Tishomingo Blues

25

"AND THE FIRST PRIZE," Charlie announced over the PA system, "goes to Miz Mary Jane Ivory for her Yankee Doodle double-crust Concord grape pie. Nice going, Mary Jane. Save me a piece if you can and I'll be around later to have a taste."

Charlie sat at a table with his papers in the barn's upstairs loading bay. Most of the spectators were spread over the slope directly below him, facing the battlefield. He tried to think of a segue from Yankee Doodle to the New York Yankees, but nothing came to mind that wasn't awkward. He settled on telling the folks there were plenty of Yankees here today, not in pinstripes-the kind he was used to facing during his eighteen years of organized baseballbut wearing Federal blue.

"They've come to what we're calling Brice's Cross Roads," Charlie's voice announced to the spectators, "to put Nathan Bedford Forrest out of action and keep open the Federal supply lines to their army in the east. Hear the drums?… Those are Federal troops moving up. And across the field comes General Forrest's cavalry, scouting ahead of his army."

The six Confederate cavalrymen had come out of the orchard to the right and were starting across the field.

Now Union soldiers were appearing out of the thicket to the left, firing puffs of white smoke at the cavalrymen, forcing them to wheel their mounts and head for cover.

"The Yankees' advance guard stops them. But now you're gonna hear the famous Rebel yell as the main body of Forrest's brigades charge the Federal line. You see the Yankees bringing up their cannon to meet the charge. Get ready. And here they come."

Charlie took the mike off its stand and walked around the desk to stand in the loading bay. He watched the reenactors out there in the hot sun giving it their all.

The Federal line along the thicket were now firing at will, the sound of their rifles coming in hard pops, and the powder shooting out to become a wispy white cloud in front of them.

The advancing line of yelling Rebels stopped now to return fire, covering themselves in the smoke. And now cannon were firing from both sides of the field.

Charlie raised the mike. "Those are six-pounders out there making that serious racket and raising all kind of smoke. Imagine you're down there in a real battle, you see the cannon fire and you know this big goddamn iron ball's coming at you. Excuse my language, but it's a frightening situation to think about."

Charlie looked out at the field. All the shooting and not one on either side had taken a hit.

He looked for Dennis along the blue line, but he could be any one of those guys firing and loading. The one with the sword, out in front a few yards, looked like John Rau, a little more than halfway up the line. He was looking across at the Rebs falling back, leaving only a few skirmishers out in the field, all of them down on one knee to fire and staying down to reload.

And now Rau, yeah, it was John, with the sword, looked like he was yelling encouragement to his troopers.

Charlie raised the mike. "Well, the Rebels got turned back. But if you know what happened at Brice's, you know Old Bedford kept coming backyou wait and see-till he broke the Federal line. But listen, lemme tell you an interesting fact while both sides are regrouping. There was a Union soldier fought at Second Bull Run, Antietam and Gettysburg. And you know what he did some twenty years before the war started? His name was Abner Doubleday and he invented the game of baseball-a sport I gave eighteen years of my life to, in my prime able to throw a fastball ninety-nine miles an hour. Any you young boys out there think you can throw that hard, come on over to the Tishomingo Lodge and let's see your arm. We'll measure your throw with a radar gun. If you can throw a ball a hundred miles an hour we'll give you ten thousand dollars on the spot. Well, now I see General Forrest himself out there on his horse, riding up and down the line encouraging his boys to give those Yankees hell. That's Walter Kirkbride of Southern Living Village doing his impression of Old Bedford… And now here they come again charging headlong into those Yankee guns, the Yankees coming out to meet them."

It was too late now to go from Yankee guns to Yankee bats, damn it, the battle was on, a bunch of Rebels in black hats getting more than halfway across the field when the Yankee cannon blew out a cloud of smoke and every one of those black hats went down, staggering, clutching themselves, making a show of dying. Some of Arlen's boys, the ones that practiced taking hits. Now they'd lie there sipping shine from their canteens till it was over.

Hey, but they were crawling forward on their bellies toward the Union line, getting to their feet now and rushing the officer out in front, John Rau, four of them taking him by surprise, grabbing John by his arms and legs between them, lifting him off the ground and rushing him headfirst like a battering ram through the Confederate line, the boys in gray stopping midfield to return fire. Charlie raised his mike.

"You see that, folks. The Rebs made a daring raid there and have taken a prisoner."

They saw it, all right, the whole crowd cheering, loving it, watching the black hats running with John Rau all the way across the field and into the orchard. Now the Confederate line was falling back.

