When they reached Seventh Street he took a left and parked outside Stagestruck Theatrical Supplies. It was a small store with a window display of Shakespearean costumes—Romeo in doublet and hose, and Juliet in a long pearl-studded dress and a wimple. Decker went up to the diminutive old gnome behind the counter and said, "I'm looking for a beard."
"A beard, you say? Then you came to the right place. We have the finest selection of surrogate facial hair in all Virginia. What are you looking for? Goatee, Abe Lincoln, or Grizzly Adams?"
They collected Jonah's shopping from police headquarters. The sergeant on the desk handed over the basket containing the live rooster with obvious relief. "Damn thing wouldn't stop clucking. Worse than my wife."
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Next, they stopped at the Bottom Line Restaurant on East Main Street for hamburgers and buffalo wings and beer. Decker could eat only two or three mouthfuls of his hamburger. "Shit—I feel like the condemned man, eating his last meal."
"You have a plan though, don't you?"
"Not much of one."
"You're going to dress up like Robert E. Lee?"
"That's the general idea."
"And you think—what? That Major Shroud is going to stop and salute you?"
"Maybe. The point is that Major Shroud feels deeply aggrieved because he expected to be treated like a hero instead of a war criminal. He spent nearly 150 years sealed up in that casket. Can you imagine it? Never able to sleep, never able to die. That's plenty of time to develop a raging homicidal obsession, wouldn't you say?"
"He's not going to believe that General Lee is still alive, though, is he?"
"I don't know. If he doesn't, then this isn't going to work. But he's not mentally stable, there's no question of that. Who would be, after being buried alive for so long? And if we can take him by surprise—"
"I still think we should call in the SWAT team."
Decker shook his head. "Waste of time. When Shroud's invisible he's not a solid physical presence in the same way as you or me. He has the kinetic energy to push us around, that's for sure, but I don't think we can hurt him with bullets. It's all part of the same Santeria magic that allows him to walk through walls. God knows how it's done. I mean, it defies every law of physics you can think of. But maybe it's like ultraviolet light, which you can't see, or dog whistles, which you can't hear. Just because you can't see them and
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you can't hear them, that doesn't mean they're not there." "Too heavy for me, Lieutenant."
Back at Decker's apartment, Hicks hung up his coat and angled one of the armchairs so that he was facing the door. He laid his gun on the coffee table beside him, for all the use that was going to be. Decker unloaded all of Jonah's shopping in the kitchen, including the fretfully clucking rooster, and then went through to the bedroom.
"Help yourself to a soda," he told Hicks. "I don't know how long we're going to have to wait for Major Shroud to make an appearance."
"Not too long, Lieutenant, if you want my opinion. The way he was talking, he's just champing at the bit to cut you into chitterlings."
"Sure. Thanks for the reassurance."
Decker laid out his Civil War uniform on the bed. He hoped to God that he hadn't misjudged Major Shroud's motives, or overestimated how much control Major Shroud was able to exert over the spirit of Changó. But when Major Shroud had ordered him to, Changó had immediately returned to protect him—in spite of Queen Aché's offer of apples and herbs. Why would Changó have done that, unless—in this unholy symbiosis of god and man—Major Shroud was the dominant partner? Men and their gods are inseparable, and sometimes the gods have to do what men bid them to do, for the sake of their own survival. When men don't believe in them any longer, gods die.
Decker picked up the photograph of Cathy on the Robert E. Lee footbridge. If I get out of this, the first thing I'm going to do is visit your grave and lay camellias on it, heaps of camellias, your very favorite flower. Wherever you are now, I love you still,
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and I always will, just as much as you love me, and more.
He pulled on the rough gray Civil War pants and fastened the withered suspenders to hold them up. The pants were two or three inches too short in the leg, but that wouldn't matter when he put his boots on. He picked a plain gray shirt out of his closet, and then he shrugged on the heavy frock coat and fastened it right up to the neck. It smelled of dry-cleaning, and age.
The boots were a size too tight, but he managed to force them onto his feet by repeatedly stamping his heels on the floor. He didn't know how he was going to get them off, but he could worry about that later. Finally, he went into the bathroom and painted his chin and his upper lip with the spirit gum that the gnome in Stagestruck had sold him. He took his bristly white beard out of its polythene bag and carefully pressed it on. In a few minutes, he looked twenty years older. A slightly sharp-faced version of General Lee, but not an unconvincing likeness, apart from his Italian designer glasses. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, hung his saber onto his belt, and then he stood in front of the full-length mirror and struck a pose.
He came out of the bedroom, stalked across to where Hicks was sitting, and stood in front of him. In a deep, sonorous voice, he said, "After four years of arduous service marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the army of northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources."
"Holy shit," Hicks said, rising to his feet.
"Think it'll work?" Decker asked.
"Well, you sure convinced me."
Decker took off his hat and sat down. "This is madness, isn't it?"
"I don't know. This whole thing is madness. Maybe the only way to fight madness is to act even madder."
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"Well, sport, I hope you're right. I don't know what the media are going to make of it, if I get chopped into pieces while I'm all dressed up like Robert E. Lee."
All they could do now was sit and wait. Midnight passed, and Hicks checked his watch and said, "That's it, Saint James Day," but after twenty minutes there was still no sign of Major Shroud, and the only sound they heard from outside was the lonely hooting of a riverboat.
Decker said, "If this doesn't come to anything . . . you know, if Shroud doesn't show . . . you won't mention this to anybody, will you?"
"What, you dressing up like General Lee?" Hicks hesitated, and then he smiled and shook his head. "What kind of a partner do you think I am?"
"You're a good partner, Hicks. Hardworking, bright. I think you're going to go far."
"I don't know. This investigation, you know, it's thrown
me completely. I keep asking myself, how would I have han‑
dled it, if I'd been in charge? You know what I mean?" "Sure, I know what you mean. And what was your answer?" "I wouldn't have dared to do anything that you did." "Of course you would. Don't sell yourself short." "You think I would have arranged a séance with my part‑
ner's wife, without even asking him?"
"I'm sorry about that, I told you."
"You don't have to be sorry. It was the right thing to do. Do you think I would have blackmailed Queen Aché into looking for Changó for me?"