Lazily, Leo held out the document. The deputy reached up for it. Unhurriedly, his arm came back in the cab again, came back out with an object that gleamed redly in the flare-light.
"You all care for a drink?"
The men looked at the deputy. Williams pursed his lips for a second, then nodded. "Go 'head, boys. Save me a swallow if it's any good."
"Think you'll like her. Prime stuff."
"Where you get her? This ain't bonded."
"No. From farther on south. Private make."
Williams handed the pass back up. He looked at the men as they passed the bottle around and hitched up his revolver-belt and pulled his uniform cap down and wiped his mouth and said, "You boys go on back the barricade now. I wanta talk to this fella official."
"Sure, Denny," said the bald farmer. The circle of men dispersed and Williams came up close to the cab.
"How long you been drivin' tonight?"
"Quite a while."
"All night? You sure look beat."
"You might say that."
"You ain't drivin' from Norfolk. And you ain't got no coffee in that truck." Willliams cut his eyes up shrewdly to assess the impact of his words.
"That what you figure?" said Leo, sounding as if the deputy's opinion meant less than nothing to him.
"That's right. Ain't nobody drives from Norfolk to Richmond this way, on this road. It's hour, two hour shorter going up the peninsula."
"There's less trafflc on this road," said Leo.
"Sure is," said Williams softly. "You know what I figure?"
"What do you figure?" Leo shut his eyes.
"Jesus, you're a cool one. But your bad luck tonight. You run into me."
"Guess you right. But usually ain't nobody at all along this here road."
Williams chuckled and hung an arm from the side mirror. " 'Ceptin' tonight. Yes, sir, I figure you doin' you a little smugglin'."
"Now what would I be doin' that for?" said Leo, in a bored tone. "You know smugglin's illegal, deputy."
"I figure," said Williams, looking at the barricade and his men, where the bottle, up-tilted, gleamed for a moment, "That you has got a truckload of cigarettes here. And you is just drivin' 'em up from Raleigh or Durham by dark so as not to pay the Virginia tax on 'em."
Vyry stared ahead, hardly daring to breathe. What would the officer do? Would he check the back, see what they were carrying? Leo seemed to be sinking by the minute. But what could she do, except wait — and hope?
"I think I just better check what you got back there," said Williams, but his tone was odd; there was a tentative shade to it, as if the statement was really a question.
And Leo's hand, dangling from the window, opened, and a bit of folded paper fell to the ground.
"You're pretty sharp, officer." His voice was by now little more than a whisper. "There's two hundred in cash in that envelope."
"Yeah?" said Williams. He bent casually to pick it up. "Two hundred, say?"
"That's right."
Leo looked down at Williams, who hesitated. "Man, you really look dead," the deputy said.
"I am, man, I am. Say, do you mind if we get movin' on through, here? I got me a schedule, you know."
"Well, I don't know. This two hundred — it ain't a lot of money. And you know it's a crime to offer a officer of the law money like that."
"Can't pay you no more." Leo gestured wearily with his good hand. "Take it, or run me in. I only make eleven cent a pack."
"Well…" he hesitated, trying to gauge Leo's tone; then nodded. "Well, go on, then. Guess you been punished enough, been fined, sort of like. Hey, boys! Pull that out'n the way. He's all right, he's goin' through."
"Thanks. Oh, an' look — you ain't goin' to be out here every night, are you?"
"I see what you mean," said Williams, waving to the men to hurry. "No, sure not. I guess you boys don't make too much doin' this."
"No, damn little."
"But look, you oughtn't to have that nigra drivin'. Like I said."
"I generally don't. But you just happened to catch me when I was tuckered," whispered Leo. "So long, deputy."
Williams stepped back and waved. Leo nodded to him, then to Turner, and the truck began to move forward. The flares flickered and dazzled as they moved past them. Then the road ahead was dark again. Vyry sat frozen for several minutes, still unable to speak.
A choking sound came from beside her, and she turned. "Johnny — put on the inside light. I think—"
A thread of blood led down from Leo's mouth. His eyes were open, but he didn't answer when she shook him. "Leo! Leo, are you all right?"
"He dead?" said Turner.
"No, still breathing, but let's stop."
"What for?"
"Lay him down. We got to stop this bleeding, or he'll die."
"We got to get to Richmond." He didn't slow down. In fact, he increased speed, and the roar of the engine shouted back at them from the dark trees. Headlights glowed ahead, and he snapped out the cab lights. The oncoming car threw brilliant shadows across the unconscious man's face, half dark, half stark white.
"I said stop! Johnny, he'll die!"
Reluctantly Turner said, "Okay. In a little while."
"Little while, shit! You stop now!"
"Too close to that roadblock."
"Find a side road and turn off. Ain't nobody going to come along this time of night." She shook his arm and the truck swerved. Leo moaned.
"Johnny, now!"
A break in the forest ahead: a side road, unmarked, half-overgrown with brush and small saplings. The truck slowed, turned, and jolted over dirt ruts. Brush rustled and scraped along the sides of the cab, things snapped under the tires. When they were fifty or sixty feet in Turner cut the engine and switched off the lights.
"Help me get him out," she said, jerking the door open and swinging herself to the ground.
Together they eased him out of the cab and laid him down on the grass in front of the hood. It was very dark now that the lights were off and night noises creaked and whistled from the forest around them. The engine ticked quietly to itself, cooling.
Leo breathed shallow, coughed, breathed shallow. Shc stroked his head with trembling fingers.
"We got to get going."
"Shut up, Johnny," she said, not caring if he hit her. "He's dyin'. Give him his time."
It seemed harder now. The little man had to struggle for each breath, as if some heavy hand were squeezing down on his lungs. As if something soft and flowing was gradually hardening in his throat, cutting off air and life. She stroked his face. There was nothing else she could do. Just sit in the dark grass, and be with him, hold his hand, here at the end.
When he didn't breathe anymore she sighed and stood up.
"He dead?"
"That's right, he's dead," she said. "Highway One, Bells Road, left, Jeff Davis. Right, one mile, Belleville. LeLand Ray's. He's dead. Let's put him in the back of the truck."
"Just a minute," said Turner. "Listen."
From far down the road came the whine of a small engine at high speed. It neared, peaked in a high-pitched scream, then died away as it passed them and dwindled. Vyry relaxed and turned back to Leo.
Then it grew again, neared. White light flickered through the trees, picking out the traceries of the foliage around them. The motor slowed and shifted downward in pitch. "Shit," muttered Turner, facing the light. It grew brighter, brighter yet, and then she heard tires crunching on the dirt road.
EIGHTEEN
"Anybody to home?"
"Who's there?" called Sharon Sue, her voice high. She glanced toward the door, which was opening slowly, then moved toward it. Still holding Quidley with the savage black eye of the gun.