Dennis turned to Hector next to him. "You see that? They got the cop."

"That fucking Robert," Hector said, "he must have thought of that."

Dennis let it go. Tonto stepped over to him saying, "How you doing? You got a load?" Dennis told him yeah, he'd only fired twice. After the first one he'd started to reload and Tonto exchanged rifles with him saying, "You shoot, I load. I don't get nothing out of shooting black powder."

Hector turned to Jerry staying in the thicket behind them. "The next time they come we go in the woods. You can sneak over there now, get a head start."

Jerry's voice came out of the thicket. "You saying I can't keep up with you?"

Hector turned away, not answering, and said to Tonto, "I insulted him."

"It's easy to do," Tonto said. "We carry him if we have to. Robert wants him there."

"I don't see Robert," Dennis said, looking across the field at the Confederates getting ready, loading their rifles.

"He took a hit," Hector said. "See the sword stuck in the ground? That's Robert." He said to Dennis, "They come this time we take off. Be sure you bring the rifle."

Dennis heard Charlie's voice over the PA system telling the crowd about Union soldiers playing baseball between campaigns to occupy their time. "They even played ball in Confederate prison camps," Charlie said, "and that's how us Southerners picked up the game. Pretty soon there was games between the prisoners and the guards. Well, I see casualties out there now in the hot sun, in their wool uniforms. I hope none of 'em have come down with heatstroke, and are real casualties. You want to be sure and drink plenty of water. And here we go again, Old Bedford's boys mounting their charge. From Brice 's, they run those Yankees all the way back to Memphis."

Dennis brought up his Enfield and looked down the barrel at the wall of gray uniforms advancing, Dennis thinking, Pick one. He wondered if that's what you did, or you fired into them coming three deep and were pretty sure of hitting one, or if you fired as soon as they came out of the orchard and would have time to reload, pour in the powder, the ball, ram it down the barrel, set the cap on the nipple…

He heard Hector say, "Let's go," and he fired and saw Hector and Tonto ducking into the trees, Dennis realizing there wouldn't be time to reload. Man, it would be bayonets then, close enough to see the faces of guys trying to kill you. He followed Hector and Tonto into the gloom of the trees, holding the Enfield in front of him straight up to brush through the branches, his running steps kicking up dead leaves. He saw Jerry ahead of them with his sword hacking his way through vines hanging from the trees, Hector and Tonto darting and weaving past him, and Dennis slowed up to stay behind Jerry-but why?-and ran past him without a word and saw Hector and Tonto break out of the gloom into a clearing, a glade, a scattering of tall trees in sunlight. Now Dennis was out and running, gaining on Hector and Tonto as they reached the other side of the glade and disappeared into a dense wall of trees. Dennis followed, made his way through to come out at a ditch and a bank of coarse grass that sloped up to a road of red dirt and a truck standing there: a commercial delivery van painted white over the original white, a thin coat covering an emblem that looked like red, blue and yellow balloons and words faintly readable that said WONDER BREAD.

Groove and Cedric, both stripped to the waist and wearing shades, stood in the road at the back of the truck.

Now Groove was giving high-fives to Hector and Tonto, and Cedric was raising the truck's loading door, running it up on its tracks, Hector saying, "Man, give us the iron, we got to move." He said to Dennis coming up the bank, "Leave your rifle there to pick up when we come back. Cedric's passing out the six-guns, tell him you want one or two and if you think you gonna need an extra loaded cylinder to snap in when the Colt's empty-you think you gonna do all that much shooting. Pick up the one you snap out. Any people you shoot, pick up their guns and bring 'em back here. Except the general."

Hector, looking at Jerry approaching the bank worn-out, trying to breathe, said, "We pick up after the general," and said to him, "How you doing, you all right? You have cramps? You feeling dizzy, kinda sick?"

Dennis was up by the truck. He watched Jerry seem to cave in and sit down on the slope, watched him take off his coat and ease back to lie flat in the coarse grass, his shirt soaking wet. He didn't answer Hector.

"You sweating," Hector said, "that's good. You have a heatstroke you don't sweat none. Drink some water, it will pick you up."

Dennis took off his shell jacket and dropped it on the slope. He believed he could hear the popping sound of rifle fire coming from the battlefield, but it was so faint he had to stop and listen before he heard it again.

Tonto said, "They still playing." He took a Colt from Cedric and handed it to Dennis, Tonto in his headscarf and sunglasses looking into Dennis' face but not saying anything.

