"What do you want?" he asked when he saw us. His head looked like a dried apple; his hair was an afterthought-a few strands blowing around in the breeze. Behind big glasses, his eyes shrunk down to slits, and he made a face like he was chewing glass.
"Mr. Andrews," said Schell. "I need to ask you a few questions concerning the Klan."
"Well," said the old man, "I'm not answering any questions, and I think you'd better get out of my yard."
"I'm afraid that won't do," said Schell, and he sat down across from him at the picnic table.
Andrews looked over at me and his eyes widened. "What the hell is that?" he asked Schell, pointing to me.
"Ondoo, spiritual savant of the subcontinent," said Schell.
"May the scales fall from your eye, my most exalted one," I said and gave a little bow.
"That's border nigger," said Andrews. The veins in his scrawny neck bulged and his hand shook.
"'Border nigger?'" said Schell. "Mr. Andrews, I have to inform you that Ondoo is considered a prince in the mystical realm."
"Listen, mister," said Andrews, launching his cigarette butt at Schell with a flick of his finger, "my boy is just inside that house, and if I call him, he's going to come out here and break your neck."
The cigarette hit Schell's shoulder and bounced off, dropping ash on his sleeve. Schell swiped the ash off himself and said, "Call him."
"Calvin," yelled Andrews.
"Yeah?" we heard from the kitchen window.
"Get out here, we've got trouble."
Two seconds later the screen door opened with a squeal and there appeared on the back steps a young man with a crew cut and a baseball bat. He wore a white T-shirt beneath which his muscles bulged. "What's wrong, Dad?" he said.
"Remove these two assholes from the yard," said Andrews with a smile.
"What the hell's this one?" asked Calvin, pointing the bat at me as if he was the Babe, indicating a home run.
"I'm not sure," said Andrews.
Calvin took a step toward me, and I backed up. Schell didn't need to call for Antony because he was already in the backyard.
"I brought my own," said Schell.
Calvin shifted his sights from me to focus on Antony. Andrews's son was big, but Antony dwarfed him. "Put down the bat, sonny," he said.
There was a tense moment or two, and then Calvin grunted and ran at Antony, cocking the bat over his shoulder. The big man went into a sort of half-assed crouch, and when Calvin swung, Antony came up with his left hand and caught the fat end of the bat in midswing, stopping it with seemingly little effort. The right fist followed, catching Calvin on the temple and dropping him to his knees. Then Antony lifted his own knee and caught his attacker directly under the jaw. The young man, blood leaking from his nose and mouth, fell backward, flat out on the grass and leaves.
The old man started to stand up, but Schell leaned across the table and pushed down on his shoulder, returning him to his seat. "Ready to talk, Mr. Andrews?" he said.
"Go to the devil. I've got nothing to say." He trembled with anger, and I thought for a moment he was going to keel over.
"Blow his brains out," Schell said to Antony.
The big man dropped down to his knees, straddling Calvin. From within his jacket, he drew the Mauser out of a shoulder holster, cocked the trigger, and lightly pressed the end of the long barrel against Calvin's closed right eyelid.
"Okay," said Andrews. "What do you want to know? Tell him to stop."
Schell held his hand up, and Antony pulled the gun back a few inches. I breathed a sigh of relief. This was a side of Schell and Antony I'd never witnessed before. My stomach churned. I felt a little dizzy and walked over to take a seat next to Schell on the picnic bench.
"I need some information about the Klan," said Schell.
"You a cop or a reporter?" asked Andrews. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his sweater, his hand still shaking.
"Neither," said Schell. "And the information you give me stays with me."
"Okay, what do you want?" asked the old man, putting a cigarette to his lips. He brought up a silver lighter and sparked it.
"Back in the mid twenties, the Klan ran their own operations to stop bootleggers along the shore of Long Island."
Andrews blew smoke and nodded.
"You must have known who the money was behind the illegal imports," said Schell.
"Some of them," said Andrews. "We stopped a lot of it from coming in."
"Does the name Harold Barnes ring a bell?" asked Schell.
"Barnes," said the old man. "Yeah, Barnes and Parks. They had one of the biggest deals going. We tried to get the law on them, but they had too much money. We stopped their shipments more than once."
"Do you remember any particular vendetta against those two?"
"They were a couple of the worst. Some of my people got involved with some of their people in a shoot-out one night up by Matinecock Point. They killed a constable who was part of our organization."
"You know Barnes's daughter was recently kidnapped and killed?" said Schell.
"I read about it," said Andrews. "But look, Mr… what's your name?"
"Forget the names," said Schell.
"What happened that night they killed one of our own happened a long time ago. That murder was avenged pretty quickly. It's all ancient history. You can't pin this girl's death on us."
"Did you know that there was a Klan symbol found with the girl's body?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," said Andrews. "That's impossible."
"So you say," said Schell.
"Whatever theory you've got cooking is bullshit, mister. The Klan's finished here on the island. Been finished for some time. You've got little groups here and there, glorified social clubs where the only thing burning is hot air. I'm not going to live much longer, and to tell you the truth, I don't mind. This country's going down the toilet. You've got all kinds of heathens mixing in here. The blood of our nation is corrupted to the point of being poisoned. That socialist dupe, FDR, is going to get into office, lift Prohibition, and then you'll see. Straight to the bottom."
Schell stood up. "Thanks for the hospitality, Mr. Andrews," he said. "It's been a pleasure."
"You better hope I never find out who you are," said the old man.
"I'm the Exalted Cyclops," said Antony, releasing the trigger of the gun. Calvin had come back to consciousness and was lying motionless, eyes wide with fear. The big man stood up, holstered the gun, and stepped away from him.
Once we were back in the car and driving away, Antony said, "Pleasant fella, that Andrews."
"You guys scared the hell out of me back there," I said. "I almost puked."
"There's all kinds of cons," said Schell.
"Do you believe him?" I asked.
"I think so, which means whoever killed Charlotte Barnes is working their own scam. We'll see."
THIS CASE IS CLOSED
After we'd gone to see Andrews, our pursuit of Charlotte Barnes's killer hit a stone wall. Schell judged the situation as still too hot to interview the other people on the list or go back to her father's estate to try to glean more clues, the Klan deal seemed to be a dead end, and Lydia Hush had melted like the snow queen she was.
Schell resumed his zombie act, drinking too much at night, and I tried to return to my studies. The days were beautiful and clear and the nights were long. All of our hours were underscored by the magisterial dirges the boss spun on his Victrola. Antony, proclaiming himself "bored shitless," fled to the city to spend two days with Vonda, the Rubber Lady.
On the morning he returned on the early train, he entered the kitchen and threw a folded newspaper onto the breakfast table so that it landed faceup, the headline showing. He took his coat off, hung it on the back of his chair, and said, "According to the cops, this case is closed." He tossed his hat onto the counter and headed for the stove.