059524579X Content

THE ROUGHENGLISHEQUIVALENT
THE ROUGH ENGLISH

s
EQUIVALENT
Stan Hayes
Writers Showcase
San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai
The Rough English Equivalent
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in
writing from the publisher.
All Rights Reserved 2002 by Stanley J. Hayes
Writers Showcase
an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.
For information address:
iUniverse, Inc.
5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200
Lincoln, NE 68512
www.iuniverse.com
Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental.
This is a work of fiction.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 0-595-24579-X
For both Guys, Jackie, Dee, Dougald & Toby
Fromwhence come wars and ghtings among you?
Come they not hence,
Even of your lusts that war in your members?
James 4: 1-3
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Contents
Bisquespeak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi
Chapter 1 Spring Break. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1
Chapter 2 Steamed Pissaint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7
Chapter 3 Hotel BIS-kew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11
Chapter 4 A Ruptured Duck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13
Chapter 5 The Town. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21
Chapter 6 The Ritz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29
Chapter 7 Radio Waves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35
Chapter 8 Crawl in the Saddle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .47
Chapter 9 Inside Moves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .63
Chapter 10 Blackwater Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .101
Chapter 11 Take a Tater & Wait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .117
Chapter 12 A License to Steal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .145
Chapter 13 Its Made to Sell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .177
Chapter 14 Precious Lord. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .227
Chapter 15 Jus Rub On It . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .251
Chapter 16 The Rough English Equivalent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .283
Chapter 17 Little Old New York . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .327
Chapter 18 Hoochie Coochie Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .391
Chapter 19 Roll Out the Barrel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .429
Chapter 20 Standing as We Sing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .457
Chapter 21 Kamerad. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .477
The Rough English Equivalent x
Chapter 22 HipDeep in Sheep-Dip . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .485
Chapter 23 Go Down, Moses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .507
Chapter 24 Cuba Libre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .525
Chapter 25 Tradecraft. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .541
Chapter 26 Next Stop Baltimore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .555
Chapter 27 Money, Honey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .579
Chapter 28 Friggin in the Riggin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .589
Chapter 29 Go Fish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .593
Chapter 30 Case Discount . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .611
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Bisquespeak
Theres no getting around itif youre not from the deep South, youll
think these people talk funny. Bisques idiom varies in frequency and
application by the speakers socioeconomic position and/or degree
of inebriation. In the interest of understanding Bisquenglish, a brief
glossary preceding the readers plunge into its richness is in order:
Word/
phrase
Translation
aiess assused when referring to the ever-popular human posterior
Babdist Baptista Protestant religious denomination that, with the Method-
ist church, dominates Bisque church attendance, particularly
among the bourgeoisie
bwy boyfrom Negro dialect, increasingly adopted by young whites as
a term of approbation among themselves
hay-ul helldepending on the application, a metaphysical place or condi-
tion, the avoidance of which provides the clergy with an expedi-
tious hammer in keeping their congregations in line
hep helprefers to giving or receiving aid, except in the expletive (hay-
ulp!)
liike likethe doubling of the i, indicating a pronounced atness in its
pronunciation also appears in several other words (II, sliice), and
supplants the gh in words like might and tight (miit and tiit), and the
ow in those like powder and crowder (piider and criider).
The Rough English Equivalent xii
muffucker motherfucker (n.)an appellation usually directed at males or inan-
imate objects that, in context, may be congratulatory or insulting
(the inammatory form is a hyphenation of the full spelling, e.g.
moth-er-FUCK-er), rhetorical or actual in its reference to (a) the
subjects incestual behavior or (b) the subjects inclination to copu-
late with women who have borne children. (alt.) muffuck (adj.)
muffuckin
sitchayshun situationHow th hay-ul did I get inta this here sitchayshun?
sitcher sit yourviz. Sitcher aiess down, muffuck.
whachu what you, e.g. Whachu talkin bout? with varied accenting, i.e.
IIm talkin bout whachu talkin bout, muffuck!
Yeh-baw-ey Yeah, boyagreement with a statement made, or conrmation of
a question asked. In most cases, the speakers mood is one of sat-
isfaction or smugness, e.g. Goin to th ball game?.
Yeh-baw-ey.
Word/
phrase
Translation
- 1 -
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c h a p t e r 1
Spring Break
1529 Friday 23 March 1956:
Motor cooled down, heat went down, thass when I heard dat highway
sound. Chuck Berry, with the highway sound of Maybelline, yall;
makes you hardtails wanta get out there and chase that little lly in the
Coupe deVille, dont it? Well dreamon, boys; Chuck didnt catch er, but
maybe you will. Unless what happened to that V8 Ford catches up with
your personal honey hauler. Dont wait for a steamin reminder that
you neglected the heart of your hot rod; run it on by Smokeys Radiator
Shop and make sure you stay cool. Now les take a break and check the
news in and around little ole Bisque. R&B Leell be back takin more of
your requests, so hang aroundand Robbie, Ill see you bout 7, sweet
thang
R&B Lee, the worlds oldest teen-ager, thought Jack, squelching
the radio and easing off the gas in token observation of the City of
Bisques speed limit. Looking up, he was broadsided by an incisor-
rich smile, shot from the billboard behind Ray Thomas Quality
Used Cars by a white-haired, too-tan guy in a bright-blue suit.
The Rough English Equivalent 2
REVIVAL.
WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY???
Good Friday begins ten life-changing days in Bisque.
Here we go again, with a shit-eatin grin, he grated.
What?
He answered in a simpering mock: Ten life-changing days in
Bisque. Crankin up falterin faith like it was a friggin model planes
rubber band. Lost/saved/lost/saved souls, year after year, dead-
stickin into th tabernacle for a guilt dump. When the hell is Good
Friday, anyway?
Its the Friday before Easter, idnt it? Next Friday, said Terry, run-
ning both hands through long, dark-blonde hair and extending
them behind her, arching her back. A dainty sperm-avored belch
escaped soundlessly between her teeth. Eeeww, she thought, I need a
Coke.
Mindful of the broken tailpipe strap that hed spliced with
coathanger wire on the way out of Athens, Jack resisted the tempta-
tion to gun the big V8 and hit town showing air under the front
wheels as they crossed Main Streets humpbacked railroad bridge. A
little class, please, he said to himself. Bisque, Georgia has high expec-
tations of its college men. Ill wait to get frisky til Terrell and Ive
killed a six-pack or two. And Terry can have a nigger baby about it if
she wants to, after taking the steam out of a perfectly good blow job
with that pledge-a-frat ultimatum.
I need to swing by Moses on the way in; beer tastes a whole lot
better when its free.
Well, dont stay in there forever. I need to get on home.
Turning right on Seventh street, he tapped the horn as he pulled
into Bo Singleton Sinclair, stopping clear of the gas pumps near the
door. Bo, standing inside by the cash register, raised a long, bony arm
at the 50 Olds 88 coupe, then pantomimed applause. He eased out
onto the driveway as Jack got out. Get me a Coke, Jackie, the girl
shouted.
Spring Break 3
Jack B. Nimble, Singleton said through a gap-toothed grin.
Welcome home.
Bad Mister Bo. How you been?
Notsa bad. Hows at ole 88 doin?
OK, but I need a left-side tailpipe hanger. Sonofabitch gave up th
ghost on me this mornin.
OK, bud. What else?
Coupla Cokes. Want me to drop it off tomorrow?
Yeah, but gimme til about noon. An bring them bottles back!
OK, hoss, Jack said, as he slid back into the car. Thanks. See
yall tomorrow.
Singleton grinned, quickglancing the girl. Stay outa trouble,
bud!
Jack glanced approvingly at the cars glistening black reection in
the stations windows as he pulled back onto the street, twin
Glaspaks lazy burble pushing against the panes. Bos tickled shitless
that Im drivin this, he said. One less hot rod headache for him to
handle. Naah, the kid I sold the 33 tos probably still takin it in
there. Wonder how many distributor caps that goddam atheads
gone through by now. Id like to buy it back some day and put one of
those new little Chevy V8s in ita full-fendered three-window
Fords just way too pretty to be even a little bit down on power.
All that damn car did was keep you broke, Terry observed.
A gust of Dogwood-scented air scudded Jacks crispy crumpled
handkerchief off the seat between them onto the oor and under the
girls feet. She picked it up, throwing it matter-of-factly onto the
back seat. No wonder my tails so bushy, Jack thought; its spring for
sure. Savoring Dogwood, slack scrotum and muted rumble of
exhaust bouncing off the brick-paved street, he drove the three
blocks to the Hamm County Beverage Company in silent satisfac-
tion.
Opening the buildings front door, he shouted, Mose!
The familiar high-pitched, raspy, New York voice bounced back to
him from inside the ofce. Jack? Zatchoo?
Yeah, you ol suds peddler, Jack replied, rounding the corner
from the hallway into the ofce. Whats-
He didnt nish the question, bumping into Moses as he came out
to meet him. Hey, shitbird. Hugging and backslapping complete,
they stepped back, grinning; Moses had become, Jack realized, half a
head shorter than him. Green LaCoste shirt and chinos did what
they could to conne the physique that Jack had coveted for most of
his life; still one hell of a man, he thought, looking into the sly, crin-
kled face. Aldo Ray with a tad more mileage; still looks like he could
bench-press the building. You gotta be six-two by now. I was lookin
forward to workin out with you, but you probably got th reach on
me by a good two inches. How the hell you been?
Jus right, Jack said. How bout you?
Not bad, for a gent of my age and experience. Yer mom called
lookin for ya. Youre late for lunch, bud.
Yeah. I was early til my goddam tailpipe decided to fall in the
road. She told you Id be here today, huh?
Yeah. You better get on over there.
Right. Just stopped off to check in with you. How bout this
fuckin revival? How we gonna duck th fallout?
Whaddya guess Epicurusd do? asked Moses with a sly smile.
Holding his nose, Jack mimicked a loudspeaker: Ataraxia
Express, loadin on track nine.
Moses bark of levity echoed down the hall. Dont need any beer,
do ya?
Oh, hell no.
Run on back and grab a case; Ill swing by th hotel an visit with
yall for a little bit.
Soons I take a quick pee. Thanks, bud; see ya later.
Shit, he thought, smiling tolerantly at Terrys frosty face as he
packed the case of Carling Black Label to the trunk, that old mother-
Spring Break 5
fuckernot many people get to call somebody that, and mean it
pushin fty, but he looks just about like he did the rst time I saw
im, bailin out of that big old white Buick
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c h a p t e r 2
Steamed Pissaint
1630 Thursday 15 August 1946:
We were hangin around Smokeys, watchin em work and gettin
pointers on profanity, when the door slammed BOOM, shaking the
shops big glass windows. He was a big guy, not that tall but stocky,
short dark hair stuck to his round head. Big Popeye forearms hang-
ing out of his shirt sleeves. Smokey was pokin in a parts bin behind
the counter, and jumped straight up at the noise. Well, come right
the fuck on in then!, he squawked.
Dey told me at the gas station dat you could x dat radiata. He
had a high voice for a big man, sorta scratchy, like shakin a coffee
can with a bunch of BB shot inside. He jerked a thumb toward the
long white car, blowing steam like a sonofabitch out from under the
hood.
Smokeys eyes quit bugging out and squinted past the stranger out
the window. He took a deep breath. Lessee. Buick. What izzat, a
limoozine?
Right; 41 model. Series 90.
How longs it been doin at?
Off and on for a couple hours. Cant keep water in it.
Hits hard to do if theys a hole in the raddiator.
Can you x it?
Smokey looked at him over the top of his glasses. Habmnt give
up on one yet.
Good. Can you stawt on it right away? And gimme me an idea of
how much itll be?
I kin give you a rough idea in just a little bit, but a actual esti-
matell take a little while. If you need a raddiator core, hitll probly
have to come from Atlanta, on the bus. If they got one. You inna
hurry?
Yeah, but Im hungry, and it looks like Ill be spendin the night
here anyway. Is there a hotel anywhere close by?
A little ways back up the road.
Walkin distance?
Oh yeah. Back the way you come, to th third trafc light. Tother
side of the street. Youll see th sign; Bisque Ho-tel. These boys probly
wouldnt mind showin you. That un theres mgranboy.
Oh, thats how ya say it. BIS-kew. Do you wanta deposit?
Naw. Just pay me when its done. Ill call you up at the ho-tel. Or
yougn call me, if yawnt to. Whats th name?
Kubielski. Moses Kubielski.
Smokey started to write, stopped, and slid the work order over to
the man. How about wriitin it on th top of this here work sheet.
Quickly scribbling his name down, he said, OK. See ya later, and
walked out, with us right behind him. This way, gents? I nodded
yes and he went to the car and took out a leather suitcase, a smaller
bag made out of the same kind of leather, and a newspaper. It was
the biggest car Id ever seen. Real dirty, with a Maryland tag, and big
round metal cases set down into each front fender, with the spare
tires inside. A sheet metal shade, the same color as the rest of the car,
stuck out over the windshield. Otha, who helped Smokey back then,
had put the hood up; steam still trickled out of the front of the car.
Steamed Pissaint 9
Mmm, mm, said Otha. Straight eight. Lookit dem two big-ass
cobrators. Damn, dey don match up. De front one a Carter, an de
back one a Stromberg. I speck dis muhfuck natchully y.
As we ran to catch up with the man Smokey was tellin Otha,
Hose at sonuvabitch down where I kin get close to it.
Hed struck out walking, the newspaper stuck under his arm, a
bag in each hand. He looked down, grinning at us. So, men, where
do ya recommend that I go for dinner in the great city of Bisque?
He asked with that can-of-BBs voice, his eyes crinklin up at the cor-
ners.
Best place in town is in the hotel, I told him. The Bisque Caf.
Whats the food like? Ive had allada greasy froid chicken I can
stand.
Everythings good, I said. Including the fried chicken.
He smiled again. Sounds like dey got a magician in the kitchen.
An a pitchman onna street. He looked at Ricky. Yer granddad? He
will remember ta call me, wont he?
He will, Ricky said. We belong to th Upper Creek Nation, and
Creeks got great memories. His great granddaddy us a Confederate
army scout. He us at Vicksburg with General Pemberton. Grand-
daddy says that it us like you was there yourself when hed talk about
it. I got a good memory too, but he says that it aint always that good
a thing to have. He says you just remember stuff youd be better off
fergettin. He says theres way too many pissaints in the world, and
they talk too damn much, and aint none of it worth rememberin,
but pissaints an lintheads keep im in business.
PISS-aints? Whass dat?
Pissaints. Just keep drivin their cars till they quit. Dont keepm
up.
Hm, he said, smiling. Guess Im a pissaint then.
Naw. Youre a yankee.
OK. Then whats awhatd you say? Linthead?
Aw, thats jus somebidy works in th cotton mill.
We walked on up Main Street, getting hot, not talking any more
til we were across the street from the hotel. He walked kinda like
sailors do in pirate movies, swinging down a little farther on the
right side than he did on the left. He kept on past the corner, stop-
ping in the middle of the block. He put the bags down and stretched
his arms out in front of him, his ngers stuck one between the other.
His knuckles popped at the end of the stretch. Hotel Bisque, he
said, looking from the lettering on the canopy all the way up, six sto-
ries, to the roof. Looks OK. Is it?
You bet it is, I said. I live there.
- 11 -
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c h a p t e r 3
Hotel BIS-kew
Mom was sitting at her desk in the living room. She turned and
looked up, smiling at me. Howdy, Bub. Whereve you been?
Down at Smokeys. I brought a guest back.
Really? Who?
A yankee; Mr. Cuba or sumpm. Hes in the caf now.
Is he staying long? and cut out that yankee crap. You know thats
not good business.
Sorry. I dont think so. Just til Smokey xes his radiator.
Whats he like?
Oh, hes some kinda businessman. Drivin a big Buick.
Hm. Well, as soon as I nish here, lets go down and welcome
him.
Aw, Mom. I already did that. And its time for Tom Mix.
You can come right back. After you take me to him.
OK. Whacha doin?
Just signing some papers for Buster. Hes taking over Simmons
Hudson dealership.
Oh, no! Hudsons? Theyre ugliern homemade sin.
She laughed. Well, we can at least suggest getting rid of that one
with a pickup bed stuck into the back that they like to call a parts
truck. Talk about homemade sin. Anyway, Busters due for a break
and maybe thisll be it.

