some head guy some-where’s bound to catch on and put the lid on the whole thing.”

John studied the flask in Cogswell’s hand. “The thing is,” he said slowly, “who?”

“I wish I knew,” Cogswell said, his voice unsteady. “All I know is every blessed plan I get myself roped into turns out dumber than the last. This one’s like to be the end of me.”

“Me too,” John said with a short laugh. “I can’t even get together with Mim on this one.”

Cogswell cocked an eyebrow. “She’s smart,” he said. “Always was.”

“What if I just tell you and Mudgett to get the hell off my property?”

“Well,” said Cogswell, “if that snake out there don’t get you now, then...” He turned and started out of the barn. “Oh hell.”

“Then what?” asked John, starting up after him.