"Officer," Jackson Brown said, "you don't want to get too carried away."
Officer Reynolds studied Brown for a few seconds. His face took on a pleasant look. "You know how it is, Mr. Brown. Think about it a minute. The position I'm in."
Brown took the minute offered and considered. "There'll be another time," he said.
"That may be," Officer Reynolds said. "Maude, put them guns up before you shoot yourself or wound that nigger. We wouldn't want something to happen to that nigger. Niggers are special, you ought to know that. Government protects 'em, like some kind of goddamn endangered species." He looked at me. "And nigger lovers are special too. Damn precious, in fact."
Maude lowered the guns. Caliber limped over and took the Winchester from her, then the revolver. Billy turned so he could use the wall to get up, clawed his way to his feet. He and Caliber looked rough. But not as rough as Leonard. I figured I didn't look too pretty myself.
The crowd began to break up. Brown looked at me, creased his dimple, said, "You boys weren't tough as you thought, were you?"
It took me a couple of deep breaths to say it: "Could be. But all I can say for you is, you certainly handled Leonard's nuts like a natural."
Brown glared, turned, paused long enough to look Maude over good, nodded at her, then went through the back door of the cafe and out of sight. The others had already gone, and now there was only Maude, her sons, me, Leonard, and good ole Officer Reynolds.
"That nigger don't look so smart now," Reynolds said. "Neither do you. You want to say something smart?" I was on my knees, using my hands for support. Officer Reynolds came and stood over me. "I said, you want to say something smart?"
"No," I said.
"Good. Now, get your nigger. Put his dick back in his drawers, zip him up, then you and him get out of Grovetown, and when you get home, find you some pretty stationery, purple or pink would be nice, and write me a thank-you card for not letting them folks kill you. Write Maude one too. And you keep your nigger and your nigger-lovin' ass out of Grovetown, Texas. Only thing I regret in all this is not gettin' to try your nigger. I think he might have thought he could take me. I'd like to have shown him he couldn't."
Officer Reynolds went down the alley, opened his car door and turned. "Billy. Caliber. Y'all see them guns get put up."
"Yes sir," Caliber said.
I lay down, slowly, the side of my face resting against the freezing, wet alley floor. My face was so hot from injury, it actually felt good. The rain felt good. My eyes, heavy as stones, began to close.
I heard Officer Reynolds drive away.
Chapter 18
The oaks and pines and hickory trees that grew close to the road were dark with rain. Visible through the boughs, when there was any visibility at all, was a grim, gray sky. The sound of windshield wipers beating back and forth, the vibration of tires on cement, seemed at first to be the rhythm of striking fists and feet on flesh.
For an instant, I thought I was in the midst of another beating. I hurt so bad, I figured I couldn't distinguish the pain of the old beating from the new.
It took me a moment to realize I was in a car, an old blue Ford Fairlane, and that it was not night but late morning, and that the beating was over, and not long over. My face was turned toward the door and my forehead was resting on the rain-beaded passenger glass of the front seat. I could feel cold air leaking in around the window and hitting my feverish face, and it felt good. I smelled like dried urine.
I had no idea who was driving and for an instant I didn't care. I sort of thought I was on my way to the river bottoms where a rusty transmission would be tied around my feet, and I would be sent down to inspect the river mud for about three minutes, then it would all be over. A year from now, maybe two, some fisherman would snag his line on what was left of me, pull up my rotting head, call in the law, and dental records would reveal I had six cavities, was dead, and that I was Hap Collins.
When I felt strong enough to flip a whole loaf of bread over by myself without verbal encouragement, I turned my head and saw the driver.
It was the cook from the cafe. He wasn't wearing his white hat, but he still had on his stained white shirt. He said, "You might as well go on and sleep. You took a hell of a beating."
"Yeah," I said. "You should have seen the other guy."
"I seen them other guys, and compared to you two, they look pretty good."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"Then again, Draighten and Ray don't look so good. You gave them two a righteous ass-whuppin'. Bopped some eyes and mouths and noses on them others too. Hadn't been so many of 'em, so crowded, I think you and your friend might have done some serious whup-ass. 'Course, I only sort of saw it in passin'. I went out the back when things got goin' good, went over to the antique shop, told 'em to call the Chief, say there was a ruckus. That's how come ole Officer showed up."
"Thanks."
" 'Course, Officer might not be who you want to show up. He got connections with the Klan."
"As does Jackson Brown?"
"Yep. They tied at the hip. Mr. Jackson, he's the Grand Cyclops or some such shit for that bunch. They don't call themselves Klan exactly, but that's what they are. Ole Officer, he kinda in a spot. Even for Grovetown, he got to play by some rules. You best be glad all this didn't happen out in the woods somewhere."
"I hear that."
"Did, ants be eatin' your ass right now. In town, Officer got to keep the Chief happy some. Chief not someone gonna invite me over to his house to supper, but I reckon he's good enough, it come down to business. He ain't gonna stand by let something like that happen on purpose."
"That's good to hear. Thanks again."
"Don't give too big a thanks. Tore the cafe up too bad, I'd have lost my job. There by the skin of my teeth anyway. Cafe ain't like a McDonald's chain, you know? It loses money couple, three weeks in a row, it's gone. Damages could make it gone quicker."
"What about Leonard? Man that was with me?"
"Back seat. Now, you talk about a beatin', he took it. You boys lucky you in pretty good shape."
"Rose field work. Cheap food. No sex. Makes you strong."
"My name's Bacon, by the way."
"Bacon?"
"Yeah, like in slices of."
"Your mama named you Bacon?"
"My daddy. He always liked bacon, so he named me Bacon. I don't think he liked me near good as bacon, though. Least not the way I remember it."
I managed to turn and look in the back seat. Leonard was stretched out there, lying on his back, and he looked awful. His face appeared to be the end result of a radiation experiment. Had I not expected him, I don't know I would have recognized him. His smashed straw hat lay over his crotch.
"He needs a doctor," I said. !
"Gonna get one. Wouldn't no white town doctor gonna look at him. Not after they find out Mr. Jackson Brown was the one wanted y'all beat. Reason he got that hat with him like that, wasn't no one wanted to put his dick in his pants."
"That'll slay him. He thinks his dick is his best feature."
"Caliber, he got him two sticks and tried to do it, but he couldn't do nothing but pick it up and move it left and right. Couldn't get it to go inside the pants, and he wasn't gonna touch it. Me neither. So we put that hat over him."
"Very innovative. He's lucky he's still got a dick. That Brown fella didn't mind touching it. Or cutting it."
"I don't think he really gonna cut it off. He knows how far he can push, and he can't push that far. Not in town. Not all them witnesses, even if most of them deny they saw anything happen. They know someone got to pay. And if it's somethin' that bad, a ball-cuttin' downtown, they only gonna lie so far."
"In other words, they won't go to the pen for Jackson Brown?"
"That's right. But way it stands now, Chief ain't gonna do nothin' to that Mr. Jackson, even he wants to. Mrs. Rainforth—"