Moses Kubielski sat alone in the restaurant. It was just past ve-
thirty. Please excuse us, Mom said to him. Im Serena Mason,
Jacks mother; I manage the hotel. Jack told me that youd checked
in, and I just wanted to welcome you to Bisque.
Oh. Hello, he said, standing up. Moses Kubielski. Please excuse
my appearance. Maybe he toldja; my car was boilin over, and Ive
been stoppin to ll it up with water every few miles since it stawted
this aftanoon. I was just too hot and tired ta do much cleanin up.
Please dont be concerned. Just enjoy your dinner and get some
rest. This food isnt all that fancy, but I think youll like it.
Thank you. Wouldja join me?
Oh no. Thanks. Please, just relax and let Reba take care of you. It
sounds like youve had some day.
No, please. I hear ya live here in the hotel. Thats a tradition in
Europe, but I never knew of an owner livin on the property inna
states. Please; join me if ya can spare th time.
Mom hesitated, looking at him as he stood there. Well, we cant
have you standing here like this. Not after your ordeal. Please, sit
down.
He pulled a chair out and, like a movie guy, waved his arm at the
seat. After you. I pulled out another chair and sat down across the
table from him.
- 13 -
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c h a p t e r 4
A Ruptured Duck
I sat sweating in the restaurant, which was in the southeast corner of
the hotel. Its ceiling fans gently stirred the late afternoon heat. I
picked the rst table inside the door, as far away as possible from the
jukebox, from which some rube warbled yew win agin. The song
faded away as a tall, fortyish redhead burst out of the kitchen, coffee
pot in hand. REBA, embroidered in red inch-high letters, inclined at
a forty-ve degree angle on the considerable slope of her left breast
below a broad face, a painted desert of drugstore cosmetics. Hay-
eey, she chirped. Cawfee? Pouring, she advised me that th spay-
shul, smothered pork chops, was ready, and that it would be a very
good idea for me to order it. Her smile was one of those that turned
down, instead of up, at the corners. It comes with three vegetables,
Hon, an the best ones today are pertaters aw gratin, criider peas and
sliiced tomaters. An maybe youd liike a lil chef s salad to start off
with. Maybe they all talk this way; I thought old Ty Ty Walden down
at the garage had a cleft palate or something. Damn strange. I said no
thank you to the salad and she left me to look out at passers-by and
parked cars, past the sizzling B of the foot-high red and green neon
BISQUE CAFE that ran the length of both plate glass windows.
As I drank the surprisingly good coffee, a womans low-pitched
voice at my elbow said Please excuse us. I looked up into deep
green eyes in the shade of lush eyebrows. Her hair, cut in a short bob,
was chestnut brown,. Thinnish, beautifully crafted lips, unblurred by
lipstick. I guessed her age as late twenties; I would nd out later that
she was thirty-three.
She sat down on my right at the table; the boy, sitting opposite
me, looked at me with the same direct gaze as his mother. I under-
stand Smokeys looking after your car, she said. So, even if the voice
wasnt exactly what youd expect from such a small package, they
didnt all talk like Reba and Smokey.
Yeah; at this hour, I doubt that Ill hear from him until tomor-
row.
Do you have far to go? As far as I could tell, she wore no makeup
at all. A scattering of tiny freckles trickled down the bridge of her
nose, across her cheekbones toward a sharp jaw line that would have
been handsome on a man. A naturally serious face that softened
when she smiled. Her hands wouldve also t a man; not strangers to
work, the ngernails blunt-cut and unpolished.
Florida. On business. Lookin for a new business, actually; Im
not livin through one more winter up north.
Oh, we know about those winters, dont we, Jack? He was born in
New York.
Ydont say! So was I. But youre not from Nyoauk.
No. I went to Columbia University; thats where Jacks father and
I met.
I see. And now da two of you manage da hotel.
She chuckled, low down in her throat. No. He still lives in New
York. He teaches at Columbia.
Mom, can I go now? the boy said. Tom Mix is on.
Sure, honey, go ahead. I should get back myself; Mr. Kubielskis
did I say it right? His dinnerll be here any minute.
A Ruptured Duck 15
Ya said it just right, I said. Could I persuade ya to join me? Id
appreciate da company.
She had already started to stand; pausing, she looked at the boy.
Go on, Jack; youll miss your program. Ill be up in a few minutes
and x your supper. The boy ran out. She walked over to Reba,
spoke briey with her, and returned to the table. I think youll enjoy
your dinner. We should really call Rebas cook, Nelson, the chef, but
thats a bit much for this little old town. Thanks for the invitation;
Jack and I enjoy each others company, but some adult conversation
over dinnerll be a nice change of pace.
Of course, I said. I hope ya dont mind my askin, but how does
a young woman like you, wid a child, end up inna hotel business?
Easy; my father owns the hotel. When I left my husband I had
precious few options, and this was one of them. I like living in the
city, even if its a little bitty one like this, and Id rather run a business
than just have some job or other. I had to learn fast, but weve been
here almost two years now, and the hotels doing OK.
Thats good. And Jack likes livin here?.
Yes. Hes a great kid, if I do say so. He reminds me now and then
that we live in the biggest house in town. He really loves the hotel,
and hes learned a lot about what it takes to keep it going.
Maybe hell take over one day and build more hotels.
Maybe. I wouldnt rule it out. Although he seems to have his
fathers gift for mathematics; he may very well decide, as Larry did,
that business is just too grubby for him.
The food came; shed ordered the special, too. As we ate, I said,
Izzat what he teaches at Columbia? Mathematics?
No. Physics.
And you left Nyoauk in 44.
Actually, we werent in the city when I left Larry. He had a war-
time job that took us away from New York. If we hadnt left, we
might still be together.
So ya liked it, I said, watching her eat, admiring her hands, large
for a womans, buff-gold skin taut over internal structures as they
transformed simple tasks into events worth watching.
No. I loved it. I went to Columbia because it was in New York. My
ne arts major nished second to my interest in a charming young
nuclear physicist and his work. Big mistake, she said, smiling. Im
going back when Jack grows up. Did you live there long?
All my life, until I joined the Navy. I was born there, right after
my parents moved there from Dublin. Ireland.
Ireland. Well, you sound absolutely New York. I lived there long
enough to pick that accent out of a crowd. But your names
Polish. My father was from Danzig. Now Gdansk. He met my
mother while he was teachin at University College in Dublin. And I
thought th NYoauk accentd worn off a little durin my time in Bal-
amer.
Oh. Wheres that?
Balamer; uh, Baltimore. Maryland.
Oh, yes. Well, not that much, really. Anyway, I like it. And now
youre headed to Florida. What kind of business are you looking
for?
Im not sure. I managed a neighborhood theatre in Balamer, but
Im a lm projectionist by trade, and I oughta be able to nd work
almost anywhere. I thought Id just go down and live for a while; see
what lifes like down there, and what the opportunities might be.
I see. Film projectionistyou run the projector in a movie the-
ater?
Yeah. Projectors. Theres two in a projection booth. Ya transition
from one to the other as th reels run out.
Hm. I never thought much about how thats done. Or who did it.
Do you like it?
Its not bad, if youre inna union. One ada things Ive thought
about is buyin a small theater. I could handle a projection room shift
myself while I got things goin.
A Ruptured Duck 17
Um-hm, that would help with your overhead at rst. I imagine
that the movie business is growing down there, but I think youre
wise to take a good look for yourself before you make a move like
that, she said, nishing her coffee. She looked up at the clock above
the restaurants cash register. Oh, God. Im talking your ear off; Id
better get upstairs and take care of Jack. Tom Mixs off by now, and
hell remember that hes hungry. Thanks for the interlude; I love
talking about New York, but you must be ready to collapse; if you
need anything, just call the front desk and theyll take care of you.
She stood, extending one of those incredible hands. I stood up, tak-
ing it, imagining biting into the esh between her thumb and fore-
nger.
It was my pleasure. I hope to see ya again before I go, I said.
Yes. Please have me paged if Im not at the desk. Sleep well. She
walked away quickly, leaving me to conclude that the little extra
switch of the trim set of hips was for my benet, and to imagine their
sweet resilience. And I wondered who might now be taking pleasure
in them; this was not a woman whod go willingly to seed.
Reba was waiting for me at the cash register. Can I charge this to
da room? I asked.
You could, she said, brushing back a wisp of damp red hair, but
its been took care of. Miz Mason tole me to charge it to the hotel.
Didja enjoy it?
Sure did. Im lookin forward to breakfast awreddy.
If you really want to sleep good, she said, you oughta come
with us to prayer meetin taniit. Its riit across the street over there, at
the First Babdist Church. A little shake of her head toward a large
red brick building that commanded the view through the window at
her left. It sat under a tall white spire, broad steps running the full
width of the building.
Thanks, but Im way too tiyud. But thanks for da invitation; Ive
never been in a Baptist church.
You aint? My stars. What faithre you?
Jewish, more or less.
Oh. Well, thaint no Jewish church in Bisque. Not that I know of.
Just not that many Jewish livin around here.
We call em synagogues, or temples. Thanks for da invitation,
anyway. How do ya get away from da restaurant durin dinner?
Oh, meetin dont start til eight, and were pretty much done
servin dinner by then. Well, sleep tiit, Mr?
Kubielski. Moses Kubielski.
Yes, she said, looking closely at me, as if remembering my face
would help her negotiate this mouthful. Mr. Kabeesky. Well, be
seein you for breakfast, he-unh.
I walked past the register and onto the street, around the corner
from the hotel door. As I did, I heard a shrill Watch out! from my
left. A blow hit the back of my thighs, and just like that my ass was
jammed into a big wire basket. Id become the cargo of a bicycle. We
wobbled down the sidewalk; two little girls whod just rounded the
corner, seeing this tangle of humanity and machine bearing down on
them, scrambled up on the hood of a parked car just before we hit
the bumper and went down. The rider, a nigger boy, was on his feet
immediately, big round eyes looking at me. He was about fteen or
sixteen, wearing a too-big army shirt with corporals chevrons.
Looking up, I saw the circled A of Third Army on the left shoulder.
You OK, mistah? he asked.
Still bent double in the basket, I grabbed his hand and crabbed
myself out. Yeah, I think so, I said, straightening up. Where ya
goin in such a hurry?
Down de sto, he replied, waving an arm languidly toward the
street. Dlivry.
Well, be careful, willya?. That things a lethal weapon. Id seen
bikes like it in Baltimore, with a small front wheel to make room for
the big basket. Whacha deliverin in such a hurry?
Growshry, he said, standing on the pedals and pulling away,
turning sharply right and disappearing up the street.
A Ruptured Duck 19
The girls, who looked to be about Jacks age, still sat, motionless,
watching me with solemn faces. They were twins, brunettes, in iden-
tical blue dresses.
Its OK, ladies; just a little accident, nothin to worry about. You
can come down now, I told them.
They dismounted, continuing to look at me as they did. A car
almost hit im one time, said the one on the left.
Sho did, said the one on the right.
Spilled growshries all over th place, said the one on the left.
Sho did, said the one on the right.
Well, no harm done this time, I said. See? I did a little time-
step to show them I was really all right.
They nodded, skeptically and in unison. But you already broke a
leg one time, said the one on the left.
Yeah, Pedro, you better be careful, said the one on the right.
Sliding down off the car, they walked to the corner, and stood wait-
ing for the trafc light to change. I stood in my tracks, wondering if
Id heard what I heard.
You all right? Rebas voice said from behind me.
Oh. Yeah. Thanks. He came out of nowhere.
Thats Ziggy, all right.
Ziggy?
Uh-hunh. Cause hes always ziggin an zaggin on that ole bicy-
cle. He delivers groceries for Archers Market down the street. When
you see that Ruptured Duck a-comin, best just get out of the way,
like them Bishop twins done. Sure youre OK?
Yeah. Thanks. Whats a Ruptured Duck?
Thats what they call that bird inside th wreath on the front of
Ziggys shirt. Makes it OK to wear it after you been discharged, I
think.
Oh, I see. And who are dose little girls?
Them twins? Big Boy Bishops kids. I seen em talkin to you;
funny, th way they almost sound like one person sometimes. Niice
girls, though.
Sure; well, see you tomorrow. I walked around the corner,
turned into the hotel and headed for the elevator, spooked about the
twins calling me Pedro, and that crack about my leg. Id had
enough Bisque for one day, that was for sure. The elevator man, who
Id seen doubling as bellboy, shut the door and pulled the control bar
to take us up.
That little nigger coulda hurt you bad, he said, looking straight
ahead. A tall, stringy man somewhere in his sixties, he sat bolt
upright on the little seat, his voice bouncing off the elevator door
back to me. A series of deep creases, like suddenly-healed scalpel
cuts, crisscrossed the back of his neck under strings of oily hair.
Sumbidy oughta x his ass fo he rilly hurts sumbidy.
Fix him? Sounds a little strong for a sore butt, I said.
He stopped the elevator at the fourth oor and opened the door.
He turned to me, his muddy brown eyes, close-set into his bony
brown face, looking straight into mine. He had the breath of a fuck-
ing cannibal. I said befo he hurts sumbidy, he said, his voice just
above a whisper. I got out, hoping this lizard hadnt spawned.
- 21 -
s
c h a p t e r 5
The Town
0835 Friday 16 August 1946:
The phone rang, bringing me out of my handstand against the door.
This heres Smokey. You gonna need a new raddiator core, awriit.
Yores is purty well rotted out. Ill show ye when ye come down. New
onell run sebmty-two dollars, and thutty-ve labor ta put it in.
Hm. Well, if thats what it takes
Hit is. Thold ones split from shit to shinola. Th other thang is,
at two-cobbarater motor takes a heavy-duty core, and I aint found
one yet. Hit may be a day er two fore I kin gitcha goin.
WellOK. Just gimme an idea of how long itll be when you can.
So thats a hunderd and sebm dollars all told, an thas greeable to
ye?
Yeah. Thanks for your help. I hung the phone up and looked out
the window at Bisque in August. Eight-fteen, and the heat was
already building. It shimmered off the trafcs blistering steel, stop-
ping and starting at the light on the corner. A lot of it was long-haul
trucks, belching and farting their way up and down the north-south
artery of U.S. Highway 1. Five stories above the noise wasnt high
enough.
I short-cut my calisthenics and lay back down, suddenly wanting
my dream of last night back, looking over Serenas shoulder down
the greenest of slopes into a blue lake, stroking her back, from the
nape of her neck to the shady parting of her cheeks, bending to kiss
her, willing the slick drool out of my cock. But what came back was
Sarah, face down, arms above her head, waiting, cool morning light
on the nape of her neck, the curve of her back, the twin hollows
above her cheeks, sweet places in soft shadow, the dancers calves, the
slender feet and toes that Id never suck again. Instead Im here, deep
in Erskine Caldwell country, dreaming about a new woman. Theyre
like marker buoys in a channel. Ding-dong, steer to port; ding-
dong, steer to starboard. Except for that rotten fucking radiator, Id
be at least as far south as Jacksonville by now, next stop Miami, and
Havana on the horizon.
I was in the restaurant by 9:15 in my last clean shirt, sitting down
at the same table as last night. Reba sat at the counter; seeing me
come in, she went behind it and picked up a coffee pot. Mornin,
Mr. Kabeesky, she said. You musta slept well; you missed our mor-
nin rush. You feelin OK?
Oh, yeah, just ne. Whats his name?Ziggy? He left me in one
piece.
Sometimes I think we oughta call im Crash. Hes a sweet boy,
but he aint got but one speed on that biikewiide open. What am I
gonna feed you this mornin?
I dunno; maybe some scrambled eggsd be good. And sausage.
Whole wheat toast.
You want regular or hot sausage, Hon?
What? I dont know. How hots the hot kind?
Pretty hot. I liike the regular msef; with sage and black pepper.
But we get lotsa calls for the hot, with them little akes ared pepper
in it.
Too early in the morning for me, Reba; make it regular.
The Town 23
When she brought it, the sausage was in patties, like little ham-
burgers, and very spicy. As I ate, my mind drifted back to Serena. I
was looking absently across the street at a slowly rolling barbers pole
when Jack materialized at my elbow. Hi, he said, green-eying me.
Oh. Hey, Jack. How you doin?
Fine. You goin down to Smokeys this mornin?
Not right away; hes gotta nd some parts to x my car. Izzat
where youre headed?
No, sir; I dont usually go down ere less Im with Rickyremem-
ber him from yesterday? We stop by sometimes to get a Coke and
watch what theyre doin. But I thought if you were goin, maybe Id
go with youif you didnt mind.
Well, he told me this mornin dat he didnt have the part he needs
yet, so I wont be goin til I hear back from him. Wont be long
before youre back in school, will it?
No, sir.
What grade willya be in this year?
Fifth.
Thats a good-lookin belt buckle you got there, buddy. The
buckle was a massive chunk of what looked like hand-carved silver, a
lump of turquoise embedded in the middle.
Thanks, said Jack. My dad sent it to me for my birthday last
year.
I know youre proud of it.
Sure am, he said with a grin. He got me this belt to go with it
when I went up to see him this summer.
Well, Id say you might never need another belt buckle in your
life. Somebody built dat one ta last. Thats a nice piecea turquoise
they put in it, too. Say; as one Nyoauk boy to anudda, if youre not
gonna be too busy this mornin, howdja like to show me around
town a little? If yer mother wooden mind.
He grinned. Nyoa-uk boy. Wait a minute and Ill see.
I nished breakfast, and was at the register signing my check,
when he came back. Ready? he asked.
All set. Where to?
Jack, dont you take Mr. Kabeesky to that nasty pool room now,
Reba admonished. He dont need to see that collection ano-goods.
Brushing back a stray blonde wisp, she rolled her eyes toward heaven
in search of divine support.
No, maam, he replied, mimicking the eyeroll.
We walked up Lee Street from the hotel, past clothing, shoe and
hardware stores that hadnt opened yet. I decided to ask Jack about
the elevator man.
You mean Denver, he said.
Denver, huh?
Thats his name. Denver Dander. Some people call him Cat.
Hes the porter.
He been around long?
Oh yeah. Since before I was born. Hes kinda famous.
Famous?
Well, yeah, kinda. Freddy says he can fart shave and a haircut,
two bits.
Not having a response to this information, I said, I could hardly
understand him in the elevator last night. Dont care much for
nigras, does he?
One time Reba said he sounds like hes got a chitlin stuck in is
throat. I dont know what he thinks about colored people, though.
Chitlin? Whats that?
Comes out of a hogs all I know. I never saw one.
Bisque looked like itd picked up some steam in the year or so of
postwar economy. Two drugstores, a Lanes and a Rexall, faced each
other at the corner. Crossing the street to the Rexall side, we walked
in a crosswalk made out of brass-colored cast metal ovals, about six
inches wide. Set solidly into the pavement, their sharp-relief lettering
said Double Cola.
The Town 25
As we reached the curb, I looked down the block and saw a theatre
marquee.
R
I
T
Z
Cascaded from the side of the building in red, green and blue
neona cultural beacon, of sorts, for the great city of Bisque. Hey,
I said to Jack, some movie.
This heres the fancy one, said Jack, as we walked toward it.
Theres two more in town. I like the Roxy the best. It just shows
cowboy and scary shows, and its only nine cents. This ones four-
teen.
How much?
Fourteen cents. Thats for kids. Its forty-ve for ad-ults.
The current attraction, said the poster locked in the glassed-in
cabinet labeled TODAY, was Anchors Aweigh. The poster showed
Kelly and Sinatra, dancing horny-happy in their whites, grinning out
at the viewer. The COMING ATTRACTIONS cabinet, on the oppo-
site side of the box ofce, promised Double Indemnity, starting Mon-
day. The double doors on both sides were open, vacuum-cleaning
noises boiling out. Lets go in, I said.
If Mr. Walton is around, hell run us off, said Jack. He hates it
when you come in before the show.
Well, Im new in town, I said. How would I know? We walked
in, nding no one in the lobby. The doors to the theatre itself were
also open. I looked inside; it was larger than I thought, with about
400 seats in the orchestra. The ceiling arched over them, promising
decent acoustics. The vacuum cleaner, somewhere out of sight, was
clearly audible where we stood, another indication that whoever
built the Ritz knew what he was doing. Id like to see the projection
room, I thought. Wanna to come back and see the rst show? I
asked Jack, who clearly had had enough of my snooping and was
ready to go.
Nah. Maybe we could see whats at the Roxy.
OK. Lead on. We turned to leave the auditorium, but our way
was blocked by a large, balding man, at least six-four, around forty,
studying us through heavy tortoise-shell glasses.
Are you looking for me? he asked.
No, sir, I replied, Please excuse ourwell, myintrusion. Im
just passin through Bisque. My young friends been givin me a tour
of the town, and I couldn resist a quick look inside. Im a projection-
ist, and naturally curious besides. My names Kubielski. Moses
Kubielski.
Richard Walton, he said distractedly, giving my extended hand a
quick, limp shake. Well, yall come back now, he-unh; enjoy your
visit. He stood aside, plainly ready to see the last of us.
Thanks. I may be back for da matinee.
Oh. Good. The features two-fteen. Bring your friends. With
an abrupt about-face, he strode into the lobby and up the stairs
without looking back.
Hey, look! Jack said as we stepped out on the street. He ran a
couple of steps toward a motorbike that was parked out front. It was
close to brand new, and resplendent in its glossy black paint and
gold-striped trim. Its name, Servi-cycle, ran the length of the gas
tank in splashy gold script. Its coil-sprung solo saddle was covered in
tan leather.
You like motorbikes, huh? I asked him.
Sure! Who doesnt?
Mostly da mothers udda people who ride em, I guess. Why don-
cha sit on it?
Oh, no. Its Freddy Georges, and hed get really mad. Anyway, my
legsre too short.
Guess yer right not to sit on it widout permission. I dont think
yer legs are too short, though. What grade didja say yad be in?
The Town 27
Fifth.
Yer a pretty big kid. Where to now?
This way; th curb markets open today. Theres this one lady that
makes these really great brownies. Dime apiece, or a dollar a dozen.
The curb market sat on the corner, just down from the Ritz, in a
building that looked like it had been a fairly large retail store of some
kind. The place was almost entirely populated by women, in print
dresses and severe hairdos, obviously in from the country. As they
busied themselves for the onslaught of Bisque wives, their hunched
way of scuttling made them look like a bunch of lower-case f s in
different type faces, held to the base line of their life sentence by
black lace-up oxfords with sturdy heels like the teeth of an industrial
gearwheel.
As we walked down the stall-lined aisles, it was obvious that Jack
knew his way around. You must come here a lot, I said.
I come up here with Nelsonth cook at th cafevery now and
then, he said, waving back in answer to greetings from several of the
women as they passed. Heres Miz Bartow. Hey.
Hey, Jackie, she said, enveloping the boy in a hug. Wondered
where you wuz today. Mr. Lords done come and gone.
An miss these brownies? No may-um. This heres Mr. Kubielski,
Miz Bartow.
She looked at me, smiling shyly. Hey, there, she said, looking
away as she did.
Hi, Mrs. Bartow. Could we talk you out of a dozen of your
famous brownies?
Why yes, yes sir, f you liike. Jackie usely just has th one, an I
give im that un. Thankew for bringin me a new customer, Jackie.
Ill put a extry un in the baig fer ye. She began loading a white
paper bag with dense chocolate rectangles, their aroma an urgent
invitation.
Now Ill show you the re station, Jack said between bulging
cheeks. We faced the county court house, across Jackson Street from
the market, its white columns extending to the second of its three
stories. As we reached the street, a new black Ford sedan pulled into
the last parking space before the corner, its chrome siren sitting on
the left front fender like a PT boats torpedo tube. Sheriff, Hamm
County, proclaimed the, white badge on the front door. The driver,
looking across the street as he got out, waved in our direction. He
was tall and spare, a Gary Cooper type. Jack waved back, shouting,
Hey, Wahoo, as he did. He started across the street, saying to me
over his shoulder, Come on, Ill introduce you to the sheriff.
The sheriff s khaki twill uniform, starched and cut to a snug mili-
tary t, was holding up well under the heat. How you doin, Jack?
he said, smiling, reaching out to tousle the boys hair.
Fine. Im just showing Mr. Kabeesky around town. Hes a guest at
the hotel.
Brown eyes, set deeply in the lean, tanned face, shifted quickly to
me. How do you do, sir, he said. Im John McDaniel. Welcome to
Hamm County.
Pleased to meetcha, Sheriff; Moses Kubielski.
Looks like theyre makin you feel riit at home down at th ho-
tel, he said. Jack dudnt give every Tom, Dick and Harry a tour of
th town. Are you stayin awhile?
Just until my cars xed; then Im on my way to Florida.
Well, enjoy your visit; Id best be movin on. Maybe Ill see you
later; I have supper at the hotel now and then. See you now, he-unh.
He turned toward the court house and moved out with parade-
ground poise.
Well, I said, looks like ya got a pretty good lawman lookin out
for ya. Ever get a ride inna squad car?
Yeah; he takes Mom and me out to Tubbys barbecue for supper
sometimes, but you know what?
Whats that?
He wouldnt blow th sireen.
- 29 -
s
c h a p t e r 6
The Ritz
Jacks Bisque tour covered all the bases; it was lunchtime before we
were back at the hotel. Hot and thirsty, we went straight to the caf
and collapsed into the chairs of the rst open table. Reba, who was
clearing another table, saw us and rushed over.
Johnnie Mae! Wouldja get that table ready fo me, please? I got to
tend to sumpm else, she said to the heavy-set Negro woman behind
the counter. Dropping her voice as she poured glasses of ice water for
us, she said to me, I thought you all wouldnt never get back. Some-
bidys been lookin fer ya.
In spite of myself, I overreacted. For me? Who?
Mr. Walton. He called up here and made me promise to remind
you to come to the show this afternoon. Said he wanted to ask you
something.
Oh. Yes, I told him I might come back to see the feature this
afternoon.
Well, he sure does want to see ya, she said, gazing intently into
my face. She glanced quickly at Jack, then continued, Hes had a
hard time with that show; he keeps it looking so niice, but Nelson
my cook, you aint met him yethe says he thinks Mr. Walton is
about to shut it diyun.
Shut what?
Shut it diyun, honey. Close it uup. He just aint makin any
money, Nelson says.
Oh. I see. Shut it down. What a shame.
I guess he wants to see if you kin advise him, seein you was in the
business and all.
News travels fast, I thought. Well, I dont know that Ill be of any
help to him, but Ill drop in. Not before we have lunch, though.
Whats good today?
Reba smilingly shook her head. Its ALL good, honey, but we got
some niice fresh catsh in this mornin thatll make you slap yo
granpaw down. Nelson fries em so light and crispy youll think you
done died and went to heaven. Jack loves em, dontcha?
Yes maam, and hushpuppies.
Hmm, I said. Well, on Jacks recommendation. Ive never had
catsh.
Ill bring yall some nice mashed sweet taters and half-runner
beans, too, she said, and was gone.
Youll like the catsh, Mr. Kabeesky, Jack said.
I laughed. Let me ask you something, Jack. Since I have such a
mouthful of a name, would you rather just call me Mose? Thats
what my friends call me.
He grinned, looking at me with that direct, green-eyed gaze he
shares with his mother. Sure. Mose. Thats a lot easier. You look like
a Mose, anyway.
Done. Too bad your Moms not here to join us. Does she like cat-
sh?
Oh yeah. But she dont usually eat lunch here in the caf, cause
its such a busy time in the hotel. She just has a sandwich or some-
thing up at our place.
I see.
The Ritz 31
Reba reappeared with the famous catsh. True to her word, and
Jacks, I never ate better sh in my life. Whats this white stuff? I
asked him, indicating a dish that shed set between us.
Oh, thats whatcha call tartar sauce. I dont much like it, but
Mom does. Its got onions in it, he said, grimacing. So do th
hushpuppies, but its different when theyre cooked.
Well, I like onions, so Ill probably like it. And I did. We ate with
very little conversation, savoring Nelsons genius. The hushpuppies,
deep-fried little balls of onion-studded cornbread, were perfect with
them. Want to come see the movie with me? I asked as we each dug
into big pieces of lemon icebox pie that Reba brought us without
asking.
No sir, thanks just the same. Ricky and I usually go swimmin in
the afternoon.
Well, you better get some rest after this giant lunch so you dont
get cramps. Thats what my mama used to tell me. Where do you go
swimmin?
In th pool out at City Park.
Staying in the shade where possible, I walked up to the Ritzs box
ofce just after two. Richard Walton, seated inside, motioned to me
to come in. With no ticket. I could already see why he wasnt making
money. He met me, shifting his gray-checked trousers under a prom-
ising paunch, just inside the door. Thanks for coming, he said. I
dont want you to miss the beginning, but if you have time, Id really
like to talk with you afterwards for just a few minutes.
Thats OK. Ive seen Anchors Aweigh. We can talk now, if youre
free.
Oh. Yes, of course. Just let me get someone out front, and we can
go up to my ofce. That done, I followed him up the steep narrow
stairs into the ofce, most of which was occupied by a desk and sofa.
Sorry to jam us in here, but its impossible for me to get away dur-
ing show hours, and I didnt want us to be interrupted.
Its a very familiar place to me, I said. As I told you, Ive been in
the business.
Yes. In Baltimore.
More high-speed intelligence, I thought. Thats right. Did I tell
you that?
He let a little nervous laugh escape. No. I heard about it down at
the caf. No secrets in Bisque.
I guess not. Well, here we are, anyway. Whatd you want to talk
about?
Walton swallowed, looking at me through rimless bifocals that
had replaced his massive horn-rims. You may have heard that Im
having a few problems here. The truth is, Ive thought about selling
out. As much as I thought Id love the theatre business, it stopped
being fun quite a while ago. In the four years Ive owned it, its cost
me almost everything I have, and with the admissions taxes, I just
cant gure a way to make it pay.
Hm. Thats hard to imagine. Th admissions taxesre ridiculous,
of course, and four screens may be oneer two too many in a town
this size. Whos your main competition?
Its hard to say. Some weeks the Roxy, around the corner, really
lls up, and others its relatively empty. I dont get out to the other
two that often. And the drive-ins gonna get the older kids, no matter
what theyre playing. They wont see much of whatever it is anyway.
I couldnt see how hed kept going as long as he had. Well, Id
suggest that you try to nd out what your most successful competi-
tor, whoever that is, is doing, and do it yourself. Youre th only rst-
run house in town, youre the largestyoure the best, in other words.
People should be comin here in droves, especially now, when its so
hot and you got a nice cool place for em to come to be entertained.
Youre right. But I cant seem to get through to enough of them
to keep this place as full as it needs to be to make money.
The Ritz 33
In spite of myself, and against my nature, which is always, always,
to know all of my options in a situation, I heard myself asking him,
Whatll you take for it?
What?
I said, whatll you take for it? How much do you want for the
Ritz?
Why, I dont know; I
If you want to sell it, gure out your price and let me know. I was
headed down to Florida to shop for a theatre; if we can make a deal,
then I wont have to drive so far. Ill be checkin out the market in the
meanwhile, so make sure the price you give mes the best you can
do.
He shifted in his steel chair and looked at me, saying nothing.
Maybe hed gotten me up there for a sales pitch, or just some free
advice, but he wasnt expecting this. Finally he spoke. Ill have to
have my accountant
OK, I said, But you probably oughtnt to give me too much
time to think about it. You have some serious problems here, and I
might get cold feet the more I look around.
Ill call you tomorrow, he said.
If thats when youve got a price.
I stepped out into the midday heat, sun-blinded and hoping shed
be worth it.
- 35 -
s
c h a p t e r 7
Radio Waves
1100 Saturday 17 August 1946:
Im in the Bisque Caf two or three times a day since I came back to
this garden spot last year. Eatings not my great passion, but one
must, and Nelson Lords grubs the best around, hands down. Inter-
esting hobby, too; screwing around with every underage split-tail in
town. Well, nobodys perfect, and artists traditionally get the benet
of the doubt. And make no mistake, hes the closest thing to an artist
this town has to offer.
So Im sitting at my favorite table, which by rights should be my
private table, as much business as I throw their way, and being a pub-
lic gure on top of that. Im accustomed to better. Atlantas my kind
of place. Business there gets done in the hotel barsthe Dinkler, the
Henry Grady, the Biltmore. And until I drunk my way out of it, and
out of town, my private table was at the Biltmore, twenty-four hours
a day, a short stagger from my erstwhile employer, NBC station
WBS.
Now youre thinking, Poor chumpon top in the big town, at war
with the bottle, now dried out and living the straight life in Pal-
ookaville. Bullshit. I just headed back home to the garden spot of
Bisque, where I did whats sometimes referred to as growing up, and
a job that I could stay on top of drunk. They glad to have me back as
long as my supply of Sen-Sen held out.
I was just slightly hung over, having choked down a late breakfast,
touching up my breath with a Sen-Sen and burning a fresh Chester-
eld when he walked in. I gured him for the New Yorker right away;
Buck Jordand told me about a New York-type guy dropping off a
big-ass white Buick at Smokeys, and this joker t the description. He
obviously had no talent whatever for wasting time; he was in, sitting
down, and waving at Reba, all in the same motion.
I was ready to go anyway, so I hauled my largish ass up and
headed for him, catching his eye as I stopped at his table. Howdy, I
said, very much the local boy. How ya doin? Im Lee Webster, radio
station WQUE. He shot a brief smile, squinty-eyed, up at me.
Oh, yeah? Well, siddown for a minute, Mr. Lee Webster. Youre
just the man I need to see. He shifted in his chair as I took the one
on his left, extending a hand. Clear, steel-gray eyes, precision-grade
ball bearings, examined me. We shook as he said, My names Moses
Kubielski. Whaddya do over there? His voice pitched high, for a
burly type.
Newscaster, deejay, relief engineer and time salesman, I said,
and theyve probably thought up something else for me to do since
I left this morning. That your Buick down at Smokeys?
Yep. Ya take yer news-hawkin seriously.
Its not that big a town. I was just over at Bucks Billiards. If news
makes it to Bucks, itll be over the county line by sundown.
I believe it.
I looked up to see Nelson Lord walking towards us. Hey, Web-
ster, he said. How ya doin?
All right, Nels, howre you?
Fine and dandy, he said, looking at Kubielski and extending his
hand as he spoke. Howdy. Im Nelson Lord.
Kubielski, he said, shaking Lords hand. Moses Kubielski.
Ive seen you in here a time or two. Food suit you OK?
Radio Waves 37
Better than that.
Good. He glanced up at the sound of a rap on the cafs window.
Two young girls who looked about sixteen stood outside at the caf
window. The dark-haired one waved, the way you would to ag a
cab. Scuse me. Pussy aint got no patience.
I dont see how you keep it up, Nels, said Webster, gazing raptly
at the nubility on the far side of the glass. Daytime, nighttime; youll
be dead before youre forty. You better nd you sumpm regular and
settle down.
You go ahead. I druther pay by th job, he said, grinning over his
shoulder as he turned toward the door. Maybe they aint th safest
stuff in th world, but them sweet little thangs got what it takes to
cage my gyro. I probly wont hafta jack off for a day or two. Ketch
yall later.
Nice piece, nest pas? said Webster, looking out at the girl. They
dont call ol Nels Sluts-a-Plenty for nothing.
OK, for jailbait, said Kubielski as Lord walked outside. Heres
hopin the cafs rest room has one of those Employees Must Wash
Hands signs. Anyway, what I wanna talk with ya about might not be
big news, but its gotta be off the record. Might be some advertising
in it for ya.
He damn sure knew how to get my interest. Sales commissions are
over half my income, and new accounts pay another 10% for the rst
year. Fuck journalism, in other words. OK; Ill tell you when I cant
listen anymore without going on the record. Whats up?
Im thinkin of buyin the Ritz Theatre from Walton, but I dont
want to share the bath hes been takin. Why aint that place llin
up?
Hadnt thought that much about it; I love movies, and Im one of
the Ritzs best customers. You dont have to ght your way through
much of a crowd, though, unless the lms a Walt Disney. You know
anything about running a movie house?
Reba took his order for a large lemonade, and mine for another
Coke. Im a projectionist, he said. What about the other three
houses? Any of them serious competitors?
Not any one, but hed do a lot better if a couple of them just went
away. Two are just cheap neighborhood icks, and the Roxys not
much better, but four movies are still a lot for a town this size. It
keeps ticket prices down, for one thing; youre not going to get rich
charging fty cents, and fteen for kids. The others charge kids just a
dime to get in, and then some of them stay all day.
Any of them advertise with you?
Nobody but the Ritz, and thats rare. The paper gets most of
what ad money is spent, and its not much.
Hm. And show business is supposed to be exciting.
You dont understand Bisque-think. In the minds of the great
majority of Hamm Countys thirty thousand-odd souls, excitements
not the objective, at least if youre of legal age. The goal is to get
through life with a minimum of personal disrepute, while discreetly
enjoying that of your fellow citizens.
Well, looks like the clergys got that action sewed up. Lotta
churches in this little burg, he said.
Jesus. Pun intended; you are such a city slicker. Churchesre the
key to understanding Bisque, or any other little burg like this in
which you may nd yourself, I said.
Hows that?
Its a matter of ecclesiastical pecking order, proto-redneck vari-
ety. Your place in the grand scheme of Bisque society is determined
in a big way by which church you belong to.
You dont say.
I do say. I say further that if you want to rise above Bisques hoi
polloi, youll hie yourself to one of the dual pinnacles of godliness;
the First Baptist or the First Methodist.
This because of the quality of the religious instruction available.
Radio Waves 39
Disingenuousness ill becomes you, pilgrim. You know full well
that the concentration of luminaries in the congregations is what its
about.
He leaned back in his chair, letting me have it with the steel-grays,
point-blank. Dont assume that I know anything about the God
dodge. Ive avoided it as completely as possible up to now, to what I
believes been my benet.
I can say pretty much the same. Im no pew-hustler; just telling
you what turns the wheels around here.
Thanks. At least movies run it a close second.
Nope, I told him. Not for a minute. They run a distant third,
maybe, behind another branch of religion.
What are you talking about?
The primary passion in these parts. Football. Fuhbawl, as its
said around here. And high-school fuhbawl in particular.
Ill be damned, he laughed. Fuhbawl. Why all the enthusi-
asm?
Well, let me try to approach it from your point of view. I under-
stand that youre from New York.
By way of Balamer.
Where?
Bal-ti-more.
OK. But lets stay in New York for a minute. In New York, what
does yer average married couple do to forget their troubles and have
a little fun?
Hell. All kinds of things; screwing other married people, for one,
but high school footballs way down on the list.
How about baseball?
Yeah, sure.
You a Dodger fan?
No, with the ick of a sneer. I follow the Yankees, off and on.
Well, in this part of the country high school footballs opening
day, the All-Star game and the World Series all rolled into one. Kids
make the players their rst heroes, then some of them become the
heroes of the next generation. And even though most of the star
players dont make it to a college team, theyre still big guys around
town for years afterward. People stop them on the street and remind
them of some big play that they made back in 39. Makes a lifetime of
choppin cotton, truck-drivin or sellin insurance a little more palat-
able.
I suppose. But they do like Walt Disney.
Oh, yeah. Cant get enough of Bambi and Cinderella.
Well, thats one thing New York and the boondocks have in com-
mon. Maybe it just takes a good story to ll up the house, wherever it
is.
Could be, I said. Thing about a Disney ick is, promotion. You
know its coming for a long time before it shows up, and theres a big
hangover after its gone. Dolls, hats, shirts, cupsthey probably make
as much from that crap as they do from the box ofce.
Well, the Ritz cant be an all-Disney house; what would you do in
my shoes?
Im not sure I know enough about your shoes, or where theyve
taken you up to now. And why you think youd like it here. Its a hell
of a long way from little old New York.
Actually, I got most of my movie-house experience in Balamer.
Well, still, Id say that it depends on how much you can put into
it, and how long you can wait to get your money back. If you get it
back. Its gotta be a long shot, any way you look at it.
Looks like it to me, too. Well, there cant be a deal without a
price. Well see what his is. Any idea how long hes had it on the mar-
ket?
As far as I know, he hasnt really had it on the marketuntil now,
I told him. I didnt even know he was having that much trouble
making ends meet. Hes kept up a good frontthe place always looks
good, and he does have trafc, even though it looks like he could use
more.
Radio Waves 41
Well, he said, Im not interested in gettin into a bid war with
anyone. Keep this under your hat until I decide one way or the other,
and well do some business.
Wait a minute. How much business are we talking about? What if
you dont do the deal?
Lets say this; if Im the new owner of the Ritz, Im going to use
radio to build trafc. Well do the business it takes to make it hap-
pen. And Im making a little side bet with myself that I will be the
new owner. He pulled some bills out of his pocket, extracted one
and put the rest back. It was a hundred. Holding his hands at the
edge of the table, he tore it in half, then tossed one half to me. If I
pass on the deal, you get the other half. If I make the deal, you still
get the other half, but you credit it to the Ritzs advertising account.
I stuck the ripped C-note in my shirt pocket. Youre an interest-
ing guy, Mr.
Kubielski. Moses Kubielski. Im just a guy who likes movies,
Webster. Where do you do your drinkin?
All over the place. Why?
I like to have a beer now and then, and I thought I might get to
know the town a little quicker if I went to the main waterin hole to
do it.
One block west and two blocks north, just this side of the rail-
road depot. The Bisque Lunch Room. They pour three or four differ-
ent kinds of draft, and, as the name suggests, you can have lunch
there. Or the same thing for dinner. Of the fty-seven varieties of
redneck, you can generally count on seeing a good cross-section. I
usually stop in there after my evening show. Sundown Serenade. Tune
me in sometime; fourteen-forty on your radio dial.
Ill do it. By the way.
What?
Whys it pronounced BIS-kew insteada Bisk?
Same reason that Cairo, Georgias KAY-ro, Buena Vistas Bewna
Vister and Albanys ALL-binny, I guess. Im sure that the guy this
burg was named after didnt say it that way.
Any idea who that was?
Major Hamilton Hubert Hamm Bisque. A Cajun, so the story
goes, that picked up a grant of Creek Indian land for his service to
the Republic in the War of 1812, farmed it, and got around to
prompting the eruption of this commercial carbuncle on an other-
wise innocent body of sandy clay in 1847. So the countys named
Hamm and towns named Bisque, or Miscue by certain of its resi-
dents, and all of its high school athletic opponents.
My, my. Well, see you at the movies, Webster.
You bet. Youre going to do well here.
Oh yeah? How do ya know?
Im sort of a visionary. A peripheral visionary.
Whats that?
Well, sometimes I get a feeling about the future, but maybe a lit-
tle bit skewed toward the inconsequentials.
I can see how that might be helpful in this town, said Moses as
he stood up. From what youve told me, I see it goin 4F one better.
Hows that?
Bisque looks like a 5F society to mefood, fuhbawl, ag, fuckin
& fear. I can live with that.
Saturday mornings kick ass, dont they, Flx? Hotels about empty,
just Clara to make up the three-four rooms that peoplere staying in.
Now that Moms let us run the elevator by ourselves, we can go
where we please. Nothing to it. Just look down at the bottom of the
door to see the oors coming up, so you can match up with the
doors on the oor youre stopping at. I like that elevator roulette
trick you taught me; just ride up and down with my eyes closed, pull
the handle to stop the car, open my eyes, and go up or down to
Radio Waves 43
whichever oor Im closest to. Then hop off and walk around the
oor and snoop around.
It aint snoopin, Jackie; its security, Flx squawked softly. You
cant tell what the hell might be going on in a hotel. May not be
many guests in here, but theyre still strangers, and they bear watch-
ing.
Yeah, I guess youre right. You know a lot for a two-year old.
A two-year old Goshawk, son. Accipiter Gentilis, that is, which is a
damn sight different from a two-year old human.
Yeah, I guess so. Glad you hatched out, anyway.
Didnt have any choice. When its time, its time. Eggsre like that.
And I wasnt gettin all that much air, since Mike painted my damn
shell olive drab.
Yeah, Im sorry about that. I didnt realize you were in there
when I traded him my black aggie for your egg. I thought it was just
a nice smooth rock. Once I had it, I saw how much it looked like a
bomb, so I cut up an Old Maid card and made those little ns for it.
Damn glad you didnt take a notion to drop itmeouta some
window. Bad enough that you named me what you did.
Whats wrong with Flx? Its the good part of that buss name.
Wouldja ratherve been Flxible?
Why name a self-respectin Goshawk for a bus in the rst place?
All they do is roll. I y, mister. You couldve at least named me for a
plane.
But we were on the bus when you hatched. You gotta respect that.
And I just couldnt get that Flxible outa my mind. How you were
supposed to pronounce it, I mean. Then Mom told me that theyd
written it that way so it could be a trademarkstill not sure what
that isand to just say it like the missing e was in there. Now that
Im used to saying it, I like it better than with the e in. Kinda stylish,
doncha think?
Guess I can live with it. Since I wont be hearin it from anybody
but you.
Guess not. Anyway, I told you how much the hotels like our old
building in New York. Both brick, and about the same size. Its the
main reason I like living here so much. But I wasnt old enough to
run the elevator there, even if theyd let me. I dont guess I wouldve
ever known the things about our old building that we know about
this one. Like where the electricity comes in, in the basement. And
how to turn it off, the way Denver showed us that time. Its scary to
think we could make the whole hotel just stop, if we ipped a couple
of switches inside that big black box with the Square D stamped on
it, in the back corner next to the alley.
Um-hm.
Its where I go when Im missin Daddy real bad, so nobody but
youll see me cry. You know that light green that the basement walls
are painted? I dont like the color much; its got so that when I feel
sad, I see that pissy green, even when Im not in the basement.
Yeah, Flx squawked, even more softly than before. I know.
Doncha think that livin in a big building like this is kinda like
livin in New York?
I guess so.
With a building, you got a lot more to think about all the time
than you would just livin in a house. You gotta get a lot more people
to do things. And because theres so much to do, you dont get bored.
I hate being bored. When Im bored, I start to think about the things
that make me sad. Im pretty sure Mom feels that way too, cause
shes always doin stuff to keep busy. Seems like it, anyhow.
No doubt about it.
I know she misses Daddy, too, sometimes. Remember when she
asked me the other day, Do you remember in New York, when your
Dad and Id pick you up at school to walk home in the afternoons,
and wed try to sneak up on the pigeons in the little park on Colum-
bus Avenue? We could never even get close before theyd all y away,
though, making that ungodly noise when they did. I said yes, I
remembered. That was one of my best memories of New York, she
Radio Waves 45
said, and she had this kinda far-off look. Makes me wonder, if we
hadnt gone off to the desert, if maybe wed all still be there in New
York, sneakin up on the pigeons, still havin good times like that.
Yeah, Flx squawked thoughtfully, pigeons.
Being heres OK, though; way bettern Los Alamos, anywayout
there in the desert, burning-up hot, no trees, and then cold at night,
in that crappy little house; us on one side and some other people,
that didnt have any children, on the other side. It had a tin roof.
Mom said there wasnt any way to get the house clean, and if there
was, itd be dirty again in ve minutes cause the place leaked at every
seam. At every seam; I thought that was funny, like she was talking
about a shirt or something like that instead of a house. And Daddy
was gone almost all the time. Mom said his job was driving us all
crazy, so she told Daddy she was takin me to Bisque, so I could grow
up halfway normal. He didnt want us to go, but he was so busy he
just had to let us do it so he could get back to work.
Yeah, Flx cackled musingly, I guess he did.
Well, were here now, and have some good friends, like Ricky, to
play with. We have fun out at his house, dont we? Wish Mom had
more friends. Aunt Cordelia comes by all the time, but shes about
the only person Mom sees, except when she goes to see that friend of
hers in Augusta now and then. She knows some of my friends
moms, from way back; went to school with them, but she says that
she dont have that much in common with them now. She says
theyre mostly bridge ladies, cause they play bridge with each other
all th time and thats all. Moms always sayin funny stuff like that. So
lots of times its just us, and her, here in the hotel, waitin for bed-
time.
By th way, asked Flx, any chance we could get to bed a little
earlier? This late roostins hard on a growin bird.
You go on any time you feel like it. We dont hafta be together
absolutely all the time.
OK. Thanks. And if ya dont mind, I might wanta cut out every
now and then to check out a few things.
What things?
Oh, just stuff itd do us good to know, that I might be able to nd
out easier than you can, since nobody sees me but you.
But like what? I feel better when youre hangin around.
I know, but what about this? You know how Wahoo took us to
eat barbeque that time? He likes Mom a lot, but she doesnt like him
all that much. Maybe she lets him take us out cause she thinks we
like him, which we do, but I dont think hed want to take just you
and me out to Tubbys. I think he wants to stick his weenie into her,
and he aint gured out how to get rid of us so he can.
Jack bristled. Dont say that. My Mom wouldnt let him do that.
Dont be too sure. Humans are funny about gettin that ole
weenie in a bun. Ill see what I can nd out, if ya dont mind.
OK, Jack said grudgingly. But you know what? I think Mose
would take just us to Tubbys. We dont know too much about him,
but I like the way he is, and I think Mom does, too. Too bad he cant
stay. If Mom really wants to do any a that weenie bun stuff, I hope
she does it with him.
- 47 -
s
c h a p t e r 8
Crawl in the Saddle
1005 Monday 19 August 1946:
It turned out to be a lot simpler than Id imagined. Walton had damn
near no equity in the Ritz, having steadily lost money while he
owned it.
Youre buying the Ritz? Just like that? shed said.
Well, I was gonna to buy a theatre sooner or later, and this one
looks like a steal to me, I replied. Like to guess his price?
No thanks. Thats between you and him.
And our lawyers. Could you recommend someone to handle my
side of it?
Well, Im sure BruceBruce Goode, the attorney that handles our
business, could do it, but there may be a conict.
You mean about the lease.
Oh. Yes. Then you know its my fathers property.
Sure. That was a major selling point for him. Eight years left on a
ten-year lease, three hundred a month with a ve percent annual
increase, lessor Lawton Redding. I dont see any problem if your law-
yer doesnt.
Well, Ill call and ask him right away. Holy Toledo! You obviously
dont have any trouble making up your mind about things.
You have no idea, I thought. A good deals where you nd it, I
said. If youll ask him to give me an appointment as soon as he can,
maybe we can get it done in a few days and make a little cinema his-
tory in this town. Has Walton ever talked to you about doing any
kind of promotion with the hotel?
No. And to tell the truth, I cant see that it wouldve done him
that much good. Seems to me that the Ritzs market is the people of
Bisque, not those that are just passing through.
Oh, no. Whod rather sit in a hotel room at night if theres a good
movie around the corner? A lot of your guests are repeaters, arent
they? If I mail a monthly coming attractions list to them at home,
they can plan to come to the Ritz while theyre here. Theyd probably
tell their friends and business associates about a good theatre being
close by, and youd get some new business too.
I must admit that I hadnt thought about it. Well, let me call
Bruce and get you two together. No sense delaying your making us
all rich.
Yeah, the sooner I get my ducks in a row, the better.
My daddy says that. Ive always thought it was just another way
of saying, at a societally acceptable level, as soon as I can con-
vince the necessary number of people to abandon the pursuit of
their own best interests in favor of the pursuit of mine.
Hm. Im lookin forward to meetin him, said Moses.

Bruce Goode and I met in his ofce, which was in a house on
brick-paved Cypress Street, where it crossed Lee street a couple of
blocks south of the Hotel. The rms name, Billcombe, Goode and
Proper, was engraved in black on a silver plate fastened to the white
wood-latticed screen door. The joke hadnt occurred to me until he
brought it up. He was a little older than me, and obviously well off,
and I guessed his good humor had a lot to do with that. He seemed
as happy to see me as if Id been the governor. Mr. Kubielski, he
Crawl in the Saddle 49
said in a voice rubbed smooth with long use. Its a pleasure to meet
you, and to greet the newest member of Bisques business commu-
nity. Thanks so much for letting us handle this transaction for you. It
requires a little extra trust for a newcomer to do business with a rm
with a name like ours.
Its my pleasure, Mr. Goode. It came up unexpectedly. I dont
understand what you mean about the name, though.
You mean Serena passed up the chance to have a little fun at our
expense? Its just that our founding partners were perverse enough to
stay with the alphabetic sequence of last names, and the rst one was
Billcombe. Its pronounced bilk em.
Oh. I see. Bilk em
Good and proper. Precisely. Well, just put it down to the eager-
ness of a bunch of young bucks trying to get some visibility, and
some business, any way that they could. Bisque itself was wet behind
the ears back then1895and the joke apparently appealed to
enough people to perpetuate it. In any case, they prevailed, and
theres a second and third generation of pretty fair lawyers now as
evidence that they did.
I laughed. Well, as long as its just reverse psychology.
Thats it! he said, happy to see that I got it. Well, as to the Ritz.
If you dont mind my saying so, you drove a damn ne bargain. Ive
examined our copies of the documents that Frank Atkinson, Mr.
Waltons counsel, sent to me yesterday. I really dont see much that
needs changing.
Good. Im sure then that I wont either. Ill just take them back to
the hotel with me and look them over, and get back to you tomor-
row. If youre free sometime tomorrow, that is.
How about Wednesday? Perhaps we could discuss any questions
that you might have over lunch. Id be happy to pick you up at the
hotelsay twelve-thirty? The Elks Club has a very nice lunch menu,
and its just a short drive.
That would be ne, I said. So far, Ive only eaten at the hotel.
Yes, of course. I forgot for a moment how short a time youve
been in Bisque. If youd like, Id enjoy showing you a little more of
the town, and the county, after lunch.
Id appreciate that very much. Ill see you tomorrow, then.
I took a different route back to the hotel, thinking about lunch
and a beer to go with it. Heading west on Cypress, I crossed Lee and
continued for another block, hoping that Id remembered Lee Web-
sters directions to the Bisque Lunch Room. I turned north on Eighth
and, seeing the railroad station in the distance, gured that I had. I
slowed my pace to a saunter, integrating this part of town, which my
walks with Jack hadnt covered, into my mental map of what was to
be my new home for some as-yet-to-be-determined period of time.
Tree roots had heaved up some of the sidewalk slabs, letting little
moss patches grow in the cracks. The houses here were both larger
and older than the ones in lawyer Goodes part of Cypress street, and
less well-kept as you approached Main, where residences left off and
business began. Crossing relatively wide Main, I left the rumble and
screech of its truck-dominated trafc behind me, and walked on,
past a wholesale grocer, miscellaneous small retailers and the ice
house down the block on Jackson.
The Bisque Lunch Room slouched on the corner of Eighth street
and an alley, opposite one side of the post ofce and just beyond
what appeared to be a repair shop. Crossing over to its side of the
street, I picked my way past lawnmowers, power saws and various
agricultural-looking devices toward the Lunch Rooms swinging
doors. A large olive-drab Harley-Davidson and sidecar rig was
parked on the street, its back wheel resting against the curb, pointing
toward the railroad station.
The Steinerbru clock on the far wall read 11:45. Remnants of the
morning sun spattered through the swinging doors and grimy win-
dows, highlighting the small cyclones of dust kicked up by the swing-
ing doors, crawling across the sawdust-covered oor and up the
front of the two-sided bar that ran most of the twenty-ve-or-so foot
width of the room, serving whites at the front and colored at the rear,
where the oor was about three feet lower, level with a side door that
opened onto the alley, than the front. A gray-haired, gray-skinned
fortyish man sat at the cash register on the servers side of the bar, in
the L created by the bar and the left-hand wall. He looked mildly at
me over rimless half-glasses. Mornin, he grunted. Whatll it be?
Mornin, I replied. Im here for lunch, but Ill have a beer while
I look at the menu. Whaddya have on draft?
Schlitz, Miller and Bud. And them and a bunch of others in bot-
tles. Steinie, CV, Blatz, Black Label, Feingold, Ballantines and Red
Cap.
Red Cap?
Red Cap ale. Carlings.
Thatll be ne. Whats for lunch?
Thar she blows, he said, raising a dessicated hand toward a sign
above the bar and reprising its movable-white-plastic-letter testa-
ment. Best ribeye steak you ever ate, on a plate or in a sandwich,
hamburger, hot dog, bacon lettuce and tomater, french fries with
everthang. Or baloney on liit bread, that we have mostly for the coon
trade. If youd keer for an appetizer, we got pickled eggs, pickled pigs
feet and pickled hot sausages in them jars riitair, indicating three
gallon-size glass containers in the middle of the bar. An a Moon Pie
for dessert, if yer still hungry.
Its early; just a sandwich. Bacon, lettuce and tomato, on toast.
Even at this early in my Bisque life I knew better than to add whole
wheat.
Yeh-baw-ey. Well have to grill at bread fer ye; aint got no
toaster. It took a couple of seconds for me to realize that what hed
said was Yeah, boy.
Thats all right.
I dont bleeve you been in here before, he said, setting my Red
Cap down to extend a cool, damp hand. My names Randall. They
call me Ribeye. This heres my place.
We shook. Pleased to meet you, Ribeye. Moses Kubielski.
Oh! Youre the one from up the country. That us my nephew
brought you to the ho-tel with lil Jack. Ricky.
I took a big swallow of Red Cap. It was plenty cold, and its strong
taste promised a nice solid hit to the midsection. Oh, sure. He told
me a great story about your Indian ancestors. The Creeks.
He rewarded me with a look of mild disgust, shaking his head.
Thats on his mamas side; her and my wiifere sisters, and mosta
thats Smokeyshes their pappymost of thats his bullshit, to my
way athinkin. Hes fulla shit as a crismus turkey. Hell x raddiators
nobody else can, though. Yores done yet?
Not yet.
Well, hitll be riit when you git it back. Flo! Gimme a BLT up
here, an grill th bread! Hey thair, Roy! he said, looking over my
shoulder.
A tall, thin-faced, thirtyish guy in once-white coveralls slid onto
the stool next to mine. Hey, Rib. He took the beer that Randall
drew for him, drinking about half of it in the same motion before
looking at me. Howdy, he said.
This heres the man with the broke-down Buick from up th
country, said Randall. Smokeys takin care of it.
Oh, yeah. That big Buick. Lee Webster said you was thinkin
about buyin the picture show. That right?
Thinkin about it, I said. You go there much?
Every now and then, said the thin man. Whenever they have a
Randolph Scott, or sich as that. Or a Abbott and Costeller. Them
boys are sumpm else.
Thats Roys place next door, Ribeye put in. The motor shop.
I waggled my empty bottle at Ribeye. Looks like you do all kinds
of business over there, I said. Everything from plows to motorcy-
cles.
Yeah, he said, Seems like the bidness nes me, steada the other
way round. Most people just dont wanta fool with a lotta different
stuff, I guess. They rather just do pretty much the same thing every
day. Thatairs whatd drive me crazy. I just like to gger stuff out.
Hits liike havin puzzles to play with.
Is that sidecar rig broken down?
That ole Army Harley? Not no more. I xed it fer the sonofa-
bitchjist a wore-out engine sprocketan he never come back fer it.
Aint seen im since June. You like em thangs? You kin have it fer
what he owes me on it. Ey scare th shit outa me.
How much?
$48.50, plus tty cent a day storage.
Be OK if I ride it rst?
Oh hell yes. Wanta do it now?
I laughed. Oh hell yes. We slid off the stools and walked out to
the rig. Ill take it real slow, I told him. Ive ridden a couple of
sidecar rigs, but its been awhile. Looking down to close the carbu-
retors choke, I realized that it wasnt what Id expected; it was much
larger. Thiss no forty-ve, I said.
Naw, hits that sebmty-four-inch athead that they been makin
since th thirties. I reckon the Army bought em jist to pull sidecars.
Twisting the left grip to retard the ignition, I opened the throttle
just a crack and ipped the bicycle-pedal starter out to kicking posi-
tion. Pulling up on the bars, I kicked down on it once with the igni-
tion off, thrusting the full weight of my body against the engines
compression. It started on the third or fourth kick, just as the lever
hit the bottom of its stroke, turning over a hair above idle speed,
with the unmistakable thumpa-dump-thumpa-dump Clydesdale-
lope of a v-twin. Hop in! I shouted to Roy, who looked at me as if
Id asked him to kiss a rattlesnake. He shook his head slowly, turning
down the corners of his mouth for emphasis. I cant ride this thing
without some weight in the car, I protested.
I dont even like to ride it, let alone set in that goddam bathtub
while you ride it, he said. I was about to shut the engine down when
Ziggy, the grocery boy with the Ruptured Duck shirt, rode his bike
around the corner of the building, one hand on the handlebars and
one clutching a half-eaten sandwich. I waved him over.
Ziggy! Want a ride? I said, pointing at the sidecar.
Chewing, he looked rst at the sidecar, then down the street, then
at me. Sho! Iffen Mister Roy don mind watchin after mah bike.
Go awn, bawey, Roy shouted, fearing a lost sale. Ill putcher
biike inside. Yall have a niice ride; take yer time and be keerful, hee-
unh?
By now the Lunch Room crowd was on the street, ready to witness
the unlikely launch of infernal machine, yankee, three hastily-
ordered Red Caps and pickaninny down the street to god-knew-
what. Blipping the throttle, I pushed the gearshift lever into low gear,
waiting for Ziggy to get his lanky frame situated in the car, the bag of
Red Caps between his legs. Still chewing, he answered my Ready?
with the briefest of nods, his eyes bigger than any Id ever seen. Let-
ting a couple of cars go by, I rolled on a handful of throttle and toed
the clutch pedal forward. We leaped from the curb, missing a car
parked across the street by an inch or two and giving Ziggy a closeup
look at his reection in its shiny gas ller cap, as I remembered how
much handlebar-rowing a sidecar rig takes to change direction.
Easing off the throttle, I slipped the gearbox into neutral and
coasted up to the trafc light at the intersection, opposite the rail-
road station. We sat there, waiting in a cloud of Harley-Davidson
smells, sounds and vibrations, for a break in the trafc. With what I
hoped would pass for nonchalance, I asked Ziggy, Anyplace special
youd like to go?
His eyes had returned to normal size; he looked a lot more com-
fortable than he had a few seconds ago. Looking around at the gap-
ing faces of the throng of blacks and whites eagerly anticipating the
contraptions next move, Ziggy leaned grandly back against the side-
cars threadbare cushion. Allanna! he said, with the grin of a Zulu
holding a fresh kill. Old Ziggy was a player.
Cant spare the time today, I told him, but lets head that way
for a while. As the trafc opened up, I slipped it into low, sawed the
bars over to the left and got us moving west on Isaac Street, past the
still-gaping onlookers and headed out of town toward Atlanta. I ran
it hard through rst and second gear, loving the power surge of an
engine that had obviously had the benet of Roys attention. By the
time I pulled it down into third, Ziggy and I were ying along at
what the big speedometer on the gas tank said was between sixty-ve
and seventy, down a section of Isaac that ran through houses, repair
shops, warehouses and groceries that had all seen better days. I
slowed up going past the textile mills that were, I would learn, the
heart of Bisques economy, and followed Isaac as it turned north to
join the main highway. With Ziggys assurance that no one was
expecting him to be anywhere for awhile, I drank a couple of the Red
Caps and enjoyed scooting the rig over the blacktop roads that ran
through the generally at countryside of cotton elds bounded by
ditches of incredibly red clay. We rode the rural area north of Bisque
for an hour, waving back at the people who waved at us, and grin-
ning at those that didnt, as we passed by. We stopped once for gas,
and at a couple of places that looked interesting in one way or
another. I was surprised to nd that Ziggy knew little more about
where we were than I did. Iownno was his regular response to my
questions about the people, farms and settlements that we rode by.
He was, it turned out, more curious about me than about rural
Bisque. The last stop we made was under a giant oak tree, on the
crest of a hill that overlooked white elds of cotton that looked ready
for picking. Sitting on the sidecars nose, he asked me, Where you
from? His brown-eyed gaze ranged out over the pasture across the
two-lane macadam road.
Baltimore, I said. Ever heard of it?
Hunh-uh. Whey it is?
Up north. Close to Washington, D.C.
Whey Roosievelt useta be.
Thats right. Just a few miles away.
Who have his job now?
Mr. Trumans the president now.
I be done seen de crain wid Roosievelt dead on it.
Really. Did it come through Bisque?
Nawsuh; my uncle Bob be drive us downa Macon.
Well, that was a ne thing for him to do. Youll always remember
seeing that train.
Yeh, I will. Peoples be cryin; black folks, white folks, all be cryin,
while dat crain go by so slow. Uncle Bob say it be de saddest day de
country eber know. Dat Mistah Crumando he be a guut main?
Yes, I think so; at least he seems to be an honest man.
Ziggy shook his head slightly from side to side. I sho hopes so;
hope he don be gettin us inta no mo waw, anyway. My brother jus
be back a little while; he say don nobody needa be in no waw.
I guess thats his shirt youre wearing.
He smiled. Useta be; he gibita me. It be miine now.
Well, hes right about war; it makes no sense at all. Does your
brother live in Bisque now?
Uh-huh. He stay wid us.
Well, Im sure you like that.
Uh-huh. You gonna stay here? In town?
Yes, I am. Im buying the movie theatre.
Which one?
The Ritz.
Whooeee. Whatchoo give fo it?
I laughed in spite of myself. Oh, not all that much. Do you like to
go there?
Uh-huh. We sits in de bayulcny. Kin I have a job dere?
I thought you already had a job at the grocery store.
I does. I got nudduh job, tooat de lunch room. But I got time fo
nudduh one, do it be at de show. Who gone clean up fo you? I kin
clean up evuh niit afuh you close it up.
This kids denitely a hustler, I thought. You still go to school,
dont you?
Sho do.
Let me nd out whos doing it now; maybe we can work some-
thing outif your folks dont mind.
Iss jus my mama, an she don mind nothin I doeshonest, I
meanlong as it make money.
Well, drop by next week and well see. Wed better be getting back
into town now.
Awright, den.
Shit, I thought, feeling the oppression of the overripe air that
pushed out my cheeks and weaseled up my pants legs, a lifetime of
Faulkner wouldnt get you ready for this.
We parked the rig back in front of Rays at about three-thirty. By
then I was quite at home with it. Ziggy got his bike and left with
another Awright, den. over his shoulder, leaving Roy and me alone
inside the shop.
I opened two Red Caps and handed one to him. Did you say
$48.50? I asked.
He took a long pull from the green bottle. $48.50, plus tty cent a
day fer storage. Just round er off tuh thirty bucks; hits been here
since June.
Thatd be $78.50, then. I put ten twenties on the counter. There
you go, and another $121.50 on account.
He laughed. On accounta what?
On account of you doin a coupla things that Id like to have done
to it. Know anybody that could paint it?
Yeah; theys a few paint shops around. You talkin about just a
coata paint, or do you wanta get er done riit?
Damn well right. I like that old girl, and shes going to do a job
for me. I think you sort of like her, too. That engines too frisky not
to have been gone through. You mustve overhauled it.
He grinned, looking at me and shaking his head. Well, it us too
good an engine just to let it splatter itself tuh pieces. She didnt need
what yuhd call a overhaul; just rings and valves, and I cut th heads
down a little as long as they was off. Big ends jist ne; dont seem like
shes really been rode that much.
Coulda been delivered right at the end of the war. Well, its time
she got a new look; who do you think ought to do the paint job?
Only one Id trust her withd be Skeeter. Hes a body man at th
Chrysler shop. Paints on th side at is own shop. Liikes ta do old cars;
hes got a T-Model Ford looks liike hits brand new.
Hes our man. Would you get hold of him and nd out when he
could do it?
OK. An I guess youd like ta know what its gonna cost.
Of course. Just tell him I want it to look like a new one.
New? You mean liike it was when it us delivered?
Well, not exactly. Do you suppose hed come by here one day
after work to talk about it?
Hell meet up with us next door, anytime youre buyin th beer.
Good. Tomorrow then. I wont rush him, but Im gonna need it
done as soon as possible. And tires. Guess thosell hafta be ordered.
Youll need to talk to th tar store about that. I reckon Firestone
or Goodyear, either one, makes some thatll t er.
Id appreciate it if youd take care of that. Just let me know how
much they are, and Ill give you the money, plus twenty percent for
your trouble. Ill do that on the paint job, too.
Godamiteydayum, Mister
Mose.
Mose, he said, You gittin ready to spend a buncha money on
that ole rig, but if thats whacha mean to do, then Ill be glad to see
that hit gits done riit. I love good machinery, an I reckin you do too.
How come you in sicha hurry?
Business.
Bidness?
Business. To promote th theatre.