Dennis held the Colt in two hands and turned the cylinder to hear it click to each load and heard Jerry's voice, his growl:

"Gimme a Colt. I'm leaving this fuckin sword."

And Hector saying, "It's too heavy, uh?"

Insulting him again. Dennis thinking, He does it on purpose. And heard Jerry saying he could swing the fucker all day but he wasn't stupid, use a sword against a guy with a gun.

Close to Dennis turning the cylinder, listening to the clicks, Tonto said, "It has beauty, uh, you think?"

Dennis nodded, feeling the shape of the grip that had always fascinated him. He said, "This is the gun they used in Lonesome Dove. They're in the bar, somebody throws up shot glasses and Robert Duvall and the other one pull these big irons and shoot the glasses right out of the air."

"Tommy Lee Jones," Tonto said. "You want two?"

Dennis said, "You're expecting me to get into this with you?"

"What else can you do, Jerry watching?"

"I don't know. Hide behind a tree."

"What did he tell you, he sees you not shooting?" Dennis watched Hector go down the bank to hand Jerry a Colt and an extra cylinder. He said,

"It'll happen fast, won't it, when they come?" "They all come the same time it will." "You shoot them, then what?"

"They go in the truck, also the pistols we brought, and nobody ever finds those guys. They disappear."

"How do you explain it to the cops?"

"Explain what? We weren't here."

Dennis said, "I know I shouldn't be."

"But you are."

"You actually think," Dennis said, "I'd shoot one of those guys?"

"I don't know," Tonto said. "You don't either."

"Well, I don't intend to shoot anybody."

"Yeah. but you still don't know."

Robert Taylor in his youth was a down-the-blockand-around-the-corner kind of runner, not ever an oval-track runner or a cow-pasture runner, the ground all uneven and waiting to wrench your ankle, put you out of action at the wrong time. He saw the danger of it on the first charge, running with his sword pointing at the Yankees, yelling the famous Rebel yell, shit, and tripping on the rocks and ruts and clods of earth hiding in the weeds. On the second charge he took a hit and said, "I'm hit, boys, get the motherfucker shot me," and stuck his sword in the ground as he went down, first picking his spot, not a hundred feet from the trees on the north side. He crawled over that way as the Rebs fell back and lay there till the next charge came out of the orchard. Robert pulled the sword free, waved it in the air, and saw Hector and Tonto and Dennis break from the line and run into the trees. He waited, giving them time, wondering if Jerry would keep up. The Rebel charge came to a halt so they could fire their guns, have some fun, and Robert looked back toward the orchard to see Walter off his horse, with Arlen and his retards, Arlen careful, looking this way to watch him. "Well, watch this," Robert said and took off-forgot the sword, fuck it-got into the trees and remembered where he was going: through these woods and across the clearing and through some more trees to the truck waiting on the road. He asked Groove if he'd jacked it. Groove said no, man, he bought it off the bread people, the Wonder Bread bakery in Detroit being a casino now, dealing in the other kind of bread. Hey, shit, and there they all were, coming out of the trees on the other side of the clearing Robert thought looked like a park that hadn't been kept up. This was where he believed the shootout would happen.

Let's see, he'd put Hector and Tonto over on one side, down a ways in cover, Groove and Cedric on the other. Arlen tries to edge around the clearing either side, he'd run into somebody. Robert would stay back here with Jerry and Dennis-Dennis not looking too happy to be along.

Arlen started out loosey-goosey, sure he could get 'er done. Hell yeah, catch Robert in the woods loading his gun, the smoke not use to doing it, dropping bullets in the leaves. Step up to him and bam, one less smoke. Arlen believed he had the advantage knowing the woods, pretty sure General Grant and the two greasers would set up to hit him coming out of the trees into those glades. Get the smoke quick and don't even worry about the diver.

But now he didn't know where his boys were, slow coming into the woods and not paying attention or following him like he'd told them, Fish and Eugene still fighting over Rose. He'd hear them thrashing around in the trees, yelling at each other, both with a load on from the shine. He'd stop to listen and then wouldn't hear nothing. They sounded like they were somewhere off to the right. They couldn't be far. Newton could be with them but was drunker'n either one and wouldn't be any help. They might've stopped to load their weapons. He'd told them to do it before they left the orchard, but then was busy getting Walter off his horse and hadn't checked to see if they had. Arlen would bet that was it. He thought of sending Walter to find them, but knew Walter would run off he had the chance. All Walter did was piss and moan about this not being his business and he shouldn't ought to be here, till Arlen said, "I'll shoot you you don't shut up and do what I tell you. Stay close to me. We come to that open part, I got an idea how to play it."

