I tossed him the pack of Lucky Strikes. He shook his head and tore open the pack, tucking a dry one in the corner of his mouth and continuing to talk. “You didn’t have to do me like that. Arrest me in front of my boy. You have a son. You didn’t have to do that.”
He looked straight at the brick wall, away from me, and stared.
“A while back, we found a whole barn full of girls, most of them children,” I said. “They’d been locked up without food or water. One of them died. Another one of them was twelve. Tonight, we fished your boy’s girlfriend out of the Chattahoochee. She’d been beaten to the point Billy couldn’t recognize her. She’d been stomped and her ribs went into her lungs.”
He nodded. “Did I have anything to do with that? I run a beer joint. I got some slots. How in God’s name can a man make money in Phenix any other way? This town has always been like that. You know it was an Indian outpost before the war, that this was the last place to get a woman and a drink before sliding into redman’s land?”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it. She was a friend of Billy’s.”
“That girl knew what she was into.”
“That’s pretty rough.”
He lit the cigarette and shrugged. “Don’t you drag me into your morality play.”
“I need your help,” I said.
“If that don’t beat all.”
“I can get you a deal with the judge. He can get you in and out of Kilby in less than six months.”
“That’s mighty white of you, Lamar.”
“You were there when Mr. Patterson was gunned down. You were parked across from the Elite.”
Reuben stood, just inches away from my nose. His face had turned a shade, his breathing quick, that sly, perpetual cockiness melted away. “Where did you hear such a god-awful lie?”
“I didn’t say you killed him. I said you were there. You saw something important. On that street.”
“I didn’t see a thing.”
“You’re a liar.”
“You wouldn’t even been on half the title cards if it wasn’t for me. You rode my coattails for five fucking years. You know the Kid didn’t even want to train you till I begged him. You remember when he’d be gone for the night and I’d stay and I’d teach you to keep your feet, keep your head in a fight. You remember how you were all arms and elbows, tripping over your legs? Who stayed with you in that shithole gym till somethin’ clicked in your head and you could move your goddamn feet?”
“You didn’t correct me.”
“’Bout what?”
“Bein’ a liar.”
He stepped back.
“You don’t know half the things I done for you since Mr. Patterson gone and got himself killed. If I hadn’t stepped in, we wouldn’t be talking.”
I waited. I watched him.
He paced.
“You hear me?”
“Billy needs a daddy,” I said. “Make a deal, serve your time, and get out. It’s over.”
He pushed me with the flat of his hand and spun to face me, jabbing me hard in the eye with the left and knocking me back. I lost my feet for a moment and then caught myself against the row of bars.
I used the bars to right myself.
Jack Black appeared on the other side, his hand on his gun.
“It’s okay, Jack,” I said. “Let him out.”
“Sir?”
I felt the egg forming under my eye. I looked at Reuben and shook my head. “Go ahead and let him go. I’m done with him.”
Reuben spit on the ground between us, his fists hanging ready at his side.
“Just one question,” I said. “Just how long did it take y’all to blow Hoyt’s safe and get back to town?”
A FEW DAYS LATER, JOHN PATTERSON INVITED ME TO GO fishing with him on Lake Harding. It was a brisk fall day, and we stood on the shoreline of some cleared land and cast our Zebcos out into the dammed-up Chattahoochee. We sat in easy chairs, talking about our children and the weather, and some about his mother, Agnes, and some man from Hollywood named Diamond who wanted to come to Phenix City and make a picture about what happened to his father.
“He has a script,” Patterson said. “I’ve seen it. He has me in a slugfest with some kingpin named Red. I’m pretty sure he got the idea for this Red fella from Hoyt Shepherd. He’s a fat, good-ole-boy type who pretty much runs the town.”
“Maybe he’s based on Red Cook.”
“No, this guy is more likable. He’s the kind of guy quick with a joke and a wink but will kill you all the same. And then there is an honest girl who deals cards in a casino. She’s smart and beautiful but can’t find her way out.”
“Who else is in it?”
“He’s made me into some kind of hero. He liked the idea of me taking over the martyred father’s nomination. But he said it wasn’t dramatic enough, so he has me calling the governor at the end of the film and has everyone in Phenix City yelling into the phone for justice.”
“How are they all on the phone?”
“It’s some kind of crowd scene. Who knows?” John stood and cast his hook again, and let the bobber stay, and then sat back in the chair and offered me a beer, which I declined.
“You never drink, do you?”
“Not for a long time.”
“There a story behind that?”
“Not a good one.”
John nodded. “Anyway, I don’t have much to do with this. But this Diamond fella, I think he’s from New York, wants to film it here. He said it’s the kind of story that has to be shot in the South. It can’t be some Hollywood back lot.”
“Seems like a story without an ending.”
“He thinks it’s over.”
“What do you think?”
“Not by a mile.”
“Have you spoken with Sykes?”
John shifted in his chair and pulled a ball cap down in his eyes. He shifted the rod and took a sip of beer. “I have.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it.”
“I don’t know what he’s up to. He must have two dozen prosecutors and investigators interviewing every soul who was even close to Fifth Avenue on June eighteenth. They have maps, building blueprints, models, and photos of every angle of my dad’s Rocket 88. Hundred interviews with people who heard shots, saw someone parking a car, saw anyone walk close to that alley. In my opinion, it’s a calculated mess. An equation that everything implied means absolutely zero.”
“No one who saw anything.”
“Besides Quinnie. But Sykes believes Quinnie will be cut to pieces on the witness stand because he changes his story. At first he saw a man he didn’t know and then later says it was Arch Ferrell.”
“He was scared.”
“Sure he was. But think what they’ll make of those big glasses he wears. You don’t think they’ll call his eyesight into question?”
“And no one else saw a thing.”
“People saw a car. They heard the shots. They saw a man leaving that alley. A group of teenagers moving some office equipment out of the Coulter Building saw my dad dying on that sidewalk. So did Hugh Bentley’s mother, at her grocery, after hearing those shots. They’ve been keeping it real quiet about Fuller’s prints on the car.”
I nodded. “But those can be explained away.”
“Of course they can. Fuller can say he was talking to my dad the day before the killing or accidentally touched the car after the murder. Hell, he was the lead investigator on the case.”
“Now we have Fuller or Ferrell.”
“Or both,” John said.
“Or both,” I said.
John finished the beer and placed the empty bottle back in the cooler. I lit a cigarette and settled back, feeling a little tug on my line and seeing the bobber disappear and then pop back up. I didn’t jerk the rod because I wanted the damn fish to swallow the hook whole and that quick move always lost me the fish.
“Hilda Coulter is getting some threats,” I said. “Someone has been following her, tried to run her off the road.”
“Fuller’s buddies.”
“You know about what happened to that girl?”
“The prostitute?”