Late the next afternoon, a large shadow cast by Bucks Billiards
ceiling fan-stirred light preceded Lee Websters rotundity as he wad-
dled into the poolroom. Buck, shooting perpetual nine-ball with the
perennial regulars, straightened up from shooting a game-winning
combination and winked a languid greeting. A couple of the others
nodded stingily in his direction. Hey, Lee. You lookin for Mr.
Kabeesky?
Yeah. Howd you know?
He said he left word fer ye down at Ribs, said Buck, swiping his
fancy handkerchief over an ample forehead. He the one that put on
the show down ere yesdy? Seems like a nice enough fella. Hes back
on th snooker table. Buck moved closer and wrapped a heavy arm
around Lees shoulder, leading him away from the front table and
lowering his voice. Hey, looka heeunh. If hes a frienda yours, I
bleeve Id let im know at some people, like them ole boys up in th
front, dont keer all at much fer white folks messin round wi nig-
gers liike at
Greetings, buster; ya look like a monsoon victim. Why da you
guys insist on wearin ties with yer short-sleeve shirts anyway?
Loosen that fucker up before ya choke.
Theres certain things you do to get by, said Webster, looking
reexively around before loosening his tie and digging into his necks
folds of fat to undo his collar button. Around here, one of em is, if
youre a manager, psuedo-manager or a salesman peddling to the
aforementioned, you swap your coat and Arrow Dart longsleeve
shirt around April Fools Day for an Arrow Dart shortsleeve shirt.
Burn up otherwise. But you dont dare shed the tie; people just wont
take you seriously without the goddamned tie.
Do tell. Got time for a game, Mr. Sincere?
Moses leaned across the width of Bucks lone snooker table to take
his shot on the pink six-ball, which sat slightly off the side rail and
back some thirty inches from the corner pocket nearest the score-
board. Six in the corner, he said, easing his cue stick back and forth
inside the bridge of his left hand as he sighted the shot. Satised, he
stroked the cue ball gently toward its target. A soft click sent the six
down the table. It hit the rail just at the nearside edge of the pockets
rounded corner, rattled between corners and rolled to a stop near the
middle of the back rail. Shit, he grunted, standing up and looking
at Lee Webster, who would have a clear shot on the seven once he
made the red ball that was a short straight-in shot into the opposite
corner.
Appreciate that, said Webster, ashing a brief grin in the relative
gloom outside the coverage of the tables uorescent light. Thought
you had it.
Thats snooker, at least its snooker with a hangover. Guess Im
gettin old, lettin a few beers catch up with me.
Well, if its any consolation, youve got plenty of company;
according to Buck and the guys on the front table, half the towns got
a hangover from your little ride yesterday.
What? What the hellre you talking about? I test-ride a bike, and
that gives people hangovers? Besides me, that is. Moses walked over
to the blackboard to chalk down the single point addition to his
score.
Well, lets see. You blow into town in a white limousine, irt with
buying the towns number one movie house, commandeer an old
motorcycle loud enough to wake up the Confederate army, put a
coon in the sidecar, come near wiping out a row of automobiles pull-
ing out from Ribeyes, rip around the countryside for a couple of
hours swilling beer, and no ones going to take notice? You cant be
that obtuse. This is Bisque, not Baltimore. In Bisque, they break out
the chastity belts and Klan robes for a lot less than that.
Jesus. Well, you know what they say. If they cant take a joke, fuck
em.
Fuck yourself s more like it, Webster said, brushing thinning
brown hair back off his forehead as he leaned over to pocket the red
ball. You piss off the good people of Bisque and sooner or later
theyll shut you down. All youd have in that moviell be drunks, rats
and roaches.
Not if you can help it. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.
Im the Ritzs new owner, so dazzle me with what youre going to do
to make it famous. Heres the other half of that hundred, by the way.
He tossed the torn paper onto the table near Lee. A solid schedule of
your inspired commercials, plus decent newspaper ads, plus the pro-
letariats unquenchable thirst for the Hollywood miracle, and theyll
be there, lined up to buy tickets, if the the devil himself owned the
place.
Lee picked the bill up from the table, sliding it into the side pocket
of his wrinkled seersucker jacket. That, my friend, denitely
remains to be seen. As a member of the news media, Id like to think
that youre right. But Ive been in this town for long enough to know
one thing for sure. Unless you play by their rules, these people will
do everything they can to mash you at. Theyre still getting over the
Louis-Conn ght, and you drop this turd in the punchbowl.
Billy Conn; the Pittsburgh Kid. Shit, he was lucky to make it to
the 8
th
. Some Great White Hope. Hope he got what was comin to
him outa that purse. What was it, two million?
See? Thats what I mean. Thats an opinion that you oughta just
keep to yourself. You got to understand what things like that mean to
people in a town like this. Its like religion. Hell, it is religion.
Which is another word for fear, said Moses. People usually
operate out of fear. Relax, Webster; once they see Im no threat,
thingsll go right back to normal. People in this burgre like people
everywhere else. Give you a hundred reasons why your idea wont
work, then show up looking for a job when it does.
The only thing I see wrong with that theory, said Webster, using
bottom english to drop the black seven and get position on another
red ball, is how long itll take em to see that youre not here to tear
up their playhouse. Rich or poor, most Bisquites are about the length
of a plowchain, psychologically, from a cottonpickers shack. Until
and unlessyou stop scarin em, you might as well be in league with
th devil.
Another one of humanitys little misperceptions.
Hell, manhumanity is misperception. How many examples do
you need?
Well, said Moses, Hope springs eternal.
No, I think you were closer to the mark just now. Fear, at least in
these parts, is what springs eternal.
- 63 -
s
c h a p t e r 9
Inside Moves
0937 Monday 19 August 1946:
Be still, Cordelia, Serena said to the lean ash blonde who sat on a
tall stool some eight feet away from her to avoid the sculptors
shadow. They were alone on the Hotel Bisques roof, which she had
converted into an outdoor studio.
If Ida known that itd take this long, I wouldnta asked you to do
the goddam thing, Cordelia groused. I got me a serious case of at-
butt, sittin on this stool so long.
Thatll be th day, darlin. Thats the nicest over-21 butt in Hamm
County.
It used to be the nicest under-21 butt in the goddamn state,
Cordelia said. Lets take a break. Youre drinkin all the wine.
It was just past nine in the morning. Cordelia Redding perched
uneasily on her high wooden stool, posing for what they now agreed
was an ill-conceived undertaking: a bust of Cordelia as a birthday
gift for her husband Buster.
They moved to a couple of high-boy directors chairs, a bottle of
Chablis in an ice bucket on a tall metal table between them. Sitting
under the seamless ceiling of cool blue morning sky, their isolation
from the town was secured by the four-foot brick wall that extended
above the perimeter of the hotel roof. Cordelia pulled a pack of
Chesterelds from her bag, shook one out, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
I hear your new Yankee guests not bad lookin, in a burly sorta way,
she said, letting the smoke escape.
Not bad at all. Gray eyes, Jewish but doesnt look it; appears
somebody tagged him on his nose, so he doesnt have the Meyer
prole. Built like Buster Crabbe, and smiles like he knows all your
secrets. Moves like a tennis player, or a big old cat, on the balls of his
feet. Favors his right side a little. Nice guy, from what I can tell; hes
headed to Florida, unfortunately. Wants to buy a picture show.
Oh. Big dough?
No. Just tired of cold winters, he says. Guess hes just saved
enough to invest in something of his own.
Reba said that he was talking to Richard Walton the other day.
Yes. Jack took him on a walk around town, and they ran into
him.
Maybe hell tell Richard how they do it up north.
Do what?
Run a picture show. Whatd you think I meant?
Well, you just said do it couldve been anythingfrom screwing
to the Charleston.
Maybe he can screw while he does the Charleston. Ever think of
that?
No, Cordelia, I didnt; but Im not surprised that you did.
Draining her wine glass, Cordelia stood up, walking back to the
posing stool. Dont tell me your vote helped elect me Bisques of-
cial slut.
Serena looked at her over the busts shoulder, caressing the wet
gray clay. Youve got way too much competition to get my vote, if I
bought the slut label in the rst place. So you like to fuck. So do I.
Nobody calls a man who likes sex a slut; hes an ass man, or a
Lothario, depending on the part of town youre in.
Yeah, but were in this town; thats my problem.
Inside Moves 65
I know it still hurts, honey, but at least youve got the satisfaction
of knowing that you were that sonofabitchs last victim. Now that
people know what was doing over there with the little BHS girls for
so long, theres just the usual handful of sanctimonious shits that
insist on seeing you as anything but the one who caused him to get
caught.
Youd think that twenty yearsd be long enough to live anything
down. Wish Id had the sense to leave this town and get my sexual
initiation someplace else, like you did.
Well, Serena sighed, Its a shame we cant just fuck who we
please, when we please, minus the horseshit of mens jealousy, but
here we are today, for better or for worse. At least youre getting ser-
viced regularlythats more than I can say. You are, arent you?
Cordelia arched her back and stretched, smiling lazily, her navel
peeking out above her white jersey skirt. Im just ne, sweetie. But
now that Busters about to get busy being a car dealer, you miit have
to hold my hand now and then.
Serena, shaping the juncture between the busts underjaw and
neck, let one hand drop to the top of its right breast, her ngers fon-
dling it lightly. I swear, child. You are way too much. That fool Mat-
thew Green didnt know what he was lettin loose on humanity when
he started playin with you.
That poor man didnt turn nothin loose; he just happened to be
there when it busted loose. If he hadnta been such a damn fool,
talkin about leavin his wife and lettin the whole mess get out,
wedve been all right. Good lord; to think that little bit of fuckin
could cause so much trouble.
The problem is that your idea of a little bit just isnt the same as
most peoples, Cordelia. I love you, and I worry about you. Why the
hell did you marry Buster, anyway? Hes never gonna get you out of
Bisque, if thats what you want.
That may be true, but dont bet the hotel on it. He got me out
once, so I guess heegn do it again. Buster may not be quite th man
your daddy is, but hell do OK. By the way, talkin about gettin outa
herewhats your plan?
New York again, just as soon as Jacks done with school. I left
here once, and I can do it again. But Im resigned to making the best
of Bisque til then.
Thatll be some trick. Its funny, you know, how we are. Youre
ve years older than me, and if we hadnt gone to Miss Rhondas stu-
dio, chances are wed be strangers. Five yearss a lifetime when youre
a kid. Youd already gone up North to school when I was a freshman
in high school. And look where we are now.
I feel old enough without your gentle reminder, thanks. And
whacha mean, some trick? It may not be the Waldorf, but Im learn-
ing a lot running this hotel. I couldntve bought the education Ive
gotten here, at Columbia or anywhere else. Im enjoying being part
of this town for awhile, instead of just being Pap Reddings pore old
divorced daughter, running home to Papa. I do, however, have pre-
cious little time to screw around.
Holding her pose, Cordelia moved just her eyes to look directly
into Serenas. You look real good for thirty-three. When I rst came
to Miss Rhondas, I was eight, so you were thirteen. You already had
a great body, and you still do. I just think that we ought not to get old
living here; wouldnt it be great to strut our stuff in New York? Paris?
Maybe the Riviera?
The Riviera? hooted Serena. Who the hell have you been talk-
ing to?
Looking into middle nowhere from her perch, Cordelia let a quick
pout cross her face. Listen. People from Atlanta go to the Riviera all
the time. Just read the paper; its right there in the society pages.
Thats uppercrust Atlanta, and its a helluva long way from here
to there, to say nothing of the Riviera.
Well, its for sure that your ne friend the sheriff wont be taking
you there any time soon. What do you see in him, anyway?
Inside Moves 67
Wahoo? Not much, if you mean romantically. Were friends, and
he likes Jack a lot, so we go to dinner now and then. With Jack. Did
you think he was fuckin me?
Not really. But you know hed like to. Hes a pretty damn ne-
lookin man; Id do him in a heartbeat. Guess youd still have to duck
out of town to shack up, though.
Serena looked at her with a sudden, steely gaze. Youd do well to
forget what you just said, Missy, she grated, her voice just above a
whisper. What I do away from here is my business, and only my
business. I dont want any part of my sex life bounced around this
town, and if that happens Ill know just who to blame. Im sorry I
ever told you.
Ah, Honey! she drawled. You know Id never ever do that. I
know your privacys precious to you, and you have to be extra careful
because of Jack. She stood up, walked over to Serena, put a nger
under her chin, tipped it up slightly, tenderly kissing her lips. Im
sorry, baby. Please forgive me?
Serena took Cordelias hands in hers, smiling as she broke their
gaze with a shake of her head. Ah hell, sweetie, I know youd never
do me dirt on purpose. But you like to talk, and since I wont be mar-
rying any of em, I dont want people in this town speculatin about
me in any sexual way at all. I owe that to my Dad, who took a real
chance on me here, but most of all I owe it to Jack.
How bout thisyou keep my secrets, and Ill keep yours. You
know I love Jackie, too. Let me ask you something, though; are you
gonna live here with him from now on? Shouldnt he be growin up
in a house, like his friends?
Come on, lets get back to work, said Serena, standing up. I
want to get a little further along before your butt gives out. Dont
you worry about Jack; he loves the hotel, and Im betting that hell
see very little of Bisque after high school. He was born a New Yorker,
and hell probably be living in a big city somewhere when he gets out
of college. So he gets a little bit of a head start on city life by growing
up here. If I didnt believe that, wed be out there on Cherokee Drive
with the rest of the goddam striving middle class. But I do believe it;
Bisques not my destiny, or his.
No, darlin, Cordelia said. Youre denitely a city girl. And my
dearest love.
Serena laughed as she scraped clay away from the busts jaw line.
Thank you, honey; now get back on that stool and hold still. Your
nipples are all puckered.

Rays Barber Shop was one ight down, in the basement of the
ready-to-wear store that faced the hotel across Lee Street. The cool,
sweet-scented air surprised Moses as he entered. He stopped just
inside the door to get his bearings; bright light from the bulbs above
the mirrored back wall put the barbers chairs into stark contrast
with the rest of the large, square room. Two of the three chairs were
busy, the barbers intent on their occupants. A couple of other men
sat along the left wall in relative darkness.
Come in, sir! the leftmost barber exclaimed, not raising his eyes
from his work, bald pate glistening in the bright yellow-green light
streaming from over his head. Have a seat; it wont be long. The
other barberll be back from lunch in just a few minutes.
Thanks, said Moses. He turned to nd a vacant chair, his eyes
still adapting to the change in light. He took the chair nearest to the
barber who had spoken.
Dont believe youve been in before, the barber said, looking at
him briey over the top of his glasses. New to town, or just passing
through?
Brand new, Moses replied. Im just across the street at the
hotel.
Well, welcome, said the barber. Im Ray Taylor. He was a fat-
tish man, nearly bald, a little below medium height. A barbers brush
had plenty of room in the left hip pocket of his seersucker pants,
Inside Moves 69
which hung low around surprisingly meager hindquarters. This
heres my shop.
Hello, Ray. Im Moses Kubielski.
How do you do, sir. That feller on your lefts Mr. Lewis, and
beyond hims Mr. Robison. This heres- he indicated the other bar-
ber with a wave of his handCharlie Baker, and Mr. Warren, here in
the chair.
Moses shook Mr. Lewis proffered hand, and raised his other hand
in a brief wave. Glad to know you all, he said. This must be the
coolest place in town.
Taylor chuckle-snorted lightly. I hope it is. Were in the business
of makin people look good and feel good. Glad you noticed. Say,
youre the man with the big white Buick, aincha?
Yes. Yes I am. Unless theres another white 1941 limo in Bisque.
The news gets around this town pretty fast.
It does. It surely does. But then its a small town. Between here
and the pool room, you can hear just about everthang that goes on
in Bisque.
Well, newspapers never print it all, so I guess thats a pretty good
arrangement. Heard any news about my car? I havent talked to
Smokey today.
Aint nobody come in from down thataway yet. If you come back
around closin time, I imagine wellve heard somethin.
Oh, Ill know something before then. Just thought Id stop over
for a trim rst. By the way, heres a little news for you. I might be sell-
ing that car, if anyones interested.
Izzat right? You think its hurt bad?
Dont know yet; hope I will today. All thatll affect is the price,
though. Im looking for something a little smaller. Havent had this
one all that long; really didnt want it in the rst place.
Thats some car to be drivin if you didnt want it. Howd you
happen to buy it in the rst place?
Didnt.
Didnt buy it?
Nope. Won it. Poker.
Goddamiteydayum! Musta been some game.
Yes, it was.
You can have a seat right here, he said, over his shoulder from
the cash register. These gents are both Charlies customers. Moses
made himself comfortable in chair, still warm from the last cus-
tomer, as Taylor whisked a drape over him, tucking it and a barbers
tissue inside his collar. Care for a shampoo, or just a haircut?
Just a haircut, thanks.
Hey, Buster, Taylor said to the backlit gure just entering the
shop. How you doin?
Tolable, Ray boy, jus tolable, said the gure as it moved toward
the the pool of light, revealing a stocky, red-haired man in his early
thirties. He looked just enough like Serena for Moses to place him.
She had mentioned a younger brother the other night; there couldnt
be that many Busters in a town this size, not even Bisque. Howdy,
he said, aiming a boyish, gap-toothed grin at Moses.
Hi, said Moses, returning the grin.
Do you know Mr. Taylor began.
Kubielski, said Moses, extending his hand from beneath the bar-
bers drape. Moses Kubielski.
Quickly grasping the hand, he said, Yessir. Mr. Kabeelsky. Pleased
to meet you. My sister was telling me about you just yesdy. Sorry to
hear about your car. Said you might be stayin in Bisque awhile yet.
Well, for a few days, anyway.
Thats ne. Hope youre enjoyin yourself. Say, would you mind if
I went by Smokeys and had a look at that car of yours?
Help yourself. As I was saying just before you came in, it may be
for sale if I nd something around here that I like better.
Thats why I wanta look at it. I think Ive got somethin youll
likea lot better.
Inside Moves 71
Whats that? Moses asked as Ray pulled off the drape and he got
out of the chair.
A brand-new 47 Hudson Commodore Eight. Did my sister men-
tion that I just bought the dealership? Ill beat any deal youll nd in
this town, and with the best-streamlined car in the world.
No, it didnt come up, said Moses, handing Ray a dollar. And I
dont know a thing about Hudsons. But check my car out and tell me
what you can do. Good to meet you, Buster; everyone. See you later.
What was that guys name again? asked Charlie Baker, after
Moses had gone.
Kabeesky, said Taylor.
Are you sure? said the man in Bakers chair. I think its Kub-
lesky. Thats what Reba said when she was tellin me about the car.
Well, maybe so. Whatever it is, with that head I know what his
rst name oughta be.
What?
Cueball. Thats the roundest fuckin head I ever saw.
1930 Wednesday 21 September 1946:
Moses brushed a y away from the bar before it could get to the
foam that ran down the side of his glass and onto the bar. At half past
seven on a Wednesday night, he and Lee Webster had the Bisque
Lunch Room momentarily to themselves. Ill read you some com-
mercial copy tomorrow, Lee said as he pushed a WQUE quotation
sheet across to him. If you can live with those rates, that is.
Moses scanned the gures, then held his hand out. I can, he
said. Lemme have your pen. This oughta put you in good with the
boss. Taking the pen from Lee, he signed the sheet and slid it back to
him.
You kidding? I do deals like this every day. In my dreams. Well, if
you like what you see tomorrow, theyll start running on Friday.
You just be sure that I do like it, said Moses, because those
spots will be running on Friday. Ive got empty seats to ll.
And lled they shall be. With your gimmicks, and my deathless
prose, these peoplell be tearing yer doors off the hinges.
I guess well know pretty soon. These Bisquites need some seri-
ous wakin up, thats for sure.
A slow shake of his head let Moses see both corners of Websters
wry grin. Its a sleepy fuckin town, no doubt about it. But you give
em something to get as excited about as football and savin their
immortal souls, theyll kiss your ass at midday, and give you half an
hour to draw a crowd.
Well, the radio, plus the grapevine, oughta be enough to get the
word out. Maybe Ill drop back by the barber shop and Bucks and
get some kind of a rumor started. Any idea what might get some
play?
Ray Taylors shop over there?. When were you exposed to that
no-account bag of wind?
Day before yesterday. Looks like a strong scuttlebutt trail
between there and the pool room.
Taylord like you to believe that, but theres more than one barber
shop in Bisque. His is just the only one run by a lunatic.
Lunatic? He seemed pretty sane to me.
Yeah, and Im sure that Jack the Ripper had his moments. Just
believe me. The farther away you stay from Ray Taylor and his cro-
nies, the better.
Well, he gave me a decent haircut. Tell me how hes crazy.
He shoots people.
Shoots people? When? Whod he shoot?
The rst one was his partner. Herschel Long. One shot, from the
same nickel-plated .38 he carries today, straight through the ticker.
Back in 39. Long was dead before he hit the oor, so said the paper.
Whyd he do it?
Said Long was messing with his wife.
Did he do time for it?
Hell, no. Wasnt even indicted.
Inside Moves 73
Why not?
Taylor claimed self-defense. The coroner backed him up, and
Franklin, the DA, wouldnt charge him.
Who else did he shoot?
Lee shifted in his seat and took a long pull at his beer. No proof
of anyone else. But that doesnt mean he hasnt shot people. And
shot at others.
Who, for instance?
Me, for instance.
You? When?
In 45. About a month after I moved back here.
Howd it happen?
Id just been back in town a couple of weeks. I was living at the
hotel, and Taylor had just opened his shop across the street. I went in
for a haircut, and as soon as I was in the chair, we got into politics.
When the subject of niggers came up, he got progressively crazier in
what he had to say. The situation went completely to hell after Id
questioned two or three of his stupidest remarks, and I ended up get-
ting out of the chair with half a haircut. I threw a buck at him, and as
I was on my way out the door he said You better get the hell outta
this town before you get shot!
And then he shot at you?
Hes not that crazy. It was a couple of nights later. I was getting
into my car in the stations parking lot, after getting off work, about
ten-thirty at night. Three shots, one right after the other, from a .30
caliber rie.
Did you see Taylor?
No, I didnt. I was too busy digging a divot in the pavement.
Then how do you know
that it was him? Who the hell else would it have been? And
even if he didnt pull the trigger, one of his Klan cronies did.
Now let me guess. This barber/Klansman had an alibi for the
time of the shooting.
Of course he did. Home in bed, with the good wife to swear to it.
Good thing one of the slugs hit the door of my car, or good ole
Wahood probably tried to tell me it never happened at all.
Wahoo. The sheriff. So the stations outside the Bisque polices
jurisdiction?
Yeah. Just south of the city limits.
Sounds like you dont think too highly of Sheriff Wahoo, either.
Lets just say I dont think that a Purple Hearts much of a quali-
cation for that job.
So he was in the service.
Yeah. Hed been in the Marines long enough to make corporal, so
the story goes, and got hit by shrapnel at Pearl Harbor. Bad enough
to get a medical discharge. So he came back as Bisques rst war hero
in 42, got his health back, and ran unopposed for sheriff in 44, at
the ripe old age of 30.
Well, he puts up a good front, which is a big part of politics.
Whether hes good at it or not, I guess he likes the job well enough to
run againwhen? In 48?
Yep. No doubt about it. Otherwise hed hafta go to work. The
way hes been squiring your hostess, Miz Mason, around, Id guess
hed like to campaign next time as a married manor at least an
engaged one.
Yeah, Jack mentioned his takin em to dinner. So this romances
been going on for awhile?
If you could call it that. As Ive heard it, she hadnt been back in
town for that long before he came snifn around. Anyway, it was
before I came back. But apparently she hasnt given him the green
light; at least not clearly enough for him to stop hosin his way
through the county.
1200 Friday 23 September 1946:
Bruce Goodes wood-sided Chrysler Town & Country convertible
was as large, and accommodating, as Goode himself. You could land
Inside Moves 75
a small plane, Moses thought, on that midnight blue front fender.
Hope you dont mind a top-down ride, Goode said. It cooled off
so nicely after last nights rain that I couldnt resist.
Not at all, Moses had said. Itd be a shame to miss the opportu-
nity at this time of year. you cant have too many like today during
the summer.
Oh, its ne most any evening. Most of my days dont end til
after dark, so I drive home with the top down all the time. Hope you
didnt nd any problems with the documents.
No, not much at all. We couldve handled it in ve minutes at the
ofce, but Im pleased to see a little more of Bisque.
Good, good, Goode exulted. Well take care of it after lunch,
and just enjoy a little social time. Im sure youll enjoy meeting some
of the people thatll be at the club today.
Driving out McSwain Road, they met a number of large dump
trucks headed into town. Greenish-yellow liquid sloshed through the
gaps around their tailgates onto the road. Whats in the trucks?
asked Moses.
Peppers, Goode said. Pimiento peppers. Big crop for Hamm
and the other counties around here. The packing plants just north,
right at the edge of town. Hamm Foods. Well drive by there on the
way back.
The Elks Club, a big old two-story brick house, sat on a low rise
overlooking the road. Goode parked the Chrysler under an ancient
Oak tree that stood at the edge of the parking lot. They walked up
the broad brick steps into a high-ceilinged entrance hall, where a
smiling middle-aged Negro man in a white coat greeted them.
Good day, Mistah Goode.
Hey, Franklin, Goode replied. Have you seen Mr. Proper yet?
Yessuh; hes in the bar.
Goode touched Moses elbow and gestured with his other hand
toward a double doorway to their left. Walking through it ahead of
him, Moses saw several men standing at the bar, all but one standing
with their back to him. The bartender, another middle-aged Negro
in a waist-length white jacket, deftly poured the contents of a cock-
tail shaker into three waiting martini glasses. The man facing them
lifted a hand in recognition, and moved away from the bar toward
them. He was, Moses guessed, in his late forties; tall, well over six
feet, and rawboned, with a thick shock of graying brown hair
combed straight back on both sides of the part. Extending his hand
to Moses with a broad smile, he said, Mr. Kubielski, I presume. Im
Roger Proper, Bruces partner. Im glad you were able to join us
today.
The pleasures mine, Mr. Proper, Moses replied. This is a most
impressiveI hesitate to say clubhouse-
With a quick chuckle, Proper said, Its just been the club to us
ever since anyone can remember. The Bisque Elks of our grandfa-
thers generation bought it, and three acres of property, from the
Butler estate right after the First Waw. Its been altered quite a bit
inside, and extended in the back, but the exterior of the house has
been preserved as it was in its heyday, after Mr. Butler built it on the
foundation of the old house, which burned in 64, but not by Sher-
mans bunch.
Thats enough history before cocktails, Roger, interjected
Goode. Lets get Mr. Kubielski acquainted with George; hes a mas-
ter martini builder, if thats your pleasure.
Never turn down a good martini, said Moses, smiling in his
turn. And please, call me Mose.
As George produced martinis, Proper introduced him to the oth-
ers at the bar. David Browne, the owner of Browne & Browne,
Bisques leading womens clothing store; Ted Foster, bookkeeper and
son of the owner of Bisque Buick, and Barry Edwards, the general
manager of Hopkins Mills, one of the larger, noted Proper, of
Bisques textile mills.
Roger was telling us, Browne said, about your buying the Ritz.
And about your having come here from New York City. Thats a hell
Inside Moves 77
of a change of scenery. It certainly would be for me, making that
move in reverse.
Actually, I came here from Baltimore, but a big change was
exactly what I had in mind when I left New York. Sounds like youve
been there.
I have to go at least twice a year to buy for the store, said
Browne. Ive been doing it for twenty years, and Ive never gotten
used to it.
I think you have to be born into it to be truly used to it, Moses
observed. If the average New Yorker knew much about the alterna-
tives that are out here, a lot more of them would leave. Then theres
the problem of making a living; most of them would have to make a
drastic change in how they do that, and thats very scary to a lot of
people.
They dont have an exclusive on that state of mind, observed
Roger Proper. Wed rather that not too much changed around here;
not too fast, anyway.
But change obviously doesnt scare you, said Barry Edwards,
cool-blue-eyed, heavyset, an obvious ex-athlete who had retained
the habit of grading every introduction in terms of a level of con-
frontation. Were you born in New York?
Yes. And the thought of living anywhere else did scare me. It still
does.
Well, human beings are incredibly adaptable, Ted Foster put in.
And tough. When you think about how some of the Jews in the
death camps held on and lived in spite of what was done to them.
Moses looked closely at the younger man. Yes, he said. makes
you wonder where conscious thought leaves off and some uncon-
scious will to live takes over.
Bruce Goode, seething inside, hastened to turn the conversation
in a safer direction. Hed told them that Kubielski was Jewish. What
an incredible gaffe! Of course, Serena hadnt bothered to tell him
until yesterday. Now that youve had all of seventy-two hours to
think about it, Mose, any ideas about what its going to take to put
the good old Ritz into the black?
Moses delayed his response for a couple of seconds, then said
Well, I think thingsll be ne as long as people remember that, dol-
lar for dollar, they can have more fun at the movies than anywhere
else.
With their clothes on, anyway, dead-panned Barry Edwards,
drawing an immediate guffaw from Roger Proper, which grew into a
general ripple of relieved laughter as Moses joined in.
Mose and I should go ahead and get some lunch, said Goode. I
promised him a little sightseeing afterwards. Anyone else?
Im afraid I feel the need for another martini rst, said Edwards.
Yeah, and since we got Ted out here to do a little Elks business,
Id like to get that out of the way before we eat. Teds the clubs busi-
ness manager, Roger Proper said, looking at Moses.
OK, at least youll get the clubs business out of the way in a rea-
sonably sober state, Goode replied. Well see you all later. With
handshakes, nods and smiles all around, He and Moses walked into
the dining room.
Franklin, the waiter whom theyd seen in the foyer, was immedi-
ately at their elbow. Will anybody be joinin you gemmuns, Mistah
Goode?
No, Franklin, itll just be two. How about putting us over by the
big window? They sat down across from each other at a table for
four, which was covered by a heavy, bright-white tablecloth. Franklin
began to remove two of the four silver place-settings. How about
another martini, Mose, Goode said. Everythings cooked to order,
so weve got plenty of time.
Thats an easy sale, Bruce, Mose told him. George denitely
knows his business.
Two more, please, Franklin, said Goode, relief apparent in the
relaxation of both his face and body. He leaned forward, his eyes
seeking Moses. I hope you enjoyed meeting my friends, he said. I
Inside Moves 79
hadnt expected anyone other than Roger and Barry to be here. Ted
has to work the clubs business into his schedule whenever he can, so
the introduction to Roger and Barry that Id planned was unavoid-
ably expanded. At least you had a chance to bat the breeze with a
couple more of the people who get things done in Bisque.
It was my pleasure; most kind of you to suggest that we come
here. I appreciate the opportunity of getting to know these gentle-
men.
It was the least I could do; youve made a signicant commit-
ment to Bisque, and I wanted you to understand that its appreciated
by what you might call the citys leadership. I must apologize to you,
though, for Teds remark about
Moses raised his hand to interrupt. Please, Bruce. I took no
offense. Quite the contrary; its no insult to hear testimony to the
toughness of the Jewish people.
Im glad thats how you feel. I just thought
That I might be sensitive about being Jewish? Nope. Ive been
this way for quite awhile.
Goode laughed. Forgive me. I just have had very little experience
with your people, and its painfully obvious.
Well, its also obvious that youre getting experienced in a hurry
by having me as a client. Fortunately, Ive had considerable experi-
ence with your people.
Goodes hearty laugh was fading away as Franklin arrived with the
drinks. Whats the special today? He asked him.
Stewed chicken with rice, Mr. Goode.
Its very good, but a little too much for me at lunch, Goode said
to Moses. There are several good choices on the regular menu, but if
you like steak, let me recommend the steak sandwich. Its a particular
favorite of mine.
Good enough; medium rare for me, please.
As they drank, Goode said, Barry Edwards is a particularly good
contact for you. Besides being the general manager of Hopkins Mills,
hes a director of the First National Bank.
And also a client of your rm?
Yes. We handle the mills, the banks and his personal business.
A solid citizen, all right. Sounds like I could do worse than to do
my banking with First National.
No doubt about it, said Goode. Just drop by anytime and ask
for Fred Malcolm. Hes the bank manager. And of course, use the
rm as your reference.
Good. They can handle the transfer of funds from my bank in
Baltimore. Id like to close the Ritz deal with a check from a local
bank. Just for luck.
Thats a great idea. Goode paused for the last sip of his drink,
put the glass down, and shot Moses a smile made quizzical by a
quick up-down of eyebrows. Im still amazed that you made up
your mind so quickly. Not just about the Ritz, but about committing
yourself to living in Bisque.
Bruce, did you ever see something thatcha just had to have?
asked Moses. Seems like I remember some wise man saying some-
thing like Passion is its own explanation. I was dumbstruck by what
Walton had done to make that theatre a rst-rate house. It makes the
one I managed in Baltimore look like it oughta be condemned. Once
I found out it was on th market, and for how much, I wouldnta
given a damn if itda been in Calcutta.
Well, Mose, observed Goode with a grin, You are a passionate
man, if Im any judge. I hope you come to like our town as much as
you do the Ritz, and vice versa.
On short acquaintance, said Moses with a thoughtful nod, Id
say that theres a very good chance thatll happen.
Hamm Foods, Goodes promised rst stop on the drive back into
Bisque, was larger than Moses had imagined. Goode stopped the car
at the crest of a rise west of the site. The plant, a red brick structure
Inside Moves 81
surrounded by a collection of long, one-story wood frame buildings,
was enclosed by a high chain-link fence. Loaded dump trucks, the
yellow-green juice dripping from their tailgates just as it had from
the ones theyd seen driving out of town,, jerked and farted their way
into line at the main gate. Others, emptied, bounced up the outgoing
ramp, kicking up clouds of red dust as they pulled out onto the
unpaved road to meet them.
Looks pretty old, shouted Moses over the trucks racket.
Yeh-baw-ey, said Goode. Hamm Foods was here before the rst
cotton mill. It was started back in the eighteen-eighties, and its still
doing a big job at what it started out to do, which is can these
pimiento peppers.
Ive never thought that much about the market for pimiento
peppers, but it must be pretty good-sized.
Big enough to have made Hamm one of the countys major
employers. They have as many folks working here as either of the big
textile mills. Seen enough? Lets get out of this dust.
Through the dust, he saw a line of ramshackle houses on the
opposite side of the road. A Coca-Cola sign proclaimed an equally
battered shack at the end of the line to be BRANDON GROCERY. A
Negro boy of ve or six stood on the porch of the house next door to
the grocery. He looked at them from under a large once-white cow-
boy hat. As they drew even with them, he shot them both with his
thumb-and-forenger pistol. Moses, laughing, shot back with his
own. Ornery critters in these parts, he said.
Oh, yeah, this is bandit territory, Goode replied. Wed better
head for the fort.
As they drove back onto paved road, the scene changed in no time
from factory raunch to manicured greenery. Since its so close,
Goode said, Lets swing through City Park. They kept it going on a
shoestring during the waw (where the hell did they get waw?
Moses thought), but the golf course is looking quite nice again. The
clubhouse is coming up on the right.
They had just passed some tennis courts on the left as he spoke.
The clubhouse, its porch crowded with golfers, sat on a hill over-
looking the parking lot, which was nearly full. Goode tapped the
horn, and the golfers waved as the car went by. When does anybody
get any work done around here? Moses asked him. Im all for lei-
sure time, but between the crowd here and the one at the Elks club,
half the towns making whoopee on a weekday.
Chuckling his well-to-do chuckle, Goode said, Its Wednesday.
The town, except for the mills, pretty much closes down on Wednes-
day afternoon. Makes up for the long day on Saturday, when all the
stores stay open late.
Good idea, said Moses. Ill keep that in mind. The Ritz could
do well then, with a special Wednesday matinee.
Could be, said Goode. What a Jew, he thought. Squeeze out a
nickel anywhere you can. Youll have to compete for that audience,
though, and not just with golf and tennis. Half the county goes sh-
ing on Wednesday afternoon. They had driven past the swimming
pool entrance, the golf courses number three green and a softball
eld, all in heavy use, as they talked. Whats your particular vice,
Mose?
Until further notice, the Ritz, soon to be the Winston, Theatre.
Then maybe Ill see about a little shing, said Mose. The better to
avoid you and your bunch, he thought.
Youre not a golfer, then.
Nope.
Oh well. It is a time-eater. But addictive, once you start.
Headed back into Bisque, they rode in silence for awhile, the after-
noon sun hot on their faces. Ill probably get a goddamn sunburn,
thought Moses. Back at the law ofce, Moses read the nal draft of
the purchase contract for the Ritz and approved it. Ill set up an
appointment for the closing, Goode told him, and call you. Ready
to go back to the hotel?
Inside Moves 83
Thanks, Bruce. Ill walk back. Still getting the feel of the town.
Thanks for a great afternoon; Ill see you at the closing.
OK, if youre sure. Be glad to drop you.
No, no. See you later.
Hed walked leisurely back to the hotel down Lee Street, letting the
experiences of the day soak into his brain, cataloging, classifying,
prioritizing. Hed dropped anchor in strange waters before, but these
people had the potential to bore him silly. But it seemed safe enough
for now, and he did love movies. Now he had one of his own. And
there was Serena.
Jack, dressed for bed, answered Moses knock at the door of the
apartment.
Hi, Jack.
Hi, Mose. How ya doin?
Just ne, pal. How about you?
OK. Just nished my homework.
I just wanted to tell your Mom something. Is she in?
Nope. Shes up on the roof.
She is? Whats she doing up there?
Thats where she does her sculpture. Shes working on a bust of
my Aunt Cordelia.
I see. Do you think shed mind if I went up for just a minute?
I guess not. Knock real hard on the roof door; she locks it when
shes up there. Go back down the hall past the elevator and turn
right. Youll see a stairway just a little way down on the left. Just go
up the stairs to the door and knock.
He rapped on the heavy metal door. After a few seconds, he
rapped again. Who is it? she asked, so abruptly that he wished he
hadnt disturbed her.
Moses Kubielski. Im sorry to bother you; just wanted to tell you
how my lunch with Bruce went today. Itll wait til tomorrow if
youre busy.
Wait. He felt a rush of air at his back as the door opened with a
scrape. She looked down at him, smiling. Actually, I need a break,
she said. The last moments with a piece like this are hard for me;
just cant say Thats it, youre done. Come up and take a look.
She closed the door behind them, sliding a large metal bolt
through its brackets as she did. Three aluminum-shaded oodlights
made a bright yellow pool at a spot near the front of the hotel. They
made deep shadows in the folds of her denim jumper, which t her
loosely in the manner of an artists smock. This is my way of staying
sane; people know by now that theyd better have a damn good rea-
son for knocking on that door. There isnt much privacy in a hotel,
so Ive made a little world for myself up here.
Another little piece of New York, said Moses. The rooftop
retreat.
You know, I hadnt thought about that. Now Ill enjoy it even
more. Maybe I should put a couple of potted plants and a chaise
lounge up here. Up to now its just been me and whatever I happen
to be working on.
Jack told me what you were working on right now; Aunt-?
Cordelia. My sister-in-law. Its an anniversary gift. Theyll have
been married ve years this October.
Your brothers wife? If shes anything like your impression of her,
Id say that hes a lucky man.
She looked at him for a long moment before saying, Well,
Busters had plenty of luck, but by no means all good. Id say the
jurys still out on him and Cordelia, but I guess you could say that
about most marriages.
I guess so.
Im having some sherry. Would you like some?
Yes, I would, Moses said.
Inside Moves 85
Most of the sherry that you can get around heres undrinkable,
except by drunks. This is a Sandeman, medium dry. She poured
another glass and handed it to him, lifting her own as she did. Con-
fusion to our enemies, she said.
Moses laughed. One of the great toasts of all time. He drank,
pausing to feel the smooth taste expand to a warm glow. Must be
from Shakespeare.
Sounds Falstafan, doesnt it? Damned if I know.
Timely in all ages, anyway. This is excellent sherry. Youre an
amazing woman.
She looked up at him, her eyes, caught in a shaft of yellow light, a
deeper green than hed ever seen them. Ive heard Jack call you
Mose. He said you asked him to. May I call you Mose?
Yes, please do.
Well then, Mose, she said, draining her glass and setting it
down, Give us a kiss.
They leaned against the brick wall, his arm around her shoulders,
her scent lling him. He put two ngers under her chin, lifting her
lips to his. He kissed them lightly. They were soft, opening to the rst
light probe of his tongue. He explored her mouth gently, thoroughly,
giving her the opportunity to respond, which she did, her tongue
delicately reciprocating his own. He pulled his head back to look into
her eyes, his ngers extended comblike into her hair, cupping her
head in his palm.
My God, mister. Whered you learn how to do that? she said,
smiling up at him, strong hand squeezing his upper arm.
You bring out the best in me, Madam, he said, returning her
smile.
This is crazy. Kiss me some more.
Kissing, then groping. She had nothing on under the jumper. He
held her breast gently, the nipple between his thumb and forenger.
He kissed her deeply, bringing his other hand up to cradle the cheek
of her full, smooth butt.
Touch it.
Fingers over the length of her slick wet labia. Saying nothing, she
responded to his touch. Her clitoris, large and erect, felt to him like a
babys nger. Circling it lightly, he put rst one, and then two ngers
into her vagina, continuing the clitoral massage with his thumb. Her
wetness covered his hand; he removed it momentarily, putting a n-
ger between her lips. She sucked it, moaning; he kissed her, tasting
the combination of crotch and mouth. Flick it! she said; he did,
using his index nger to ick her clitoris back and forth as fast as he
could. She climaxed almost immediately, with a sharp cry. He kissed
her while she came again, and then again.
Oh, Mose! You sweet, sweet darlin! Serena whispered when she
caught her breath. Let me see that, she said, running her hand over
his crotch. Unbuttoning his trousers, she freed his cock and held it in
one hand, stroking the head with the other. Oooh. Thats nice. Feels
like a nice warm bottle of chili sauce. But we cant get me pregnant;
put it in my butt.
What?
Do my butt, she breathed, squeezing drops of lubrication from
his cock, spreading them over its head.
Are you sure?
Oh yes! Wait a minute. She broke gently away from him, picked
up a white glass jar from a shelf under the platform on which the
bust sat, and returned. This is just cold cream; to get the clay off my
hands. Put a lot up in there. Hurry.
She turned around, putting her forearms at against the wall.
Taking the top off of the jar, he put two ngers in it and drew out a
lump of the cold cream. He pulled the jumper up over her butt,
smoothing the cream between the cheeks. Finding her hole, he eased
his thumb in, then found her clitoris with his forenger, moving it
slowly back and forth across its stiffness. Her breath came now in
short gasps. He moved his thumb gently, slowly back and forth for
most of its length. Is that good, sweetie?.
Inside Moves 87
Oh yes. Yes. But hurry. Come in me.
Removing his thumb, Moses replaced it with the head of his penis.
Gripping its base with his left hand, he pushed gently. She gasped.
Did I hurt you?
No, no. It just feels so good.
Ill be careful, he said, bending over to stroke her clitoris with
one hand and caress her breast with the other. So lovely. You feel so
good to me. He slipped in a little farther, moving his hands to her
hips as he did. Are you OK?
Yes. Yes. Fuck me, Daddy. More.
With two more thrusts, he was fully inside her. Feel good?
Oh yes. Come in me. Come now!
Gripping her hips in his hands, Moses eased slowly in and out of
her. The t was tight, and smooth as velvet. Each stroke came
quicker. He groaned, feeling the orgasm from the soles of his feet,
still stroking her clitoris as she came, shuddering, again.