Walter said, "You think they're gonna be standing out in the open waiting for you?"

Arlen the campaigner, gear hanging from him, a loaded Colt in his hand, said, "If they ain't, I believe I can bring 'em out."

Newton was the one remembered. He said, "Shit, we doodlin' around in the woods with empty weapons. Didn't Arlen tell us?-Yes sir, he did. But you two're barkin' at each other-shit, I forgot." Newton carried a 12-gauge double-barreled shotgun that was dark and scarred and looked almost old enough to be authentic. He brought shells from his pocket and slipped them into the side-by-side barrels.

Once they'd loaded their pistols, Newton pulled the cork on his canteen, still some corn whiskey in it, to pass it around. He said to Eugene, "Fish gonna pay you anything for his killing Rose?"

That started them again. Eugene saying Rose was worth more to him than any amount of money. Fish saying, "Then I don't have to pay you nothing. Which I wasn't gonna anyway."

Newton believed it was Fish's sissy tone of voice that hooked into Eugene-prissy, what it was, irksome-and got Eugene to slash the barrel of his Colt at Fish and cut him across the forehead. Fish was stopped and fell back. Eugene, the hook still in him, went at Fish to cut him again. Fish saw him coming and thumbed the hammer of his Colt and shot Eugene in the belly. It doubled him over, Eugene going "Unnnh," like he'd been punched, but was able to straighten enough to put his Colt on Fish and shoot him in the face almost the exact same time Fish fired his second one and shot Eugene through the heart.

In the quiet that settled, Newton said, "Jesus Christ."

They heard the shot and then two more that sounded almost like one and they listened until Robert said, "That's not us."

They were in the trees on the north side of Robert's park. Jerry came over and he told him the same thing he told Dennis, and said, "Let's wait and see what's going on."

A couple of minutes passed and Jerry said, "We're taking too fuckin long. I'm going home."

Tonto appeared as he was saying it.

"Two dead. The Fish and I don't know the other one.

"Not Arlen?" Robert said.

"Or Kirkbride?"

"I don't know him."

"The one on the horse."

"No, it wasn't him."

There was a silence.

"Eugene," Robert said. "It was Eugene." He waited a moment, thinking about them in the camp, and said, "Jesus Christ."

When Arlen looked up hearing the shots he turned toward the sound-from the same direction he'd heard his boys yelling at each other. Walter wanted to know who was that, as Arlen thought about it and said, "Shit, those're ours. Pistol shots, so it wasn't Newton, else I'd have voted for him." Arlen said, "I don't want to believe what I suspect happened." And said, " Jesus Christ."

Walter stood there crouching his shoulders. Arlen looked at him, studied him, and then nodded, giving approval to what he was thinking of doing, and said, "Come on." He brought Walter through the woods, a hand on his belt, to where they got close enough they could look out at the glades-at sunlight slanting through green ash and sweet gum standing out there-but not be seen from across the way.

"Go on," Arlen said, "show yourself and let's see what happens."

"You crazy?" Walter said. "I know what'll happen."

"Go on, or I'll shoot you myself."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't care. Stand there and look around."

"What if they shoot?"

"I doubt they will. They do, I'll see their smoke and know where they're at. Go on, goddamn it, or I'll tell Traci not to fuck you no more."

Arlen came behind him to the edge of the woods, gave him a shove, and Walter walked out to the glade, the pistol held low at his side, took five strides across shafts of sunlight and stopped. He stared at the dark wall of trees no more than thirty yards away. If they wanted to shoot him he was dead.

Arlen's voice behind him said, "Go on out'n the middle there."

Walter didn't move.

Now another voice called to him from the wall of trees. "Walter, come on over here or get out of the way. We won't shoot you." Robert 's voice, the voice calling again, "Come on, Walter."

But he still didn't move, afraid if he ran Arlen would shoot him. But now he saw Robert-there he was, like one of Old Bedford 's colored fellas in his kepi, Robert stepping out in the open and waving his arm to come on.

Arlen yelled, "Shoot him," and fired past Walter. It got Robert to strike a sideways pose and return fire, squeezing off shots, Arlen firing back, Walter in the middle:

Walter aware of himself in his Confederate officer's uniform, standing there like the statue of some general nobody ever heard of, a stone figure in a park, of no more use than a place for birds to land and take a shit.

It was how he felt as the two-bit ex-convict yelled at him again, "Shoot, goddamn it!"

