“That sounds fair.”
“It was. And I kept to it. I never threw any more stones. I did throw a dish once, though.”
“At someone?”
“I sure did. At the diner, one time, this man-well, a boy really, he probably wasn’t old enough to vote-he put his hand right under my dress and kind of… squeezed me. I dumped a bowl of hot soup on him. It didn’t scald him or anything, just got him mad.
“I was going back behind the counter to tell Booker when I heard someone yell. I turned around, and he was coming right at me.
“Later, they told me he had just been coming over to apologize. But that’s not what it looked like to me then, so I just picked up a dish-a little one, like you serve pie on-and slung it right at him.”
“Did you hit him?”
“Right in the head. Or, anyway, it would have been right in his head, if he hadn’t put his arms up. He was real mad. I guess I was, too.”
“What happened?”
“Well… not much of anything, really. His friends started razzing him, and he just stalked out.”
“He never came back?”
“I never saw him again,” Tussy said. “Wanda took over my table-the one where he had been sitting. They gave her a good tip, too. I remember, because she wanted to give it all to me, but I made her split it, instead.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Walker, what’s wrong?”
“With me? Nothing. I was just-”
“Your face, it got all… I don’t know, scary. Your eyes went all… black. Like someone turned off the light behind them. It was years ago, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s eat some of the sandwiches I made,” she said. “That’ll make you feel better.”
“I hope they’re tuna.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 11:36
“It’s coming to an end, Cyn.”
“What, Beau?”
“All of this. I can feel it.”
“But why? Everything’s going just like-”
“Like what, honey? Like we planned? It doesn’t feel that way to me. Not anymore. We’re riding the train, all right. But we’re passengers, not the conductor. The best we can do now is hang on and keep from falling off.”
“You’re just tired, Beau. You’ve been working so much…”
“I am tired, girl. But not from work.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 11:44
“That’s such a lovely place,” Tussy said, from the front seat of the Buick. They were parked on a slight rise, looking down the slope toward a three-story brick house surrounded by a terraced garden. A turquoise ’57 Thunderbird with a white hardtop and matching Continental Kit was visible at the side of the property, at the end of a long driveway.
“It’s pretty big, all right.”
“It’s too big,” she said, firmly. “Unless they have about a dozen kids, who needs a place like that? I wonder who lives there.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 15:09
“There’s no way to do it,” Dett said. “The house is too big. They probably have a nursemaid living in, and I’m guessing the baby sleeps on the top floor, too. We’d have to have people watching for weeks even to find an opening. Plus, it’s a long run from where they live to anyplace safe.”
“That’s it, then?” Beaumont said.
“Maybe not. Do you own any local cops?”
“We have… friends on the force,” Beaumont said, concentrating. “Men who would do us a favor, men who owe their jobs to the organization…”
“The chief?”
“Jessup? He’s a sideline man, like most of them are now. Chalk players, watching to see who’s the favorite before they make their bets.”
“There’s a way to hit them all,” Dett said. He was looking at Beaumont, but his eyes were unfocused, somewhere in the middle distance. “If it worked, you’d be the only one standing at the end.”
“I don’t like gambles.”
“Then you won’t like what I came up with.”
“Maybe I should hear it, first.”
“You have another place you could meet Dioguardi in?”
“Another place besides this house? I’m not going to any-”
“Another place in this house. A place not so fancy. A place we could fix up the way we wanted.”
Beaumont exchanged a glance with his sister. “We have a meeting room. But you have to walk right past a car to get in there. Anyone who sees it would know what it’s for.”
“If you decide you want to do this, that won’t matter,” Dett said, snapping his eyes into focus.
1959 October 08 Thursday 16:21
“Well, what do you think now?” Ace said to Lacy. “Did we show you something or not?”
“Yeah,” Lacy said. “You showed me you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
“What!? I iced that-”
“Only thing you iced was your own club. You’re finished, all of you.”
“Hey, man, come on. The cops haven’t even been around. They don’t have any clue about who-”
“You’re the one with no clue, sucker,” Sunglasses said. “Preacher’s as alive as I am.”
“He didn’t die? But I-”
“Die? He didn’t have a scratch. I saw him myself, strutting around with his boys like a… well, like a fucking king, man. Get the joke?” Sunglasses laughed, harshly. “I hope so. Because the joke’s on you, chump.”
“I’m telling you-”
“You ever check that pistol? Fire it yourself?” Lacy said.
“Hell, yes, man. It works perfect.”
“Then it was the bullets. I guess the ‘Klan’ gave you a box of blanks.”
“Those weren’t no blanks.”
“Yeah? Better give it to me, let us see for ourselves.”
“You’re not taking my gun,” Ace said, pulling the pistol from his jacket. “This is mine. I don’t know what your fucking game is, but I’ll find out. I’ll find that nigger Preacher, too. See if I don’t.”
“Relax,” Lacy said, holding out both hands in a calming gesture.
At that signal, one of the waiting Gladiators smashed a length of rebar into the back of Ace’s skull.
Ace crumpled, still gripping his sacred pistol. The Gladiator holding the rebar bent over and raised his arm.
“Never mind,” Lacy told him. “He’s not getting up.”
Lacy slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves, then took the pistol from Ace’s limp hand.
“This is how he goes out,” Lacy said, holding the pistol. “Word’s all over the street about Wednesday night. Niggers talking about Preacher like he came back from the dead. If we don’t do something, they’re going to be too strong to handle.”
“I thought you said we were getting out of bopping,” Sunglasses said. “We’re going to be part of the-”
“That’s right,” Lacy cut him off. “And it’s going to be just like I said. But you don’t just sign up to be with an organization like Mr. Beaumont’s. We have to prove in. Show our true colors. And this,” he said, pointing to Ace’s body, “this is what they told us we have to do.”
1959 October 08 Thursday 22:24
“Sherman!” Holden Satterfield exclaimed. “Boy, am I glad to see you. I got a lot of new stuff in my logbook.”
“Good,” Sherman said, moving closer to where the woodsman stood in the darker-than-night shadows. “But that’s not why I came out here, Holden.”
“What do you mean, Sherman?”
“I wanted to talk to you about a job.”
“A job? But I already got a job, Sherman. Working for you.”
“This would be the same thing,” the big detective said. “Working for me. But not doing this. Not anymore.”
“I don’t get you, Sherman.”
“I’ve got some land, not too far from here. Twenty-two acres. It’s just about all forest; I only cleared a little bit of it, for my house.”