This is my big brother, Gene Debs, she said to him the next
morning. They were standing in the lobby as he got off the elevator.
And he was big. Two or three inches better than six feet, lean, with a
lighter shade of green eyes than hers. Same direct gaze.
Howdy, he said, smiling as they shook hands. Glad to hear you
rescued the Ritz; Im looking forward to catchin up on seein movies
where they oughta be seen, instead of the hangar deck of an aircraft
carrier.
GDs retiring from the Navy later this year, she said. Coming
back to live in little old Bisque.
Well, congratulations, Moses replied. I did a hitch in the Navy
myself. Planning on doing any more ying? Guess it might be a little
tame after carriers.
A lot more yin. Ive got my eye on a place that I can use as the
base for a crop-dusting operation. When were you in?
29-33. Most of it down at Gitmo. Came out an AMM3.
How bout that! Im an AB myself; NAP-type. Naval Aviation
Pilot. They bumped me up to temporary JG in 43, but Ill retire a
Chief. Doin any yin now?
No, said Mose, Its been a lotta years. Id like to pay you a visit,
though, if your deal works out.
Make sure you do. Well go y one day.
Ill hold you to that, Mose said. Its a pleasure to meet you,
Gene Debs. Please excuse me; Ive got to grab a bite and get up to the
Ritz. Itll be the Winston, by the way, as soon as the new signs ready.
When will you be moving?
Not til October. Ill be around for a week or so this time, though.
Ill look forward to seeing you again.
Probably not, if you knew what your sister and I were doing on
the roof last night, he thought as he walked into the caf. Jesus, that
was incredible, he thought as he absently consumed his breakfast. I
never even thought of doing it that way, except for the dont drop
the soap jokes from boot camp in the Navy. She certainly didnt
seem the least bit ustered this morning, but that could be because
her brother was there. Anyway, she wanted it. How new could getting
fucked like that be to her? What I do know is that this damn sure isnt
the way I thought our rst time would be. But I expect that my
rootll turn to rock, evermore, at the smell of common roong tar.
Hey. Sailor. Her voice slowed his thoughts stampede.
He turned to look up at her. She looked so damn good.
I have to drive around with GD a little this morning. Would you
mind if I stopped by this afternoon?
No. Of course not.
OK. About two be all right?
Fine. Ill probably be in the ofce. Its right at the top of the
right-side stairway. Just tell whoevers takin tickets that youre there
to see me.
OK. Hey.
Inside Moves 89
What?
Thanks for last night; see you at two. With a big smile, she was
gone.

She was early. Hed left the ofce door ajar, and shed just walked
in, with a tap on the door as she did.
Mose.
Hi.
Mind if I close the door?
No, sure. Go ahead.
She closed it and turned to face him. I just wanted to tell you that
I want to see you again, for you to make love to me again.
Moses looked at her for a long moment. I was afraid we might
have scared the hell out of each other last night, and nothing more
would happen. You know I bought this place because of you.
Yes. Its what made me seduce you.
He laughed. Seduce me. Well, I guess it was fty-fty anyway. I
came to see you last night to see what signal youd give me, if any.
Some signal.
Yeah, she said with a mischievous grin. A real dick in the ass.
She sat on his lap and kissed him, deeply. Last night was an acci-
dent; an incredible accident. We cant go on just making love on the
roof. Its the only place in the hotel that we can be sure no onell see
us, which I cant very well afford to have happen; I know you under-
stand that. Jacks just one reason. We need some place of our own to
go.
Yeah. I better get hot on some house hunting.
Theres one other option, she said. Over in Augusta. An old
friend of mine in New York, Hap Rutherford, from school. He owns
the gallery that carries my work. He has a house there. He only uses
it during the Masters and a couple of other times during the year,
and I have a key. We could sneak over there on the weekend every
now and then, when Jacks staying with Ricky or some of his other
friends.
An arty type; I wonder if hes the one who taught you buttfucking,
he thought. OK. Meantime, this sofas not so bad; Walton had to
have a big one so he could stretch out on it.
Theres my chili sauce, she said, moving her hand to feel his
erection through his pants. Fancy grade, Crosse & Blackwell. I hope
that door locks.
It does, he said.
I just thought of something, she said as she eased herself down
onto him.
He used both hands to pull her teal-blue jersey top up over her
breasts, then reached behind her to slip the clasp of her bra. Whats
that? he said, kissing one pale, rigid nipple, then the other.
She kissed the back of his neck. I want my chili up here some
night while the movies running.
I better check with the union on that, he said, looking up at her
as he closed his hands around her hips and moved her gently, just an
inch or so, back and forth.
Check this, Chili, she whispered, moving faster.

He went to the ofce of Lawton J. Redding & Company to pay the
rst months rent on the Winston. Redding had opened this ofce
more than thirty years ago, next to the warehouse and railroad siding
that also dated back to the days when all he did was cotton broker-
age. Opening the front door rang a bell attached to its upper panel. A
stylish gray-haired lady in her fties, wearing a pale blue blouse and
a single string of pearls, emerged from one of the glassed-in enclo-
sures at the back of the ofce, approached the chest-high front
counter. May I help you? she asked.
Hello. Im Moses Kubielski. The Ritz Theatre. I think I spoke to
you this morning. Im here to see Mr. Redding.
Inside Moves 91
Oh, yes. Im Ruth Powell. Its very nice to meet you. Please come
this way, Mr. Kubielski.
Lawton Redding rose from behind his desk to shake hands. A trim
man, medium height, in his sixties. Wearing ordinary business attire
that t him so well that Moses guessed that both the Oxford cloth
shirt and the gray tropical worsted suit were custom made. The repp
silk tie, a dark burgundy, neatly tied in a four-in-hand knot, con-
trasted nicely with his gray temples. His brown eyes looked at Moses
over rimless half-glasses. So the kids green eyes, Moses thought,
must have come from their mother.
Mr. Kubielski, he said smiling. Serenas voice, however, had
come from him. Thanks for dropping by. Congratulations on your
new business.
Thanks. Since Ill be very busy for awhile, I wanted to take this
opportunity to meet you.
I appreciate that very much. In a sense, were partners; at least its
in my best interest for you to do well. I also understand a little bit
better than most people around here why someone from up north
might nd a little town like Bisque attractive. Im from Tennessee,
myself.
Moses smiled at the thought of Tennessee as up north. Is that
so?
Yep. Came here after my army service. I was in the eld artillery;
my battery was sent to Camp McPherson, over in Atlanta, back in
05. I met Peter Hartwell there. His father started this business. We
were both Second Lieutenants with State Guard commissions; Pete
asked me home for a visit when our active duty was nished, and he
and I went to work for his dad. Im the only one left, he said with a
faint smile. I wasnt a city boy like you, but Bisque was still a change
from what I knew, growing up in Chattanooga. I know what its like
to be an outsider in a small town.
Well, Ive been made to feel very welcome so far.
Oh yes. People are polite here, but youre very different from any-
one most of them have ever met. Theyll take their time accepting
you. At least that was my experience.
Well, said Moses, Ill certainly meet them halfway.
Itll take more than that. Some days I still feel like a stranger. Just
give it time. In your particular case, a lot of time. Some people will
never get beyond the fact that youre from the North. And Jewish on
top of that. But having two strikes against you doesnt seem to dis-
turb you that much.
If it had, Id never have come west of the Hudson River.
I understand Bruce took you to lunch at the Elks Club last week.
Yes. I enjoyed it.
Not too much, I hope. Itll be a long time before the member-
ships open to Jewish candidates.
Not that much. The foods better at the hotel caf.
Redding laughed. Youre right about that. That Nelsons a genius.
Hes the hotels secret weapon. Well, there are all kinds of clubs. You
and I just started a new one. A club of two; the Ritz Boosters Society.
I like that, said Moses, standing up and extending his hand. But
now we have to call it the Winston Boosters Society. Guess we should
meet where the best food is.
No doubt about it.

Thats a pretty good Winchell, said Moses that afternoon, grin-
ning broadly as they sat in the ofce after Lee Websters run-through
of the rst Ritz radio commercial. How many people in Bisque do
you think will recognize it, though?
Consciously? Maybe ten percent. But unconsciously, a lot more
than that. In my opinion, though, thats beside the point. The point
is, the Winchell voice is grating, insistent, memorable and not-
from-around-here. People will notice it, even if they dont like it.
The other point is, as you so graciously suggest, I do it pretty well.
Inside Moves 93
Well, theres only one way to nd out whether it puts butts in
seats. Lets run it.
Itll air this afternoon on Sundown Serenade, and twelve times a
day during the Key Largo run, said Webster. We should know
sumpm pretty soon.
No doubt. By the way, I havent had a chance to tell you about my
lunch at the Elks Club the other day.
Oh. Didnt know that youd penetrated Bisque Bourgeois
already, Webster grunted.
Bisque Bourgeois?
Yep. Them that would have Bisque jump up its own ass and look
like sumpm grander than what it is. The Elks Club elite. Self-styled
nobility, if you will, set down among the clodhoppers. No changes,
please, unless of course its to our benet. Occupying what I call
Bisque under glass.
Bisque under glass?
Pretention par excellence. Fine homes and ne lawns; the south-
east quadrant of our fair city, bounded by Academy on the east and
Lee Street on the west. Cream of Hamm Countys economy,
skimmed and delivered, painless, perfect and thank you maam. As
opposed to the rest of town, where the general run of Bisquites, we of
Bisque Ordinaire, just soldier on scratchin a livin out of it like it is,
and will be. But far more entertainments to be had from a third
group, that takes both temporary and permanent members from
both categories.
And what group is that? asked Moses
Bisque Bizarre. More about them later. Howd you happen to
nd yourself in the Land of the Bourgeois?
The lawyer, Goode, threw in lunch out there as part of helpin me
with the Winston deal. Said he thought itd be good for me to know
some of the town worthies.
Such as?
Lemme see; there was Browne, of Browne & Browne
Oh yeah. David Browne, Webster said, covering his mouth and
yawning.
Hes the only one Ive seen anything of so far, the store being
damn near next door to the hotel. Stands out in front sometimes.
Yeah. Denitely rst-family-of-Bisque. Third-generation fashion
merchant. About your age, Id say. Got out of high school just as I
was coming in. Nice-looking guy; went to college, sat out the war
stateside in some Army unit or another, came back home, buried his
wife and has never had much to think about since, near as I can tell.
Browne & Brownes Bisques number one womens clothing store,
and since women keep a running score of how they look versus every
other woman with whom they might feel remotely competitive, its a
money machine. All he has to do is smile, hit New York now and
then so his suppliers can load him up with whats hot every season,
and stay out of the way. Not that bad a life if you dont bore easily.
Guess not. Well, as you say, somebodys got to supply the
demand for high fashion. From what Ive seen in their window dis-
plays, theyre pretty good at it.
No doubt about that, Webster said with a grin. And Brownes an
OK guy; does a lot for the community. Community Chest; stuff like
that.
How about Edwards, the mill manager? Goode says hes high-
horsepower of one kind or another.
Hes right. You sell him a little short when you say mill manager.
As the president of Hopkins Mills, the number one employer in
Hamm County, he swings a pretty big hammer.
And a bank director.
Right. Of Bisques biggest bank, naturally. First National.
From what I saw, he seemed like a pretty down-to-earth sort,
said Moses.
Yeah. Well, most big dogs do, as long as they get their way.
Another rst-family type?
Inside Moves 95
Oh, no. He took a more direct route to the top. Married in.
Edwards parlayed modest football stardom at Georgia Tech, and an
injury-shortened career with the Chicago Bears, into husbandship of
the bosssmake that the majority stockholdersdaughter. As soon
as the honeymoon was over, so they say, he jumped onto the fast
track to succeed Braxton Lewis. Just had to sit out the Depression
and wait around for the old boy to die, which he was thoughtful
enough to do at a relatively early age.
At which point, Id guess, ol Barrys instinct for the spotlight no
longer had to be suppressed.
How right you are. Since the lovely Mrs. Edwards was Lewiss
only child, Hopkins Mills dropped squarely into ol Barrys lap.
How nice for him. But his good fortune doesnt seem like its
endeared him to you.
Or anybody else, some say including the lovely Mrs. Edwards,
whove had much truck with him, said Webster with a brief shake of
his head.
Local boy?
No; the way I hear it, he grew up somewhere way down in south
Georgia. A trolling Tech recruiter got to him ahead of the competi-
tion. He was running over people then, and hes never stopped.
Enough about him. This younger guy, Ted Foster; the club man-
ager
Ah, Teddy! Webster said, smiling. He just does that to keep his
nose in his fellow Elks business. Were back to the generational stuff
again. Teds folks have had the Buick dealership since thereve been
Buicks, along with a bunch of Hamm County real estate. Ted just
hangs around the showroom, waitin to collect his inheritance.
Sounds like you know him a little better than the others.
I do. We were classmates at dear old Bisque High. Played in the
band. raised up together, as they say. Dont think either of us
planned to still be hangin around Bisque as grown men. Such a
thing is fate.
Guess thats most peoples lot in life; staying put where you grow
up, I mean.
Yeah. I thought sure that Teddve headed up to New York right
behind his high-school sweetheart, but he didnt. Big mistake, in my
opinion.
She mustve been something, said Moses.
She was. Is. Youve seen her.
I have? Where?
At the hotel. Shes Mrs. Mason, your gracious hostess; the former
Serena Redding, and generally regarded hereabouts as a permanent
member of Bisque Bizarre.
Ill be damned, said Moses. Im trying to imagine the two of
them together.
Not all that difcult, if you knew them then. The Depression had
settled in; she hadnt gotten over her mothers death, to say nothing
of the circumstances. Shes a ne looking woman now, but she was
achingly beautiful then, very smart and kind of distant. Kids made
fun of her behind her back. Smarts a tough thing to be in high
school. She took herself very seriously, and so did he. He listened to
her, paid court to her actually, came back here to see her a lot during
his rst year at Georgia. We were a year ahead of her. Then she just
took off for New York, and that was it.
You said something about circumstances, said Moses. What
circumstances?
Her mother was killed in a car wreck in 27. Shed just started
high school. Bad enough to lose your mom like that, but she was
with a guy that shed been carryin on with. For quite awhile, as it
turned out. Her dads business partner.
Jesus. That is rough.
Rough as a cob for somebody like Rniproud as she was raised
to be.
Reenie?
Inside Moves 97
Rni. That was what we called her back then; some people still
do. She wrote it R-I-N-I, with an accent on the rst II guess it was
pride that got her through it. Pride, Teddy Foster and her love of art.
She was always involved with arty stuff, and got a lot of encourage-
ment from Miss Quentin, an English teacher who taught dancing on
the side. And Teddy, God help him, used to write poetry about her.
He showed me a couple; pretty awful, as I remember, but stuff like
that was what helped her survive.
Rni. Not bad. How about the business partner? Was he killed?
Peter Hartwell. Yeah. They musta been yin. They brought the
car, a new phaeton, back to Lelands. The Packard dealership. It sat
there, out in the open, for a couple of weeks. Looked like a giantd
taken it by both ends and wrung it out like washcloth. Just about
everybody in town went by there to ogle it.
Mustve been rough on the whole family.
Yeah. Im no big churchgoer myself, so I cant say for sure, but
the fact that the Reddings didnt have, as they say, a church home
probably made it harder for them to get over it.
No church home. That does seem unusual, in a town like this.
To paraphrase what you were saying just the other day, if you aint
church you aint shit.
And as I also said, or shouldve, theres an exception to every rule.
Where church and Bisquere concerned, the Reddings, and the Wat-
kinses before them, are it.
How does that work? asked Moses.
Well, to begin with, the Watkinses have been one of the big-name
families in Hamm County since back before what you Yankees call
the Civil War. Rni used to talk about how the farm got started on
land that was part of the old Creek Nation, how her great-great-
granddaddy got it in one of the land grants the state had back
around the turn of the century. The nineteenth century, that is, when
the state capitol was just down the road, in Louisville. When the war
got to Georgia, Shermans troops swung south of here from Atlanta
on their way to Savannah, and the Watkinses farmed the original
grant property, plus more that they bought over the years, without
having to rebuild after the war. Most of their slaves stayed, even after
emancipation.
Why would they do that?
Where would they go where, from their point of view, they could
have it half as good? Most of the so-called freemen had no idea at all
about how to be free. Anyway, by the time Miz Rose came along, the
Watkinses could sit out there on the farm, grow cotton and do pretty
much as they damn pleased, which included not going to town all
that often, and since Roses daddy was not so inclined, not going to
church at all.
Rose was the baby, the third child of three, and apparently got
pretty much anything she wanted. She was a smart girl, and what she
wanted was to go to college in Atlanta. Decatur, actually. A little
school called Agnes Scott, where she crossed paths with a renegade
instructor who managed to infect her with a hatful of isms, social-
ism, atheism and who knows what else. Those two were the crowd
pleasers, though, and by the time she nished school she was as
much of a full-blown revolutionary as she knew how to be. She, and
I say she, not they, named her rstborn after Eugene Debs, the
Socialist Party candidate for president in 1904.
Quite a freethinker, for the time; Id say a mand be asking for
trouble with that philosophy in these parts, to say nothing of a
woman. Hell, they couldnt vote til the Twenties, said Moses.
You said it. Folks in these parts didnt take all that kindly to a lot
of free thinking, let alone from a woman. You think too much,
sooner or later youre on the road outa here. Its the same way with
every little tank town in America, I guess; theyre built on a founda-
tion of docile, God-fearin laborers that dont ask too many ques-
tions. Anyway, the boys took her death differently than Rni did;
Gene Debs was about grown, so he handled it a little better. Joined
Inside Moves 99
the Navy about a month later. Buster wasnt so lucky. At twelve, Miz
Roses death may have hit him the hardest of all.
I wouldnt be surprised, said Moses, excusing himself with a
raised hand. He went next door, switched projectors, and returned.
Ive only seen himBusteronce. We met over at the barber shop.
Seemed like a decent enough guy.
Yeah, Busters all right. Nobodys Rhodes scholar, of course, and
on top of losing his mother that way, I think he feels like hes got
something to prove to people because he got 4-Fd outta the war and
big brother shot Japs up one side of the Pacic and down the other. I
know how he feels; my at feet kept me in a radio booth, and you
never get used to the way people would look at youjust a split sec-
ond too longand you were always sure that it was because you were
still a civilian who looked like you oughta be in uniform. Anyway, he
hired on at the Bell bomber plant over in Marietta when the war
broke out, so at least he didnt have Bisquites staring at him. He came
back last year, married Cordelia Bailey and went to work for his old
man selling real estate.
And now he owns the Hudson dealership.
Yeah. You dont hafta look too hard to see his Daddys ne hand
in that deal. He got im in there in the rst place. Good timing, too;
after nursin their old shitcans all through the war, peoplell buy any
kind of a new car they can get their hands on, including Hudsons,
and ole Paul Simmons boy, whodve normally taken over the shop,
got killed in France. It took all of the starch outa Simmons and his
brother, who was already pretty old. They wanted out, so Busters a
car dealer.
And now all the Redding kidsve come home to roost, mused
Moses. Guess the old mans happy.
No doubt. Youve met him?
This morning. Stopped by to pay the rent.
Classy ol rascal, aint he?
Yes, he is. Pretty much a complete surprise to me, for a guy a lot
of people call Pap.
Yeh-baw-ey, grinned Webster. The ofce, the clothes, the ne
ladyfriendah, assistantnot at all what youd expect in a deep-South
cotton broker. Sumpm about the way he was raised, I guess, or what
he did in the army. He musta been a sight to see when he rst
showed up in Bisque.
I imagine. Looks like he took root pretty quickly, though.
The story you hear, not that anybody talks about it much any
more, is that he liked to work as well as his partnerhe wasnt his
partner then, he and young Hartwell just worked thereliked to play.
They say old man Hartwell took a shine to him right away, and that
made Pete Junior act up even worse. To the point that he went back
to Miz Rose, whod been his girlfriend before th war, more outa spite
than anything else.
So the businessthe cotton businessfell into Paps lap when they
took the fateful evening ride togther.
Yeh-baw-ey, Webster smiled. Right into Paps lap. Guess thats
the way their contract had it worked out.
But he still had losing her to get over, said Moses, assuming he
still loved her.
You get the feeling from hearin the story that he did. But did he
love her as much as he loved dealin in cotton? Thats th question.
Dont seem like the business missed a beat. But folks deal with what
hurts em in different ways.
- 101 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 0
Blackwater Blues
1230 Monday 7 October 1946:
Blackwater bluescaused me to pack my thangs an go. Old Lightnin
tells it like it is, and so does Humphrey Bogart. Think you know about
tough guys? Think again. They dont come any tougher than Bogey
when he dees evil Edward G. Robinson in Key Largo. He can take it,
all right, but when he dishes it out, all bets are off. Except one. You
wont see a better movie this year. See it as soon as you can, but get to
the Winston Theatre by Thursday, because thats the last day for Key
Largo. See you at The Winston!
Moses unlocked the Winston at twelve-thirty. Hed had his usual
early lunch at the cafe, his rst meal of the day after getting up at
around nine. Generally, he didnt leave the theatre until after mid-
night. Business had picked up over the past six weeks. Websters
commercials had already begun to boost attendance, and in the
Spring hed add the sidecar rig to his promotion arsenal. Roy
Hartwell had undersold Skeeters talents; the man, whose actual
name, Ribeye said, was Cloyce Daguerre, had turned out to be a
bona de artisan. A little whacky, but arts like that, he thought.
Theyd met at Ribeyes, on the evening of the day after his rst ride
on the rig.
The bar was quiet on that weekday evening, with a very few cus-
tomers sitting at the bar, soaking up beer in steady, workmanlike
style under the weak light of the Steinerbru clock. The Negro side of
the bar, which Ribeye and his clientele called the mule hole, closed
at six oclock. The now-familiar You Win Again alternated with A
Fool Such as I and Honky-Tonk Angel on the jukebox. They sat at one
of the bars four tables, sharing a pitcher of Schlitz. This heres
Skeeter, Hartwell announced, in a respectful tone. I tole him about
what you awnted done with that ole Harley.
Hello, Skeeter, Moses said, adopting Hartwells grave tone. Im
glad to meet you. Roy says youre the man to make a new rig out of
my old Harley.
They shook. The skin of his hand felt like ne-grit sandpaper.
Skeeter was wiry and dark; some kind of hair tonic kept his longish,
gray-streaked black hair lying close to his head. He poured a fresh
glass of beer from the sweating pitcher that Ribeye had just set on the
table. Well, he said, the single word a clue to his Cajun roots,
Maybe so. I been doin ole cars about twenty year now. Started wid
tings I would nd aroun town, Model A Fords an like dat, in peo-
ples yards jus rustin into de groun. Den peoples see dem when I
put em up for sale, and pretty soon some dat had pretty nice ole
carsyou know, Packards an Buickswould get me to paint em. Den
one guy want me to see about gettin de interior of his Auburn
Speedster put back right. It jus went on like dat. Firs bike I work on
was a 37 Indian. A Scout. Jus a simple repaint, but I learn a lot. Like
you gotta take dat bastard completely apart to do it right. I done
bout twenny since dat one. So I spec maybe me and Roy togedder
could do whachu want did to dat ole rig. It would not be no fast deal,
though.
No. I didnt expect it would be. And I dont expect it to be cheap,
either. Im gonna use that rig to promote the Winston for a long
time, and unless its sharp it wont work.
Blackwater Blues 103
How sharp you want it to be? asked Skeeter, gazing intently at
Moses.
Pouring fresh beers all around, Moses said, I want it ta look like it
just rolled out of the factory, only better, Moses said. Not stock
Harley colors. I want it white, with red trim, with the spare wheel
covered with a red leather cover that has Winston Theatre in big
white leather letters sewn onto it. And a Harley police siren. Oh yes,
and the spotlights should have red lenses rigged ta ash, like a police
bikes.
What color you want the frame?
Red. Scarlet, actually, same as the trim and wheel cover.
OK.
I wont hold ya to any top dollar gure, Moses told him, and Ill
pay ya every month, or however ya want to work it. Could ya make
some sort of guess, though, about how much the whole thing will
come to?
Oh, man, you could spend a couple grand fo Im troo, Skeeter
said, reaching for the pitcher. As for payin, I give you da bills for
parts and other stuff I buy. You just pay me for dose, an pay me for
da work when Im done an you happy wid it.
Fair enough. How long do you think itll take to nish it?
Skeeter leaned back in the wire-backed chair, scratching his crotch
in contemplation. Maybe six mont, maybe eight. I have to strip it
down to da bare frame an build it back up from dere. But don you
make no mistakedat bastard be slick as a ladybugs back.
Whoosh. Well, itll give me time to gure out the best way to use
it. Can ya start right away?
I take it tonight, if dats OK.
Yeh-baw-ey, Moses said, extending his hand. Hey, Rib! How
bout another pitcher?
1100 Friday 11 October 1946:
Moses twirled the bottle of Mumms Cordon Rouge in its bucket of
ice, pulling it out part way and touching it to check its temperature.
The bucket was from the hotels inventory, a gift Serena brought to
their rst morning tryst in the Winstons ofce. Her knock broke his
reverie. Good mornin; can a girl possibly get a drink in this here
thee-ayter? She smiled at him from the door, casually drilling his
heart. A navy blue turtleneck sweater eased the formality of the gray
muted-plaid suit that she wore with it.
And a rst-class drink at that, he said, standing up with out-
stretched arms. Just step this way, Madam.
She came into his arms with practiced ease, turning her face up to
be kissed. The faint scent of Chanel came with her. Whatcha got
over there, Mister? Sumpm to make good little girls forget their rai-
sin?
I intend to lure you, my child, into my lair with cham-
pagneand other trinkets. Siddown; I have things to discuss with
you.
Youre way too smug for this time of day, she said, sitting. Give
me some of that champagne before I have to kick your butt.
He poured two glasses and joined her on the couch. Confusion
to our enemies, he said, raising his glass and smiling.
This is very good, she said. I hope your news is, too.
I hope youll think it is; I want to buy somethin, and I wanted to
ask you what you thought about it.
I dont think that theres anything in this town that you could
buy thatd surprise me; what is it?
A house.
A house! Really! Where is it?
Out Highway 31; the Wheeler place.
The Wheeler place! Mose, thats an awful lot of house. Why
would you want to buy that?
Itd be a hell of a lot of house just for me; ve bedrooms, four
baths and a nice-sized pond. But I didnt think about it that way. I
thought that, after I asked you to marry me and you said yes, wed
move in and itd be pretty much the right size.
She looked at him with green-eyed intensity. OK. You surprised
me. You really surprised me. Give me some more of that cham-
pagne. She took her relled glass from him, drank half of it in a
gulp, continuing to look at him. Why get married? And even if we
did, I like living in the hotel. So does Jack. But wait. Back up to the
other point. Why should we get married? Do you want more sex?
Kids? More of my time? What?
What I want is you. To be my wife.
Mose. I love you. I love you very much. But Ive been a wife, mat-
ter of fact Im still one, and Im pretty sure that I dont want to go
down that road again.
What? exploded Moses. Youre still married?
Im afraid so.
Why? And why the hell didnt you tell me?
Did you ever try to get a divorce in New York? I meant to tell you,
but the time just never seemed right. Will you please understand that
it has nothing to do with you, and that I want to be with you, just the
way weve been?
Ill try. Ill try because I love you, too. And you know I love Jack.
But Im not sure that I can. Seems to me that people who love each
other dearly want to live together forever.
Thats the way it works for a lot of people; I dont think that its
the only answer, because I do love you. Dearly. But wins no busi-
ness for artistshusbandineither, as far that as that goes. The role of
a wifes not one that I want to take on again; at least not right now.
So when do you think youll get around to actually not being
one? Legally, I mean.
Im not sure. Larry could do it pretty simply, if he sued on
grounds of desertion. But I havent pushed it. Doesnt seem to make
much difference, day to day.
His hand twitched slightly as he topped off their glasses, Well,
Im gonna make an offer on the Wheeler place anyway. Low enough
so that if they take it, I wont lose anything in the long run. Im sick
of that shack Ive been renting, and Im sure you are, too. They say
its been vacant for six months. Maybe Ill get lucky; theyll sell at my
price, and youll change your mind.
Maybe Ill get lucky and youll think about what I said. I liked my
life all right before you came into it, Mose; I like it a lot better with
you in it. I just dont want to change it so drastically. And right now
it seems like youre looking through me.
No, he said. Im tryin to see inside you.
She touched his cheek. Youre quite a guy, Moses Kubielskithe
most man Ive ever met, and I love being your lover. Just please,
please understand that I have to be who I am.
Looks to me as though I dont have a lotta choice. I honestly
thought youd be pleased. Ill work on bein a better listener, if you
promise me that theres no more big surprises.
None, she said. I think that weve both just been hearing what
it suited us to hear. For me, having you show up when I was starving
for a taste of life from the world outside of Bisque was an incredible
stroke of luck. Talking about New York with someone, least of all
you, whod lived there. When I wantno, I need to go back. I just
chose to give myself up to it, and Im glad I did. I hope you are.
Sure I am. For me, though, you wereand arelike no one I ever
dared hope to meet, much less be my lover. I know you want to make
a name for yourself as an artist; I just dont know why. But Im gonna
enjoy it, and try to understand how much your art means to you,
and how thats gotta take you back to New York, sooner or later. At
least I understand that an artist who wants ta build a reputation
needs ta be where theres a lotta people who care about artand
wholl buy it. And I guess well make sense outa this situation, sooner
or later.
Maybe you should start with this. Just how many people get to
do something they like, let alone love, for a living? And when youve
answered that one, you need to bear in mind that this isnt sumpm I
want to do. I have to do it. As I work on these pieces, Im sculpting
myself a new soulwell, maybe just grafting on a little more weight to
the one Ive gotand New Yorks a part of it. And youd never go back
there; to live, I mean.
Never say never, baby; its scary to think about what I might do
where youre concerned.

