All American Horror of the 21st Century

Honor System. Jack Ketchum-2

She had a fireplace!

No television, not even a phone. But a brick-and-mortar fireplace opposite the bed complete with wrought-iron grate, mesh screen, andirons and a small stack of split wood and kindling.

A fireplace, in Florida! Where you might only want one a month or two every year, if that. This was great!

She checked the windows on either side. Locked. She checked the bathroom. It was neat and clean. She had water pressure in the tub and sink and the water warmed up quickly. The toilet flushed. There was soap and shampoo and even a complimentary comb, toothbrush, and tube of toothpaste on the sink.

What-U-Need indeed.

She sat down on the bed. Soft but not too soft.

She didn’t care at all about a television or even a phone for that matter though it would have been nice to call Aunt Marion. She had a fireplace and a paperback novel in her purse and a good soft bed. All she could ask for.

A glass of wine would work, though. She wondered what the bar was like.

She was still a little shaky from the drive here.

A bar alone? At night? What the hell, she thought. In for a penny, in for a pound.

* * *

She’d expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

Behind the reception desk she opened a door to the right of the cash register and heard music right away-Elvis singing “Don’t Be Cruel”—and walked a short narrow well-lit corridor past a door marked “Management” and another door marked “Rest Room” to a third door marked “Bar” directly ahead of her.

The bar wasn’t much to speak of, though it did have some nice old-fashioned touches. Green-hooded lamps hung over each of the four tables, making her think of pokerrooms—though she’d never been in one—old tin serving-trays advertising Keubler Beer and Buckingham Cut Plug Smoking Tobacco and Alderney Sweet Cream Butter were tacked above the double row of bottles along with old faded photos of prizefighters, racehorses, ballplayers, none of whom looked familiar. The bar itself sported a wide brass rail and was polished to a high shine.

At first glance the patrons weren’t much to speak of either. Two old men sitting at the end of the bar who looked up and smiled at her when she walked in and three younger men in off-the-rack suits and ties talking at one of the tables—who didn’t acknowledge her at all—a middle aged heavy-set woman nearest the door who appeared to be drinking whiskey neat from a tumbler and another, younger woman of roughly her own age in the middle of the bar, sipping a glass of red wine She saw that there was a second glass, as yet untouched, in front of her. Both women nodded and the younger one, a curly-haired redhead, smiled. Lin smiled back and stepped up beside her.

“Evening,” she said.

“Hi there,” said the woman.

“Anyone sitting here?”

“Nope. It’s all yours.”

She sat down.

“You got to help yourself, hon,” said the other woman. She seemed to be studying her whiskey. “No barkeep.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

She glanced at the two old men down at the end.

“Don’t mind Pete and Willie,” said the redhead. “They’re harmless.”

Pete and Willie smiled at her again as she rounded the service area and began checking out the bottles.

“Watcha lookin’ for, miss?” said the thinner and scruffier of the two. “Maybe I can help.”

“White wine?”

“Icebox, right over there.” He pointed.

Icebox? She hadn’t heard that in years. Where did these people come from, anyway? Her own car was the only one in the driveway. She guessed they’d parked around back somewhere. They did seem friendly enough, though. It had worried her a bit, walking into the bar alone. But she wasn’t feeling threatened here.

They didn’t have much selection. They had a Rhine wine and a Chablis, a Rose and a couple of inexpensive champagnes. She didn’t like Rose and since the Chablis was open she chose that, found a glass on the shelf behind her and poured. She walked over and set the glass down between the redhead and the older woman.

“Might as well do what I do, pour yourself another while you’re back there,” said the redhead. “No bartender, right? And hell, it’s all on the house.”

“I thought that was just soft drinks. Wine’s two dollars, right?”

The woman smiled.

“Suppose you’re right, though. Save myself a walk. Can I get either of you anything?”

“Could do with another Johnnie,” said the older woman.

“Johnnie?”

“Johnnie Walker red. Right behind you. No ice.”

She poured the Scotch and another glass of wine and set them on the bar and walked back the way she’d come. Pete and Willie smiled again. The men at the table were still deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice her at all. It was probably just as well. She figured them for salesmen. Except for the sandy-haired one, too much oil in their hair, too many rings on their fingers. Guys with wide lapels and thin ties hitting on her was not on her agenda tonight or ever.

She lit a cigarette and sipped her Chardonnay.

“Not bad,” she said.

“No,” said the redhead. “They got a nice stock in this place.”

“You from around here?”

“Lauderdale originally. You staying at the What-U-Need?”

“Uh-huh. I can’t believe they have fireplaces. And this whole honor system thing, you know? I mean now? in this day and age? It’s amazing.”

She smiled again, nodded.

Elvis fell silent a moment and then switched to “Are You Lonesome Tonight.”

“I remember when I was a girl,” said the older woman, “Philbert’s grocery had this big old ice-chest outside filled with chipped ice and soda pop. This was way before them soda-machines. Thing was big as a coffin. Didn’t have no room for it in the store so what you’d do is, you’d open it up and take yourself a soda pop and go pay for it inside.” “Heard this one before, Harriet,” said the redhead.

“I know you have but she hasn’t. One day I didn’t have the dime. So I just took one and walked away with it. I figured, nobody around to see. Problem was old man Philbert happened to peek out the window just then looking for his delivery boy. I tell you, my daddy took the strap to me so bad it was a week before I could sit down to table. I shoulda known. See what I’m saying? I shoulda known.”

“What room you in?” said the redhead.

“Three.”

“Nice room. I’m in six myself.”

