At that moment, the glass door to the store slammed wide open and Mr. Mann, the proprietor, strode out, wearing a white shirt with red sleeve garters, a black bow tie, his usual red suspenders, and a white apron. He was a burly man with powerful shoulders, at least two heads taller than Diamond.
“What’s goin’ on out here?” he demanded. “Ladies, is this fella botherin’ you?” He peered through his gold-rimmed bifocals at Bessie. “Why, Miz Bloodworth, for heaven’s sake! And Miz Adcock!” He turned to Diamond. “Get your big fat hands off these ladies,” he barked, pushing him backward, forcing him to release his hold on both Bessie and Mrs. Adcock. “You oughtta be ashamed of yourself!”
“Oh, Mr. Mann, I am so glad to see you!” Bessie cried, straightening the sleeve of her dress and righting her hat. “Mrs. Adcock has an emergency and has to go home, right this minute, but this gentleman is attempting to detain her. Could you talk some sense into him for us?”
“Oh, you bet, Miz Bloodworth,” Mr. Mann replied. He was scowling furiously, his face as red as a turkey’s wattle. “I don’t know who the Sam Hill you are or what you think you’re doin’, stranger,” he bellowed, “but I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself. It ain’t polite to molest a Southern lady.”
“Keep yer shirt on,” Mr. Diamond said, taking a step backward and raising his hands as if to defend himself. “I ain’t molestin’ nobody. I am only tryin’ to get the information I was promised by this lady right here.”
“Well, I advise you to give up tryin’,” Mr. Mann snapped. He thrust a thick forefinger into Diamond’s nose. “Whoever the hell you are, I want you off my proppity, right now. You hear?”
“But it ain’t what you think, Mr. Mann!” Leona Ruth was struggling to free herself from Bessie and Liz. “His name is Mr. Gold. He’s a gov’ment agent! He’s here in Darling to arrest-”
“A gov’ment agent?” Mr. Mann shouted, and his face got so red that it looked as if he were about to explode. “A gov’ment agent, huh? Well, I don’t give a good gol-durn who he’s here to arrest, Miz Adcock. And I don’t know why in tarnation you’re actin’ like it’s your duty to defend him.”
“Of course I’m defendin’ him,” Leona Ruth shrilled. “He’s doin’ important business for Mr. Hoover. He-”
“And I am tellin’ you for your very own personal good that he’s got no bidness layin’ his dirty hands on Miz Bloodworth, or on Miz Lacy, or on you. And I am surprised right down to my toe bones that you are tryin’ to make excuses for him. Gov’ment agent-ptui!” And he spit contemptuously on one of Diamond’s shiny shoes.
Bessie knew exactly why Mr. Mann was so furious. Deep in the wooded hills to the west of Darling, between the town and the Alabama River, Mr. Mann’s second cousin, Mickey LeDoux, ran the biggest moonshine operation in all of South Alabama. Mickey supplied an excellent corn liquor not only to the residents of Darling, but to Monroeville, Frisco, and all the little villages roundabout. What’s more, everybody in town-including Sheriff Roy Burns-knew for a certain fact that Mr. Mann had a secret shelf behind the horse harness and saddles in the back room at the Mercantile, where he would be glad to sell you a bottle or two of Mickey’s best. Hearing the words government agent, Mr. Mann had quite naturally assumed that Mr. Diamond was a revenue agent-a revenooer, as the locals called them-and that he was planning to arrest Mickey Mann and anybody who was associated with him.
Afterward, Bessie wondered what might have happened next, but as things turned out, whatever it was didn’t get a chance to happen. Whether it was blind luck or Divine Providence or maybe even the work of the devil, at that very moment, Deputy Buddy Norris came roaring up Robert E. Lee on his red Indian Ace motorcycle, a cloud of dust spinning along behind him like a miniature tornado. He was wearing his khaki deputy’s uniform and jacket, his leather motorcycle helmet and goggles, and his gun. Bessie didn’t know whether he was on duty or not, because Buddy loved his work so much and was so diligent about it that he wore his uniform constantly. Some folks guessed that he even slept in it, with his gun under his pillow.
Seeing Buddy coming, Mr. Mann stepped into the dusty street, windmilling both arms. “Hey, Buddy, stop!” he yelled. “We got us a problem here.”
Buddy Norris skidded to a stop, kicked down his motorcycle stand, and lifted his leg gracefully over the machine. He was a tall, lean, well-built young man with a shock of brown hair across his forehead and a straggly growth of beard on his chin. He was known to be somewhat reckless and accident prone, but he was a good deputy and a better law enforcement officer, in most people’s estimations, than Sheriff Roy Burns. Bessie agreed, for she knew Buddy Norris well. He had mowed her grass twice a month every summer from the time he was ten until the sheriff had picked him to take Deputy Duane Hadley’s place. A decent young man, willing to help, if sometimes a rapscallion.
“A problem, you say, Mr. Mann?” Buddy asked pleasantly, hooking his thumbs into his belt and pushing his jacket aside so that his holstered weapon was clearly visible. His deputy’s badge, polished to a fare-thee-well, was prominently displayed on the lapel of his brown jacket. He smiled his Lucky Lindy smile at Bessie and gave her a little salute.
“Afternoon, Miz Bloodworth.” His glance went to Liz, approving her yellow hat. “Miz Lacy. That’s a right purty hat.”
He didn’t look at Mrs. Adcock. Bessie knew that he had once hit a baseball through Leona Ruth’s front window and she had made him pay for the broken glass by spading up her spring garden, which at the time was about the size of the baseball field out behind the Academy.
“A real serious problem,” Mr. Mann said sternly. “This fella here has been annoyin’ these ladies. He-”
“He’s not annoyin’, he’s a gov’ment agent!” Leona Ruth cried. “He’s here to-”
“I’m afraid that Mrs. Adcock is very high-strung,” Bessie said sweetly. “If you want to know the truth, Buddy, you go right on over to the Exchange and have a little talk with Verna Tidwell. She’s on the switchboard this afternoon. She’ll tell you who this man really is. He is from-”
“I don’t give a good goose turd who he is or where he’s from,” Mr. Mann said heatedly, “although it is purty obvious from the way he talks that he’s a damn Yankee from up north.”
“He’s also armed,” Bessie said.
“Armed?” Liz repeated in surprise.
“Under his jacket, left side,” Bessie explained. “My father had one of those shoulder holsters. He was attacked by a crazy man at his funeral parlor once when he was laying out the man’s wife, and after that, he wore it every time he worked on a corpse or did a funeral. I could always tell when he had it on by the bulge in his coat.”
“Armed, is he?” Buddy drawled. His glance sharpened and he took a step closer.
“Armed? Well, o’ course he’s armed,” Leona Ruth protested. “I tell you, he’s a gov’ment agent, sent here by Mr. J. Edgar Hoover to-”
“Lemme see your badge, Mr. Gov’ment Agent, sir,” Buddy said. Like Mr. Mann, he was taller than Diamond, and younger and fitter. And unlike Mr. Mann, Buddy had a gun.
Diamond cleared his throat and looked nervously away. “I ain’t carrying no badge right now.”
“Because he’s incognito,” shrilled Leona Ruth. “He’s undercover! He is on the trail of a-”
“Miz Adcock,” Mr. Mann said with exaggerated politeness, “I reckon you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, so I’ll ask you to jes’ keep still and let us menfolks get this sorted out.”
“No badge.” Buddy made a tsk-tsk noise. His voice hardened. “Then lemme see your gun. Slowly, now, Mr. Gov’ment Agent. No fast moves.”