I didnt realize that this place had a barn, said Serena as they
approached it.
You cant see it from the road, said Moses, as long as leavesre
on the trees.
I guess they mustve had a horse or two. Anybody ever tell you
anything about the Wheelers?
Not much beyond their bein from Atlanta.
Thats pretty much it. Daddy said Wheeler was in real estate; had
some big ideas about buildin estates and sellin em to his horsey
friends in Atlanta. He made Daddy an offer on my grandparents
place, but he turned him down. Anyhow, this place is as far as the big
plans took im. Turned out he was eaten up with cancer. Soon as he
died, she high-tailed it back to the city. You thinkin about boardin
some nags of your own in here?
No, baby, he said, unlocking the door and inviting her in with a
sweep of his arm. Shovelin shit and bailin hay? No, thank you. I
thought Id turn it into a gym.
A gym?
Sure. A gym. Its already heated; see? They obviously wanted to
keep their hay-burners comfortable. Once I get the stalls and stuff
outa here, therell be plenty of room for a ring, and lots left over for a
speed bag, heavy bag, weight bench and a squat rack. Hell, I might
even put in a steam room.
All that in here? It wont be cheap. I didnt realize you still took
boxing so seriously.
How serious do I have to be to wanta stay in some kinda shape?
Its perfect.
Youre already in pretty good shape, as far as Ive been able to
tell, she said, reaching out to squeeze both his upper arms. I dont
want you wearin me out.
Yes you do, he said, pulling her to him.
1400 Thursday 21 November 1946:
Its my day to recite the poem. She Was a Phantom of Delight. Miz
Barton has us going by rows; Im in the middle of the second row.
The rst row went yesterday. Today, shes starting with Diana Bishop,
then Dolores Bishop and then itll be my turn. I know it pretty well,
but Im still scared.
Mose moved last month. He bought a house way out of town,
after Lee Street turns into the Polktown highway. Its a nice place;
kind of big for just him, but he said they dont build houses for just
one person to live in. Anyway, it has a nice pond out front that Mose
says has catsh in it. Mom and I went out to see it; Mr. Wheeler, the
man who built it, died, and his wife moved away, but their furniture
was still in it. Mose said if Mom said okay that I could come spend
the night when he got settled. Mom said sure, but not on school
nights. She likes Mose a lot. But he was my friend rst. Sometimes I
call him Uncle Mose; just to myself. He wouldnt be scared of a god-
dam poem. Theres the bell; here we go.
Good morning, everyone, she says. Miz Bartons pretty nice. Im
glad I got in her class instead of Miz Jamess. Shes old. Somebody
said she taught English to Stonewall Jackson. Lets get started with
our recitations. Are you ready, Diana?
Yes maam, I guess.
Well, come up and let us hear your version of Mr. Wordsworths
wonderful poem.
Diana stood up. Like always, she and her sister were dressed just
alike. Today they had on light blue, short-sleeved sweaters and white
wool skirts that made their perky little butts look too good to be
true. They always look really good, but somehow theyre scary, too.
She walked slowly up to the front of the room and turned around,
right beside Miz Bartons desk. She looked out over our heads. She
took a deep breath and started. She was a phantom of delight
And stopped. Then she looked up at the ceiling, closed her eyes and
screamed Fuuuuuck! She just stood there, very still, with her eyes
still closed. The room was really quiet. I dont think anybody could
believe theyd just heard fuck in a classroom. And loud.
Diana! said Miz Barton; shed jumped up from her desk, one
hand over her mouth. She didnt answer her. She just stood there,
her closed eyes looking up over our heads. Whats wrong, Diana?
Miz Barton? Dolores said to her.
Yes, Dolores?
Could we try it together?
Together?
Yesm. We know it. But we learned it together, and well do it
much better if we can do it together.
Hm, she said. I dont think she could believe Fuck had been
said in her room either. Well, this is an individual exercise. But Im
going to let you girls do it together today. Youll have to do it individ-
ually later for your grade, but come on up and join your sister. There
are six more people that have to be heard during this class period.
And Dolores did. Taking a deep breath, they started.
She was a phantom of delight
When rst she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moments ornament;
and right on to the end. They went straight through without
missing a single word, and the way they said the words, you really
wanted to hear the next line, and the next. You felt like you knew the
woman that the poem told about. When they were nished, the
room was real quiet. Nobody, including Miz Barton, could believe
how good they were. Finally she said, That was extraordinary, girls;
just extraordinary. Im going to change the rules of this assignment.
Not only will I allow this recitation from two students, but if any of
the rest of you would like to recite in pairs, thatll be ne, too. Of
course, any pairs will share the same grade.
Since nobody else seemed to want to do the poem in pairs, she
pretty soon got back to me. Jacob Mason; are you ready?
Yesm. I decided to pretend that I had a twin, and that he was up
there with me. I didnt do as well as the Bishop girls, but you know
what? I think it helped. And well always remember the day Diana
Bishop hollered Fuck.

1043 Friday 22 November 1946:
Good morning, said Moses, stopping between the fenders of black
and blue Buicks.
Ted Foster, his back facing Moses, stood over a narrow table on
whose top was a stack of sales brochures, holding one of them in his
right hand. He turned toward him, gently slapping the brochure
against his leg. Good morning, he responded. How are you?
Fine, ne, said Moses, as they approached each other. Havent
seen you for awhile, he said as they shook hands. Mose Kubielski.
The everyday salesmans smile with which Foster had met him
faded, then returned, his eyes widening in recognition behind his
hornrimmed glasses. Oh, yes, he said, Yes, of course. Howve you
been?
Fine, thanks. Are you the man to see about a new Buick?
Yes, indeed; said Foster. At least about the one or two that we
have available. Did you have a particular model in mind?
Anything that you havell be smaller than my trade-in. I like
Buicks, and mine has been a good one, but Id just like something
new.
Oh yes, Foster said, I think I know your car; the white Series 90,
isnt it? That is a lot of car.
Right. 1941 model. Fairly low mileage for a ve-year-old car.
What do you have thats ready to go?
We-ell, Foster said, his eyes scanning the embossed tin of the
showrooms ceiling, the fact of the matter is, I have exactly one car
that I could work with you on immediately. Lots of people are still
driving their old prewar cars, and the factorys doing everything it
can to catch up with the demand, but just about every car we gets
been sold for months before we get it.
What is it? Moses asked.
That green Roadmaster Estate Wagon up front. Close to the size
of what youre driving now; all Buick, in other words. All that wood
on the sides really looks rich, doesnt it? Thought itd appeal to
somebody by now, but I guess its just too much car for most of our
customers. The factory put every accessory they had on this one,
including leather upholstery; they sort of forced this one on us. Now,
I dont know if youd be interested
Could I drive it?
Yes, indeed, Foster said. When would you like to
No time like the present, said Moses, if thats convenient for
you.

Af noon, grunted the man, sharp, dark eyes riveting Ted Foster
from deep within folds of fat.
Good afternoon, Mr. Bishop, said Foster, moving quickly from
the back of the showroom to meet the mans plodding steps. Hows
the beef business?
Steady as ever, I reckon, Mr. Foster. That your white car outside?
As a matter of fact, it is. A Series 90 limousine. Just took it in on a
trade this morning.
Whatre you askin for it?
Well, I dont really know. Havent had time to get it back in the
shop yet. Would you be interested in the car?
Bishop looked steadily at the bespectacled Foster, shaking his big
Stetson-hatted head slowly from side to side. Now, what the hell do
you think Im doin in here? You say my new car wont be here til
January. You gimme a good price, and Ill drive this over the holidays
and til my new one shows up. You can go ahead and take my old car
in and get it ready to sell.
Yes, you fat shit, Foster thought, since youll go four hundred
pounds if you go an ounce, itll take awhile to respring that old
wagon, the way its broken down on the drivers side. And I stole that
white car this morning. Why dont you take the car for a spin, Mr.
Bishop, and make sure you like it. If you do, its yours for nine-fty.
Bishop glanced out the window at the white car, and back at Ted
Foster. Thats a deal, he said after a brief pause. If she drives OK.
Excuse me for a minute; Ill get the keys.
Bishop extended a massive hairy hand to take the keys from Fos-
ter. Much obliged. His business concluded, he turned to move
slowly between the Buicks toward the front door, like a cargo ship
loaded to the gunwales in a strong current. As he did, Foster with-
drew to a discreet position in the back of the showroom to watch
Bishops process of mounting the white car. This job, he thought,
may not always be that much fun, but todays a denite exception.
0730 Saturday 23 November 1946:
The Bishop twins were up early. Slipping into their customary week-
end attire of identical riding outts, they tiptoed past their parents
locked bedroom door and made their way to the front porch. The
white car sat serenely on the ne gravel driveway next to the house,
which overlooked rolling green pasture land on all sides of its hilltop
location.
OK, said Diana. Push. Dolores, her feet braced against the
base of the back seat, pushed against the back of the front seat. The
push broke the wide gray seat loose from the full-back position on its
track and carried it some ten inches forward to full-forward, where it
stopped with a solid thump. Dianas nine-year-old legs, long for her
age, could now reach the clutch and brake pedals. There, she said,
peering over the top of the dashboard at pale blue morning sky and
sawing the steering wheel an inch or two in either direction. Come
on up; where dya wanna go?
Lets go to Atlanta, said Dolores, An get some city boys.
Here we gobrrrrmm, brrrrmm, brrrrmm hummed Diana,
pretend-driving the white car out of the yard. She drives real
smooth, doesnt she?
Oh yeah, giggled Dolores. Hey! Watch out for that truck!
Im passin im; hes only doin 50. This thangs got pickup!
Yeah, pass im; see if shell hit 100 down th hill!
Yeah, were yin nowIm oorboardin it! Look down there
were way up here now!
Diana!!
What?
The engine! Its losing power!
I knowIll hafta land it in that eld over there. Gotta keep my
airspeed. Hang on, were goin in! Dropping her hands from the
white cars wheel, Diana wrapped her arms around her sister, who
did the same. The girls sat on the gray wool seat, their teeth chatter-
ing as they muttered back and forth to each other in German.
1730 Saturday 30 November 1946:
Recognizing Moses head above the swinging doors, Ribeye pulled a
Red Cap from the cooler, decapped it and slid it down the bar to
intersect his path. Taking a deep swig, Moses sat, his mind on Win-
ston Churchill. Happy birthday, you sly old fucker, he thought, lift-
ing the bottle a couple of inches in mute salute. Seventy-two today;
thats six you owe me, and the hell of it is youll never know its me
you owe, or why. Hey Rib!
Whut?
Have one on me. Its Churchills birthday.
Whos birfday?
Churchill. Winston Churchill. Remember him?
Oh. Winston. Th Englishman. Lend-Lease. He aint dead?
Nope; just neglected. Saved his people, and they threw im out.
Cast their lot with th fuckin Laborites. Still in Parliament, though.
Well, that aintsa bad, then. Gittin lil old, aintee?
Seventy-two today.
Gettinon down th piike. Hey.
What?
You aint related to im, ahya?
Moses grinned into the middle distance. No. I just like im.
Stared Hitler in th eye til he blinked. Except for him, theyd be
speakin German in England, right now.
Good thang we won. Ain no way I could learnta talk enny a that
shit. Hey. Been meanin ta ask you sumpm. If you don miind.
Whats that?
Whassit liike bein a Jew, anyway?
Where? Here?
Ribeye paused, looking at him. Then he said Hell yeah, here.
Thass where ya be, aint it? Here?
Moses barely suppressed a laugh. Yeah, Im here, for sure. I just
thought you mightve meant New York, or someplace else where
theres a big Jewish community.
Ribeyes tic-like shake of his head suggested that he wasnt up to
thinking about large Jewish communities right then. Naw, I mean
jus in general. Yall havin a differnt God, and eatin differnt food,
an all. Mus be tough.
This time Moses couldnt hide his grin. Lemme ask you sumpm.
Whut?
Whens the last time you went to church? Not countin funerals
and weddings.
After a couple of seconds look at the ceiling, Ribeye said, Some-
time back when I us a kid.
Same for me. And I eat everything you do, includin this pickled
swine you got up here in th jugs. Because Im not what they call a
practicin Jew. Dont know if you consider yourself a practicin Chris-
tian or not, but it seems to me that we get through life pretty much
the same.
Pondering this, Ribeye paused, then said Theys one big dif-
fernce.
Whats that?
Aint nobidy at yo house on Sunday mornin givin you hell
about it.
Moses raised his Red Cap in sincere appreciation of that fact.
Well, heres to Winnie, one more time. Bet he dont go much any-
more, either.
- 117 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 1
Take a Tater & Wait
take an old, cold tater & wait
Little Jimmy Dickens
1415 Friday 20 April 1947:
Say hello to the Wincycle, said Moses, as they walked out the
hotels front door into the sunlight of a warm spring morning to
view Skeeters handiwork, which sat, so shiny it seemed to be vibrat-
ing at a very high frequency, in the loading zone. The old Harley
warrior had metamorphosed into postwar dude, sporting the ivory-
and-red livery that Moses had specied. What hed rst imagined,
however, was far less than Skeeter had delivered. The painted sur-
faces were deep and glasslike in their smoothness; the engines crank-
cases and cylinder heads were polished to a sheen that those of no
new Harley had ever enjoyed. The spotlights red lenses matched the
red trim perfectly, as did the sidecars leather spare tire cover, a large
ivory Winston Theatre scripted slantingly over its full diameter.
The sidecars upholstery repeated the deep, rich red; a large chrome-
plated siren was embedded in the front fender.
My God, Serena exclaimed. What an incredible piece of work.
Wish Id done it.
Incredible just about says it, said Moses. Hop in.
OK. How do I do this?
Just give me your hand and put one foot on that little step. Then
put the other foot inside on the oor, and then bring the other one
in. Thats it. Now put a hand on the side of the car and just sit down.
She did, smoothing her skirt as she sank into the seats red soft-
ness. Man. New-car smell. This is really something.
I thought youd like it, he said, straddling the seat and ipping
the starter pedal into position. Now lets let the town have a look.
Firing on the second kick, the engine, exhausting now through twin
chrome mufers, had assumed a deeper, more dignied tone to
match its new cosmetics. Ready?
As Ill ever be, she said, smiling at his enthusiasm. Lets go,
Showboat.
At the rst break in the busy morning trafc, Moses headed the
rig across Main Streets westbound lane, turning east on Main and
south on Lee. He hit the horn twice to greet Ziggy, who had stopped
his bicycle on the corner in rare respect for the red light. He returned
the greeting with a wide-eyed grin and a wag of the hand, swiveling
for a longer look at the rig as Moses turned the corner. My rst pas-
senger, he shouted to her, returning the wave.
They continued south on Lee, commerce giving way rst to small,
then to larger residences. The heads of these households having left
for work a couple of hours earlier, the pace of midmorning life in
Bisques better neighborhoods could only be described as leisurely,
and this Friday morning was no exception. The smell of dew hadnt
yet left the lawns. An occasional car and a yardman or two doing
springtime seeding summarized the mornings visible movement on
Lee Street. The understated prosperity of this part of town had
immediate appeal for Moses; it was, he thought, very like the small
towns in Connecticut to which some of his fathers senior colleagues
at the university had migrated. Hed wanted to live somewhere out
this way when he rented the two-bedroom house west of town, on
Take a Tater & Wait 119
Jackson Street, but it was the rst thing he could nd that was rea-
sonably decent. Now that the Wheeler place had become, as dubbed
by Lee Webster, Chez Mose, he much preferred the country
instead.
They rode at a leisurely pace through several neighborhoods,
attracting second looks from a few ladies in their front yards, some
of whom returned their waves; a couple of them actually smiled. Ser-
ena gave no sign of knowing any of the women. She sat, it seemed to
Moses, perfectly content behind the sidecars windshield, occasion-
ally squeezing the calf of his leg, which was inches from her face.
They drifted toward the southern outskirts of Bisque and into the
beginnings of rural Hamm County; what each of them had expected
to be a half-hour ride had already gone well beyond that. They rode
from farm to farm, enjoying the sights and smells of spring planting
and, again, swapping waves with an assortment of black and white
men who directed the progress of mules and tractors.
As they crested a rise on the two-lane macadam, Moses recog-
nized the large tree on the left side of the road as the one under
which he and Ziggy had parked last year during the old rigs test ride.
He rolled off the throttle and turned in, wheeling the rig around to
the angle that hed parked before, overlooking the acres of elds that
were full of cotton plants last August, but now lay empty, the dead
stalks having been raked away, a frizz of green weeds having emerged
to replace them. I stopped here with Ziggy last year, he said after
hed shut off the engine. These elds were full of cotton then.
Its been a long time since I was out this way, she said. Probably
not since I was in high school.
Aha, he said, extending a hand to help her out of the sidecar.
Out here playing grabass with the boyfriend, were we?
I think you were born with a hard-on. She walked around to the
other side of the bike and sat against the junction of the seat and gas
tank. No, my girlfriends and I used to ride all over the place, includ-
ing here, on the weekends. One of them had a 25 model Packard; a
sedan. Wed get as many of us as possible in it and just go. To be fair,
we were always on the lookout for boys, but the rst real sex I ever
had was after I was married.
Real sex.
Yeah. You know, pee-pee to pussy.
What comes under the category of unreal sex, then?
I imagine youve heard of jackin off.
Seems to me I have.
You didnt think just boys did it, did you?
No, but
Thats a relief. Id hate for you to think that my sexuality just
showed up one day. Remember when you rst did it?
Mmmmmaybe when I was ten, eleven. Sumpm like that.
Nice, wasnt it?
Sure.
Easy, too.
Yeah.
Girls have to work on it a little harder, at least at rst. At least
thats the way it was for me. I had to visualize getting fucked, from
start to nish. Or what I imagined that itd be like. And it helped to
have something like a dick inside me when I did.
Whatd you use?
Oh, different things; small ones, like the handle of my hairbrush.
But I moved on to thinks that lled me up better. You know what I
liked best?
What?
A small Idaho potato. You know, for baking. Right shape, nice
rough texture that rubs in there just right, with some Wesson Oil on
it. And heres the best part; I found this big screwdriver on the porch
one day, and two and two all of a sudden made ten. I stuck it into my
potato, and that combination got me through high school and right
up to the point that I traded it in on Larry.
You were what, twenty-one?
Twenty-two, and still a Vagitarian, she laughed.
Moses laughed too. You beat all Ive ever seen. Maybe youll show
me that trick sometime; gives a whole new connotation to screwin.
But I wish I couldve swapped places with old Larry the day you gave
it up.
It was his rst sex too, and there were denitely a few funny
moments, looking back on it. But we loved each other, so we
thought, and it worked out. I just didnt understand what I was up
against. Married to the nicest man in the world, whose only real pas-
sion was, and is, nuclear physics.
Yeah. You wouldnt have any interest in second place.
She looked sharply at him. And why the hell should I? As I recall,
the vow says forsaking all others. That certainly included Robert
fucking Oppenheimer, as far as I was concerned. I was stupid enough
to buy into it for too long, letting him haul Jack and me out to a 3-
room shack in that stinking hellhole Los Alamos, and once we got
there we hardly ever saw him.
Looking back on what was at stake, I understand why they
worked at such an insane pace; but there we were, little Jack just
seven years old and completely confused about what we were doing
there. I couldnt tell him anything that made sense, because I didnt
know what the hell Los Alamos was all about. Larry wasnt permitted
to tell us anything, so I got more and more frustrated as the days
dragged on. We were only allowed to go into town once a week; one
day in May of 44, it was past a hundred degrees by lunchtime, and I
just snapped. I packed a bag for Jack and a bag for me, caught the
bus to town, and got on another bus, the next one headed east.
Just like that.
Yep. I left Larry a note telling him that we were headed to Bisque,
and that Id call when we got there. I dont think that he was that sur-
prised, except by the abrupt way I did it. I didnt do right by him, or
Jack, by handling it that way, but I dont think that I couldve done it
if Id had to see the two of them say goodbye.
I guess not.
Nope. Whatever room there is in Larrys heart for loving people,
is all Jacks now. Hes just one of those guys whos married to his pro-
fession. We fell in love without either of us realizing that he was
already married. I wish I couldve talked to my mother about him
before wed gone that far. Of course, we wouldnt have Jack if we
hadnt gotten together.
You know, in all the time that Ive known you, you havent had
much to say about your mother. I know that she died when you were
pretty young
I was fourteen, she said, very quietly, her face gone solemn.
Hey, sweetie. Im sorry. I didnt mean to
Its OK. Id like to tell you about her; Miz Rose was quite a gal.
Thats what you called her.
Yes. Rose. Rose Watkins Redding. The Watkins, her folks, had
one of the largest farms in the county, about twenty miles southeast
of town. She and daddy got married in 1907, when she was 21; he
was 30. She was the youngest of ve children; Granny Watkins was
almost forty when she was born. Being the baby, she got pretty much
anything she wanted, including going to college. One of her teachers
had gone to Agnes Scott, over in Decatur, and thats where she
wanted to go, so naturally thats where she went. And thats where
she became what she called progressive. Gene Debs is named after
Eugene Debs, the Socialist, who ran for president the rst time in
1904.
Oh, yeah. Ran one time from prison, didnt he? I never stopped
to think about that, with all the Roy Genes and Joe Lees around
Bisque.
Thats the one. Anyway, she and Daddy got married before she
nished school, in 1907. They say it almost killed Granny Watkins;
marrying a man almost ten years older than she was. After she died
Aunt Bonnie told me that she married Daddy mostly to spite Mr.
Hartwell, his partner; shed wanted to marry him for years, but he
wouldnt ask her.
Old Man Hartwell left Daddy half the business when he died,
back during World War I. Hed come to love him like his own son,
and Daddy had taken to the cotton business like a duck to water,
unlike Peter Hartwell, who preferred just having a good time. He
became the wheelhorse at Hartwell & Redding, and he had less and
less time for Mama, which of course was asking for trouble. She and
Pete Hartwell took up with each other again, sometime in the mid-
twenties. They were driving out in the country one summer night in
1927; the car turned over somehow and killed both of them. She was
41.
How awful. And what a time for you to lose her.
Yes, she said, tears streaming down her face. Yes, thats what it
was. It was awful. He held her tightly to him while she cried, and
after. She looked down at him, her eyes liquid emeralds. She had
way more to offer the world than little old Bisque knew how to han-
dle. She should never have stayed here. And I know itll get me if I
stay. So Im getting out.
Back to New York.
Yep. If I dont Ill wake up one day, still here and as old as Mama
was when she died. Im not gonna get old in this little armpit of the
world.
And Jack? Does he know how you feel?
Sure he does. Ive never tried to fool him about why we came
back to Bisque in the rst place. It was home, and we had no other
choice.
So whats your timetable lookin like?
She laughed, her eyes regaining their brilliance. Well, I cant go
tomorrow. Much as Id like to. Hap Rutherfords been after me to do
just that, but Ive gotta make sure Jackll be OK in college. Get him
through his freshman year, maybe. Then Miz Rnis gone for good.
Thats a long time to wait for something you want.
What choice do I have? Im not taking Jack back to New York,
now that hes started school and made friends here. All I can do is go
on with my art as best I can, run the hotel and look after my son.
And now that youre here, that doesnt seem like such a bad way to
spend a few years.
Making it sound, Moses thought, more than ever like a tour of
duty.
1622 Monday 1 September 1947:
Its Labor Day. Mose says its a holiday up north. We had school,
though; rst day. Miz Borden made me a Captain of the School
Safety Patrol. Gil Walters is the other one; last year we were the only
two fth graders on the patrol, and she said thats why she picked us.
Were also the biggest, which she probably thought about, too. Our
badges are different; they have a blue center, where the regular
patrolman badges are all silver. Now I have to think about who Ill
pick for my Lieutenant. They get badges with a red center. Miz Bor-
den says that its an important job, and we shouldnt just pick the
patrolman we like the best. It would be easy if I could just do that;
then it would be Ricky. Ill probably pick him anyway.
But Ill have to think about that later. I just got to the Winston,
and I gotta clean up after the 2 oclock show. Mose is down at the
caf, and Freddys in the projection booth. Evelyn, whos new, is in
the box ofce. Shes still in high school, but she can be here for the
early show because shes in the DCT. Im not sure what that stands
for, but its part of high school; she gets credit for coming here just
like she was in school. She brings her books into the booth, but I
never saw her study. I think Freddy likes her; she looks OK and has
those nice titties. Be better if she didnt chew that gum all the time,
though.
I work here on weekends, and sometimes after school. When
Mose bought the Ritz, my Mom told me that he asked her if it would
be all right if he offered me the job, and she said it would. It kind of
surprised me; I never thought about working anywhere but the
hotel. But then Mose told me what he wanted me to do, just sweep
up, tear peoples tickets in half and give them the stubs for the six
oclock show, and help at the candy counter. And of course see all the
movies free. It sounded like fun, and Mom said she could spare me at
the hotel. So I said OK.
Now, when Ziggy and I nish cleaning up, if Ive already seen the
show I go up and watch Mose or Freddy run the projectors. I think I
could do it myself, but I havent asked to yet. Those lm reels are big,
and you have to start the projector with the new reel and shut off the
one with the old reel pretty fast, when you see the black circle up in
the corner of the screen. Im going to watch a little longer before I
ask to do it. Sometimes I take the lm boxes that have the new shows
in them up to the projection room, if theyre still downstairs. A Bar-
ton Brothers Film Express truck drops them off at night, and picks
up the ones that have show that we already ran in them.
I cant work here after school on Tuesday and Thursday because I
have to practice football; Ziggy has to clean up by himself on those
days. Im right end; Rickys quarterback, and he passes to me a lot.
He even got Mr. Harris, Roland Harriss daddy whos our coach, to
let us put in an end-around play so I could run the ball. So I guess
hes going to be my Lieutenant.
I like the Wincycle a lot. It has red lights and a sireen, just like the
ones on the police motorcycles. Since Freddys eighteen and has had
his Servi-Cycle for a long time, Mose is teaching him to ride it. Mom
says I can only ride in the sidecar, but sometimes when he takes
Ziggy and me someplace I get up behind Mose on the buddy seat.
And hes gonna let me ride with Freddy in the high school football
parades on Friday afternoons before home games. He said Ill have
some free passes, each for two people, rolled up in little cardboard
tubes. The tubesll have stickers with Winston printed on them. My
jobs to throw em to people on the street; I have to make sure not to
run out before we get back up to where we turn off Lee Street and go
back to the parking lot at the high school. People stand on the side-
walks, and in the parkway that runs down the middle of the street,
too. So Ill throw some out on the way up the street, and the rest after
we get to the spot where we turn around to go back down the other
side of the street. Mose says I can always throw them to people I
know, but to pretend to shut my eyes, so people wont think Im
playing favorites.
Anyway, working at the Winston is OK. But I get tired of Ziggy
borrowing money from me all the time. Usually I dont have any, or
very much, but he must think I do. He wont ask me in front of Mose
or Freddy; he tries to get me alone to ask me, and some of the things
he thinks of are so funny I have to laugh when he tries them. The
other day I was up in the projection room with Freddy, looking over
his shoulder as he threaded lm into one of the projectors. Ziggy
stuck his round brown head in the door, and when he saw me he said
Hey Jack. Ya package down heeunh. Thats what he was saying, but
he said it so fast I couldnt understand him.
What?
Yuh package down heeunh, bwy, he said, pissed because he had
to hang around long enough to say it again and have Freddy realize
that he was there at all, let alone why.
What package you talkin about, Zig? I said. I was getting a kick
out of his pissedness, which was getting worse fast.
Yuh PACKAGE, gotdammit. Yuh better come get it now.
Whos it from? No answer to that; just a nasty look as he disap-
peared.
Just put it behind the counter, I yelled behind him, laughing.
Im busy right now.
Freddy was laughing too by now. Why you so hard on ole Zig?
Hes just tryin to put the bite on you.
Oh, you noticed? And he thought he had you fooled.
Hell, its not just you; he does it to everybody.
I dont know what he does with his money; hes got three or four
jobs, I said.
Ill tell you what he does with it.
What?
He puts it in the goddam bank.
Hell. How do you know?
I saw his bank book one time. He keeps it in his shoe.
In his SHOE? Bullshit.
He does, Freddy said, grinning like a fool. He took his shoe off
one time, and it fell out. That Ziggys smart; puts his money in the
bank where it draws interest, borrows from everybody he can and
dont pay no interest.
Damn, I said, as impressed as I was surprised. And that fuckin
coons been ridin my ass all this time. How much you reckon hes
got?
I got no idea, and hell never tell. Just dont waste your time wor-
ryin about Zig. Hell always take care of himself.
And you know what hed say.
What?
Awright, den.
Freddy laughed so hard he had a coughing t. No shit! He says
that all the fuckin time!
Not just him. Lots of em do.
Awright, den, he said, laughing even harder.
Awright, den, I said, laughing at how funny it struck him.
Awright, den, he wheezed, struggling to get his breath.
Sometimes we can get a little silly about shit like that; good thing
we have Ziggy to kid around with, though, because some of the mov-
ies are really boring. During the week we have love pictures, with the
woman crying, slapping the man, and then crying some more. They
almost always make up by the end, looking at each other like they
werent ever mad in the rst place. The actors, people like Greer Gar-
son and George Brent, arent in any other kind of picture. Lee Web-
ster talks about each feature in the Winston commercials on WBQE.
He acts like hes a character in the movie, saying stuff like No one,
not even I, a police inspector, could believe that Ivy had had any-
thing to do with her husbands death He really gets em going.
Some women come to see every one; even Mom comes to see a lot of
them. I wonder if she and Mose ever carry on like that; I sure hope
not.
At the Wednesday matinee, we have a drawing; whoever has the
winning ticket stub gets a set of dishes or silverware, or something
else that Mose has made a deal for. He really can deal; last Valentines
Day it was a wedding dress, and the week before Easter a ladies hat,
both from Browne & Brownes. Then, in June, he let the girl whose
aunt won the wedding dress get married in it on Sunday morning on
the Winston stage, and all the guests got free passes. Its getting so the
Winston seems like one of the ofcial places in town, like a church,
or a bank, or something.
But the best thing Mose has dones gonna happen this Friday. Tex
Ritters coming to town! First were gonna show his picture Marked
for Murder, then hes gonna come on stage and sing.
1040 Saturday 6 September 1947:
That big ole Texus sumpm, wadnt he? said Jack through a
mouthful of wafe. They sat by themselves on the terrace of Moses
house, he having gone to the Winston after getting their breakfast
ready.
Sho was. I liike tove laughed my aiess off when heus singin that
Rye Whiskey. I thought heus gonna fall offa that damn stool every
time his head dropped down like heus passin out, laughed Ricky.
That us a whole lot bettern th movie, an th movie wadnt bad.
Whipped up on th bad guys n made th ranchers n th sheepherders
get along. Got th girl, too.
He us real niice about signin is pictures for everybody. Stayed
around til hed signed everything in siit. Seemed jus liike he is in th
movies. You know sumpm else I liike about him? He talks liike he us
from around here someplace. Roy Rogers dont sound western or
southern either one, to me, and Gene Autry just plain talks through
is nose. Sings thataway, too.
Howdja liike at car? said Ricky, reaching for the bacon. Assa
best-lookin Cadillac I ever saw. Th driver tole me it us a V12. Spe-
cial-made on a 38 chassis. With them big spare tires like Moses ole
Buick. Look even bigger on a convertibile, dont they?
Yeah, the way that back end draws down to a point. Wed t jus
perfect in th rumble seat. Howja liike it if we coulda gone with em?
Tell ya how Id liike it, said Ricky, grinning at the horizon. Us in
at rumble seat wid Rita Hayworth in th middle, playin wid dem tit-
ties alla way back ta Hollywood.
The high-priced end of Augusta, Moses concluded, looked a lot like
the high-priced end of Old Lyme, or any of those other Connecticut
towns through which his dad would drive them, him and his Mom,
on numberless, aimless house-hunting weekends back in the
twenties. Large well-kept houses on well-manicured lawns. The
driveway that they turned into led to one of the more modest struc-
tures, a kind of Cape Cod contemporary with a two-car garage, into
which they drove the cars after Moses had slid the overhead door
open. The large key unlocks that door right there, said Rni, indi-
cating the door that led from the garage to the house.
They entered the house between the kitchen and a large breakfast
area set into a bay-windowed alcove. A faint odor of pine-scented
disinfectant punctuated the houses dust-free order. Nice place,
said Moses.
Sure is, she said. The real estate people make sure it stays that
way, not that they rent it out all that much. Lets unpack and get
comfortable.
The master bedroom opened onto a sundeck that was fenced on
both sides, overlooking a patch of freshly-cut, bright-green Bermuda
grass. A boxwood hedge and stand of old poplars closed off the back
of the lot, shielding the deck from casual view. You could get a lot of
sun out there, he said, noting the two padded lounge chairs that sat
on either side of a white-painted wrought iron table.
Thats why we brought swim suits, said Rni. Its sunny out
there pretty much all day. Not that we really need em, the way
theyve got the deck fenced off. Now. How bout stirring us up some
Bloody Marys, and lets get this here party under way!
Although theyd been lovers for over a year, this was the rst time
theyd been able to get out of Bisque for a weekend. Moses had just
gotten comfortable enough with the thought of leaving Freddy
George in charge of the Winston for a couple of days, and Jack was
staying with Ricky. Not that theyd left together; they made the half-
hour drive from Bisque nose-to-tail, the Roadmaster trailing her
well-worn 42 Hudson station wagon. Rni had her regular ruse of
visiting a high school chum, Martha Harris, whose telephone num-
ber she could leave, and Moses was on a business trip to Atlanta,
telling Freddy hed call to check in with him.
He went to the kitchen and emptied two grocery bags. Obsessed
as ever with the loveliness of her body, hed thought about very little
but seeing her naked, at ease and in broad daylight, since they rst
talked about coming here. Vodka, salt, lime juice, Tabasco, Lea &
Perrins into two squat tumblers, sweet tits on his mind, swinging
loose and heavy underneath, taut across the tops as they tie back to
her collarbones, nipples dark pink bullseyes in paler silky areoles.
Undercurves replicated in the cheeks of her butt. He shook a can of
V8, punched holes in the top and poured, leaving room for ice. Two
sets of sweet wet lips, he thought, opening quickly to my touch. My
cup runneth over. God, I need another pair of hands to touch all
those parts at once. Matter of fact, there just needs to be two of me to
do her the way I want to.
It was as though shed read his mind. She stood naked at the bath-
room door, luxuriating in her sunlight-dappled skin. She extended a
hand to take one of the drinks, smiling at her surprise and its effect
on him. She took a quick sip and set the glass down. Very nice, she
said as she closed the distance between them and kissed him,
Tabasco-heat fusing their mouths. OK, Chili, lets christen this
joint, one room at a time.
They lay prone on the loungers, which hed moved together, let-
ting the noonday sun do a few minutes work on their whiteness. So
how long have you known these folks? he asked.
Since Columbia, she said. Hap was a senior and Maggie a pre-
cocious freshman, out of the New York High School of Performing
Arts. She was sixteen, a day student living at home. We had a class
togetherlife drawingand her work was so good that she quickly
became the talk of the department. I thought I knew what I was
doing with anatomy, but she absolutely intimidated the rest of the
class, including me. We were enough alike, though, that we became
friends almost overnight. I was already going out with Larry, who
stayed in the Physics labs til all hours, so we started doing stuff
togethermovies, listening to music in her room, galleries, going to
barsher drivers license had the necessary date, of courseand one
day Hap walked up and started talking to us. He was an Art History
major, and he, like everyone else in the department, had heard about
Maggie. Well, things progressed, they got together, and we became a
foursome, as much as Larrys workload permitted, that is. The rest of
the time we were a threesome. Hapd take us both around town to hit
the high spotsand the low spots. New York in the thirtiesyou
rememberwasnt a bad place to pub-crawl. Hap always had money
his dad owned the Rutherford Galleries, where hed be going to work
after graduation.
And where your works being shown now.
Right.
Sounds like big times for a small-town girl, said Moses.
Yeah, we had some really ne times, and when Maggie turned
eighteen she and I got a place together, a loft on Third Avenue big
enough for the guys to sleep over on weekends. Well, things went
really well for quite awhile, and then, looking back on it, the inevita-
ble happened and I found myself looking both graduation and
motherhood in the face.
But you all stayed in touch as things, as you say, progressed.
Oh yeah, they stood up with us at the weddingjust the four of
us, at a place called The Little Church Around the Corner-
Oh yeah, said Moses, Ive heard of it.
and Maggie went on living with me until Jack was born. God
knows she was a lot of help, standing by me through the before-and-
after of telling my dad. They were at Jacks christening, and baby-sat
him later onthey nally got married in 38but theres a gulf, and a
big one, between couples with children and those without. So our
friendship survived, but on a different basis. We had to grow up and
they didnt.
Thats always the deal, I suppose. But you guys had Jack.
Yes we did. And do. I didnt say that Id ratherve been doing
what Maggie and Hap were doing instead of having Jack. It was just
different, my role in particular; I was a mother now, rst, last and
always. Not that Larry wasnt a good father, as far as he understood
what being a good father was all about; it just took second place to
his work. After all was said and done, he was an Associate Professor
of Physics at Columbia, pushing for promotion and tenure. I felt,
sometimes, that he dealt with marriage and fatherhood as he did
with other things that were outside his work; necessary distractions
from the main point of his life.
I know. Same with my dad. Those guys do most of their living
inside their heads. Moses sat up. I think Im done on this side, and
it looks like you are, too. Ready to roll over?
Yeah. And enough of the Life of Rni for awhile. She rolled over
and lay back down, using the back of her hand to brush beads of
sweat from her brow. Come sit over here, why dont you? she
asked. No, honey, not like that; straddle it. She brought her knees
up to her chin. Come closer, young man, to learn the secrets of the
Orient. Put some more of that oil on me; you, too.
A long, soapy shower later they lay naked on the bed, the covers
turned down, waiting for the wispy breeze that wafted through the
house to cool the heat that lingered from near-sunburn. Where
exactly were you? she asked.
When?
Then, in New York. While I was bellying up to motherhood.
He laughed. Nicely put. Well, I was over on the East Side, projec-
tin lms for th loyal patrons of th Apollyon Cinema on East 58
th
,
despondin over my almost-career as a light-heavyweight.
Light-heavyweight? But didnt you stop ghting in the twenties?
Well, my last ght, if you wanta be charitable, was in April of 32.
A prelim for the Atlantic Fleet championships. Which, bein out of
shape and paranoid about getting caught with my bosss wife, I lost.
Damn near by a knockout.
And by 37, you were still desponding? You know, I think Ive
caught you at it every now and then. Seem like you drop into the
deep blues, and I mean deep, and then snap out of it so fast I cant be
sure you were really there. Is ghting really that far down into the
core of who you are?
Must be. But not in any way that you could imagine, he
thought. I fought a war that you cant know about, because if you did
youd have me hogtied, and I already know that I cant ever claim a
big enough piece of you to let that happen.
Oh Jesus. Somewhere along in there you broke your leg. She
reached down to stroke the streaky pale blue scars on his right shin.
He winced, even though the pain was long gone. Well, actually, a
cab broke my leg. But the despondin woulda gone on just the same,
because by then I was dealin with the fact that, even with two good
legs, I didnt have it in me to get to the top as a ghter. And I was sit-
tin in there in an East Side projection booth, pushin thirty.
Ill bet you had some help with the desponding, though, she
said.
You mean women?
I dont mean sheep dogs, Bub. Somebodyor bodiesmustve
helped you ditch the blues.
Well, I had a couple of pals over that time who blunted the edges
a tad. Nothin like you, though.
Tell me.
What?
About your pals. What they did for you. Specically.
Why?
I might pick up a pointer or two about what you like, for one.
For two, itll excite the hell out of me, she said.
OK. If youll reciprocate.
You want to hear my fuck list?
If you think itll excite the hell out of me.
OK. And Ill go rst. Hap and Maggie.
Whaddya mean, Hap and Maggie?
Just that. Hap and Maggie made love to me. On this bed.
A chill ashed through his guts. Howd that happen?
I called them to tell them that Jack and I were back in Bisque,
and why, and they invited me over here for a weekend. We had din-
ner, and were sitting out in the living room with brandy and coffee.
One minute they were consoling me, and the next they were kissing
me. Maggie slipped her hand inside my blouse, and looked at me for
permission. I just looked back at her; then Hap kissed me, and I
kissed him back. When we nished, he pulled back to look at me. He
said, Rni, weve always loved you, and we thought you might enjoy
making love with us. If it doesnt appeal to you, well stop right
now.
But it did appeal to you, said Moses.
Yes, it did. I was lonely, had been for a long time, and I wanted
them to fuck me. And they did.
Moses thumb and forenger had encircled his dick. How was
it?
Really good. We went into the bedroom; they were gentle, and
they were thorough. And I reciprocated. We did each other in every
way we could think of, until we were exhausted. Then we fell asleep. I
waked up the next morning to feel Haps ngers in my pussy. He got
them slick with my juice and slid one into my butt.
Roll over and let me, said Moses. She did, moving onto her
hands and knees. As before, he used his thumb, putting some suntan
oil on it, spreading more over her cheeks. Its fruity-metal fumes
lled his head as he thrust into her.
Ooh. Gently. Just like that. Id never felt anything like it. By now
Maggie had waked up too, and moved over to kiss on me. He didnt
move it much at rst, just in a sort of circling motion. Then he added
a nger, and started moving them in and out. He mustve done it for
ten minutes, until I was really relaxed. Then he spread the pre-come
that was drooling out of his dick over the head and slipped it in.
God, it felt good, and Maggie kept on kissing me while he fucked my
butt til I came. Then I got up and made coffee, while Hap did Mag-
gie. Moses had slipped two ngers into her pussy, and icked her
clit with his ring nger.
That thing of yours feels like the nozzle on a rehose.
I know. Oooh, baby, that feels good. Dont stop; let me come like
this, and then you can fuck me all you want to.
They napped until midafternoon. Hey, he said, rolling over on
an elbow.
Hey yourself. We passed out.
Yeah. And I still owe you the story of my escape from the slough
of despond.
She looked up at him. Still love me?
Sure, he said. Why wouldnt I?
After hearing what a slut I am?
Bullshit. You are a sex-bomb, but who can complain about that?
You didnt have all that much fun in New York, did you? she
asked.
Nope. Why do you think I bailed out to Baltimore?
She was out of bed when he woke up. Hey, he called into her
absence, are you here?
Hey yourself, Chili. Just uncorking a nice cool ros, and getting
your surprise ready.
Oh. Another surprise already?
The best yet, I hope. You know what I do, right?
I know many things that you do. Which one did you have in
mind?
The part that involves my art. Im going to make a cast of that
magnicent dick of yours, after I suck it a little. I want to feel every
one of those veins in my throat, so Ill remember what it felt like
when Im working on the sculpture.
A cast? My dicks not going in a cast, now or ever.
Im not putting a cast on it; just a nice little red rubber coat, and
you can lick my pussy while I do it. Its painless, and then I can put
that boomerang in one of my sculptures-to-be. She appeared in the
doorway, her hands full, still naked. I need that dick as hard as its
ever been; thats what the rubber bands for. Now Im just gonna ease
down on you; you lick and Ill suck. I wanta feel every one of those
veins slidin across my throat. Then when youre nice and stony Ill
oil you up so this liquid latex wont stick. Waitll you see it when it
dries.
Damn. What I dont do for art. Lemme have that wine, he said,
taking the bottle from her.
2010 Monday 29 September 1947:
Shaking out the raw rice that shed poured into the mold of Moses
penis to hold its shape into a large bowl of the same grain, Serena
wrapped her ngers around the thin tube of red rubber, its ragged,
hair-embedded ange snug against her thumb and forenger, and
poured plaster of paris from a quart-size measuring cup into the cyl-
inder until it was full. Glad he was circumsized, she thought. Where
is it, somewhere in France, that they claim they have the True Fore-
skin? Christs little cracker. Too bad they didnt have liquid rubber
back then. She carefully moved her hand over the rice bowl and
made an indentation into its surface, easing the mold into the rice
and continuing to deepen the hole with her other hand. Soon she
had the mold surrounded with rice, which would support it until it
dried. She moved the bowl carefully to a nearby shelf and stepped
back to look at her handiwork.
Now that the heat of the moment that had spawned the idea had
cooled for a day or two, she allowed herself a wry smile at her own
expense. How, she thought, do ideas like this worm their way into
my head? Guess Daddys been right all of those times when hed tell
me, wagging his head gently from side to side, Child, you take way
too much after your mother. God knows she loved dicks, having
died for one, after all. Well, we all die for some damn thing or other;
at least on this one we have solid precedent from the Greeks. Speak
to me of Priapus, you big veiny fucker; your new likenesss gettin
harder by the minute.
She turned her attention, with the enthusiasm of the condemned,
to her current work in progress. Conceiving the penis project made
getting back into intersecting ellipses, looking more and more to her
like tangled Amazonian bangle bracelets, more of a challenge than
shed imagined. Then her mother sprang unbidden, as she did from
time to time, from her subconscious, speaking to her breathlessly of
the urge to break free of male dominance that shed passed, dementia
and all, along to her; congratulating Serena on her own applications
of that obsession, that could, like this graven dick, sometimes be
even crazier than her own. Turning her scraper against the moist
clay, she thought of the decision, somewhere shy of turning fourteen,
shed made to wrest the upper hand from certain fteen and sixteen
year-old boys whod managed to get her alone after Sunday night
church, during dance intermissions and on the dates on which her
parents, with less misgivings than they shouldve had, had let her go.
The bulging crotches that rubbed against her would soon, she was
convinced, present themselves as a real threat to her freedom. She
called the tactic jack-off blackmail.
It was simple, in the light of Miz Roses frequent sex briengs, that
were always closed with the proclamation that getting pregnant by
anyone within a hundred miles of Bisque will be a quick end to your
ambitions. Shed just take their initiative away by eliminating the
problem at its source. Simple, amazingly so early on, when just cir-
cling a boys erection with her hand was likely to trigger an ejacula-
tion. Once theyd squirted, they were as docile, and grateful, as a
house dog fresh off a tummy-scratching. And when the next incident
of dry-humping broke out, shed just say something like Come on,
lets go take care of this. If pressed her to go farther, shed shut the
offender down with a terse Do you want to come, or not? Because
this is all Im doing. And if you tell anybody, Ill never do it again.
And for a long time she shared her secret with no one, except her
handful of beneciaries. All she needed to keep her knickers intact, it
seemed, was Jergens lotion and a handkerchief or two in her pocket-
book.
Except for one thing. She hadnt counted on what shed be feeling
as she propelled her beaus over the brink. The more expert she
became, the hotter she got. Putting the bit in the mouths of these
would-be stallions was itself a powerful aphrodisiac, and the pure
sensation of herding a pulsing dick over the peak and down through
the valley was getting her wetter with each episode. At rst, she just
ngered herself with her free hand as she went about the jack-off du
jour. Later, alone in her bedroom, shed recall favorite moments and
come herself. Humanity being what it is, however, she came to want
more. Reciprocity seemed only fair; she knew, however, that touch-
ing her pussy would drive her chosen co-masturbator even crazier
than she had before. Shed have to pick just one boy to trust; having
someone say that youd jacked them off was one thing, but pussy-
touching was a much more powerful secret. She didnt ponder her
options long before deciding on Ted Foster. Sweet, tender Teddy,
whom she was certain she could control. He was always so apprecia-
tive, and had never pressed her for more. And so it was that he
became the custodian of her crotch, ngers caressing, rst at her
direction but soon with added touches of his own, the prominent
clitoris that neither of them would recognize as remarkable, as it was
the only one either of them had ever seen.
Theyd gone steady for just a few weeks when her father called her
and her brothers downstairs early that hot August morning to tell
her that her mother was dead. For a long time after that, her insides
were frozen. She couldnt even think about a penis, let alone look at
one. Poor Ted. As nice as he was about everything, not just about the
sudden disappearance of her willingness to embrace life below the
waist, he became afterwards, for no good reason, the target of her ill-
concealed malice. He took it, and came back for more, with under-
standing and insight that, as she looked back, would have been phe-
nomenal for anyone, let alone a boy his age. She still had, somewhere
she was sure, the poems hed written her during that arctic winter of
her crippled adolescence. Yet, at the end of high school, he was left,
along with the rest of Bisque, adrift in the wake of her departure for
Columbia University and ex-Bisque sex, as her mother had wished.
And when she felt her body reawakening, her memory of his loving
kindness was quickly ushed away by the immediacy of Larry and,
soon after, the fact of Jack.
And now Mose, whod punctured Bisques determined dreariness
like a Marlin on the prowl. Combining moments of Ted-like tender-
ness with quick humor and a dick worthy of its imminent homage in
bronze, he complicated the execution of her master plan to show
everyone, dead or alive, that hers was a soul to be reckoned with.
Where their respective hungers might take them she could only
guess, but shed told him what she intended to do, and that wouldnt
change. She thought, as she often did, of the quotation from Oscar
Wilde, rendered in gilt on the door of Haps gallery: It is through Art
and through Art only that we can realize our perfection; through Art
and Art only that we can shield ourselves from the sordid perils of
actual existence. The truth of that had become the cornerstone of
her existence, and the devil, among others, take the hindmost.
Closing the door to the roof behind her with a bang, Serena moved
quickly to the cabinet next to her workstand. Shed had an idea, but
the hotel had been full all week, and that plus a spur-of-the-moment
trip to Augusta had kept her from spending any time at all on the
roof, so the cast of Moses penis remained in its mold. She set the
smallish cardboard box that shed brought with her on the stand and
pulled the bowl of rice from the cabinet, setting it beside the box.
Removing the red cucumber-like mass from its rice bed, she stood it
on its at end, pointing to the sky, and contemplated her work thus
far. Reminds me, she thought, of that song Miz Rose would sing now
and then, but mostly hummed, The Big Rock Candy Mountain. Only
this ones red. She picked it up, hefted it for a brief moment, then
squeezed it between vise of her knees and began peeling the rubber
skin away.
A little over an hour later, she replaced the cast on the workstand,
now rotated ninety degrees so that its length was parallel to the
stands surface. One end of a steel dowel was screwed into a hole that
shed carefully drilled in the middle of its belly; the other end was
attached to a six-inch-square metal plate, anchoring the plaster penis
for visual reference, its protecting coat of shellac drying in the night
air. Serena retrieved the box from the stand, sat back in the tall direc-
tors chair with her heels hooked over the footrest, and pulled open
one of the end aps. Extracting the contents, she peeled apart the
paper envelope that protected the chrome-plated surfaces of a
brand-new hood ornament for a 1947 Buick Roadmaster.
Since shed taken a good look at the one on Moses Estate Wagon
when they were in Augusta, shed thought about making a certain
alteration to it. Turning it over and over, she noted the length that
the torpedo-like center element extended in front of and behind the
circular piece that surrounded it. Its underside revealed the set screw
that clamped the three piecesthe torpedo, the circle and the vertical
stanchion that connected themtogether. The two threaded holes on
either side received the larger screws that fastened the assembly to
the hood. Good, she thought, all I have to make is the new Tor-
peter.
She thought about the shape of the cast as shed reinterpret it.
First of all, itd have to be completely straight; arrow-like, the same as
the torpedo it replaces, but with a different balance. The tails
extreme taper could, no mustbe replaced by a set of smoothly
tapered testicles, faired into the Torpeters cylindrical mass. They
would continue the streamlining that shed already imagined for the
circumcised head, slit removed, piercing the airstream with a
smooth, streamlined surface, sweeping back and down, retaining the
elegant sweep of the glans. A second look, and only a second look,
would reveal the new prickness of Moses hood. That was crux of the
joke; how long hed drive around town preceded by his prick before
anyone noticed. She took a pair of pliers in each hand; be interesting,
she thought as she bent wire for the Torpeters armature, to see what
he does then.
1010 Tuesday 15 November 1947:
Hands on either side of the Estate Wagons big steering wheel, she
pushed herself back in the drivers seat, arms locked at their full
length, and screamed in triumph as she drove up US 1 to Augusta. It
had been so easy; all shed had to do was to ask Moses to swap cars
with her for the day, saying that she needed the wagons extra cargo
capacity to take a new sculpture to the foundry. She was foundry-
bound, true enough, but the cargo bay, devoid of cargo, served today
solely as an echo chamber for her scream. Awaiting her at the
foundry was the nished Torpeter.
In point of fact, the Pro-Tour Services foundry wasnt up to cast-
ing pieces anywhere near the size that the wagon, with its seats folded
at, could carry. Their principal business was the design and pro-
duction of custom-made sets of golf irons, and club heads were
pretty much all they cast. Up to now, Serena had given PTS, as they
referred to themselves, her business because they were nearby, and
her work up to now hadnt been that large. The big bonus for her
where the Torpeter was concerned was that they did their plating in-
house.
As she walked in she saw the top of Mark Stubbs blond head at
the back of the building. Stubbs, one of the two partners in PTS, was
bent over one of the furnaces. She whistled; looking up, he greeted
her with a wave, looking over her shoulder through the window at
the Buick. Hey, Miz Mason! Be right up. Whatd you do, trade
cars?
Hi, Mark. Nope, just tryin it out. She stepped into the small
ofce, impatience devouring her, and sat down. Stubbs followed her
through the door in a couple of minutes, rubbing a silver cylinder
with a polishing cloth. Cradling it in the cloth, he presented her with
the nished product of her inspiration. She took it from his hand,
rotating its surface in the autumn sunlight streaming through the
ofce window, her face lit in its satiny reected glow. She turned her
face to him. Its beautiful, Mark. More so than Id dared to hope.
Thanks for rushing it.
Its my pleasure, Miz Mason. What kinda world would it be if fel-
low sculptors didnt help each other out? And what kinda world is
it, he wondered, that has a classy woman like this craftin a chrome-
plated dick, and me shovin pre-sold work back in the schedule to
put the shine on it for her?
I promise you more warning on the next piece, she said, tearing
a check from her checkbook and handing it to him.
No warning necessary, he thought, if a piece of you would be
involved. Well look forward to it, he said. Would you by any
chance have time for lunch before you head back?
She smiled at him, green eyes turned to half-strength. Wish I
could; give me a rain check?
Done, he said, hoping his lust wasnt showing. Next time, for
sure. Just say when.
She sped to the Rutherfords house, her eyes switching constantly
between the road and the rear-view mirror. Pulling into the garage,
she pulled the Buicks hood release and ipped the light switch on
the kitchen door-facing. She plugged the trouble light that shed
brought with her, along with a small assortment of hand tools, into
one of the receptacles over the workbench. Positioning the light to
direct its beam onto the inside of the hood, she switched it off and
unwrapped the new Roadmaster hood ornament.
In less than an hour, tapping, drilling and screwing complete, she
packed her tools and went inside the house. Taking a Miller High
Life from the refrigerator, she popped the cap, locked up and left.
Switching on the cars radio, she headed for the highway, left foot
tapping to the wail of hillbilly ddle, lips parted by an autoconspira-
tors grin, savoring the curve of the Torpeters testicular bulge.
- 145 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 2
A License to Steal
0912 Sunday 11 January 1948:
The icy chill of the kitchen sinks porcelain snapped at Serenas belly;
her robe had fallen open as she leaned to look through Moses frosty
kitchen window, down the slope of frozen grass to the edge of the
pond, gray-green opacity reecting a sullen morning sky. She backed
away a little, still looking outside, waiting for the percolators nal
spasm. Moving to close the robe, her hand drifted to her still-wet
crotch. Bringing her ngers up to her nose, she sniffed them, then
put two in her mouth for a moment before wiping them on a dish
towel. Our juices taste good mixed together, she thought. She took
two crockery mugs down from the cabinet, lled them and walked
back down the long hall to the master bedroom. Hey, Bub! she
barked at the motionless lump under the covers. Roll over and get
yer heart started.
No more, came a guttural whisper from the lump. No more.
Hush. Sit up, drink this coffee and get me some breakfast. Then
we can play some more.
Moses rolled over, grinning as he went up on one elbow to take
the coffee. Deal. Bloody Marys, Smitheld ham omelet, runny-ass
grits and a side of sodomy. Nice to know weve got all day.
She eased into the bed beside him, inhaling deeply, savoring the
coffee smell, leaning over to blow lightly into his ear. Yeh-baw-
eyah, shit! Youve got me doing it now!
He chuckled, putting his arm around her shoulder, pulling her
close to him to get his ngertips inside her robe and tweak her nip-
ple. Whats so bad about that? Authentic Bisque patois; at least I
never heard it anywhere else. Its such a perfect thing to say when
youre pleased. I love it, particularly when you say it.
Enjoy it while you can, because I dont share your fascination.
Patois, patooey! Hifalutin yankee label for a plain old redneck exple-
tive. Stick that in your patois.
Didnt mean to get esoteric; I just have to take any available
opportunity to show show off mhard-won larnin.
The dipso librarian. She did manage to cram quite a bit into that
hard head of yours. Ever wonder about how shes doing? Or do you
know?
I have no idea, and no desire to get one. What a question.
Sorryjust a minor jealousy twitch. After all, she did have you for
quite awhile. And you yourself said that you owed her a lot for gettin
you started readin sumpm besides the newspaper.
Youre right, I did say that. Im a lot different from what I woulda
been if I hadnt haunted that library. For one reason or another, the
rst thing she handed me was Requiem for a Nun. Id felt a lot like
Popeye, without knowin who the hell he was, for a long time; still
did when I got here, but now Im getting to understand Flem Snopes.
But I also stumbled across Epicurus.
Epicurus.
Um-hm. One of the few people endorsed by my old mans all-
time favorite, Nietzsche: wisdom hasnt come a step farther since
Epicurus, but has often gone many thousands of steps backwards.
Epicurus of Samos, three hundred-sumpm BC. The old Greek
crowd-pleaser; not that popular a guy since then, what with most
peoples rejection of pleasure as a good thing. Good morally, I mean.
A License to Steal 147
And not in societys list of admirable human traitshumility, charity,
compassion, wisdom, honor, justicetheyre all just ne, but plea-
sure? Of the rst-string philosophers, Epicurus, as far as I know, was
the only one for whom living an upright life meant pursuing plea-
sure.
I can see why hed appeal to you. Whats the difference between
that and Hedonism?
I guess theyre in the same ballpark, but theres a major differ-
ence.
What?
Ataraxia. The experience of optimal, enduring pleasure. Thats
what the Epicurean shoots for, not just maximum sensation.
And all this time I had you pegged, she said, as a denite maxi-
mum-sensationalist.
You do me grievous wrong, babydoll. Maybe neoepicurean, epi-
fuckincureanyour choice. But dont lets beat it to death; I owe
Sarah plenty, but that debt, without goin into it, has been paid. At
least to my satisfaction. Living with an alcoholics its own special
kinda purgatory.
There are people whod say that were alcoholics, she said.
What most people around here call an alcoholic, Moses said as
he moved to get out of the bed, is anybody who has two beers back-
to-back before lunch. And you only have to do it once to be con-
signed to the ranks of Bisque Bizarre.
Bisque Bazaar? Wheres that?
Its not a place, its a status. Bi-zarre. Its a Websterism.
Oh, she said warily. Whats it mean?
He classies Bisquites as Bisque Bourgeois, Bisque Ordinaire and
Bisque Bizarre. Bizarros can come from either the Bourgeois or the
Ordinaire classes, earning their entry by, naturally, behavior of the
bizarre persuasion. You are, for example, as much as youll hate it,
Bourgeois/Bizarre, while I, the quintessential plebeian, am Ordi-
naire/Bizarre. According to Webster.
I see. And for whom, besides himself, does he reserve the Just
Plain Bizarre label?
Now youre talkin transcendentalism. We can always ask him.
Let me ask you something.
What? he said, turning his face to hers.
When your car broke downwere you really looking for a the-
atre, or were you running from her?
Just a theatre. Do I strike you as a torch-carrier?
For me, I hope. But someone taught you an awful lot about mak-
ing love, and people like that arent easily forgotten. Im guessing
shes the one.
Moses smiled. Well, he said, It certainly wasnt Laverne
Levine.
Youre making that up.
No, she was my high school sweetheart. Wouldnt even screw me
before I left for the Navy; I had to settle for a jerkoff.
Guess she gured youd be getting enough, being a sailor and all.
Guess so. He dropped off his elbow onto his back and looked up
at her. She had one thing exactly right, though.
Who?
Sarah.
What?
She said makin love should be the highest form of art.
On that point she had it exactly right. She took his hand and put
it between her legs. Do me a little before you start the eggs.
He was swollen again as soon as his ngers felt the slickness of her
lips. Oh, baby. Shed be prouda you.
And Im prouda you, too, buddy, she thought. And more than a
little amazed that youre still driving around town with your dick on
your hood. Thatll get you into Just Plain Bizarre, hands down.
OK, boys, Mr. Reynolds said, lets settle down and take a look at
todays lesson. Any time I spend Saturday night at Rickys, I have to
go with him to Sunday School. And church. And get up early to get
ready. Its not so bad once you get there, the taste of Miz Terrells
scrambled eggs, toast and jelly still hanging on at the back of your
throat; everybodys real nice, particularly to me since Im a visitor.
Flx hates it, though; he just sits on my shoulder, beak shut, lettin me
feel those little claws now and then.
What gets me is how a lot of the grown folks, and a few of the kids,
act like theyve got this big secret, and dont you wish you knew it?
Most of the kids in the class, though, are like Ricky and me; were
here because somebody else thinks its a good idea. Seems to me like
Mr. Reynolds might be here for the same reason. He doesnt look
much like a Sunday school teacher; tall, dark and handsome, like
they say, and still pretty young. He played rst base for the Bullets,
but when he married Miz Reynolds he quit and went to work for Mr.
Terrell selling insurance. I heard Mr. Terrell saying to Rickys mom
that it was gonna be good for Jim, thats Mr. Reynoldss name, be
good for his business to be active in church work. Miz Reynoldsher
name used to be Laura BatemanRicky says shes been singing solos
with the First Baptist Church choir since she wasnt much older that
we are. Shes really good-looking, too. So I guess it wasnt all that
hard of a choice that Jim Reynolds had to make. First base with the
Bullets or a home run with Laura Bateman.
Anyway, he starts talking about the lesson, which all of the regu-
lars are supposed tove read out of their little magazinesthey call
em quarterliesand he tells us the main idea of the story, which is
about this boy about our age who nds a wallet with some money in
it. Its enough to pay for the new football hes been wanting, and at
rst hes so happy that he cant wait for the sporting goods store to
open the next day, which is a Saturday, and he can go buy the foot-
ball. But what happens is he cant get to sleep, thinking about the
person who lost the wallet and what they mightve needed the
money for, and he remembers the last time he was in Sunday School,
when his teacher told them Whenever you want to know what to do
when you have a problem that you cant solve, just ask yourself,
What would Jesus do?
So when hes done telling the story, he asks us who wants to tell
the class what Bobby, whos the boy in the story, does. And this one
kid, Perry, raises his hand, just like hes in regular school, and saying
Ooh, ooh, like hes gotta take a shit. And Mr. Reynolds says Tell us
what Bobby did, Perry.
He, he, ah, he told his daddy he had th wallet and gave it to him,
an, an, his daddy said hed keep it til they could put an advertise-
ment in th newspaper. An he told Bobby what a good boy he was to
tell im about it.
Thats right, Mr. Reynolds said. And its a good lesson for all of
us, idnt it? Whenever we dont know what we should do in a situa-
tion, all we have to do is say to ourselves, What would Jesus do?
Well, everybody nodded and smiled at Mr. Reynolds, and about that
time the lady started playing the music that tells everybody to come
out to the main room, so he sort of blew out his breath so his cheeks
uttered and said, Well, thats it for this week, boys; see ya next Sun-
day.
We got up, walked out and sat on the benches in the main room.
The piano was making so much noise that it was hard to talk, so I
was looking around the room and I got to thinking about what Mose
told me about Thomas Jeffersons letter to somebody about Epicu-
rus, a guy who lived way, way back, even before Jesus. He was writing
about how he liked Epicuruss ideas so much better than what some
of the other big shots had to say way about what life was all about
back then, how if you werent having a good time, you really werent
living wisely. Im sure Epicurus wouldve given back the wallet too,
but from what I know about Jesus, which isnt all that much, it
doesnt seem like he never had much to say about having a good
time. Maybe next time a good question would be What would Epi-
curus do? Flx, who happened to be tuned in right then, agreed.
Hey, Mose. Roy Hartwells head and one shoulder protruded
through the swinging doors.
Hiya, Roy. Whats up?
Couldja step out here for a minnit?
Uh, yeah. Hang on just a second. Draining his Red Cap, Moses
slid off the barstool and walked outside. Whatcha need, buddy?
Roy looked at him briey, then across the sidewalk to where the
Estate Wagon was parked. I us jus lookin atcher car. Th hood
ornament. I may be nuts; I probly am. Wouldja mind tellin me
somethin?
If I can, said Moses. What is it?
I jus happmnd ta be lookin at way as I us passin by, he said,
the color rising in his cheeks, an I saw it; then I stopped an looked
at it agin. Thassa helluva April Fool joke. Wheredja git it?
As Moses moved to the front of the car, a couple of inbound
Lunch Room customers stopped to look over their shoulders. Hell,
the shorter of the two, whom Moses recognized as one of Ribeyes
fellow handgun acionados, said. Ats a dick.
Moses mind took him on a brief, warp-speed trip, out and back.
Not just any dick, my boy. Thats a very sharp dick indeed. I wonder
where it came from.
Less you look close, Roy said, shaking his head, Youd never
notice it. Looks almost zackly liike a reglar Buick.
Yeah, the sometime pistol packer said, Cept ats a Bu-dick.