And this time he did. Walter half-turned raising his Colt and shot Arlen in the chest. Bam. It felt so good Walter thumbed the hammer back and shot Arlen again and watched him fall to the ground dead.

They came out of the trees from three sides: Hector and Tonto walking up to Walter; Groove and Cedric coming this way toward Robert, Dennis and Jerry with him, Jerry growling.

"This is how it's suppose to happen, these clowns shoot each other? This was some fuckin idea."

"I don't see nothing wrong with how it's turned out," Robert said, "except there should be one more, Newton. 'Less he passed out along the way. He might've been with Fish and Eugene and took off seeing the odds change."

Robert didn't sound worried about him.

Dennis watched Tonto down there taking Walter's gun from him. Now the two walked over to where Hector was looking at Arlen.

"Checking him out," Robert said. "How about old Walter? Surprised the hell out of me."

Jerry said, "Let's get outta here."

It sounded good to Dennis. But now he.saw Hector down there saying something to Walter and saw Walter reach into his pants pocket and bring out something-a coin, yeah, because now he was going to flip it with his thumb, Hector and Tonto watching.

Dennis, Robert and Jerry were spread out and watching from about sixty feet away. Jerry still growling.

"The fuck're they doing?"

"It looks like," Robert said, "they gonna see who wins the coin toss."

"For what?"

"Have to wait and see."

They watched Walter toss the coin. He let it land on the ground and all three looked down, Hector and Tonto nodding their heads. Now Tonto handed Walter's Colt to Hector and Hector handed him Arlen's.

"The fuck're they doing?"

Robert didn't answer him this time.

They watched Tonto step away from Hector and Walter. They watched him pull a Navy Colt from his belt and stand looking this way, a gun in each hand.

He said, "Jerry?"

Jerry raised his voice. "The fuck're you morons doing?"

Tonto said, "Take your shot, man. Is in your hand when you feel like it. You go, I go."

Jerry looked at Robert. "He's serious?"

"He's calling you," Robert said.

"You fuck. You set this whole thing up for this?"

"That's your big ego talking. No, man, this part's an afterthought."

"You're making a mistake. You know I'm connected."

"Jerry, come on. You never had a friend in your life."

"I raise the piece I'm going for you."

"Don't matter who you raise it at," Robert said, "long as you raise it. Go on tend your business, Tonto's waiting."

Dennis, listening to all this, was thinking, Jesus Christ. He couldn't believe what he was seeing and couldn't help thinking, Shane.

It happened within the next few seconds. Dennis wasn't even sure if Jerry raised his gun or if it would've mattered. He saw Tonto bring up both of his-at his legs and the next second straight out in front of him firing, emptying both guns, and Jerry was blown off his feet.

Dennis didn't move. He watched Robert walk over to look down at Jerry.

"One in the chest. One in the neck it looks like, and one in both arms. Arlen, before-what'd he fire, three times?"

Groove, standing over to the side with Cedric, said, "He got off four at you, you come out waving your arm."

Robert said, "So Tonto hit him four times out of I guess eight, huh? Man, that's shooting. See how they grouped? Where's Jerry's coat at?"

Groove said, "I'll get it," but didn't move. "You never told me this was in the plan."

"Man, I didn't know it myself," Robert said, "till I saw the coin toss. You know, we'd talk about it. Anybody had a good idea… I saw the possibility soon as Walter shot Arlen, but didn't know Tonto and Hector did too. Man, we doing fine here."

Dennis still hadn't moved. He listened, not saying a word. Heard Groove say, "We put them in the truck?"

Robert said, "No, don't have to now. See, here's Hector coming with Walter's gun, the one shot Arlen. He's gonna put it in Jerry's hand. Look down there. Tonto's put his in Arlen's hands. Now he's telling Walter no, he didn't shoot Arlen, the general did. It might be a stretch, two-gun Arlen Novis hitting the general four times. I hope he was known as a deadeye 'cause that's how the police, the CIB, all those people are gonna see him." He looked over. "Dennis, you understand what happened?"

Dennis said, "I was standing right here, wasn't I?" an edge to his tone, though not because he resented the question or Robert's cool. It was being here, seeing two men shot to death and not knowing what to do because he was part of it and didn't want to be.

Robert was staring at him.

Robert said, "You weren't here."

"Like I wasn't there," Dennis said, "when Floyd was shot. I see three different guys killed in front of me and I'm nowhere around."

Robert stared another moment and turned to Groove and Cedric. "Get Jerry's coat and Dennis', the rifles, anything we brought from the reenactment. Put what you brought back in the bread truck and call me tonight. I want to know you got home."

