FUNDERBURK

Connie quickly decided on a plan; he jammed his right hand deep into the pocket of his field jacket and looked Hunter squarely in the eyes as he spoke, in a very low, quiet tone, “Mr. Hunter, I’ve tried to deliver your laundry a half dozen times and frankly I don’t give a good Goddamn whether you take it or not but the price is sixteen dollars and fifty cents. Now if you want the Goddamned laundry that’s what it’s gonna cost you.”

Hunter stared at the fellow in front of him for what seemed like an eternity but the young man’s eyes never wavered. Suddenly Hunter’s appearance changed. He slumped, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. His shoulders sagged and he looked very old. Then he sort of tilted forward like someone had stuck a shiv into his guts. His shoulders drooped even further, his eyes dropped to the floor and he muttered, in a quivering voice, “she told me she spent the night with you and that you mistreated her. What am I supposed to believe?”

Connie sensed he’d won the battle, “I don’t know what you’re supposed to believe and I’m not sure I give a damn. But, what I would like to know is just where the hell she is.”

Hunter responded, “I had to put her in a hospital for severe alcoholics. I don’t know if she’ll ever get out.”

He shuffled his feet like a man unsure of himself, “Look, I have to know; did you sleep with my wife?”

Connie stared straight into his eyes and answered, “Mr. Hunter, I don’t even know your wife’s name. I did have a hell of a problem with her that day; she was drunk as hell and threatened to tell you that I HAD slept with her. The maid was there and saw the whole thing. Ask her if you want more details about that. All I know is, your wife has a severe problem and I hope you are successful with her treatment.”

The thoroughly defeated man placed a $20 dollar bill on the counter. After Connie gave him his change (with his left hand) Hunter turned and walked slowly out of the laundry office with the bundles in his arms. The poor fellow appeared to have been almost totally destroyed by uncontrollable circumstances. Connie felt sorry for the poor bastard but not sorry enough to tell him the truth. Of course he was pinning his hopes on the probability the maid never knew for sure if he’d spent the night with her boss lady. “What the hell, she probably wouldn’t tell anyway.”

As Hunter stumbled out the door and toward his car Mack exhaled with an audible gush of his breath, “what the hell do you have in your pocket; is it a gun?”

“Why would you ask?” Connie calmly responded.