By the end of the next day the fact of Bu-dick was abroad on the
streets of Bisque. It was a couple of minutes past six that afternoon
when Moses nosed the wagon into a parking spot opposite the neon
Bisque, which had developed a sputtering blink sometime during the
last week, got out and walked into the hotel lobby. He tossed a wave
at Jerry McClain as he approached the desk. Hey, Mose, he said
with a grin that was just a shade too wide. Looking for Mrs. Mason?
Bingo, my boy. She around?
Shes up on three. You can go up if you want to. Shes just check-
ing on some paint work in 314.
No thanks. Ill just wait in the caf.
Serena showed up just as Moses was nishing his coffee. Hiya,
sailor.
Hiya, sculptor. Or you can call me Bu-dick, if ya wanta be styl-
ish.
Bu-dick? Whatre you talking about?
Im talkin about that efgy of my dick that you put on my hood.
Whend you do it?
Back in November, when you lent me your car to go to Augusta.
She worked to suppress a smile. I thought youd notice it way before
now. The more time that passed, it just sort of became part of the
wagon and I honestly didnt think about it that much after a couple
of months, except when it popped into my head occasionally, and
like as not Id laugh out loud. Are you mad at me?
Ask me in a day or two. I may nd that I prefer it to Cueball, but
I wanta see how the good people of the hamlet digest my silver dick,
and that oughta be long enough to get it spread all over town. I
walked up on some high school kids standin around lookin at it this
afternoon, laughin like hell; one of em had a camera.
Would you like me to take it off? I have your old one upstairs.
Nah. Why doncha just give it to me, and Ill switch em when Im
ready.
OK. Ill run up and get it in a minute. Say.
What?
I want you to know something.
Whats that?
This whole hood ornament business was a just a dumbass brain-
storm of mine. I didnt take a cast of your dick just to play a joke on
you. But the more I thought about the shape, the more I could see it,
tastefully streamlined of course, a merger of your dick and your car
into a single art object. I thought itd be funny, of course, but I
thought I might nd some inspiration if I started working with the
shape on some kind of immediate project, no matter how limited the
scope might be. Then, once I nished it, I was afraid you wouldnt go
along with putting it on the car, and it wouldntve made sense unless
it was on the hood.
And it was all right with you if I looked like a jackass, or more
likely a friggin sex maniac, as long as you pursued your art.
As far as your image around heres concerned, nothing else
seems tove bothered you; I gured youd handle it, maybe get a little
PR out of the whole thing.
The whole thing? What whole thing? Bein Mr. Bu-dick for the
rest of my life?
Given the amount of crazy shit that youve pulled since you hit
town, buster, youre begrudgin me this puny little prank?
Her sudden truculence made him smile. I guess not. Mind if I go
up with you?
I guess not. Want to see what Im working on?
Sure. Ive got sumpm to show you, too.
Ill bet you do, Chili, she said. Cmon.
Jack and Ricky stood on the corner of Willow Grove Lane and Acad-
emy Street, watching their peers trickle by in twos and threes on
their afternoon walk home, some waiting to cross Academy, others
staying on the near side in no need of Patrol assistance in crossing
the street. Ricky, lling in for the ailing Harold Glass today, had
taken over his post, since it was the farthest from school and not sub-
ject to scrutiny by Ward B Grammar School faculty. The post
required a steady and experienced patrolman, and Ricky had decided
to take it himself rather than entrust it to another patrolman. As the
patrols Lieutenant, decisions such as these were his to make. Jack,
the Captain, had given him wide latitude in running the patrol,
much more so than Gil Walters, the Captain of the other patrol, had
given his Lieutenant. Jack circulated from post to post on his bicycle,
his mobility, bright-white Sam Browne belt and blue-and-silver
badge combining to project an image of quiet authority.
Theyd switch with Walters patrol next week, doing mornings,
which was a much more intense activity than afternoons, particu-
larly a Friday afternoon in Georgias springtime, the emerging pale
green of the streets eponymous willows, like the weekends possibili-
ties, just starting to open up. As lawmen will, Jack and Ricky took
momentary advantage of this undemanding duty to speculate on
off-duty pursuits.
Daddys talkin about takin Mom and me with im to Atlanta
week after next, Rick said. Said we could go see th Crackers play.
He thinks theyre playin Boston that Sunday. Wanta go? Wed hafta
miss school next Friday, but he said hed talk to Miz Borden and get
us off.
Hell yeah I wanta go. Guess Glassll be back next week. He can be
Captain and Lieutenant both for a day.
Ah hell, let im appoint somebody Lieutenant. Well be watchin
big-time baseball, might as well let him have that much fun.
Hm. Guess so. Jack looked up as the unmistakable sound of a
Big Twin exhaust grew louder. Hey. Heres Brady.
Fifty percent of the Bisque Police Departments Motor Corps
rolled to a stop at the curb, the Harley-Davidsons broad solo saddle
sinking on its hydraulic post under Ofcer Dan Tub Bradys ample
physique as he took his feet off the oorboards. One hand went to
his cap, easing it up slightly on his forehead, the other to the Big
Twins gas tank-mounted ignition switch. Afternoon, men, he said,
eyes blanked by aviator-style Ray-Bans, the rest of the round red face
smiling just slightly to indicate an intent to amuse.
Hey, Brady, said Jack, the ranking ofcer, his eyes on the Big
Twins black bulk. Whenja get the new motor?
Wednesday, said Brady, having swung a leg over the bike to sit
with his feet on the curb. Rode it over from the dealers in Atlanta.
Hows it ride? Ricky asked him.
Jam-up, with this new Hydra-Glide front end. This 49 models
th rst one the dealers had to sell since llin th Atlanta PDs order.
Sure looks good, said Jack. That the radio? He pointed at two
black boxes that were mounted where a civilian model would mount
saddlebags.
Yup.
How fastve you had er?
Oh, still breakin er in; ran er up to 70 once or twiice, on th way
back, but she needs a coupla thousand miles on th clock before I
turn er wide open. At which time shell top a hunderd, or go back to
that Cadillac-drivin dude of a dealer til she can. He shifted on the
seat, bringing a cordovan-putteed leg up to rest on the other knee.
Had to give yer boss a citation while ago, he said, looking at Jack.
Who? Jack asked.
Ole Cueball. How many bossesve ya got?
Jack maintained a poker face. Whatd he do?
Cited him under City Ordinance 163-d. Obscene behavior in a
public place.
Both boys faces paled under their tans. What? said Jack, poker
face long gone.
163-d. Heus ridin around town with a chrome-plated penis on
th hood of his car.
I dont believe it, said Jack.
Seemed like he didnt, either, said Brady. Riit up ere in th
hood orny-ment, liike it us put on at th factory. Yad miss it if ya
wudnt lookin fer it. But seein is believin. He stood momentarily,
swinging his leg back over the Big Twin. He ipping out the kick-
starter pedal, he paused before kicking down on it. Gotta go, he
said, retorquing the stingy smile into place. You boys be good. The
engine wheezed under the rst kick, growled to life with the second,
and Brady was gone with a screech and a roar, leaving Jack and Ricky
goggle-eyed under the willows.

Leaving his bicycle in the hotel garage, Jack rode the elevator up to
ve, wondering if hed nd his mother in their apartment. Turning
his key in the lock, he opened the door. Hey, bub, she said, turning
to greet him with a bright smile.
Hey, he said, the uncharacteristic glumness of the reply captur-
ing her full attention.
Whats up, Jackie-boy? she asked, moving to put a hand on
either side of his face.
Ol Tub Brady told Ricky and me he gave Mose a ticket today.
Oh-oh. How fast was he going?
Not for speedin; he said Mose was ridin around with a penis on
the hood of his car.
Serenas face fell; he hadnt switched them. She said nothing for
what seemed to Jack to be a very long time, so long that he started
toward his room.
Jack.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder. Maam?
Nothing. Arent you spending the night with Ricky?
I was sposed to, but I dont think I will now. I dont really feel all
that good.
Want some cocoa?
OK.

Flx was perched on top of my bookshelf, preening. Well, Jack, he
said, his squawk grating more than usual on top of my confusion.
Whaddya think of this here can of worms?
I sipped some cocoa, glad that Mom had remembered to put extra
sugar in it. You talkin about this penis bidness?
I aint talkin about cream of wheat, son. So whaddya think?
Think, think, I mimicked his squawk, for which I got a really
nasty Goshawkian stare in return, but time to actually think about
what the hell it was I did think about Moses havin a dick on his
hood in the rst place, let alone gettin a ticket, which means itll be
all over town before you know it. I think somebody else put it on
there, is what I think. Without him knowin, I nally said.
Flx glided over to the foot of the bed. He spread his wings part-
way, putting one around my back, strong gray feathers extended like
separate ngers touching me lightly, to show me that he knew I was
pissed and that he wasnt holding the squawk imitation against me.
Lets see, he said. What was it Tub said? liike it us put on at th
factory.? We need to see that. But even without seein it, weve got a
pretty good idea about whos behind it, dont we?
I guess so.
This time it was Flxs turn to mimic. I guess so, he said, as
human as a bird who aint a parrot could manage. Son, most people
only do two or three things with dicks. They piss through em, play
with em, and stick em in other people. Now if we assume that dis-
playin a dick like that aint about pissin or playin, whats left?
Stickin it in other people, I said through my teeth.
Bingo! And while it aint the pleasantest picture there is, we know
where Moses been stickin his dick since he came to town.
Bingo your own goddam self, I said. I didnt want to think about
Moses dick, or anybody elses, gettin stuck into Mom. If it took
pissin Flx off to make me stop thinkin about it, then thats what Id
do.
But he didnt jump on me claws-rst like he does sometimes when
I piss im off. He stayed put, slappin me lightly with the wing that
stayed around my back. Hey, he squawked, how the hell old are
you, anyway? Grown people stick dicks into other grown people.
They do it because they like it. Time you got used to it.
I dont fuckin wanta get used to it, I said to him.
Well, sport, I know youre mad when you use language like that.
But when you have some more time to think about it, youll realize
that its part of what all of us fauna gotta do. Your mamas lucky to
have a friend to fuck er; not everybody does. Might as well live with
it; make a joke out of it if thats what it takes. Be seein ya. Flx had
had his say, and as he sometimes does, he spread his gray wings and
apped straight through the window, not even asking me to open it
rst. Guess he couldnt wait to see that hood ornament.
1315 Wednesday 16 February 1949:
Well, Moses, said Pap Redding, settling himself at the table nearest
the lobby in the Bisque Cafe, Am I missing anything at the Ritzah,
the Winstonthis week?
Youll always miss something when you dont come to the Win-
ston, said Moses, stirring sugar into his coffee. But you really
shouldnt miss She Wore A Yellow Ribbon.
Yellow Ribbon? Is it a musical?
Nope. A John Ford western, with John Wayne. Hes a cavalry
ofcer; an old cavalry ofcer. Good title song, too.
Well, seein as how its John Wayne Ill see if I can get there before
its gone. How long will you have it?
Today through Sunday.
Ill see what plans Mrs. Powell has. Seems youre doing right well
with the theatre.
Yes. Better than I expected, to tell the truth.
Well, they say promotion is everything. That big white motorcy-
cle outt was a hell of an idea. Although I guess its parked today. He
looked out the window at the cold blue winter sky.
Yeah, its a little cool today for biking, but Im goin ying this
afternoon with your oldest boy.
Is that right? You a pilot?
Nope. Not yet. Just a student. Anyway, youre right. The bikes
helped a lot, along with the other stuff. The Saturday morning kids
shows havent done so bad. A lotta the kids come to town for the
morning show, and come right back for the rst regular show in the
afternoon.
Reba interrupted them briey to take their orders. As she walked
away, Pap asked, Howd you feel about getting into another busi-
ness?
Another business? What other business? Ive just got this one
where I can afford to think about something else every now and
then.
Somethings come up that I think youd be interested in. Not sug-
gesting that you give up the Winston; hiring a good manager could
free you up to do something else, if youre interested. The money
side of it, though, may be more than you want to take on, excuse my
saying so.
Go on, said Moses, his eyes showing white above and below the
gray irises.
I dont know if youve ever met my good friend Harvey Fulford;
he owns Hamm County Beverage, the beer and wine distributorship,
over on Seventh Street.
No. I know who he is, but never met him.
Harveys my age; sixty-eight. Hes built up a very nice business
over there, and unlike me, hes ready to retire. The son who wouldve
taken it over was killed in the D-Day landings on Omaha beach. So
he wants to sell. I asked him to keep it quiet until you and I could
talk. Howd you like to be a beer baron?
Depends. Youre talking about some pretty big dollars. Any idea
how big?
The best part of a million.
Moses looked at him silently for the better part of a minute, wait-
ing for him to smile. He didnt. Youre serious, he said.
Yes, I am. I dont joke much about money. Id like to see you
make this deal. Its one Id keep in the family if I could, but none of
my kids are up to it. Theyre all doing other things, its out of my line
and frankly I think that youre more of a merchant than any of them
ever will be. If the money were available, would you be interested?
Yes. And thanks for thinking of me. I guess Acme Brands is the
main competition.
Theyre the only other player, with most of the big names.
Theyre owned by Zenith Brands in Atlanta. Harvey says he does
about a third of their annual volume, around three-quarters of a mil-
lion.
Does he owe any money?
Hell, no. Its the closest thing there is in this town to a license to
steal. Since Hamms a beer-and-wine-only county, people are going
to drink a lot of beer, in good times or bad. All the distributor has to
do is make sure they dont run out.
So if Im hearin you right, youd like us to be partners. I run it
and you bankroll it.
Pap smiled. Thats it, if we can work out the details. Harvey
wouldve taken my note for the full amount ten years ago, but now
he just wants out, on a cash deal. So well need a bank loan, which is
certainly no problem.
Sounds pretty straightforward, said Moses. How do you see it
playing out? Youll pardon my saying so, but I wouldnt want to end
up being a partner with your estate. Wheres the point down the road
that youd want to get out of the deal, just as Harvey does now?
This time last year, I wouldve thought that it wouldnt be an
issue. My guess then wouldve been Rnid gotten her goddamn
divorce and that youd be my son-in-law by now. Apparently that
wont be the case; suppose I shouldve guessed it after she owned up
to puttin that thing on your hood.
Moses aimed a wry smile at him. That wasnt that big a deal.
Once I realized all the trouble she went to in gettin it on there, and
got over the fact that my new name around town was Bu-dick, and
got the friggin thing offa there, I started to see the joke in it. Sorry
for any embarrassment on your end, though.
Hell, son, I wasnt born yesterday. Whats between yall is
between yall. Shes her mothers daughter. Well, anyway, since you
wont inherit my share as part of the family, well need a buy/sell
agreement to take care of our mutual interests. That way the surviv-
ing partner would own the whole thing. I have absolutely no plans to
die any time soon, but we can take a look at how were doin in a year
or two and adjust things as necessary. The agreement will let either
of us buy the other out, or we could just sell it and take our prot.
I like the idea. And I appreciate your asking me to be part of the
deal. But theres just one thing.
Whats that?
If Im going to run it, Im going to run it. I wont be asking your
help, and Ill appreciate your not volunteering it, beyond board
meetings, that is.
Hell, son. Youre a good businessman. Id rather you handled the
headaches. If Id wanted to run it, we wouldnt be having this conver-
sation.

