I got out of the car and leaned on it and looked things over. Be Bop and his men got out of the truck. Be Bop came over.
“He buildin’ a house on that foundation?” I asked.
“Naw, he’s gonna put an extension on one of the trailers. I think he’s gonna put in a poolroom and maybe some gamin’ stuff. Swimmin’ pool over there. Come on.”
I got my jar of pickles out of the backseat, and Be Bop said, “Now wait a minute. Your pickles got to go with you?”
I sat the jar down and screwed off the lid and stepped back. Be Bop looked inside. When he lifted his head, he said, “Well, now.”
Next thing I know I’m in the big trailer, the one that’s got nothing but the couch, some chairs, and stands for drinks, a TV set about the size of a downtown theater. It’s on, and there’s sports going. I glance at it and see it’s an old basketball game that was played a year back, but they’re watching it, Big O and a few of his boys, including Lou Boo, the black guy I’ve seen before. This time, there aren’t any women there.
Be Bop came inside with me, but the rest of the pickup posse didn’t. They were still protecting the perimeter. It seemed silly, but truth was, there was lots of people wanted to kill Big O.
No one said a thing to me for a full five minutes. They were waiting for a big score in the game, something they had seen before. When the shot came they all cheered. I thought only Big O sounded sincere.
I didn’t look at the game. I couldn’t take my eyes off Big O. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat. His head only had a few hairs left on it, like worms working their way over the face of the moon. His skin was white and lumpy like cold oatmeal. He was wearing a brown pair of stretch overalls. When the fat moved, the material moved with him, which was a good idea, ’cause it looked as if Big O had packed on about a hundred extra pounds since I saw him last.
He was sitting in a motorized scooter, had his tree-trunk legs stretched out in front of him on a leg lift. His stomach flowed up and fell forward and over his sides, like 400 pounds of bagged mercury. I could hear him wheezing across the room. His right foot was missing. There was a nub there, and his stretch pants had been sewn up at the end. On the stand, near his right elbow, was a tall bottle of malt liquor and a greasy box of fried chicken.
His men sat on the couch to his left. The couch was unusually long, and there were six men on it, like pigeons in a row. They all had guns in shoulder holsters. The scene made Big O look like a whale on vacation with a harem of male sucker fish to attend him.
Big O spoke to me, and his voice sounded small coming from that big body. “Been a long time since I seen you last.”
I nodded.
“I had a foot then.”
I nodded again.
“The diabetes. Had to cut it off. Dr. Jacobs says I need more exercise, but, hey, glandular problems, so what you gonna do? Packs the weight on. But still, I got to go there ever’ Thursday mornin’. Next time, he might tell me the other foot’s gotta go. But you know, that’s not so bad. This chair, it can really get you around. Motorized, you know.”
Be Bop, who was still by me, said, “He’s got somethin’ for you, Big O.”
“Chucky,” Big O said, “cut off the game.”
Chucky was one of the men on the couch, a white guy. He got up and found a remote control and cut off the game. He took it with him back to the couch, sat down.
“Come on up,” Big O said.
I carried my jar of pickles up there, got a whiff of him that made my memory of Jack’s stink seem mild. Big O smelled like dried urine, sweat, and death. I had to fight my gag reflex.
I sat the jar down and twisted off the lid and reached inside the blood-stained pickle juice and brought out Jack’s dripping hand. Big O said, “Give me that.”
I gave it to him. He turned it around and around in front of him. Pickle juice dripped off of the hand and into his lap. He started to laugh. His fat vibrated, and then he coughed. “That there is somethin’.”
He held the hand up above his head. Well, he lifted it to about shoulder height. Probably the most he had moved in a while. He said, “Boys, do you see this? Do you see the humanity in this?”
I thought: Humanity?
“This hand tried to take my money and stuck its finger up my old lady’s ass… Maybe all six. Look at it now.”
His boys all laughed. It was like the best goddamn joke ever told, way they yucked it up.
“Well, now,” Big O said, “that motherfucker won’t be touchin’ nothin’, won’t be handlin’ nobody’s money, not even his own, and we got this dude to thank.”
Way Big O looked at me then made me a little choked up. I thought there might even be a tear in his eye. “Oh,” he said, “I loved that woman. God, I did. But I had to cut her loose. She hadn’t fucked around, me and her might have gotten married, and all this,” he waved Jack’s hand around, “would have been hers to share. But no. She couldn’t keep her pants on. It’s a sad situation. And though I can’t bring her back, this here hand, it gives me some kind of happiness. I want you to know that.”
“I’m glad I could have been of assistance,” I said.
“That’s good. That’s good. Put this back in the pickle jar, will you?”
I took the hand and dropped it in the jar.
Big O looked at me, and I looked at him. After a long moment, he said, “Well, thanks.”
I said, “You’re welcome.”
We kept looking at one another. I cleared my throat. Big O shifted a little in his chair. Not much, but a little.
“Seems to me,” I said, “there was a bounty on Jack. Some money.”
“Oh,” Big O said. “That’s right, there was.”
“He was quite a problem.”
“Was he now… Yeah, well, I can see the knot on your head. You ought to buy that thing its own cap. Somethin’ nice.”
Everyone on the couch laughed. I laughed too. I said, “Yeah, it’s big. And if I had some money, like say, $100,000, I’d maybe put out ten or twenty for a nice designer cap.”
I was smiling, waiting for my laugh, but nothing came. I glaced at Be Bop. He was looking off like maybe he heard his mother calling somewhere in the distance.
Big O said, “Now that Jack’s dead, I got to tell you, I’ve sort of lost the fever.”
“Lost the fever?” I said.
“He was alive, I was all worked up. Now that he’s dead, I got to consider, is he really worth $100,000?”
“Wait a minute, that was the deal. That’s the deal you spread all over.”
“I’ve heard those rumors,” Big O said.
“Rumors?”
“Oh, you can’t believe everything you hear. You just can’t.”
I stood there stunned.
Big O said, “But I want you to know, I’m grateful. You want a Coke, a beer before you go?”
“No. I want the goddamn money you promised.”
That had come out of my mouth like vomit. It surprised even me.
Everyone in the room was silent.
Big O breathed heavy, said, “Here’s the deal, friend. You take your jar of pickles, and Jack’s six fingers, and you carry them away. ’Cause if you don’t, if you want to keep askin’ me for money I don’t want to pay, your head is gonna be in that jar, but not before I have it shoved up your ass. You savvy?’
It took me a moment, but I said, “Yeah. I savvy.”
Lying in bed with Loodie, not being able to do the deed, I said, “I’m gonna get that fat son of a bitch. He promised me money. I fought Jack with a piece of firewood and a hatchet. I fell off a roof. I slept in my car in the cold. I was nearly killed.”
“That sucks,” Loodie said.
“Sucks? You got snookered too. You was gonna get fifty thousand, now you’re gonna get dick.”
“Actually, tonight I’m not even gettin’ that.”
“Sorry, baby. I’m just so mad… Ever’ Thursday mornin’, Big O, he goes to an appointment at Dr. Jacobs’. I can get him there.”