“Eight,” said the older woman. “Harriet Peasely. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Linda Wright. Lin.”

“I’m Amanda.”

They shook hands all around.

“I don’t get it,” she said, “I thought I was the only person staying here.”

“Nah. I think we’re pretty well full up in fact, wouldn’t you say, Harriet?”

“Pretty near, I guess”

“But the keys ...”

“What keys?”

“The keys in the key rack, out there in the office. It’s full.”

Amanda shrugged. “Duplicates, I guess. Why?”

“But that doesn’t make sense. I mean, what if I’d decided on number eight or six, say—your rooms—instead of three? Or any other for that matter?”

She laughed. “I guess somebody would have been pretty surprised, wouldn’t they.” It didn’t make sense at all. They hadn’t been duplicates. There was only one key per niche. She felt down the rabbit hole all of a sudden.

“Okay, but then where is everybody? Where are all the ...?”

And she was about to say “cars” when the sandy-haired man at the table shouted f**k it, f**k it! I’m outta here! his face an angry blotchy red and his chair clattering to the floor behind him and she saw that all three men were on their feet now, the other two trying to restrain the guy, taking hold of his arms. She heard one of them say something like, you just gotta accept what you did, John, you just gotta something or other trying to calm and quieten him, but the man twisted suddenly in their grasp and shrugged them off him and then he was moving fast in her direction, headed for the door. His eyes caught her own.

“So what the f**k are you looking at?” he said.

And then he was gone.

The other two men sat down again, shaking their heads. They resumed their conversation.

“What was that all about?” she said.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Lin,” Amanda said. “He just does that sometimes. He’ll get over it. Always does.”

“You all know one another?”

“Not everybody. I do know John, though.”

Maybe it was the glass of wine she’d already finished but this was all getting to be just a bit too much for her. On top of an exhausting day, a damn sight too much. That fire, that nice soft bed—they simply beckoned. She’d work it all out in the morning. Or she wouldn’t as the case may be. She needed to get some sleep.

She slid off the barstool and picked up her second glass of wine.

“Think I’ll take this with me. I’ve really got to get some rest, you know? It was nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you too, Lin,” said Amanda. “See you tomorrow night?”

“No. I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Good talking to you, though.”

Amanda just smiled again.

“You take care, now,” said Harriet. Her second Scotch was already half gone. “You take good care now, hear me?”

“Thanks. I will. ‘Night.”

And it was only when she was outside and halfway to her cabin that she realized she hadn’t paid for her drinks. Oh, well, she thought, she’d leave the price of the drinks in the register in the morning along with the rent money. Come to think of it she couldn’t remember seeing a second register in the bar so maybe that was what you were supposed to do anyway. Strange way to run a business, though. Strange place all around.

* * *

By the time she had the fire going, filling the room with warmth and the delightful smell of pine, she’d pretty much forgotten all about the bar. She didn’t even bother opening her paperback. She just lay there between the sheets staring at the flames, worrying about Joel and her uncle and sipping at the wine until in a little while sleep claimed her.

In the morning she showered and dressed and used the complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste and towel-dried her hair. She felt refreshed and ready to go. The scent of fire lingered in the room so that she almost hated to leave it. She put two dollars on the end table for the maid and stepped out into the chill of morning.

There was a surprise waiting for her at the reception desk.

A registry book. Bound in black leather—and evidently brand new. It lay open to the first page and there wasn’t an entry in it. She signed her name and guessed her check-in time to be about twelve-fifteen a.m. and then looked at her watch. It was ten twenty-five. She wrote down “ten twenty-five” as her check-out time. Then she went to the register. She depressed the OPEN key and got another surprise.

It was empty.

She’d expected it would at least have held change for a twenty. A twenty was all she had. What the hell, she thought, fifteen for the room, four for the drinks and a single to the invisible barman. She put the twenty in the till and closed the drawer. She punched in $20.00 and hit TOTAL and the drawer popped out again so she closed it again and then read the audit strip to be sure it had recorded the amount correctly. She smiled. It was quite an audit strip.

It read $20.00, p*****t on the honor system. We have what we need. You’ve got What-U-Need. Have a nice day.

She still was smiling when she walked out the door.

* * *

“It just happened,” said her aunt. “Just like that! One minute he’s god knows where and the next he’s asking me what time it is, like he’s got some lunch date or something. I was so surprised I actually looked at my watch and told him. I said, why, it’s ten twenty-five, Ed! And now look at the big dope. Look at him smiling. He scared all of us half to death and now he’s smiling like it’s Christmas morning!”

“It is Christmas morning,” said her uncle. “My favorite niece is here. Gimme a hug, Lin.”

She was so relieved she was shaking with laughter and crying at the same time.

“Hey. Does your favorite nephew get in on that too?”

She turned and there was Joel behind her, standing smiling in the open doorway.

“He sure as hell does. Come here, you two.”

And it was only as she released him and turned to hug her brother too that she thought of exactly what she had been doing at ten twenty-five that morning and then of the audit strip on the register at the What-U-Need Motel.

She drove State Road 70 a number of times after that in both daylight and nighttime and never saw it again. It didn’t surprise her. She wondered where it was now and where Amanda and Harriet and the others were now and resolved that if she ever had a child he or she would know all about the honor system in the old days and the new and be careful not to flaunt it.

—Thanks to C. for the notion.

* * *

Here’s a uniquely Protestant American view of Karma (which doesn’t have a whole lot to do with any Buddhist’s conception thereof). When you read Jack Ketchum’s parable, you’ll likely say, “That is the way it ought to work.” And maybe you’ll feel a tick or two of regret that it doesn’t.