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“I’m out. Do me a favor, Dennis?”

“Sure.”

“Cash these out for me, please. I got an urgent call o’ nature to see to.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” The young pitcher pulled Longarm’s pile of pennies in front of him and grinned. “Now I can really run the pots up on these guys.”

Longarm left the table and grabbed his Stetson off the elk horn rack on his way out to join Jerry.

“It’s Nat Lewis, sir. He went out back like he was going to the shitter but he never. Instead he looked around … I was real careful that he couldn’t see me watching after him … and took off into town. I didn’t know what I should do then, sir. I mean, should I run back in to tell you and miss seeing where Nat went or should I follow after him. I decided to follow and see where he was going then come back for you. Is that all right, sir? Did I do good?”

“You did just fine, Jerry.”

The boy beamed and led the way outside and down the street in the direction of downtown Jonesboro, Longarm having to shorten his strides to keep from overrunning the hippety-hop gait of the youngster with the clubfoot.

“Back in there it is, sir,” he said once they were on Main next to Berman’s Pharmacy. “He went down this alley here and knocked on a door. I waited long enough to overhear that much, then I hurried on back to get you.”

“You did fine, Jerry. Couldn’t have been any better.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait for me here on the street now.”

“You don’t want me to come with you, sir?”

Longarm didn’t want Jerry getting in the way in a dark alley. Didn’t particularly want to hurt his feelings either. “What I need is for you to stay here so no one can sneak up behind me. I’ll feel better if I know there’s someone watching my back, see.”

“Oh. Right.” Jerry grinned, obviously pleased to have such an important part in the continuation of this mission. “I won’t let anybody come up behind you.”

“If anything happens, son, don’t try and fight. Just call out the warning and scoot out of sight.”

“But you …”

“I’ll be fine. Really. You ready now?”

“Yes, sir. I’m behind you. You can count on me, sir.”

“Okay, but remember to keep your eyes on the street, not down the alley here. You won’t be able to help if you’re watching me instead of what’s going on around us.”

“I never thought of that.” Jerry turned his back—reluctantly—on the alley and gave his attention to the completely empty city street.

For his part, Longarm simply sauntered down the middle of the alley. He could see lamp light in a window toward the back of the pharmacy and suspected that was where he would find Nat Lewis.

Longarm reached the window and had to go on tiptoes to see through the dirt-grimed panes of old, inferior glass. The poor quality of glass made everything inside appear wavy and slightly out of true, as if trying to look at something on the bed of a fast-moving stream, but the light inside was good and the visibility sufficient for Longarm’s purposes.

Lewis was in there all right, along with a young man Longarm had never seen before. The local fellow wore a white linen smock and white cotton gloves, sleeve garters and an eye shade. He was bent over a small table doing something that Longarm could not see while Nat Lewis paced back and forth nearby.

Whatever arrangement was being made here it wasn’t quite yet concluded, that was obvious.

After a minute or so the man in white stood, leaning backward and pressing a hand into the small of his back as if to try and alleviate a pain there. He said something to Lewis and picked up the thing he’d been working with, which turned out to be a small mortar and pestle. Longarm could see them clearly now that the man—pharmacist? likely—was out of the way.

Lewis bobbed his head in response to whatever it was the local said, then reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a thin sheaf of folded paper. Money, Longarm thought, although the poor visibility would not let him see that for certain sure, and handed it to the man in the white smock. The local took a careful look at the currency he’d been given—Longarm confirmed what it was when the fellow counted it—and pushed the bills into his pocket, then picked up the pestle and dumped something from it into an envelope which he handed to Lewis.

The ball player practically ripped the envelope open again in his haste to reach the contents. He pulled out a pinch of the powder and put the substance inside his mouth, pushing it into his cheek the way a man will sometimes use tobacco snuff, although Longarm was fairly sure that a body wouldn’t go to a pharmacist for anything so simple as ordinary snuff.

On the other hand …

Longarm went over to the alley door and was waiting there when Nat Lewis stepped outside with his precious envelope in hand.

It didn’t really matter to Longarm what it was that Lewis was up to here. Whatever it was it had nothing to do with post office robberies. Still, he was mildly curious.

“H’lo, Nat.”

The outfielder acted like he would have come clean out of his skin if it hadn’t been firmly closed on all sides. “Short. Jesus, man, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, was looking for something else and couldn’t help but notice your little transaction in there. Mind telling me what it was about?”

“It’s … nothing. Really.”

“Nothing, Nat? It’s important enough for you to hide it from the rest of the team.”

“I just … nothing, dammit. Leave me alone, Short. Just leave me be about this.”

“I dunno, Nat. It kinda looks like the sort of thing as ought to be discussed with McWhortle.”

“God, Short, you son of a bitch. You’d tell, wouldn’t you? Don’t. I’m begging you. You want money? Is that it? I … I don’t have much left. When we get paid again maybe I can …”

“I don’t want your money, Lewis. I just want you to tell me what it is you’re doing. I mean, I saw you on the train one time taking delivery of something … or passing something along, I couldn’t tell which … and now this. What is it that you’re up to, Lewis?”

“I just … it isn’t anything illegal, Short.”

“Then why are you trying to hide it?”

“It’s Douglas. He’s dead set against … he’d kick me off the team if he found out, Short. I’d be ruined, my whole career shattered.”

“For what, Lewis?”

“It’s only coca powder. It’s perfectly legal, you know. It doesn’t harm anything, and it … it kind of helps.”

“I see,” Longarm said. And of course he did. The powdered coca was entirely legal just as Nat Lewis said. It was legal and it was cheap and it was used by many as a pick-me-up when they were tired or wanted a little boost of quick energy. Unfortunately the stuff could also be addictive and could lead, or so some claimed, to serious health consequences. Certainly it could affect one’s judgment. Those likely were the reasons Douglas McWhortle would not want any of his players using the commonly available stuff.

Nat Lewis, it seemed, was already addicted beyond McWhortle’s—or his own—ability to control.

The pharmacist must have overheard the voices outside his door because now he appeared there, this time without the smock and gloves. “Is everything all right out here?”

“Yes. No problem,” Longarm assured him.

“You are sure?”

“Really,” Lewis said.

“Good night then.” The pharmacist closed the door and rather loudly locked and chained it.

“Short,” Lewis said, his voice pleading. “You won’t …”

Longarm sighed. “No, Lewis. I reckon I won’t say nothing to McWhortle ‘bout this. But I think … no, never mind. You don’t want advice from me, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Chet. Thank you. You won’t regret it. I promise.”