Sure enough, the car was a cop car and it pulled in the drive, and two men got out, dressed in cop clothes and holstered guns. One of them was Conners. He had looked big to me before, but recently I had seen Big Guy and he made everyone look small, even Conners. The guy with him was short and fat, but he had broad shoulders and carried himself in a manner that gave the impression he might be a load if you messed with him.
We, of course, were going to mess with both of them.
The fat guy was carrying a six-pack. They went inside the house.
Leonard said, “Ain’t that a shame. Man of the law buying beer, carrying it around in his patrol car.”
“Let’s go down and see can we have a little talk with them, maybe set them right on their civic duty.”
“All right.”
“But we don’t shoot anybody. I’m all worn out on shooting. At least until we get to our gal.”
“I will do my best,” Leonard said.
Lights came on in the house as we walked down the hill and the lights were all concentrated in one place, and there was a thin white curtain at the window in the lighted room. We could see their shadows moving across the back of the curtain and eased up close to the house with our guns in hand.
I crept up to the window and looked. I could see through a crack in the curtain. They were sitting at a table and Conners was saying something that was making the fat man laugh.
Leonard slipped away from the window and went around back. I ducked under the window and slid over to the front porch and went up on it and nudged back the screen door and touched the knob, seeing if it was locked. It wasn’t.
I took a deep breath, carefully turned the knob, and gently pressed the door back and edged in and then closed it without really pushing it all the way shut. Now I could hear them talking and I could see a slit of light that let me know there was a doorway and hallway and that the hallway led into the kitchen. I looked across the room, letting my eyes adjust, then made my approach through the opening across the way and down the hall. When I got to the lighted door I saw that the back door was at the far end of the hall, and that’s where Leonard was. If it had been unlocked, he would have already been in.
With the gun held ready, I peeked around the corner and saw the fat man had his back to me and Conners was crossing to the refrigerator. I walked across the open doorway with my eyes on them, but made it all the way across without being seen. I tiptoed to the back door and figured out the lock by touch, and was able to twist it so that the sound it made was hardly noticeable. Then I opened the door and Leonard came in.
We went down the hall, and then with me in front, we stepped into the kitchen. When we did, Conners, who was coming back from the fridge, saw us and started to draw his gun. I said, “I wouldn’t, unless you want a hole in your belly.”
The fat man with his back to us dropped his hand to his holster. Leonard said, “That goes for you too, fat boy.”
49
Leonard switched his gun to his other hand and reached in his pocket and pulled out the little blackjack and hit fat boy across the back of the neck hard enough to make him fall out of his chair and land on one knee.
“Goddamn,” the fat man said, holding the back of his neck. “That hurt.”
“No joke,” Leonard said. “That’s to show we mean business. We been shot at, beat on, nearly drowned, and had the shit scared out of us by some guns and Big Guy and a dead alligator, so we’re in no mood to screw around.”
Conners was still standing. I had my gun pointed at him. Leonard reached from behind and took Fat Boy’s pistol away.
I said to Conners, “Unfasten your gun belt and let it drop.”
While he did that, I kept my pistol pointed at him. When the belt hit the floor, I said, “Kick it my way.”
He did and I picked it up and slung the belt over my shoulder, his gun at my back.
“Sit down, Conners,” I said.
“Get up, fat man,” Leonard said. “Find the chair.”
When they were both seated, I went over and leaned on the refrigerator, said, “You know we heard you kind of set things up for shooters for the Dixie Mafia.”
“They don’t call themselves that,” Conners said.
“I don’t care if they call themselves the Dixie Bowling League. You know what I mean.”
“You say,” Conners said.
“Don’t he love to talk?” Leonard said. “Hey, fat boy, ain’t you got nothin’ to say?”
“I don’t know a thing,” the fat man said. “I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“I think you would,” Leonard said, and swung the blackjack again, hitting Fat Boy on the neck, knocking him out of the chair.
“You just stay on the floor,” Leonard said. “It’ll save you the trouble of getting up.”
“You’re tough with that sap in your hand,” Conners said. “You wouldn’t be so tough without it.”
Leonard put the sap in his coat pocket and took off his coat. “We can see.”
“Nope,” I said. “I know you can whip him.”
“Yeah, but he don’t,” Leonard said.
The fat man on the ground said, “Conners would tie you in a knot.”
“See,” Leonard said. “He don’t know it either. Get up, Conners. Let’s you and me dance.”
“Not a good idea,” I said. “Having a macho queer moment. Don’t do it.”
Conners got up and I decided I wouldn’t shoot him. I pointed the gun at the fat man on the ground. “You crawl over this way a piece.”
Conners came around the table. Leonard moved a little to the side of the table, and then they were facing each other, six feet apart. Conners hulked over Leonard, though Leonard’s shoulders were easily as broad as his.
Conners had his hands up. So did Leonard. They stood that way for a long moment. Leonard said, “You waitin’ on an engraved invitation?”
Conners moved then, swung. Leonard ducked under it and hit Conners in the nuts with a right uppercut, then he swiveled and kicked at the inside of Conners’ leg, catching him just above the ankle. It brought him down.
Conners did a push-up and Leonard let him. When Conners was up, he said, “Them chink tricks ain’t gonna help you none.”
“They seem to be working all right,” Leonard said.
Conners came again, throwing a right cross that was so slow you could have gone out and bought a paper and been back in time to dodge it. It went over Leonard’s right shoulder, and Leonard kicked out and caught Conners on the side of the leg, mid-thigh. The nerve cluster there lit up and Conners went down with a yelp. When he hit the floor, Leonard kicked him in the jaw. Conners fell on his back and groaned.
“You can get up if you want to,” Leonard said.
I will say this, Conners could have just lain there, but he didn’t. He got up and came again, and this time Leonard moved to the right and jabbed right-handed and caught Conners over the eye enough to make him step back, and then it was like a wolf at the slaughter. Leonard hooked Conners in the belly with a left, and then it was a double right jab to the face, and finally Leonard kicked out with his front leg and caught Conners in the lower abdomen and sent him flailing back against the table, which crashed underneath his weight, causing the fat man to slide on the floor and out of the way.
Conners lay in the wreckage of the table, bleeding from the mouth.
Leonard looked at Fat Boy. “Now, how about you?”
The fat man shook his head.
“Damn skippy,” Leonard said, then looked at me. “That’s what I meant to do to that big guy.”
“Me too,” I said, “but it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, I just couldn’t get warmed up.”
“Was that it?”
Leonard toed the fat man a little, making him roll over on the floor so he could get to the refrigerator. He found a can of beer in there and brought it out and popped the top and took a foam-dripping swig. “There, assholes. I drink your beer. I kick your ass. And you will give us some information.”