Come AWN, Jack; theyre probly there already!
OK. Just a minute. Cant drink this any faster; I aint gettin a
headache just so yougn go snifn around for Trisha. Jack sat at the
counter in the cafe, a metal mixer cup and a glass of chocolate milk-
shake in front of him. Ricky Terrell spun slowly at his side, face
toward the ceiling, eyes closed.
Gonna dance with Trisha, Ricky crooned to himself. Gonna
sniff her sweet hair. Put my arms around her, sweet little tits riit air.
Tellin er I want her, that we could be a lovin pair.
You want sumpm, Ricky? Reba asked as she took the empty
metal cup from the counter. How bout a shake?
No thanks, Miss Reba. Im just ne. We gotta get goin. Come
AWN, Jack.
Awright, den.
Where you boys goin in such a hurry?
Oh, nowhere, Jack said, draining the glass and banging it down
on the counter as he jumped from the stool to catch up with Ricky,
who had run out of the cafe, through the hotel lobby and onto the
street. Thanks a lot, Reba.
Tell yalls little sweedarts hey, She laughed, watching them dis-
appear up Main Street. Thats all about girls, she said to herself. They
get that look on their faces even when theyre little boys. Chasin
girls, even when they dont know what to do with em if they us to
catch one. Them little petersre probly stickin straight up riit now,
just thinkin about gittin next to sumpm.
Jack caught Ricky at the corner, where he had pulled up and was
dancing an impatient jig, waiting for the trafc light to change. The
heavy midafternoon trafc on US 1 prevented his darting across
against the light, which he desperately wanted to do. Turning to Jack,
he asked, Is my hair stickin up in the back?
Hell, yeah. Sides, too. Ol Trishas gonna take one look at you an
run th other way.
Butt-hook! The light turned green, and Ricky was gone, juking
to the right to miss the bumper of a rust-mottled blue 39 Dodge as it
creaked to a stop.
Butt-hook! Jack shouted after him, laughing and running to
catch up as Rickys lean, dark gure streaked ahead.
They ran past the front of Archers Market, the least well-kept of
three grocery stores along Main Street with Archer in their names,
each the property of a ercely independent Archer brother. They hit
the stairway leading to the space above the store at a dead run, slow-
ing to a halt before the glass-paned door at the head of the stairs.
Most of the glass surface was taken up by a piece of orange paper, on
which bold black hand-lettering proclaimed
BISQUE
YOUTH
CENTER
The glass was also obscured by a gauzy white curtain, through
which, around the edge of the sign, they could see activity, but
couldnt make out faces. Shh! Ricky whispered, putting a restrain-
ing hand on Jacks belt buckle.
Whatre you waitin for? We ran all the way over here.
I wanta see if I can hear whos talking. Nat King Coles voice
sang Mona Lisa over the muted voices and laughter inside.
Ah, shit. Les just go in and see.
You were kiddin about my hair, right?
Yeah. Except its gettin gray now, waitin for you to open the
door.
Butt-hook, said Ricky over his shoulder, opening the door and
walking in.
Butt-hook, echoed Jack, laughing. A large open expanse of mar-
bly-green linoleum separated them from the three girls who stood
around a dilapidated juke box at the far end of the room.
Hay-eey, said Trisha, drawing out the greeting to two languid,
inviting syllables. She was tall, slim and under control, her dark
brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She and the others were ninth-
graders, just a year ahead of Jack and Ricky, but the years difference
put them in high school, while Jack and Ricky, eighth-graders, still
languished in the limbo of junior high.
Hay-eey, Ricky echoed, as they approached the girls. Whachall
doin?
Nothin much, said Trisha. I liike that shirt.
Thanks, Ricky said, smiling, his eyes xed on her. The sonofa-
bitch, Jack thought. They cant resist that smile.
Terry Marsh, standing next to the juke box, looked in the boys
general direction with mild interest. Yall wanta dance? she asked,
as When I Fall In Love faded away. She was, to Jacks eye, almost a
double for Diana Lynn, from the willowy, near-fragile physique to
the sweetness of her smile.
Play sumpm fast, he said.
You, Terry replied. Ive put enough money into this thing.
Jack walked over to the jukebox and looked at the titles. He pretty
well knew them by heart by now; they only changed them for Christ-
mas. He dropped a nickel in the coin slot and pressed E2, Beg Your
Pardon, by Francis Craig. As it began, Phyllis Rogers, girl #3,
moaned aloud. That old thing again? Its just music. Her disgust
came with a woeful, equine look.
Its for dancing, said Jack, stretching out his hand to Terry. Her
full, pleated gray annel skirt ared as Jack spun her in a casual jit-
terbug. Her dancers calves, muscular and full under the skirt, fasci-
nated him. She was so slim, almost skinny, except for them. They
shared the oor with Trisha and Ricky, who ignored Mr. Craigs
rhythm, slow-dancing. She was slightly taller than Ricky, who used
the difference to his advantage, whispering into her ear, then kissing
it. She giggled, pulling back very slightly.
Ricky, she said. Watch out. Miz Reddingll run you off.
But shes not here, Ricky observed. Id like to be kissin her ear,
he thought. Where is she, anyway?
Said she had to run home for a minute. Shell be back any time
now.
She leave you in charge?
She left us all in chargeof ourselves.
Then give yourself permission to come out on the porch with
me. For just one kiss.
She giggled again, pushing back from him as the song ended. I
swear I dont know where you get the guts. Prestond kill you if he
knew you were kissin on me. My little next-door neighbor.
You gonna tell im?
No, silly. But if you kiss on me out in public, itll get back to
him.
Jyou ever think he might get killed?
What?
Just dont worry about ole Preston doin any killinhe aint the
type.
Hed do anything for me.
So would I.
Ricky, youre really cutebut you cant be my boyfriend. You
know that.
Trisha! Phyllis squealed from the Centers battle-scarred sofa as
she squinted into her compacts mirrored lid. You said youd help
me with this mascara, and Ive gotta go in just a little bit. You can
play with your neighbor boy any time.
Ricky looked over at the sofa, shaking his head. Goddamitey-
dayum!
Scuse me, sweetie, but I did promise her, Trisha said. You
know how Phyllis is about her looks.
I just know how I am about her looks. Scared to death.
Be niice. She had sumpm bad happen to her today.
What?
Dont say anything. Charles Crawford passed her a note in
English.
So what?
It had a buugah in it, she said, giggling in spite of herself.
Hm. Guess I know what her new nickname is. Hey, Jack. Ping
pong?
Quarter a game, if you spot me two.
Awright, den.

Clear! Moses shouted, echoing Gene Debs.
Contact! Gene Debs responded. Moses pulled the Piper J-3s
prop through, standing back as the engine sputtered, caught, roared
briey and settled into a lumpy idle. At his thumbs-out signal, Moses
pulled the wheel chocks clear of the landing gear, tossed them out of
the way and jumped into the front seat. Pulling the clamshell cockpit
doors shut, he slipped the ttings of his shoulder harness into the
buckle of his lap belt and closed the latch. The narrow bucket seat
felt good under him; he was a pilot again, for the rst time in more
than a decade.
He had told Gene Debs that hed had a few pre-solo instructional
ights in J-3s out of Teterboro airport when he lived in New York.
That had been long enough ago, he said, that hed like to start com-
pletely fresh, as though hed never had a lesson. That makes two of
us, said Gene Debs. Youll be my rst civilian ight student. Moses
had gone through the CAAs ground school material for a private
pilots license in a few weeks, and this crisp winter morning would
see him in the air again.
Ill get the intercom installed in a couple of weeks; for now, itll
be too damn noisy for a lot of conversation in the aircraft, Gene
Debs had told him. Well cover everything that well be doing on
this ight now. After we do our pre-ight and start the engine, Id
like for you to try your hand at taxiing us into position at the end of
the runway. Well do our run-up and power check, and Ill take us off
and climb out to ve thousand feet. Then youll do some three-six-
ties in both directions; rst shallow ones, then gradually steepen em
on up to forty-ve degrees. You want to hold your altitude, and roll
out gradually on the same heading that you began on. After that, Ill
demonstrate this aircrafts stalling characteristics to you, rst power
off, then with the power on. Then you can try a few stalls and recov-
eries yourself, and well nish up with some touch-and-go landings,
rst me then you. On this ight, Ill always take over from you before
we touch down. Any time that I wiggle the stick and say Ive got it,
you just show me your hands so I know you know that Im ying the
aircraft.
Moses gave the engine half-throttle to get the J3s fat tires rolling,
then eased it back as the aircraft began moving. He dabbed the left
brake to turn out on the grass runway, taxiing down its left side to
the eastern end. At the end, he turned the aircraft ninety degrees to
the right, letting it roll to a stop before setting the brakes. As Gene
Debs observed, he advanced the throttle until the engine reached
3500 rpm. He then turned the magneto switch from the BOTH set-
ting to LEFT, noting a small drop in rpm, then back to BOTH, then
to RIGHT, for a similar drop, and nally back to BOTH. He brought
the power back to idle again, and moved the stick and rudder pedals
through their full travel as a nal check on their operation. Ive got
it, Gene Debs called, adding power to taxi onto the runway. He kept
adding power as they lined up, and the little yellow aircraft, feeling
the urge of its newly-tted 140 horsepower Continental engine,
picked up its tail almost immediately. They broke ground a few sec-
onds later, and Gene Debs began a climbing turn to the left as they
passed over the runways end.
When they were level at ve thousand feet, Gene Debs tapped
Moses on the head. Youve got it, he said. Moses banked the J3 into
a shallow right turn, and the years fell away. It was as if hed never
stopped ying. The gently rolling green elds south of Bisque swept
underneath them as Moses completed turn after turn, each one
smoother than the last as he felt more and more at home with the lit-
tle yellow bird. OK, Ive got it, said Gene Debs, with a slight shake
of the stick. Making two successive ninety degree turns to the left and
right, he immediately cut the power and brought the nose up, hold-
ing the stick back until the aircraft shuddered slightly and the cock-
pit became very quiet. Then the nose dropped as the stall occurred.
Gene Debs popped the stick forward, letting the plane lose altitude
as it regained the speed necessary for ight, the airstream making its
rigging sing. Bringing the nose up to level ight and adding power,
he began a climb back to ve thousand feet. You try one, he called
to Moses, tapping him on the head again. Youve got it.
The stalls, spins and touch-and-go landings all having gone well,
Gene Debs gave Moses the aircraft back as they rolled down the run-
way after the ights nal landing. As he taxied to the hangar, he
thought that the hour of ight time seemed more like ve minutes.
They exchanged big grins as they stood by the plane. Looks like it all
came back to you, said Gene Debs. Youll be soloin before you
know it. Jyou hang onto your log book?
Unfortunately not. Guess Ill lose those few hours.
Too bad; I hate to see anybody not get credit for ight time. Well,
if its gone, its gone. Well start you up a new one. Come on up to the
house; youve earned a drink.
They sat in Gene Debs kitchen, in the back of the old farmhouse
that sat on the high ground just north of the airstrip. A fth of Jack
Daniels Black Label sour mash whiskey sat on the enamel-top table
between them. They drank it straight from a couple of jelly glasses,
chasing it with water that Gene Debs had poured into more jelly
glasses over slivers of ice from the large block in the icebox. Gotta
get a lectric reefer; hed said as he chipped, just havent had th
time. Linin up my dustin customerss takin longer than I thought it
would.
Whats the problem? Moses asked.
Oh, hell, he said, leaning his chair back against the wall, any-
thing and everything. It just aint in the average farmers nature to
make quick decisions, particularly if it involves spendin money.
Most of these ole boysve still got the rst dollar they ever made.
Well, if they hate to spend money, they sure as hell must not like
to lose it. Seems like theyd be glad to have one less thing to worry
about.
Mm-mm-mm-fuckin-mm, Gene Debs chuckled, in that deep-
down-in-the-throat way of the Redding family. What you aint fac-
torin in is a farmers built-in love of worryin. If they didnt have it,
theyd be in some other line of work. No, I take that back. Lovin to
worrys just part of it. These people farm because theyre bound to.
They love the land. Daddys always said that most of the cotton farm-
ers hes bought from all these years wouldve been way better off
doin something else, but that the only way theyd leave the land
would be feet rst. Its in their blood.
And a good thing, too. The economy in this part of the country
wouldnt amount to much otherwise.
Yeah, thats for sure. Its changin, though, slowly but surely. And
people like you are helpin to make it happen. People can see from
your example that workin smarts a lot better than just workin
hard.
What the hell are you talkin about, Mose said, picking up the
bottle and topping up their glasses. I work goddamn hard.
I didnt say you didnt; but you work smart, too. You dont mind
takin a risk to get ahead. You been here, what, three years?
Three years in August.
And you took a failin business in a town full of strangers and
made it succeed. You spent money to make money. Farmers under-
stand that, because they have to do it every year, borrowin from the
bank to put seed in th ground. Whats differents th payoff. Its th
same for farmers, year after year, and if your farms big enough, you
got enough left over to live fairly well. But the people whore comin
back to the farms from all over the worldve seen different ways of
life. A lot of em wont stay on the land for the rest of their lives the
way their parents did. They want more, because theyve seen more,
and a lot of emll leave the farm to get it. And every time they see
someone like you makin good in a hurry, with your brains instead of
your back, it pushes against that inherited love of the land and tells
em that they can do it too.
Well, I hope enough of emll stick around to give you the dustin
business ya need.
Oh, hell, Gene Debs said, Aint none of this gonna happen
overnight. Peoplell still be workin this land when you and Ire in the
ground. Agriculture aint goin away; it may change a lot, but people
gotta eat, and the bugsll always be with us. Ill do all riit.
Im sure of that. And have a damn good time doin it, too.
If I dont, Ill damn sure die tryin. For a lotta years I thought
thisd be th last place that Id wanta live, but the older I got th more
I could see that there was lots worse places ta be.
No shit, Moses said. Hey, one of these days maybe youll check
me out on dustin. Id know Id love that kinda yin.
And th way you ew today tells me you could do it. Some day.
But I wont be th guy to teach you; thats too big a job for me, with
one sprayer thats got to y for money every day possible. You could
take a vacation some day, though, and go out to the place I where I
checked out, in Waco. Theyre set up ta do it right, and youd be a
certied duster six weeks later. You need to log a few hundred hours
of normal yin before you start thinkin about that, though. Gene
Debs grinned as he relled their glasses again. And since youre not
gonna be my brother-in-law, I wouldnt have to take a lotta shit from
Rni if you did have bad luck and auger in.
Yeah, but if I did auger in, youd still probly get stuck with the
funeral speech. This struck them both as being very funny, and they
laughed like hell. Moses mood sobered as he caught his breath. Just
so you know, he said, Ida been your brother-in-law if Ida had my
way about it. But it looks like your sisters had all the husbands she
wants.
Hey, looka heeunh, said Gene Debs, staring solemnly at Moses
from underneath bushy eyebrows, My sisters always known what
she wanted. And its not that enjoyable to be in her company when
she dont get it. He held up his hand like an Old Testament prophet.
Its not that I dont love her; I do. But shes the most determined
woman I ever knew. He took a long drink and set his glass down
with a thump. Flyin, fuckinand drinkinve brought me most of the
joy that Ive known in this life; wives, in my experience, are generally
against these activities. I think thats the way Rni feels about hus-
bands, except arts in th place of yin. She wont rein in for nobody
but Jack. I know you wanted to marry her, but I personally think that
youll be a helluva lot happier with her as a friend. She can be a damn
good friend.
Well, thats where we are at this point, and the worlds still on its
axis. How about pourin a little more of that Jack while I take a pee?
Sumpm Ive meant to ask you, and never gotten around to,
Gene Debs said as Moses sat down again. We coulda used you in
41. Why didnt you come back in the Navy when the war broke
out?
Moses looked at him, his eyes tightening. They werent takin 33
year-olds with one leg shorter than the other, he said. Or maybe
you thought I just walked this way for the hell of it.
Oh. Sorry, but I didnt think you walked all that funny. What
happened?
Cab clipped me crossin the street one day. By the time they got
my leg straightened out, he straightened the leg in front of him,
slapping the knee with the back of his hand, it came up a little
short.
Too bad, said Gene Debs, peering up and down the length of the
leg. Now that I look at it, I see your shoes built up a little. Well, it
sure as hell hasnt hurt your yin all that much. I was just curious.
Thats understandable, said Moses. Rni had told him that Gene
Debs had won the Navy Cross for shooting down three Jap planes
during the battle of the Coral Sea. What outt were you in, any-
way?
VF-2, for most of it.
Flying Hellcats?
Not til late 43. Most of my times in F4FsWildcatsof one kind
and another.
And all in the Pacic.
There and the West Coast. Never made it down to Gitmo, or any-
where else in th East, except Pensacola.
Good ol fuckin Gitmo. Well, heres another one for you.
What?
It may be none of my business, but whatre you gonna do with
that bazooka in the hall?
At the end of a healthy pull of his drink, Gene Debs smiled the
laziest of smiles. You saw that. Just picked it up last week, along with
eight crates of six rounds apiece, if a round is th riit word for a
fuckin rocket. Traded out with a Marine corporal over at NAS
Atlanta for a Jap NCOs sword. I guess he thought it was sumpm
special, which of course it wudnt, but since he no doubt stole the
bazook, he didnt have a lot in it.
Ever red it? asked Moses.
Notchet, but I got im to show me how. Wanta do it? Its a lot eas-
ier with two people.
Now?
Shitchyeah. He waved an arm at the door. Theres a bank over
yonder about ten foot high. Wegn shoot inta that.
1915 Tuesday 6 September 1949:
Hey, beer man, said Jack, sliding into a chair opposite Moses in the
Bisque Caf.
Hello, sport. Whats up?
Friggin school. This new English teacher, Ol Miz Brady? She sho
didnt waste any time loadin us up with work.
Whats the problem, bud? Moses asked, easing a last bite of silky
chicken and dumplings into his mouth.
Ah, a damn old book report. First crack outa the box. Thats
some welcome to th eighth grade, idnt it?
Sounds like shes tryin to get yalls attention, said Moses.
What book you readin?
The Return of the Native, by Thomas Hardy, Jack said, holding
the book up with a grimace.
Hm. Thomas Hardy. Hes good, but that Victorian language of
his could put you off at rst. Have you read much of it?
Not any, yet; youve read it, huh?
Yeah, but its been awhile.
Well, see if you remember this:
Indeed, it is a question if the exclusive reign of this orthodox
beauty is not approaching its last quarter. The new Vale of Tempe
may be a gaunt waste in Thule; human souls may nd themselves in
closer and closer harmony with external things wearing a
He paused, staring at the book.
uhsombry-ness
Let s see, said Moses, taking the book from him. Wherere you
reading? Jack put his nger on the word. Oh. Thats sombreness.
SAHM-ber-ness. means seriousness.
OK. a sombreness distasteful to our race when it was young. The
time seems near, if it has not actually arrived, when the chastened
sublimity of a moor, a sea, or a mountain will be all of nature that is
absolutely in keeping with the moods of the more thinking among
mankind.
Sounds like Hardy, all right, Moses said with a grin.
And thats right at the start of chapter one, the boy said in dis-
may. Howm I gonna get through this?
Oh, youll get through it, bud. Its just a matter of pullin the
story out of all that old time language and sayin and what you think
about it. Last time I checked, you sort of liked tellin people what you
thought about things. I reckon thats still the case.
Jack thought for a moment, grinned and said, Yeah. Yeah, it is.
Well, why dont you give this a try; spend about an hour tonight
seein if you cant get the basic story out of the book. Dont try to
read every word; just try to pick out the main story without getting
hung up on the owery language. Then Ill meet you back here
around this timehow bout day after tomorrow?and well compare
what you got out of it with what I remember about it. OK?
Ill give it a try, said Jack. but dont expect all that much. This
things over four hundred pages long.
I know. Just treat it like a puzzle, and look for his main story,
Moses told him. Youve got a lifetime to appreciate how people like
Hardy use language.

Whaddaya got there, buddy? Flx asked from his perch on Jacks
chest of drawers.
Flx. Whend you get here?
Oh, not that long ago. Not that youda noticed, with your head in
that moth-eaten book.
Ive gotta read it for a book report. Mose says I oughta be able to
get the main story outa the damn thing in about an hour, but I get
bogged down in these damn old-timey words.
Lemme see. Aha! Thomas Hardy; that old rascal. These old
English teachers just love im. I know this book; want a little help?
You betcha. Flap on over here, bud.
I can see just ne from right here, thanks. Lets see; which of the
characters do you know anything about, so far?
Well, Ive been jumpinaround in the book the way Mose told me
to do, and it looks like this guy Diggory Vennthe reddleman? He
looks like one of the key people.
Yeah, he is, squawked the bird. One of the good guys. That
there Egdon Heaths fulla characters, and hes so straight it hurts, red
skin and all. And, like most of us, a sucker for a pretty face. Who else
you like?
Well, that Eustacia Vye seems interesting.
Yeah. Shes denitely the other side of coin. And the only charac-
ter in the book named for a body part.
A body part?
The Eustachian tube. Part of the inner ear. Not really; Im just
havin fun.
Speakin of fun, I wonder if they ever made a movie of this.
Dont think so; anyway, you dont need the Classic Comics
approach to this one; I told you, I know Hardys stuff.
1920 Thursday 8 September 1949:
Hey, bud; had your dinner?
Yeah, but not dessert; how bout you?
I guess I could choke down a piecea pie, laughed Moses.
Whaddlya have? he asked, waving at Reba.
So, Moses asked him, Howd you do with The Native?
I think Ive got the basic story, Jack said. Took me a little longer
than an hour, though.
Sounds like it may have caught your interest. Guess youre star-
tin to get used to the lingo.
A little bit, I guess. Hes got a lotta people millin around on that
ole heath.
Yeah, he does. But I imagine youve seen already seen that just a
few of emre really important.
Thats for sure, said Jack. a few good uns and a few bad uns.
Some happy with their lives, and some not so happy. Not all that
much different from Bisque, when you think about it.
Yeah, I guess you could nd pretty close copies of Clym and Eus-
tacia and Wildeve around here, if you looked around a little bit.
And dont forget old Diggory, Jack said with a grin.
Oh, yeah, hes a pretty key guy. Be interesting to see what that
caravan of his looked like, wouldnt it?
Yeah; hed be a sight to see if he was as red as the red clay weve
got around here. There something else I wanted to ask you about,
too.
Whats that? Moses asked him.
I got the feeling that Hardy was sort tryin to make a character
out of the heath itself. Whaddaya think of that?
Moses pushed his chair back a bit and looked closely at the boy,
not trying to disguise the the excitement in his gray eyes. Youre
exactly right, buddy, he said. Youre a very quick study. I didnt
realize thats what he was doing until a friend of mine tipped me off.
According to her, the heaths the main character. And just to make
sure the reader gets it, hes got Diggory there to, in a way, be the
heaths human counterpart.
I guess thats why he makes him such a straight arrow, Jack
mused. youve gotta be a really good human bein to measure up to
the ol heath.
Seems like he thinks more of the heath then he does of humanity,
doesnt it?
Yeah, you could say that, Jack said, nodding thoughtfully. Won-
der if anybody feels like that about Bisque?
- 177 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 3
Its Made to Sell
after all, beers made to sell, not to drink.
Harvey Fulford, late of the Hamm County Beverage Company
1815 Monday 3 July 1950:
Trucks in the barn, their pre-holiday deliveries complete, Moses
leaned back, feet on his desk, in his chair at the Hamm County Bev-
erage Company. It was a good day, he reected, to be in the beer
business; President Truman ordered U.S. troops into South Korea
last Friday, and the town was in an uproar. Speculation was afoot
about how many Bisquites would be drafted to go to a place that few
of them have ever heard of, let alone know where it is. Lots of talk,
though, means thirsty talkers, and Im thinking that we set an all-
time one-day record today.
Didnt take the world long to get back into the war business; when
I think of whats happened in the last ten years, I have a hard time
believing it. Jesus, Im not here four yet, and look whats happened.
It wouldve been a hell of a different story if that radiator had blown
out ten-twelve miles up or down the road, instead of here. But heres
where I am, at the age of 42, unlucky in love and pretty damn fortu-
nate in every other way. Wish Mama and Papa were around to see
their boy in high cotton, as people around here like to say.
His thoughts, as they usually did, turned to Jack. Hed be going to
high school this year, and the bond between them had become as
strong to Moses as if theyd been father and son. Not yet fourteen,
Jack had grown to the point where he could look Moses directly in
the eye. These days, when a young mans questions could come thick
and fast, he often did. It had turned out to be a good thing that his
and Serenas involvement had evolved into the simplicity of carnal
friendship. He couldnt say exactly why, but he was certain that he
could never hear Jack out on the problems of growing up if he were
still in love with her. God knows I miss it, he thought; I doubt Ill
know that much passion ever again in my life. At least the sex, when
we have it, hasnt suffered.
A slender black man stepped into the ofce, with a by-the-way
knock on the doorjamb as he passed it. Buildins all secure, boss, he
said. You need me for anything else?
Moses came out of his reverie with a smile. Nope. Not a thing,
Ralph. Better get on out of here before somebody hollers for a last-
minute delivery. You know I cant stand to turn down business.
That I do know. Well, have a big time tomorrow. Maybe Ill see
you at the parade.
If youre there, youll see me. Freddys gone to Myrtle Beach, so
Ill be ridin the rig.
Ralph laughed, shaking his head. You and that Harley. Ziggy still
talks about the ride you gave him the rst day you got that thing.
Moses laughed too. Hows Ziggy doin, anyway?
Just ne. Still at Pendleton; I hate to think about him gettin
shipped out to this Korea binness, but all we can dos hope. He
shook his head. He just had to go to the Marines.
You know, he wore that Third Army shirt of yours for so long I
have a hard time picturin him without it. Seems like hedve headed
right to the Army for a new one.
Its Made to Sell 179
Well, he always was a kid who liked to be out in front. Hes been
bustin ass since he could walk.
Well, hes a great kid, and hell be a great Marine. I wish him the
best of luck.
Awright, den. See ya tomorrow.

The afternoon sun, still high in the late afternoon, stained Bisque
High Schools arid ineld grass chrome yellow. Its front straightaway
sat in the latticed shadows of the bleachers on the visitors side of the
football eld, to which the track backed up. At the far end of the
eld, the wire of the baseball diamonds backstop screen wriggled in
the rising waves of hot air. Les catch the last two, Jack said, stand-
ing up after pulling his shoelaces tight and retying them. They stood,
two almost identical gures, sweat running from dark, short hair
down tall, lanky bodies into high-topped football shoes. Jack, just
back from his annual New York visit, was anxious to make up for lost
time.
What? Thats eighteen already, Ricky moaned. Four and a half
miles in this goddam heat. Its ve oclock. Trishas pickin us up at
six-thirty.
Itll be hotter in August. You wanta be pukin and fallin out in
front of everybody then? Come on, Jack said over his shoulder as his
feet crunched onto the cinders; two more. We said wed do ve
miles. Ricky spat a meager blob and ran after him.
They pulled up after a nal staggering sprint, the days last half-
mile of pre-practice conditioning behind them. They paced in slow
circles in the bleachers shade, arms akimbo, breathing hard. Shit,
panted Jack, that was harder than I thought. Six more weeks a this.
At least, gasped Ricky, They wont be able to laugh at us for
bein outa shape. Sometimes I wish Coach Harris hadnt got Coach
Whitehead to let us into varsity practice. Theyre gonna kick the shit
out of us.
Well, they cant kill us. And well learn a helluva lot.
Wish there was going to be more of us. Just six amongst all those
big bastards.
Well, therell be a bunch of tenth-graders, wholl mostly end up
on the B team with us. Coach Harris said that six from the junior
high team was all he could talk im into. Just be glad were in there,
muffuck.

Ow! Watch it, godammit!
What?
You damn near took my ear off. Your foot goes on my shoulder,
darlin.
Well, stand still then. I cant help it if youre wigglin around
while Im tryin to get up here.
Just hurry. The cops could be drivin by here any minute.
Terry was already over the eight-foot cyclone fence that enclosed
three sides of the pool. Come on, Trisha, she said. Ill catch you.
Just drop right on over.
You just stay out of the way, Missy. I dont need any catchin. Par-
ticularly by you, she thought. What the hell am I doing here, sneak-
ing into the pool with these kids in the middle of the night? This
goddern Rickys nothin but trouble. What the hell, here I go.
She hit the grassy slope on her feet, and looked through the fence
at the boys. Come on, you guys; pass the cooler over. I need a beer
after that.
Here it comes, said Ricky. Yall get ready to grab it on both
sides; its heavy.
Wait, said Jack. You go on over, Terrell. Then Ill hand it to you.
We aint got enough to be breakin any.
OK. Gimme a boost.
Using the steps in one corner of the pools shallow end, they eased
into the dark, warm water in their underwear, beers in hand.
Theyll never see us down here, Ricky chuckled.
This is great, said Jack, pushing off the bottom to oat on his
back toward the opposite side of the pool, holding the bottom of his
beer bottle against his stomach with both hands. Come on over
here, yall. He slid into the opposite corner, putting his arms on the
converging pool sides, and taking a long drink. Thanks for gettin
the beer, Trisha.
My folks wont miss it. I really dont liike it that much, she said.
But I liike the way it makes me feel.
Yeah, said Ricky, sliding an arm around her shoulders. and I
liike the way you feel.
Mmm. That feels good. Its warm under water, but this airs a lit-
tle chilly. And the beers cold, too.
Scoot down a little, then, said Jack. Come on, Terry. They
slipped further under the water, two by two, facing each other across
the corner, the necks of their four bottles sticking up like snorkels.
This is nice, Terry said. She turned to look at Jack.
Go ahead and kiss him, honey, Trisha said. We didnt go to all
this trouble for anything els. Her last word was interrupted by
Rickys kiss. For a minute, the only noise was the trickle of water that
owed down the surface of the kids sliding board.
Jack and Terry, having kissed, now watched Ricky and Trisha, who
hadnt stopped. Trisha, her mouth covered by Rickys, moaned softly
in her throat. Then, sensing an audience, she broke away. What are
yall lookin at? she said. Didnt you ever see people makin out
before?
Not like that, said Terry.
Ah, we werent watchin you guys, Jack said, taking a long swig of
beer. Just catchin our breath. Anyway, if you want privacy, this is a
damn big ol pool.
Yes it is, Ricky said, standing up and pulling Trisha to her feet.
Come on, sweetie; lets go sit on the steps.
Well, weve gotta leave soon anyway, Trisha said. My folksll be
back by twelve, and Ive gotta get the car back. They waded back to
the stepped corner of the pool, sat on the second step, and immedi-
ately resumed kissing.
Jack, lets go. Im scared, said Terry. We shouldnt have done
this.
He pulled her close to him, his arm around her shoulder. Well
go soon. Lets nish our beer and watch them make out. They think
we cant see them over there.
If they catch us in here
They wont. The cars way back by the tennis courts, and when
you look down into the pool from the road its so dark you cant see
anything.
I want to get out of here. She doesnt even have a drivers license.
And dont tell me to drink any more of this beer. I hate it.
1140 Tuesday 4 July 1950:
Hiya, Sport, said Moses, wiping the Harleys already gleaming
front fender with a red shop rag. Ready to knock em dead one
more time?
Hey, said Jack, yawning. You bet.
Wheres your pal? I thought we were ridin 3-up today.
Hes a little under the weather today. Sick to his stomach.
Too bad. Well, this heat sure wouldnt help him out that much;
you and Ill handle it, as usual.
Jack looked around the high school parking lot, which served as
the assembly point for all Bisque parades. He accounted for the par-
ticipants, one by one: both of the police departments jet-black Har-
ley-Davidsons, the parades head and tail; the Bisque High School
band; politicians in the new convertibles from the car dealers; green
John Deere, orange J.I. Case and gray Ford farm tractors with their
trailers full of things and people promoting Bisque businesses; a J.I.
Case cotton picker; a GMC atbed truck for the cheerleaders and
Buster Reddings pride and joy, Bisque Motors blue-and-white Hud-
son NASCAR Grand National racer, resplendent on its lowboy semi-
trailer. A Hamm County Beverages delivery truck, Ralph Williams at
the wheel, its sides ablaze with red-white-and-blue bunting and the
logos of Carling Black Label Beer and Red Cap Ale. And a company
of National Guardsmen, along with one of their tanks on its trailer.
Both the men and the tank would soon be in Korea.
Thought Id go yin tomorrow afternoon, said Moses. Wanta
come along? If your Mom wouldnt mind, of course.
Guess so, said Jack, as casually as he could manage. It would be
his rst time in a small plane, and his pulse pounded as he thought
of ying with Moses as the pilot. Hed had his license for a few
months now, but hadnt asked Jack along until today. Ill check with
her. What time?
Oh, ve or so, after it cools off a little. Ill pick you up if she says
you can go.
OK. Wherell we go?
Oh, just around here, I guess. Run out to the lake; check out the
countryside.
Can I y it a little?
Maybe. You dont need to be telling your Mom about doing any
ying, though. Ill have to see how things go once were airborne.
A squat, dark-haired man in his early thirties, wearing a yellow
armband with black lettering that proclaimed him a PARADE MAR-
SHALL, walked toward them. Here comes the marshal, said Moses,
polishing the Harleys gas tank.
Oh boy. Jacks voice was heavy with sarcasm. Pissant Grant.
They really like to say pissant around here, dont they? mused
Moses. The rst time I ever heard it was the day we met.
Not all that much, said Jack. But when it ts so well, you cant
just ignore it.
Stopping as he neared the Harley, Grant spoke. Kabeesky. You
ready?
All set, said Moses, looking up at him momentarily.
Well, re up that crap can and move it over ahead of yer fuckin
beer truck. The Guardll be leadin this parade.
Moses raised his eyes to look into Grants. I think youd better go
nd something else to do.
What? squawked Grant. Youre talkin to a Marshal. I just gave
you an order, boy.
Moses dropped the shop rag into the sidecar and reached into his
pants pocket, pulling out a dollar bill. Jack, he said, handing him
the dollar. Run over to the Coke stand and get us a couple, will
you? As Jack walked away, Moses closed the distance between him-
self and Grant to six inches. I understand they call you Pissant, he
said.
Grants adams apple bobbed once, but held his ground. I know
what they call you, too, he said.
And whats that?
Cueball Kabeesky. But Kikell do. The words had barely left his
mouth before the back of Moses open hand crashed against the side
of his face, sending him backpedaling a couple of steps to keep his
balance. His face contorted into something less than human as he
looked at Moses with purist hate.
Well, Pissant, said Moses, I guess you can tell your Klan friends
that a Kike slapped you silly. You people should really learn some
manners. If I hear you say Kike again, Ill slap you again, because I
dont think youd survive if I hit you with my st. Now GIT.
Youre dead, hissed Grant, breaking into a run as Moses feinted
a move toward him. Dead! he squawked over his shoulder as he
continued running. By the time Jack returned with the Cokes, he was
nowhere to be seen.
Didja get Pissant straightened out? he asked.
Yep, said Moses, after a large swig of Coca-Cola. Ready tgo?

