He shook out a cigarette, put it between his lips, then struck a match theatrically and lit the cigarette. When the tip glowed red, he inhaled and then blew smoke into Arlen’s eyes.
“Those men I speak of,” he said, “they need their smoke. I provide it. Someday, a day not far off, I will breathe of it myself.”
He leveled his gaze at Arlen. “I suspect you believe that you can carry on out of this place and out of my reach, Mr. Wagner. Believe that once you’ve made a few dollars from Miss Cady here, you can just go back to Alabama or West Virginia.”
Arlen bristled. He had never spoken of his home state. Not to the judge or the sheriff. In fact, he rarely spoke of Fayette County to anyone.
Wade looked at him and nodded. “Yes, I know where you’re from. The boy, too. And if I desire, I can tamper with his life same as yours. Hell, I’m one phone call away from bringing shame down on his family.”
“What do you know about his family?”
“More than you, probably. His old man used to work in a silk factory in Paterson. Got into an accident, lost the use of his legs. Was in a wheelchair until he killed himself on some bad hooch.”
“I don’t see any shame in that,” Arlen said. “I just see some sorrow.”
“Sure. Thing is, with no father around to work, his mother had to. Pretty woman, his mother, or so I’ve been told. She took to waitressing at a few supper clubs. They aren’t the sort of clubs where you want your mother waitressing, you know? She’s not getting paid for delivering steak and potatoes. Be easy enough to send some local police down to make life hard on her.”
Arlen felt a slow, liquid heat spreading through his body. “Listen,” he said, “you want to stick your short, sorry pecker into my life, have at it, Judge. But you tamper with that boy’s mother? With that boy, period? Wade, I’ll cut your damn throat. Think that’s a lie? I will cut your throat, you son of a bitch.”
Wade’s voice was cool. “You’re an ignorant man, Mr. Wagner. Not a brave one-just stupid. We can stand here and trade threats, but when the time comes to deliver on them? That won’t be a pleasant day for you.” He nodded at the inn. “Go on back to work. Go on back and hope I don’t have cause to venture your way again. Pray for it.”
15
IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON BEFORE Arlen had the opportunity to get Rebecca Cady alone for a few minutes. Paul was immersed in work on the porch, the rest of the world vanishing from his mind the way it always seemed to when he was on a job, and when Arlen heard Rebecca moving around inside the barroom, he told Paul he needed a drink of water and then went inside.
She was cleaning the bar with a wet rag and merely glanced at him. Only after he’d stood and watched her for a few minutes did she look back up.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so. We’ve been helping you, so I figured you might do the same.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Why did the judge come out here?” Arlen asked.
Her face darkened, and she looked back down at the glossy bar top.
“You heard him. He’s going to rent the place on Monday night.”
“I heard that he was sending people down here Monday night,” Arlen said. “I didn’t hear a word about renting, though. Which brings to mind another question: where in the hell is your business? You know, customers?”
“There was a hurricane.”
“So you’re telling me that a few days from now, when people have settled from the storm, this place will be busy?”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s what I figured,” he said. “Now tell me about Solomon Wade.”
“I’ve got nothing to tell. You’ve met him and you’ve met the sheriff. You should be able to gather plenty from that.”
“I’ve gathered that they’re crooked as snake tracks, sure. I’d like to know what in the hell it is they’re up to, though, and where Sorenson figured in.”
“I’d have no way of knowing.”
“I don’t believe that. As soon as the poor bastard blew up, you suggested we leave and let you handle the sheriff. Just as if you knew what might happen.”
“I knew there was a chance you’d be treated unfairly.”
“Treated unfairly,” Arlen echoed, nodding. “You mean locked up, beaten, robbed? That’s what you knew there was a chance of?”
She held his eyes.
“Sorenson was a bootlegger,” he said. “But this isn’t a dry county. What was his business here?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“That’s a damned lie and you know it.”
She looked away, then back to him, and said, “What did Wade tell you when you were talking at his car?”
“That he might have a way of finding our money if we told him what he wants to know about Sorenson. Trouble is, we don’t know anything.”
“Really?”
“Really. You do, though. You probably know a hell of a lot. Care to tell me what a man from Cleveland’s doing as sheriff of a place where visitors from the north are about as common as penguins? Care to tell me what it is brings men like those two to a backwater like this, what brought your father to it, what put your brother in-”
“Don’t you speak of my family,” she said, and her voice was so low and cold that she seemed truly dangerous.
He studied her, then nodded and said, “I’ll keep such questions to myself. They’re of no concern to me. Solomon Wade and his thug sheriff are.”
She dropped her gaze, and when she spoke again her voice was soft and measured. “You should be careful with Solomon Wade. Whether you’re here or somewhere else, you should be careful with Solomon Wade.”
It was a different version of the same speech Wade himself had given.
“I’m wondering,” Arlen said, “why all of these boys seem to spend so much time at your place? What are you doing here?”
She picked up the rag and began to scrub again, rubbing so hard that the muscles in her arm stood out.
“As you already said, my private affairs are of no concern to you.”
He watched her for a long time, waiting for more, but she didn’t look up again. At length he turned and went back outside.
They finished the porch roof by noon on Sunday, and as they stood in the sand surveying their work, Arlen was unable to avoid feeling a small tug of satisfaction at the way the job looked. For what they’d had to work with, it was damn fine construction.
“Could leave,” he suggested. “Most everything’s done now.”
“We’re not even close to done,” Paul said, smearing sweat around his face with a rag. He looked older, with his skin burned dark brown and his hair a few weeks past cutting. “Haven’t even started on the widow’s walk or the generator.”
Arlen stopped with a cigarette halfway to his mouth. “The generator? Have you lost your senses?”
“She can’t buy a new one,” Paul said calmly. “So I’d say that one will need fixing.”
“Son, ain’t a mechanic alive can put that thing back together now, and neither of us is a mechanic. You’ve got to know what you’re doing to work on one that’s solid, let alone one that’s been busted up into a hundred pieces. That thing’s covered in sand and grit and-”
“I’ve got it cleaned up. Come have a look.”
So they went around to the front porch, and Paul pulled free a tarpaulin and there were the pieces of the generator, all neat and tidy.
“When’d you do that?”
“Been getting up early,” Paul said, dropping to one knee and running a fingertip over one of the flywheels. “Brushed all the sand off and then wiped it down with a rag and oil, because that salt water would rust it awfully fast, I think.”
“Any chance the thing came with some sort of a book? A manual?”
“She said she never saw one. But she has all the tools for it.”
Arlen stared down at the mess and shook his head. “You ever worked on an engine before in your life?”