"I know that was his estimate," Arlen said. "He had homos all over America sending checks. Eugene got his release-you know there wasn't any appeal, he did the whole bit, three years straight up. Went to Jackson to collect his money and the lawyer says, `What money?' He only received ten thousand and it went for his fees." "Lying."
"Course he was."
"What'd Eugene do?"
"He shot him."
They were coming to the house now with its new lawn and young yellow poplars, June bug's Cadillac and a pickup truck in the drive.
Jim Rein said, "Then where's the money?" Arlen, looking at the house, said, "That's a good question."
Walter Kirkbride would arrive in a car he borrowed from Arlen, usually the Dodge: drive around back of Junebug's to the trailer with Traci lettered on the door in a vivid red, the way it could've appeared on the bedroom door of an 1860s whorehouse. New Orleans coming to mind. There might not have been girls named Traci then, no Airstream trailers for another seventy years or more, it didn't matter. Kirkbride loved the feeling of the past coming here gave him. The name on the door and, once inside, little Traci in the black stockings she wore snapped onto a garter belt and no underpants. Farby, but close enough, a French whore from a time past.
She was looking at the ashtray he'd brought, a special gift today.
"Walter, I love it."
"It's from Morocco."
"Oh, wow."
"The Mamounia Hotel in Marrakech.”
“It's my favorite one I've ever had."
"I'll have to tell my wife I broke it."
“She collect ashtrays too?"
"She'll see it's gone."
"Walter, you're so cute."
"But if I broke it the pieces would be in the trash."
"Hon, look up here before your eyeballs fall out."
He did, tore his eyes away from her crotch and said, "I want you to do something for me."
"I'm not gonna beat you up again, hon. I'm not strong enough."
"I want you to take part in the reenactment. I'll have a tent for you and ice chest full of Coca-Cola." "Sure, if I can get away."
"I'll fix it."
"You want me to dress up? Like in a hoopskirt with all those petticoats they wore?"
"Just the hoopskirt. Nothing under it."
They walked into Junebug's manufactured home and Jim Rein said, "Man, we's just talking about you," to Eugene Dean watching TV with Junebug. They sat at either end of a green-plaid sofa, a dozen empty beer cans on the low table in front of them, the ashtray full of butts, the smell of marijuana in the air.
Eugene said, "Hey, Fish, how they hangin'?"
Jim Rein said, "Just like you left 'em."
Arlen turned off the giant TV and then adjusted his Confederate slouch hat to feel just right, Junebug yelling at him, "Hey, I'm watching my fuckin show. They's just about to start hitting each other."
"Arguing over the Confederate flag," Eugene said, no shirt on, showing his sunken chest and ribs. "The white guys're skinhead militia, they say it's part of our heritage. The colored guys say well, it ain't part of ours, motherfuckers. They bleep it, but you can tell what they're saying."
"Look like some gang niggers," Junebug said, "they got off the street."
Arlen said, "Bug, have you been telling people we shot Floyd?"
Junebug held a beer can on his knee looking up at Arlen. "Man, are you crazy?" A scowl on his face.
"And that diver was up on the ladder the whole while?"
"Jesus Christ, Arlen, it wasn't me told anybody, you fuckin moron, it was you. I'm behind the bar looking right at you when you told Bob Hoon and one of his boys. They'd just delivered a load of crank."
Arlen said, "You gonna stick to that story?" "It's the truth. Ask Bob Hoon." Arlen turned his head to Jim Rein.
Jim Rein put his hands around to his back and brought out a U.S. Army Colt.45 from under his shirt hanging out.
Arlen said, "Bust him."
Junebug tried to sit up saying, "Hey, come on-"
And bam, Jim Rein shot him.
A dog started barking and scratching at a door.
Arlen held his eyes on Junebug slumped back against the plaid sofa, his eyes open.
Eugene had his eyes hooked on Jim Rein.
Jim Rein said, "He ought to be dead. I shot him through the heart."
Arlen said, "You heard him lie to my face?" He looked up. "That dog don't quit I'm gonna shoot it."
That got Eugene up. He went to the kitchen door the barking was coming from, telling Arlen, "I got it, I'll take care of the dog," went through the door and closed it again.
Jim Rein said, "He's more worried about that dog than hisself."
Arlen said, " Eugene didn't do nothing. Put your gun away."
Eugene came back in the room, his shoulders sagging, hesitant, saying to Arlen, "Don't look at me like that. You either, Fish. You know I'll keep it right here."
"I was thinking of something else," Arlen said.
"That money you made off the homos?"
"Made, but didn't get none."
"What happened to it?"
"I don't know. The lawyer spent it or hid it someplace. I checked every bank in Jackson, wasn't one had an account in my name. I went back to see the lawyer and asked him where my money was. He kept saying I didn't have none. So I went and got a gun and shot him. Like Fish done Junebug, through the heart."
"Whyn't you make him tell where it was?"
"I lost my temper. I know, I should've caused him some pain first, but I lost my goddamn temper."
"I'm gonna ask you a question," Arlen said, "while Fish stands there with his pistol waiting on the answer. Did you get hold of the money-what was it, two hundred thousand?"
"Around there."
"And hid it yourself?"
"Who from if it was mine?"
"You owed me a third."
"Yeah, for getting me that fuckin lawyer."
"And the pitchers."
"Man, if I had that money I'd have paid you first thing, and you know it."
Arlen made him wait till finally he said, "I believe you, Ace."
They had a discussion about Junebug, what to do with him. Arlen said to leave him where he was at. Eugene said, "Arlen, this is where I live." Where he'd been staying since his release from Delta Correctional, it was home. His dog had to have a place to stay and she was used to living here.
Jim Rein said, "What's her name?"
"Rose."
"Yeah? That's a pretty name."
"She's a bitch, but I love her."
It meant one of them would have to take Junebug in his car someplace and dump him. Arlen picked Jim Rein. First they had to find Junebug's keys so they could bring the Cadillac in the garage and put Junebug in it. The next step was to carry him out there. They went to pick him up and saw another problem, the blood on the sofa, all over the back cushion, and the bullet hole in it. Jim Rein telling them it was why he used the.45, it was a stopper. You get hit with it you weren't going nowhere. They began to discuss what to do with the sofa. Arlen said, "Well, it ain't mine," and told Eugene to put it in his truck and get rid of it. Dump it in the river. Arlen decided that's where Junebug should go, dump him in the river, too, downstream, or state cops'd be all over them by tomorrow. The next decision to be made, what to do with the Cadillac. Eugene said, "Shit, we don't want to dump it, it's a good car. How 'bout he left it here when he disappeared?"
Arlen thought about it and said no. "Fish'll take it over to Arkansas and sell it to a nigger."
Once they had Junebug in the garage-Arlen inside watching that TV show-Eugene said to Jim Rein, "Fish, you know Wesley?"
"The bartender?"
"Yeah, Wesley. You ever talk to him?"
"If I want a drink."
"Wesley says to me, `You want to hear a funny story?' He says one Arlen told the other night to old Bob Hoon when he was in."
Jim Rein had Junebug in his arms. He bent over to lay him in the trunk of the Cadillac, then looked at Eugene as he straightened.
"I know what you're gonna say."