Groove and Cedric moved off and now Dennis saw Tonto coming toward them, Walter still back there standing over Arlen. Now Robert was giving Tonto a high five, calling him "my man Tonto Rey " and saying nice things to him, that he saw it coming, but still was caught by surprise, loved how they set it up, loved the gunplay, Dennis seeing how natural violence was to them, no big deal. Tonto looked at Jerry on the ground and said, "Today we had enough of him." He walked over to Hector, and Robert turned to Dennis again.

He said, "Listen to me," his voice quiet, serious. "I don't care how many people you saw get killed and you didn't do nothing. You understand? Nobody saw what happened here. These two hardcores must've got so worked up, so intense reenacting, they came out here with live ammo to do it right."

"And happened to kill each other," Dennis said.

"Why's that hard to believe? Same as Fish and Eugene, but for a higher cause than a dead dog. That's the point to make. They met a few times and never got along, having opposite views of the war. They'd trade insults, put down each other's heroes, Arlen saying General Grant was a drunk and a speed freak, Jerry saying Stonewall Jackson sucked dick, and they come to face each other as a matter of honor. That's it, deciding the honorable thing was fight a duel, same as they would back in those days. What I'm leading up to, what we have to get ready for tomorrow or the next day, is all the press and TV's gonna be here from all over for the story. First Annual Tunica Civil War Muster turns into shootout. The first and I bet the last. You understand.what I'm saying? They gonna ask us questions once the CIB's done asking, looking for the motive. I could say, well, I wasn't close to Germano Mularoni but I know he hated Southerners, along with all other races. Southerners, 'cause he watched videotapes over and over of that Civil War show was on TV and came to hate what the Confederacy stood for. He hated them still flying the flag and all that shit about heritage. Now take Arlen Novis, you have a diehard Rebel-type former convict who used to be a sheriff's deputy and packed a gun. They look Germano up and find there was a time he also packed and set off high explosives, too. They gonna say, but wasn't this Germano's first reenactment? Yes, it was, and you know why he never did one before? He thought reenactments were pussy, they didn't use loaded guns." He said to Dennis, "And that's right off the top of my head. We get into it I'll work all the motive shit into a routine."

He paused, frowning a little.

"But if nobody finds these two? I mean in the next couple of days. I don't want them turning to bones."

Dennis, caught up in it, said, "What's wrong with that?"

Robert said to Hector, "Listen to my man Dennis."

It encouraged him and he said, "You were gonna put them in the bread truck and they disappear." He wasn't trying to help, he was getting it clear in his mind. "What's the difference?"

"Jerry," Robert said, "changes the situation. No, I need to have them found soon, by tomorrow. And for a good reason."

"The missus," Hector said.

"You got it," Robert said. "Anne won't stand for Jerry being missing, have to wait. How long? She don't have the patience for that, she'd blow it, start talking." He looked at Dennis and said, "You understand?"

No, he didn't, and shook his head.

"The man has to be seen dead so she can collect on him, the house, the bank accounts, the insurance…" He looked at Hector again. "Somebody's gonna have to make the anonymous phone call to the Tunica sheriff. You and Tonto Rey go on with Groove in the bread truck. Make the call in Memphis and hang around there, Beale Street, man, and let me know where you are. I'll tell you when you can come back here. Hey shit, we're in business. It just hit me. Go on, before Groove leaves on you."

Dennis was watching Walter, down there at the edge of the trees. He said, "What about Walter?" nodding toward him as Robert turned.

"What? You think the man wants to look at a homicide conviction? Walter knows how to put on a face better than I do even."

"What's he doing?"

"Waiting to be called."

Dennis said, "You gonna tell Anne?"

"A widow lady, and she doesn't even know it."

It was the word, as Robert said it, that made Dennis think of Loretta. She didn't know either. He heard Robert talking about Anne, heard the words as he saw Loretta in the tent, saw her holding up her skirt and saw her outside in the chair and stayed with that one, Loretta's face composed. He saw her look up as he walked toward her and heard:

"You listening to me?"

"You said you have to keep Anne from celebrating too soon, like throwing a party."

"And I said I only have one worry."

"Yeah…?”

"And it ain't Annabanana."

Dennis said, "Me?"

"You're here, you're in it same as I am. We not just witnesses, we conspired, we aided, we abetted. If that's true we could be facing prison. In Mississippi. I know you don't want that."

Dennis shook his head, no.

"Then why am I worried about you?"