“I’ll be there sometime between ten and eleven,” Harley Grant said.
1959 October 07 Wednesday 23:08
“Dianne lives right here,” Beaumont said, pointing to a large map. “Not in Locke City proper, but just outside. They have a place on Carver Lake.”
“Summer place, you mean?”
“No, it’s year-round. Her husband, he works for… well, he works for Hoffman, I guess. He’s the manager of a half-dozen different businesses in town: couple of bars, Trianon Lanes-that’s the bowling alley that’s not ours-the movie house-the Rialto, not the drive-in-things like that.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It isn’t any work,” Cynthia said, making a snorting sound. “Every one of those places has a full-time manager. All the husband-Parsons is his name, Mark Parsons-has to do is make his rounds and collect money. He’s like a little kid with an allowance.”
“Is he paying anyone off?” Dett asked.
“With Ernest Hoffman for a father-in-law? You’ve got to be joking,” Beaumont said. “Those businesses, they’re all legit. And nobody’d be crazy enough to try and shake him down for protection.”
“All he’s good for is driving around in that fancy sports car of his,” Cynthia said, dismissively. “And making babies. That he knows how to do.”
“They only have the one kid, right?”
“They do,” Cynthia said, her mouth twisting in disapproval. “But before that child was born, two of his girlfriends visited Dr. Turlow.”
“He does abortions,” Beaumont explained.
“If you know all that…”
“It’s not a lever,” Beaumont said. “The son-in-law is… well, he’s a son-in-law. That’s what he is; that’s what he does. He’s not running for office.”
“What if he thought his wife was going to find out?”
“Even if that was worth something, it’s not what we need,” Beaumont said. “All the son-in-law could do is pay some money to hush it up. Probably already did. But he can’t make anything happen, not the way we need it to.
“Hell, his wife probably already knows. And you can bet Hoffman himself does. If Hoffman wanted him to stop running around, he’d take care of it himself. There’s nothing there for us.”
“But if someone had the baby…”
“A kidnap?” Beaumont said. “You have to be insane.”
“Who kidnaps kids?” Dett replied, calmly.
“I don’t know. Psychos, I guess. It’s, I don’t know…”
“Dirty,” Cynthia finished for him, her mouth twisted in disgust.
“Rich people’s kids get kidnapped all the time,” Dett said, calmly. “Bobby Greenglass, Peter Weinberger…”
“Those kids got killed,” Beaumont said.
“You’re going to do a snatch, you might as well,” Dett said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s the death penalty no matter what. They’re going to execute that guy out in California… Chessman, and he didn’t kill anyone. Ever since Lindbergh…”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Beaumont said, feeling Cynthia’s anger fill his own chest. “We can’t snatch Ernest Hoffman’s grandson. Even if he’d play ball-and we don’t know that he would-he’d know it was us. That’s not strategy. That’s suicide.”
“Have to be pretty stupid to try and pull a stunt like that, wouldn’t you?” Dett said, as if struggling to understand a complex proposition. “Extortion’s for money, not for politics. I mean, what kind of a man thinks he can kidnap a kid to make the kid’s grandfather do him a bunch of favors?”
“An idiot,” Beaumont said, his voice as iron as his eyes.
“Exactly,” Dett said, very quietly. “A real animal. The kind you can’t talk to. You know anyone like that around here?”
1959 October 07 Wednesday 23:59
“Tussy! Call for you.”
“Thanks, Booker.”
“You know Armand don’t like it when-”
“Armand won’t mind,” she said, innocent-eyed.
Tussy went through the swinging doors, picked up the phone, said, “Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come over after I-?”
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m a long way out of town. But I thought maybe you’d like to go for a drive with me tomorrow.”
“A drive?”
“Yes. A long drive. I thought we could maybe find a nice place, have a picnic all to ourselves.”
“Oh, I’d love that. I’ll pack a-”
“No, I didn’t mean for you to have to do anything. We can pick up some-”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Tussy said. “Just tell me what time you’re picking me up. I can be ready anytime after nine.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 04:14
“He’s going to go for it,” Lymon said, shielding the telephone receiver in one cupped hand.
“You’re sure?” Shalare said.
“He told me so. Late last night. A few hours ago.”
“Just you?” Shalare asked, glancing over at Brian O’Sullivan.
“No. He called a meeting. Faron was there, too. And Sammy. And-”
“Okay.”
“But he’s going to wait for-”
“I know,” Shalare said, and cut the connection. He turned to face his friend. “The curtain’s coming up, Brian. Now it’s time for the Italian to show everyone how good he can play his role.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 09:29
“Where are we going?” Tussy asked, brightly.
“I hear there’s a lake not so far from here…?”
“You mean Carver Lake? Did you want to go out on it?”
“Go out on it?”
“In a boat, silly. You can rent them there.”
“I wasn’t thinking of doing that.”
“Oh, good!”
“You don’t like the water?”
“I don’t mind it myself,” Tussy said. “But we’d never get Fireball into a boat.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 10:13
“Those pills really did the job,” Preacher said. “I slept like I was dead.”
“Don’t get used to them,” Darryl told him, not unkindly. “Use them on pain, real pain, and they work just fine. Use them for anything else, you end up a junkie.”
“I won’t need any more of them,” Preacher said, resolutely.
“Just make sure nobody punches you there,” Darryl said, touching the young man lightly. “Or even gives you a hug. Cracked ribs, they heal by themselves, so long as you keep them taped. But you can’t be jumping around, not even with a woman, understand?”
“Sure.”
“Just rest,” Darryl said. “We get you back home after it gets dark tonight. But, first, Brother Omar wants to talk to you.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 10:15
“What did you see?” Harley asked Lacy.
Lacy leaned over the pool table, sighted down his cue. “There was a little light, from the street, but when they closed on each other, it was like they all stepped in a puddle of ink. You couldn’t tell black from white. But one of the Hawks had a pistol, all right, a real one. We heard the shots.”
“Anybody get hit?”
“Oh yeah. We saw him fall. Then everyone started running.”
Harley picked up the orange five-ball and the black eight-ball, one in each hand. He placed them together on the green felt so that they were angled toward the corner pocket, then tapped them down with the cue ball. “Sometimes,” he said, “a combination shot, it’s the easiest one of all. It looks hard, but when everything’s lined up right, all you have to do is hit it, hit it anyplace, and it goes. You know what they call it, when the balls are lined up like that?”
“Dead,” Lacy said. “They call it dead.”
“That’s right,” Harley said. Without taking aim, he casually slammed the cue ball into the five-the eight drove straight into the corner pocket. “Just that easy.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 10:41
“I know you’re not responsible for my recent losses,” Dioguardi said. “So I wanted to tell you this personally. I’m pulling up stakes.”