Chapter 10
Now that Joe had the information he had wondered about, he didn't know what to do with it. What Matt Landon had done was a contemptible thing, but where did Joe Smith get off throwing stones? Of course, killing an innocent kid and being the cause of Cory Landon's death wasn't quite the same thing, but still he was no angel.
It seemed to Joe that there were two courses he could follow. Either he could continue playing the part of Cory Landon and all that it involved, or he could go back to being Joe Smith and all that it involved. Being Cory seemed the lesser of the two evils. All he had to do was think of Paula, and the accident, and the life he had led as Joe Smith. Cory hadn't been a very nice character, but maybe with the help of his amnesia it could be handled. It would mean forgetting what Matt Landon had done and probably accepting Angela Harmon as a stepmother. And wasn't that a laugh? Then he thought of something else. groping fingers touched some kind of paper. He was puzzled and curiosity got the better of him. He had to unolad the liquor and cans in order to tilt it backwards enough to see what it was. A small sheaf of papers was taped to the underside of the wood. He loosened the tape and got them out.
His hangover was suddenly forgotten. He walked quietly over to the door and snapped the lock. Then he went back and-sat down on the floor with the papers.
Part of them were newspaper clippings. They seemed to concern an automobile accident that had happened some time ago. He looked at the date and it was about a month before he had been in the accident with Cory Landon. He read them quickly and then more slowly. A car had struck a small boy on a bicycle and the child had died a few hours later. Someone had taken him to the hospital and left him there without having been seen by anyone. The hit and run driver was never found.
Joe looked at the clippings, puzzled. He leafed through them and underneath were two negatives, and two prints obviously taken from the negatives. He studied the pictures and a lot of things were all of a sudden clear.
One of the pictures was a long shot, but everything was in focus. A car, a late model black Cadillac, was sitting in the middle of the road. The front of the car had been damaged and in front of it was a crumpled bicycle with a small, equally crumpled body lying near it. A man knelt beside the child. It was Matt Landon. The other picture was a close-up of the same scene. The main difference was that the license plate on the car was visible and so was the look of shocked horror on Matt Landon's face.
Joe sat for a long time staring at them. At last he got up and looked around the room. Apparently the hiding place had been meant to be a temporary one, since it was too well known an idea to work for very long. It was odd that they had not been discovered sooner.
After thinking about it Joe put the clippings in a book in the bookcase. The pictures and negatives he hid in his billfold. He carefully replaced the things he had taken from the bar and made sure it was back in place. Then he went back to bed.
Joe made it a point to be down for breakfast in time to see Cory's father. Knowing what he did about the man made it difficult to be pleasant, but he managed. Neither of them mentioned Joe's binge of the night before. For a while Joe kept the conversation casual. As they were finishing their coffee he brought up the subject that was bothering him.
"Dad, there's something I'd like to ask you," he said casually. "You said if there was anything I wanted to know to ask you. I've been wondering about Angela."
"Oh? What about her?"
"Well, like how long have we known her? And what do we know about her?'"
"We met her when they moved to Landon leave, get out of here. I don't want to make any more of a fool of myself than I already have."
He left. He felt like a rat, but there was nothing else to do.
Congratulations, Joe, he thought bitterly. You're doing Cory Landon real proud.
He went to a tavern, a different one this time, and took up where he had left off.
He didn't know how long he had been there when a woman slid on to the stool next to him. He turned to look at her and it was Angela. In fact, there seemed to be three Angelas.
"Well, well," he said, and his voice sounded blurred. "This seems to be my night. Hist'ry repeats itself an' all that jazz."
The three Angelas shook their heads.
"Where in the world have you been, Cory? Your father is worried sick. I have to call him and tell him I've found you. Stay right here."
She was back almost before he realized she was gone. She led him out to her car and he went along meekly. She drove to the Landon house and took him up to his room. If Matt Landon was there he was not in sight. She put him to bed and then stood staring down at him.
"Cory, do you remember what happened the day you left here? Before the accident and everything."
Drunk as he was, he still had sense enough not to say anything. Instead he leered at her and said, "Aren't you coming to bed with me?"
"Not in the shape you're in," she said disgustedly. "You'd never make it."
She didn't leave, though. She picked up a magazine and sat down in a chair. She didn't say anything and he dozed. A sound half awakened him and he opened one eye. Her back was turned and she didn't see him. She was quietly searching his room. He wondered briefly what she was looking for, but the problem was too much for him. He went back to sleep and when he woke up the room was dark and she was gone.
Most of the effect of the liquor was gone and it had left in its wake a king-size hangover. He got out of bed and turned on a light, wincing at its sudden glare. Moving around was rather painful, but his mouth had such a dark brown taste that he decided anything would be better than staying where he was. He walked slowly over to the bar and opened the cabinet beneath it. There was all kinds of liquor there but the very thought of it made him shudder. He found some cans of tomato juice and that sounded a little better. He took one out and searched for an opener. He found one and started to open the juice. His hands were shaking badly and it slipped out of them, landing on the floor. He leaned over to pick it up and cursed softly when he couldn't find it. He finally got down on his hands and knees, feeling around on the floor with his hands. The bar was a cabinet type affair that stood on small legs, and it must have rolled underneath it. He felt under it as far as he could, but it was hard to do because the thing sat so low. He stretched himself flat on the floor and slid his arm under the bar. He didn't find the can opener, but his thought his first impression of her had been wrong.
"Maybe I've always been bad," he said. "Seems to be the general opinion." , Maybe it was the clothes that made her look different. She was wearing a black sheath dress and it was a hell of a lot sexier than the uniform he had seen her in before. She was wearing more, make-up, too. He decided that he liked her better this way. She didn't make him feel like he should make like a gentleman.
"Aren't you going to buy me a drink, Cory?" she asked, and managed not to sound coy.
They had a drink. In fact, they had several drinks. They left together by unspoken agreement and they were both a little drunk.
She took him to her house. At the door he hesitated.
"Is anyone home?"
"No, silly. My mother and I live alone and she works nights."
They went inside and she didn't turn on the lights. She took his hand and led him to what felt like a couch of some kind. He put his arms around her and she kissed him with abandon. He slid one hand down her arm and let it come to rest on one of her full breasts. He felt it harden and press eagerly against his hand. His own desire mounted, but he felt strange, almost like he was the one being seduced. He heard the sound of a zipper and realized it was his own, but she was the one who had slid it down. Then her hands touched him and he couldn't have stopped if he had tried. He searched for and found the zipper of her dress and it slid off easily. He unfastened her bra and freed her eager breasts, cupping them in his hands, stroking her nipples, feeling her respond. He found the elastic band of her panties and slid them down over her hips. She lay back on the couch and he moved over her, but he felt almost reluctant. She matched her movements to his, but with him it was almost automatic. It was over quickly and he moved away with the feeling that his was a singularly unsatisfactory performance as far as she was concerned.
He heard small sounds as Sandy adjusted her clothing and then a light came on. He felt almost sober and it was the expression in her eyes that sobered him.
"I think you had better leave now, Cory," she said, and she sounded as though she were almost crying.
"Why, Sandy? For G -'s sake, why did you do it?"
She shrugged. "I had to find out. I thought I could make you love me. I know better now."
"It was all an act then, the sexy clothes, the siren bit?"
"Do I look like a siren now?" she said bitterly.
She didn't. She looked like a girl who had taken on something she couldn't cope with.
"All I can say is that I'm sorry. Sorry this happened, sorry you feel this way about me."
"Oh, don't worry about it, Cory. I asked for it. And I imagine I'll survive. I did before. You can't help how you feel any more than I can. Only just