At a little past ve that afternoon, the men sat talking among
small explosions and drifting smoke on Pap Reddings porch. Cane-
bottom rockers creaked in counterpoint to the conversation as they
watched the kids igniting an array of recrackers, skyrockets and
aerial bombs. The house, which Pap had built in 1925, had a porch
that wrapped around three of its sides; Pap, Moses, Richard Terrell
and Fred Marsh, having just arrived from the golf course, sat on the
porchs middle section at the side of the house. Savoring freshly-lit
Chesterelds, they looked absently down the road, which unwound
to the south through a mixture of forest, elds and a few large
houses, a couple with columns out front. Howre your drinks hold-
ing out, gentlemen? asked their host.
I think Im about ready for a rell, said Fred Marsh, passing a
tall glass over to him. As much as you hear people talk about mint
juleps, this is only the second time I can remember actually drinking
one. These are really good.
You can thank Mandy for that, Pap said as he lled the glass
from a large china pitcher. She may not have invented em, but she
could show whoever did a thing or two; heavy on th bourbon, light
on th sugar. Lets top everybody up and empty this pitcher before
they thin out.
Youre startin to get some company out this way, Pap, observed
Richard Terrell after a long pull off his fresh drink. Guess theyll be
callin this Academy Street Extension before long. I can remember
when your place was the last house near the road between here and
the county line.
Yep, you could say that weve got neighbors now, said Pap,
standing to pick up the empty pitcher from the glass-topped wicker
table next to his chair. Highway 6 suits me just ne, but I guess
thats progress. Not that these would-be postbellum mansions are all
that bad, but I must say I druther have the woods. Yall excuse me;
seein as you like em so much, Ill see if I cant get Mandy to start us
a new batch. Heading toward the kitchen door, he rounded the cor-
ner of the house, nearly colliding with his daughter.
Whoa! Watch out, Daddythose juleps are lethal enough by the
glass. Grinning, the old man caught her right hand in his, squeezing
it momemtarily as he went by. Pretty respectable julep consump-
tion, gents, she said, resting one hip on the porch railing and taking
a sip of her own. Listen to the voice of experience; theyll sneak up
on you.
Like those bastards snuck up on us in Korea? said Marsh. I
hope were better prepared for these than we were for that little
maneuver.
They took the airport at Kimpo yesterday, said Moses. If we
dont get a bunch of troops in there right away, theyll run us straight
back inta the ocean.
They already have the capital, dont they? asked Serena.
Seoul?
Yeah, said Moses. MacArthurs really got his work cut out for
him.
And not that much to work with, right off the bat, Pap said as he
sat a new pitcher of juleps on the table. Just a handful of American
troops in Korea, and some occupation troops from Japan. Congress
has cut the armed forces back so much that hes gonna be very short
for awhile, in men and equipment both.
How in the world did we get into this, anyway? said Richard
Terrell. Seems like we just nished up with the krauts and japs, and
now this. And theyre calling it what? A police action?
Thats what the UN came up with, said Moses. Reassurin, aint
it? A world where countries call the cops to x things, and guess who
gets to be the cops? Cops insteada warriors. Looks like a real bad deal
to me.
Well, said Fred Marsh, I wasnt in the last one, although I was
3A and ready to go if they called me, so I dont know what it was like
to get shot at. Cant be much fun. Seems like a good thing, though, to
try to stop these things before they can get up a real heada steam.
Guess we were all a little old tove made the big one, said Terrell.
Id like to hear what Gene Debs has to say about it. Is he coming,
Pap?
No, afraid not, said Pap. He went to Atlanta yesterday. Friends of
his on their way to somewhereMiami, I thinkstopping over there
on the way.
Does he think he might get called back? asked Marsh.
No, said Serena, inching as a recracker exploded in the yard, a
few feet away. Jack! Yall better not throw any more of those over
here unless you wanta quit right now! Excuse me, she said as the
recrackers smoke and gunpowdery smell drifted over the porch.
He says no, even though he wants to be; hes already called a friend
of his in the Pentagon, and the man told him there wasnt much of a
chance.
Our National Guard unit may get called up if this thing goes on
for any length of time, said Moses, but theres at least one Bisquite
that could be in Korea any day.
Whos that? said Pap.
Ziggy Williams.
Ziggy Williams? said Terrell. That wild-ass little nigger that
Ricky and Jackre always laughin about? He joined up? I wouldnta
thought heus old enough.
Just barely, I reckon, said Moses. His big brother told me hes
nished infantry training at Camp Pendleton, and will be going
somewhere soon. Hes afraid that itll be Korea.
His big brother? said Terrell. Whos that?
Ralph Williams. One of my warehouse guys. Hes a vet himself.
Camp Pendletonthats a Marine base, said Pap.
Yepole Ziggys a leatherneck, said Moses. For better or worse.
And they always go in rst, said Terrell.
Well, Ziggys always been good for a surprise. said Serena.
You ever see him ride that bicycle through trafc? said Marsh.
That little coons the closest thing to fearless that I ever saw. I didnt
know they took colored people, though.
Why wouldnt they? asked Moses.
Well, you hear about them being an ee-liite force and all. You just
gure unless youre white and six foot tall or better, theyd turn you
down.
From what Ive seen of Marines, said Moses, Ziggyll give a nice
boost to their average IQ.
Hey, thats rightyou were in the Navy, werncha? said Terrell.
Yeah. A long time ago. Before the war.
Didnt ever run across Gene Debs, didja?
Nopespent most of my hitch down in Cuba. Guantnamo Bay.
That mustve been pretty nice, said Marsh.
Not bad, if you dont mind heat and bugs, said Moses.
See there, honey, said Jolene Marsh, standing beside Serena.
We didnt miss a thing but heat and bugs. He wanted to go on this
trip down there, to Havana, that Parker Pens set up last year, but it
was in June and we hadta go to my cousin Margarets wedding in
Mobile.
Talk about heat and bugs, said Marsh through his teeth.
Here, Jolene, said Pap as he got up. You sit down right here.
Uh-uh, thanksI came out to get Rni. She promised to get a
couple of her high school annuals for me. Im in charge of getting
out the invites to our classs 20
th
anniversary reunion, and minere
nowhere to be found.
Oh yeahlets do get that out of the way, said Serena. Mandy said
that she thought she could nd them, but she may not have had time
to look yet, so it might take a little while.
Twenty years, said Pap as they left. Hard to imagine yallve
been out of school that long.
Longer, for some of us, said Terrell. I wouldve graduated in
29, and Freddywhen? 27?
Yep, said Marsh. And I can remember it like it was yesterday.
He paused to watch the ascent of an aerial bomb, the WHUMP of its
launch promising a signicant explosion. It shook the porch as a
Hudson convertible pulled into the last available space in the drive-
way. Well, he said, smiling as he returned Cordelia Reddings over-
the-windshield wave, look whos here.
Whos that with em? said Terrell.
Dont believe Ive ever seen im before, Marsh said. Got some
suntan, whover it is. Young, about twenty-four, Marsh guessed.
Hed vaulted from his spot in the back seat to the driveway beside the
Hornets passenger door, opening it for Cordelia with a bright smile
and a little bow. Buster Redding got out under his own power, with a
little less style but comparable enthusiasm. They made their way to
the house, sporting the know-it-all grin of drunks the world over.
Hiidy, folks, said Buster, gap-toothed grin widening in the
bright-pink face. He put an arm out to encircle Cordelias waist, let-
ting her lead the way onto the porch. We brought a guest along; g-
ured thered be plenty. This heres Poncho; struck out seven in a row
today for th Bullets.
Well, welcome, sir. said Pap, extending his hand. Im Lawton
Redding. Its my party, and welcome to it.
Sank you, said the tan young man, shaking hands with a bashful
smile and another small bow. Francisco Jesus Herrera y Brancusa.
An thats why everybody calls him Poncho, said Buster. Fine
lookin bawey, aintee? Whatchall drinkin?
Does it make a difference? asked Serena, her eyes on Cordelia,
who had casually slipped her arm around the tan young mans waist.
Pour your guest a julep, Buster, said Pap, waving a hand at the
pitcher. Unless hed rather have something else, he said, eyeing his
daughter-in-laws hand on Ponchos hip.

Deep-gold afternoon sunlight, shimmering through lmy cur-
tains, pooled on the bedrooms oak oor. Looks like you could
move right back in here and catch th bus to school on Monday, said
Jolene, letting her ample frame collapse onto the four-poster beds
white satin spread. She lay back on one of the pillows and examined
the ornate molding that separated white ceiling from walls of
robins-egg blue.
Huh? Serena shouted from inside the closet as she pulled books
out of a maple hope chest.
I said, Jolene raised her voice, That it looks like you never
moved outa here.
I cant keep all of this junk at the hotel, she said, dropping two
large at books on the bed. I could throw most of it away, I guess,
but itd take a day or two, and I just keep shoving it down on the to-
do list. Plus itd probably upset Daddy.
Doncha be doin that, said Melinda Terrell, stopping to lean
against the door frame. Your daddys way too niice to be gettin him
upset.
Hey, said Jolene. We were just talkin about how much Rnis
room looks like she still lives here.
Some days thatd suit me ne, said Melinda as she sat down at
Jolenes feet. Being back in Bisque High, I mean. Remember how
much of a hurry we were all in to get outa school?
I remember, Serena said, and I think we were right. Jolene, you
almost made me laugh when you said catch the bus on Monday.
That ghost-bus can just pass this house right on by, as far as Im con-
cerned.
Just like it did back then, said Jolene, looking at her over the
cover of the 1931 edition of the Bisque High School, annual, the Bea-
con. You never rode the bus anyway. Hey, heres old Kenneth Morris.
Somebody said he was goin to Hollywood. Wonder if he did?
Did or didnt, said Melinda, I doubt hed come back here, even
for a 20
th
reunion. People were so nasty to him; callin im Sister
Kenny right to his face.
I wonder if hes been in New York all these years, mused Serena.
I heard he came up the year after I did, but I never heard from him.
I magine he had all he could do just stayin alive up there, said
Melinda. His folks couldntve helped him all that much, even if
theyd wanted to.
What was that girls namehis cousin, once removed, or some-
thing? said Jolene. She was in your class, wudnt she?
Dotty Rawlings, said Melinda. Thats right. Havent seen her in
a coons age. Shes out in th country somewhere.
Gee, Dotty. Thats right, said Serena. Married Perry Adams.
Remember that time we were riding around in that old Packard of
Martha Jennings, and she and Cynthia Baker got into a cat ght? She
barfed all over Cynthia. The back seat was covered in puke, all vi-
anna sausages and creamed corn from the lunch room. Oooo. I
can smell it right now. They were laughing so hard that Jolene col-
lapsed into a coughing t. I bet we could get Information to nd
their phone number, Serena said when shed caught her breath.
Want to?
Wanta what? Cordelias julep-richened voice preceded a con-
spir-ators smile as it crept around the edge of the door. Whatchall
doin, anyway? Pap sent us to check on yall. We broughtcha fresh
drinks, ya been up here so long. She took a step into the room, her
left hand gripping the Julep pitcher and her right the Hispanic
pitcher. Didjall all meet Poncho? she asked, dragging him into the
room behind her. Say hey to the ladies, hon. How do ya say hey in
Spanish, anyway?
Ju say hla, he said, embarrassed but determined to meet the
challenge. Hla, seoras.
Hla, Pancho, said Serena, standing and offering her hand.
Somebody shouldve warned you; Cordelia kidnaps people. The
pitchers demeanor relaxed somewhat, but since he wasnt sure of
what shed said, his xed smile, like that of someone arrested and
awaiting classication, remained. Are you gonna pour us a drink,
Cordelia, or are you gonna make him do that too?
Ill pour, Miss Priss; just stick out your glass. Jolene, Melinda?
There you go, she said, setting the pitcher down on the top of the
chest-of-drawers. Whats in the ol Beacon? Yall lookin at old boy-
friends, or what?
Gotta track all these people down for th Class of 31s 20
th
reunion, said Jolene. What class were you? 35?
37, thank you. Two years behind Buster.
Weve done got old, observed Jolene. This boys trapped by a
buncha matrons.
Well, yall matrons better come on down an les eat before yalls
chillun blow up th place, observed Cordelia, bridling at any sugges-
tion that the label applied to her.
I guess so, said Melinda. But cradle-robbers rst. After you,
Cordelia.
Hey, Pancho, said Cordelia with a lazy grin, How do you say
Piss on you, Melinda.? Never mind. Cmon, darlin.
As the couple hit the steps, Serena shook her head. I wish theyd
get outta here. That girl drives me crazy sometimes with her teasin.
That poor boy doesnt know whether hes comin or goin, and a cou-
ple more Juleps down th road, he wont care.
Teasin, hell; zebras cant change their stripes, darlin, observed
Melinda. Dont let it worry you. I know Busters your brother an
all, but hes th one that decided he could put hobbles on that lly.
Youll excuse me if I dont pursue that with you, said Serena. It
reminds me too much of people tryin to box Miz Rose in. Just let
her be, if you dont mind.
Melinda ushed. I wasnt ever part of that, Rni. Neither were my
folks, and you know it. And if youre telling me that you believe we
were, I better just leave right now. She stood up; Serena caught her
arm as she tried to walk past her.
Wait, Melinda. Listen. When something happens to bring that
shit back to me, I cant always control what I do. I wasnt accusin you
of jumpin on Miz Rose; I know exactly whos who as far as thats
concerned. But I get protective about Cordelia when she does things
outa desperation. Her girlhoods slipped away in this little red-clay
pisshole, and Buster aint much help to her as far as thats concerned.
If holdin hands with that kid does something for her, we oughta just
smile and go on about our business. Comeer and have a drink with
me, she said, putting her arm around Melindas still-rigid shoulders
and steering her toward the sweating julep pitcher. Heres what Ill
never forget, she said as she lled their glasses. After the funeral,
when Daddy and I were walking up the aisle, I was crying so hard
that when I looked up and saw you, you were just a blur. You left the
pew, put your arm around my waist and walked out with us. You
never said a word; when we got to the car, you just squeezed me tight
around my waist and walked away. Do you think Ill ever forget that?
You think you could ever be anyone to me but my best friend in all
the world?
Melinda looked at her for a long second. Tears sprang from her
eyes so abruptly that the rst ones cleared her cheeks and fell straight
to the oor. She put her hand on the back of Serenas neck, pulling
her forehead to her own so that they touched. Rni. Rni. Rni. Baby.
What they did to yall. Im so sorry, baby. She sobbed uncontrolla-
bly; in moments, Serena and Jolene did, too.

You missed sumpm today, Jack told Ricky in a subdued voice as
they set up another large aerial salute, alone for a moment in a cor-
ner of the yard.
Whassat? asked Ricky.
Mose slapped the ever-lovin shit outa Pissant Grant.
What? No shit.
He dawno I saw him. Ole Pissant staggered a couple of steps
back, but he stayed on is feet.
Whyd he do it?
Pissant was talking sassy to him. Get that shitheap into line,
sumpm like that. Guess he thought that parade marshals armband
packed enough weight to let im get away with it.
Where were you?
On the way to th Cocola stand. He sent me over there to get a
couple, but it was just to get me away. I walked around behind a car
and stuck my head back out. And a coupla seconds later, Mose let
im have it.
Serves the fucker right, declared Ricky. Nobody likes that shi-
tass anyway, cept is fella creeps, Cat an Chili Dog. Wonder if hell
try to get back at Mose?
Not if he knows whats good for im. Mose just backhanded im
today. You know what he could do to a guy like that if he got seri-
ous He stopped, seeing the girls heading their way. Yall waita
minute, he said, this things goin up.
Well, hurry up and light it, then, said Lynne Browne, who
assumed a position of authority based on being two years older than
everyone but Trisha, and her possession of a learner drivers
license. Who made you the big recracker specialist anyway?
Bitch, grunted Ricky under his breath. Id like to shoot it right
up her fat ass.
Dont piss her off so shell run off with th car, said Jack. I
wanta get Terry in there and make out after we eat.
Fat chance, Ricky shot back as the rocket whooshed away. Shes
gotta be home before dark. That learners licenses only good for day-
time.
Yeah, and shes supposed to be ridin with somebody that has a
real license, too. I dont see anybody like that around. Shell do what-
ever she wants to. Terry says she tells her folks what to do.
The rocket exploded in a shower of red and green light. Whos
gonna be rst, buddy? Ricky asked with a knowing grin.
First to what?
First to get some pussy, what else? You wanta wait til you get to
college?
Nossir; near as I can tell, said Jack, looking up at the voiceless
conversation Cordelia and Pancho were conducting on the porch,
as far as fun goes, aint much gets in fronta fuckin. I aint countin
on bein aheada you, though; you got too much of a head start with
Trisha. Ol Prestons gonna be sorry he was gone this summer. I
thought you slipped it in last night.
I tried, but she wouldnt let me. I got blue balls like I never had
before. I gotta get her to where shell at least jack me off. Once they
swell up, even that hurts.
Good thing Freddy told us about how to x that, Jack said, smil-
ing as he shook his head. Otherwise wed still be tryin to get to
sleep with em hurtin. Didja get some rubbers?
Yeah. Now I gotta gure out how to use em.
I bet old Ziggyll be learnin all there is ta know about rubbers, if
he habmnt already, said Jack. He us out in California all at tiime,
even before headin out ta Korea.
Yeah, I imagine he was able to nd all kindsa colored girls out
there in California.
Well, who says they gotta be colored? Californias a lot different
from the way it is around here, let alone in Japan and Korea.
You think Ziggy would fuck a white girl? Hed never do that.
Well, hes gonna be fuckin the next thing to em when he gets
over there. And hes not a bad lookin guy, for a nigger.
Well, he better never let me hear about it, said Ricky. Id hafta
whip is ass when he gets home.
You gonna whip a Marines ass? You better start workin out now.
Hellve whipped some asses of his own by the next time you see im.
Well, Ill see what I can do about it, anyway, Ricky said, his jaw
set. I dont believe hed do it in the rst place. Looking over Jacks
shoulder, he said. Watch it.
Mandy, Paps housekeeper, much-ventilated chenille slippers ap-
ping, stepped ponderously down the porch steps into the back yard,
carrying a plate of pork in one hand and bags of buns and potato
chips in the other. Mistah Jack, she called to him on her way to the
picnic table, wouldjall git de cawn and slaw an dat big pitchera tea
so yall kin git stahtid? Oh, and dat stacka cups.
The picnic table sat in the shade of an old water oak, about a hun-
dred feet away from the house. The girls sat on its benches, arranging
the plates theyd brought from the kitchen. Thats smelling so
good, said Trisha, I bet I could eat all that barbeque myself.
Robert stay up all night wid dat ol pig, said Mandy as she
turned back to the house. You know it be good. An if you eats alla
dat, honey, dey be about fawty pound mo in de house. Watch out fo
dem roshneers, honey. Dey hot as dey kin be.
Well, you sho wont have forty to put up, said Jack, sliding in
beside Terry. Oooh, I gotta have a piece athat corn riit now. Pick-
ing up the salt shaker, he shook it liberally on the ear of hot white
corn-on-the-cob.
Jack. Terry said. I already put butter and salt on it.
Thats OK, he said, chewing. Cant be too salty. God, I love this
Silver Queen. Yella corn cant touch it.
Lynne hastily swallowed a mouthful of barbeque to bridle, You
shouldnt take the Lords name in vain, Jack.
Whatchoo talkin about, Lynne? said Ricky, grinning as he
reached for the potato chips. That was th blessin.
The adults sat around the Redding dining room table, made long
enough by Mandys insertion of both its extra leaves, the fresh linen
tablecloth contrasting starkly with the two sets of massive, carved tri-
ple legs that thrust clawed feet out underneath it. Cordelia had seen
to it that Pancho sat between her and Buster; seeing this, Pap said a
blessing so cursory that some heads were still bowed when he asked,
Hows th racer comin along, Buster?
Huh? grunted Buster, swiftly completing the process of swal-
lowing a third of a bottle of Miller High Life. Th race cor? Jus ne.
Jus nished th paint job in time for th parade; th motors still tore
down, waitin for Smokey ta nish th portin an valve work. Well
get er buttoned up next week.
It looks right fast just sittin on th trailer, said Fred Marsh.
Whatll she do?
Geared fer Dahlinton, I gger one-twenny an change, Buster
said as he took meat from the large plate of barbeque that sat in front
of him to build a sandwich. Were lucky Hudson makes a set a rear-
end gears thatll let us run that fast. Ya caint run nothin but factory
parts in this showroom-stock division, that theyre callin Grand
National now. Only thing they let us do is put in a roll bar, take out
th back seat an weld a plate onta the riit front wheel to keep th lug
nuts from pullin slap through it. Otherwise, thats th same Hudson
Commodore you could be drivin down Lee Street tomorra, Fred.
We got a tan an dark mahogany two-tone on th oor riit now thatd
look real good in yo driveway.
Well, theyre right pretty, set down low like that, but Im a
Mercry man anyway, Buster. That forty-nine a mine out there
Marsh swept an arm in the direction of the drivewaywell, I
reckon it might get close to one-twenty itself. Ive got overdrive in it,
see.
Busters good-natured smile stayed in place. Oh, at Mercrys a
ine automobile, an I kin offer you a real good trade-in allowance
on er, cause theres quite few folks that appreciate them big ol heavy
cars. But theyre mostly a lot older than youn Jolene. Id love ta see
yall drivin sumpm that says, Hey! Sure shes beautiful, but shes
engineered for tomorra! Thatair Step-Down Design that lets it hug
th road th way it does? It also runs th frame rails outsidea th seats,
so you an yer passengersre protected from crashes in a way no other
car kin touch.
I preeshate it, Buster, but I believe Ill just keep on drivin that
Mercry. I gotta think about what our customers expect from a man
who they come to for counsel when they make some athe most
important purchases of their liveswedding and engagement rings,
sterling atwarethings that theyll own all their life. I need to show
em that I understand graceful, traditional livins important. On the
other hand, I cant have them thinkin that Im gettin rich helpin
em decide on these precious pieces a their future. I miit well be able
to drive a Lincoln, but if I did itd just be puttin th wrong idea in
peoples heads.
Yep, said Richard Terrell, Its amazing what people expect from
the folks they trust. Its the same way with life insurance. When peo-
ple start thinkin about the things thatre really important in their
lives, they want to be sure that they invest their money with people
who respect it, and who know how hard they had to work to get it.
They sures the world dont wanta feel like their moneys buyin other
folks fancy cars, or houses, or anything they can see them enjoyin.
Most peoples worlds just too serious for that.
Thats gotta makes Mose glad that he sells alcohol and entertain-
ment, said Serena. Sooner or later, people gotta get some relief
from all that earnest strivin. Her comment produced polite, but
restrained, chuckles from the diners.
The mood thus lightened, Ruth Powell took the conversation in a
new direction. Have you started anything new, Rni?
Not yet; Ive done some test pieces and gotten them cast up over
in Augusta at the foundry, but I havent come up with a subject that I
feel like committing to for my rst metal piece.
Well, I dont suppose you can just order up some inspiration any
time you feel like it, said Ruth. If people could do that, this worldd
be a much different place from what it is.
Yes, it would. But its seems that the more I try to think of what
Id like to do, the less I come up with. Guess Ill just have to wait for
something to come to me.
When you do decide on somethinghow long do you think itll
take to do it? asked Richard Terrell.
I havent the slightest idea, she said. Robert Fuller, the artist
whose work got me interested in moving into metal, told me that it
sometimes takes him as long as a thousand hours to do an original,
and another three hundred to cast the image. If it takes him that
long, no telling what itll be for me.
Sounds like you could spend a year on it, said Jolene. It beats
me how you can stay with it the way you do.
It might be different, Jolene, if I had a choice. For better or
worse, though, I have to do it.
Jolene, somewhat over-Juleped at this point, crinkled her nose
slowly, deliberately, bringing her eyebrows together above the corru-
gated bridge. Sounds like youre talkin about feelin th callth way
people do about preachin.
Rnis laugh was closer to a cough. I guess, in a way, if you mean
that its something I cant live without. You know how you feel when
youre pregnant, and toward the end you just cant wait for that baby
to stop foolin around and get on out? Well, Ive been carrying this
sculpture baby since I was eight, when somebody gave me some
modeling clay to play with when I had my tonsils out. You know that
babys coming out, and theres nothing that you can do to keep it in,
and you dont know what its gonna look like, but you are by God
ready to be done with th havin of it.
Yea-yuh, Buster said, his voice spiraling upscale with the effort
of avoiding falling backward, having leaned too far backward in his
chair. Im startin to feel that way about at ol race cor.
Rni ignored Busters interjection, and the guffaws of appreciation
that it prompted from a couple of males in the group. Anyway, Ive
messed around with my art for a long time now, and moving into
metal and larger gures means Ive decided that Im through messin
around. The next piece I doll be like nothing Ive ever done before, I
know that much. I just wish I knew what its gonna be.
Well, honey, Cordelia said, I love that piece you did of me back
in 46. An I dont think my tastes all that different from lots of
other folks.
Thanks, honey. As Mose says from time to time, From your
mouth to Gods ear.
Dinner over, a couple of the women helped Mandy clear the table
as the rest of the adults reclaimed their places on the porch. The kids
had long since nished eating and returned to recracker-punctu-
ated conversation around their table. Well, the kids seem tove had a
good time, said Richard Terrell, rocking placidly next to Moses and
nursing an after-dinner Julep.
Yeah, said Moses, they look like theyre ready to start all over.
Id like to bottle that energy and sell it to old farts like us.
Ive never thought to ask you, Mose; am I right in assuming you
dont have any kids of your own?
Yes, you are. Just wasnt in the cards for me to meet the right girl,
I guess.
Well, I dont suppose its too late for you and Rni to think about
it; the way Ricky tells me you and Jack get on like Gangbusters. Ill
bet youd be a pretty good dad.
Moses rocked gently, his eyes drifting out over the treetops. I
guess the biologys still in the ballpark, and thanks for your thoughts
about my potential as a father. But one of your assumptions is way
off the mark.
Whats that?
You mean you wouldnt like to hazard a guess, after what she had
to say about what her art means to her?
Terrell turned to look at him. Oh. You mean
Yep. Shes had all the children she intends to have. The number
one thing on her minds being an artiste. A serious artiste.
Damn. I just assumed-
Well, Im sorry to have to correct your assumptions, which you
probably share with most of the rest of Bisque; but since she straight-
ened a few of mine out years ago, Ill do the same for you. No more
marrying and no more chillun for Serena Redding Mason.
Mm, mm, mm. Im sorry to hear that. I wont say its a total sur-
prise, but I am sorry. You guys seem like you really get along; now
that I think about it, I guess I thought she was probably waitin for
somebody like you.
Whattaya mean, somebody like me?
Somebody from outside. And the farther outside, the better.
Excuse me for saying so, but you must know by now that everybody
in this townevery man and boy with a pulse, that ishas wanted to
make love to her since she was a little girl. You know she married a
Yankee.
Yes.
Well, its just that Rni doesnt seem like she has much patience
with home-grown nothin.

The clock in the hall chimed ten as Moses sat down next to Pap.
They had the porch essentially to themselves; Buster, his regular
snores counterpoint to the clocks soft ticking, sprawled in a chair at
the corner nearest the road. Cordelia had left to drive Pancho to the
Bullets boarding house about an hour ago, and everyone else had
left soon after. A chorus of crickets, frogs and mosquitoes celebrated
the nights dominance of the sparse yellow light from bug-repellant
light bulbs. Nice party, said Moses.
Yes indeed, Pap observed. Quite a group. Enjoy yourself?
Oh yeah. Thiss my favorite holiday. I wanted to be out there with
the kids shootin reworks. If Gene Debsd been here, we probably
wouldve horned in on those little shitbirds.
Pap chuckled. I dont doubt it. And a couple of rascally sailorsre
the only grown folks they mighta tolerated.
Makes sense, if you consider us grown, said Moses.
Bullshit. Genes the only one of my offspring who has grown up.
And if I didnt think you were grown, you and I wouldnt be in busi-
ness together. Those kids just know you like em.
Hell. Who doesnt like kids?
A lot of people, in my experience, said Pap. You can love people
without likin em. I think thats the way it is with most parents. Rai-
sin kids keeps people so busy, sometimes lovins all theres room for.
Kids have a way of being unlikable a lot of the time. So do parents, as
far as thats concerned. Just because youre livin in the same house
doesnt mean you have to like each other.
Id never really thought much about it. Until I came to Bisque, I
wasnt around that many kids. Close up, I mean.
Well, you must have some talent in that department; otherwise
my one grandchild wouldnt have such a high opinion of you.
The feelings mutual. Jacks a terric kid.
Yes, he is. And I have you to thank for helpin him to be such a
terric kid. Hes the offspring of two people who have a very hard
time thinkin of anybody but themselves. I dont know if the time
hes spent with you has kept him from being that way, but it damn
sure hasnt hurt.
The pleasures been mine, Pap; make no mistake about that.
Well, it makes me surer than ever that askin you to throw in with
me was the right thing to do. I want to see Jack do well in life more
than anything else in the world; I was glad when Serena brought him
back to Bisque. From what Ive seen of New York, its ten times better
to grow up here, to say nothin of that hellhole they were in out
west.
New York didnt suit you, huh? Moses said, smiling.
Not on short acquaintance. And the circumstances that got me
there didnt help any.
Hows that?
I went up there every now and then to see Jack and Serena.
Mason, the pissant professor, wouldnt set foot in Hamm County.
He wouldnt? Why not?
Oh, hes got some kind of hard-on for the South. God knows
theres plenty up there who do. The way she put it to me was, they
agreed before they got married that shed never ask him to come
down here. The thought of that must notve bothered her too much
at the time, because she agreed to it. Not that an agreement like thats
got any teeth in it, ptickly when it wasnt ever put on paper. She
agreed, but she told im that shed never go to his folks place, either.
Good basis for a marriage, wudnt it?
Where was it, anyway?
Masons place? Out on Long Island somewhere. Northport,
sumpm like that. Way the hell out from Manhattan.
But not too far to commute from there, said Moses as he got up
to freshen their drinks. I guess youve met his parents.
Oh yeah. A couple of times. Decent enough people. Hes got
sumpm to do with Wall Street. Tall, skinny guy, like his son, but
wavy grey hair, like Tom Deweys. She smiled a lot, but looked like
she was ready to cry half the time.
He their only child?
Yep. Guess they gured they got it right the rst time.
Moses laughed. Guess its all in your point of view.
Pap snapped his close-cropped gray head around to look Moses in
the eye. Then they pulled up way short, as far as Im concerned. He
and Serena were no good for each other, not as husband and wife.
But they managed to give me one hell of a grandson, so I cant say
Im sorry they got together. But Jack deserves more of a daddy than
that guys willing to be. Three-four weeks a year; for your son, he
said with a short bitter shake of his head.
And shes going back, too, Moses observed.
I know. Shes bent on it. Just being an artist isnt enough. Shes
got to be a New York artist, if it harelips hell.
But not until Jacks through high school.
Yeah, Pap said, shes not that crazy. Guess the Watkins blood
got thinned out enough so she doesnt forget about what the boy
needs altogether.
Well, granted theyre not living the typical Bisque life, but Id bet
my last buck that nothin comes before Jack for Rni. Not even her
art.
Id like to think thats true, but I remember somebody sayin
sumpm like the rich live as they choose; the poor live as they can;
but rich or poor, artists live as they must. So Im keepin an eye on
the situation. I had the dubious advantage of livin with her mother,
and I havent forgotten one damn day of that. Youve probably heard
the story, the nasty essentials anyway.
Well
Rose was 41 when she died; May the sixteenth of 27. She never
gave up on gettin her old ame back, and nothin was gonna get in
her way. She wanted Pete, and she was gonna have im, one way or
another. Marryin his best friend was just a step in her strategy. So
the poor boy from Chattanooga worked his ass off and made babies
with a woman who loved somebody else, and I was just too damn
busy, or dumb, to realize what Id stepped into. I came from very lit-
tle, and she never let me forget it. Till the day she and Pete went out
and got themselves killed, all I knew was that if I made enough
money, shed have to respect me. Wish Ida known how little differ-
ence money really made in this little sprint for happiness that we call
life.
Dont tell your average linthead that, said Moses. Caught at-
footed by Paps proffer of intimacy, Moses had no other immediate
response. They sat in silence for a bit, these business partners from
adjacent generations, each contemplating the onset of age and
responsibility from his own perspective.
Ill be 73 this September, he said after a while. Reasonably well
off and healthy as a horse; I reckon most people around hered swap
places with me. That only goes to show how far below the surface we
go when we look at each other. Which is to say, not very.
Hell, said Moses. Not many get that far below the surface with
themselves, let alone anybody else. Probably scare the shit out of
most people if they did.
Id love to see some more grandbabies, Pap went on, ignoring
Moses invitation to remain safely on the surface; looks like its up
to Buster if Im goin to. And he hasnt been in any big hurry; one a
these days somebody like that high-yaller baseball pitcher might do
it for im.
You think they want children?
What the hell have they got otherwise? Ptickly in this town.
Chillun an fuhbawls about it. Buster knew that when he came back
here.
Came back?
From Mayretta. He got a job at th Bell bomber plant over there
in 42. They came back here when he got laid off in 46; not that long
before you showed up.
Marietta; thats close to Atlanta, isnt it?
Just north; twenty-ve miles, sumpm like that. Anyway, I
brought im back in with me. Put im over on the real estate side of
th house this time; but when the Simmons boys put their Hudson
dealership up for sale, he pestered me night and day til I agreed to
back im so he could buy it. Good thing, too; he was drivin me crazy
in the ofce, and he loves cars. Specially th racin side of it.
Yeah, you can tell that right off. And it oughta help his business,
if he doesnt go crazy with it. Peopleyoung people, speciallywill
probably wanta buy cars like the ones that win, assumin Hudsons
win.
Well, you put yer nger on it when you said if he doesnt go
crazy with it, Pap said. Busters subject to go crazy with things that
strike his fancy. Like Codeelya.
Cordelia?
Th same. She whos gettin er eyes screwed out by Jos High-
yaller as we speak. Yet you see how much that worries Buster, with a
wave at the boulder of comatose protoplasm.
Hell, said Moses, hes in no shape to worry about a goddam
thing right now. How is it that he dont run er off, if shes that prone
to whorin?
Hell, said Pap. That aint whorin, not to her. I speck shed just
call it sportin around.
Sounds more like spurtin around, ventured Moses. They
awarded this witticism the appropriate burst of drunken laughter,
loud enough to cause a momentary shift in Busters bulk.
How long they been married, anyway? he asked, sensing the old
mans need for further disclosure.
Quite awhile. Since 38. Even then, he shoulda known better. I
could smell trouble when I was twenty-three, couldnt you?
Most of the time, said Moses. But, he thought, not always; and
thats why Im out here, most improbably, on the porch with you.
Cant say I batted a thousand, though.
Th difference between bein seen as a trilin motherfucker and a
pillar of the community aint no wider than a human hair some-
times. A good wifes a big help to a man in Busters sitchayshun. All
shes dones stir up man trouble around here since she was in high
school, he went on. Got a teacher red, and damn near locked up,
before she could drive a car. You just dont marry a case of itchy brit-
ches like that.
A car turned into the driveway, its headlights stuttering from high
beam to low several times before being shut off. Guess thats old
Itchy Britches now, said Moses.
0740 Wednesday 5 July 1950:
Mose?
Yeah.
Me.
Hey.
I need some help, honey. Can you talk for a minute?
Sure. Whats up?
Its Jack. The sheriff brought him home last night; about one-
thirty this morning, actually.
Why?
He said that he found him and Ricky parked on the golf course
in Trisha McNeils car with her and Terry Marsh. He found a pair of
panties on the ground outside the car that Trisha admitted were
hers.
Hm. One-thirty. A little past curfew.
I know. I was worried sick. Mindy Terrell called at eleven-thirty.
Jack was spending the night over there, and they had to be in at
eleven. Theyd given them an extra hour as it was, because of the hol-
iday.
I thought they were all with Lynne Browne.
They left Daddys with her, but Jack said she wanted to go home,
so they told her to drop them off at Trishas house.
Wheres he now?
Asleep. He got sassy with me and I told him to go to his room
and stay there. Im so mad at him; I got absolutely no sleep last night,
and I dont want to be at close quarters with him until I get hold of
myself.
He looked out at a weeping gray sky. Want me to come get im?
Yes, if you can. I hate to ask you, but-
Forget it. You need some rest, and he needs a workout. Ill be
over in a few minutes.

They sat in the caf looking at Denver omelets and whole-wheat
toast. A look from Moses told Reba they needed privacy. You
sleepy? Moses asked him.
Hell yeah Im sleepy. Youd be sleepy too if youd been in th
county jail half th niit, Jack responded.
Moses eyes narrowed. What the hell were you doin in thcounty
jail?
Jack cut into his omelet, inching slightly as egg-juice spurted
from the cut. Grabbing the ketchup to cover it, he said, Trisha aint
got a drivers license, so they took us all in and called her folks to
come get her. And fuckin Wahoo locked us up til they came.
No wonder it took so long to get you home. What were yall doin
out there, anyway? asked Moses.
Aah, nothin; we were just foolin around, playin.
Bullshit. Playin around lookin for a place to stick your dicks,
right?
Jack looked around the room, checking for open ears. Ricky was;
Terry and I were mostly listenin to them from th back seat. She
wont let me do much of anything with her; kissin and feelin around
a littles all. A pause. I really dont care that much about it.
Moses paused to take a large bite of his omelet, catching a piece of
green pepper that tried to escape. Thatll change soon enough, he
said upon swallowing. When it does, when youre where Ricky is
now, remember this; rubbers or nothe did have rubbers, didnt he?
Yeah-
Well, rubbers or not, when you decide tolets sayhave inter-
course, youd damn well better be ready to back it up. Th human
race wants its crop of little critters, and what life does to them that
spawns ems completely secondary Jesus, he thought, what the
hell am I doing, telling him about this? He knows damn well Ive
been screwing his mother all this time, and Im preaching to him
about fucking. anyway, if the rubbers let you down, youre an
instant father. You just tied an lifetime anchor to your ass. Pretty bad
deal for a few minutes ofwhat?
I dawno. I told ya, we wudnt doin nothin. I dont ebm know
how ta use a fuckin rubber. Jack stopped for a bite, took it, chewed.
Mose, he said, still chewing.
What, bud?
Whatd you do?
Do? What about?
Whatd you do when you wanted to?
You mean, whatd I do when I had a girl inna car? When I was
your age?
Jack looked at him, green eyes bright. Yeah.
Moses wiped his mouth, put his napkin on the table, and looked
back at the boy. My rst time was a little bit further down the road
than yours. And it wasnt in a car. And nothing happened. I mean the
girl didnt get pregnant. She wasnt even my girlfriend. So I was stu-
pid, and lucky. Id hate for your luck to run out on you, pal, thats
all.
Me too. I sho dont wanta be anybodys daddy anytime soon. I
told Mom that we werent doin anything but kissin and foolin
around, and she said I shoulda got out and walked if Trisha wouldnt
leave.
And you didnt think much of that idea.
No.
And I guess you told her so.
Yeah, I did. And then she started hollerin, and wouldnt listen
any more, and then I did, and things just quit makin sense. She told
me to go to my room, the way she did when I was a little kid. So I did.
But Imnot a little kid any more.
No, said Moses. Youre a big kid. And gettin bigger every day.
But you wont get anywhere buttin heads with your mama. Hell,
bud, she was worried about you, naturally. And not just about this
little stunt. My guess is that shes not real comfortable with alla this
growin up youre doing.
Well, Im not either, but there aint much either one of us can do
about that. Ill tell you sumpm else, too.
Whats that?
Those four little rooms up there are gettin pretty small for two
regular-size people.
I imagine they are, said Moses.
When were in there together, seems like were always tryin to get
through doors at the same time or sumpm. Of course, shes up on
th roof almost every night bein an artiste. Said through his teeth.
Well, how about if I ask your mom if its OK with her for you to
bunk in with me for a few days? Cmon, Ill drop you off at th house
and call her when I get to the ofce.
Suits me. Can I call somebody to come over?
Yeah, but wait til this afternoon. You need some more sack time,
and Im countin on you to x us some lunch.
You got stuff for bacon, lettuce and tomato?
You bet. Just make sure th bacons crisp, bud.

Jack had just moved the last of the bacon out of the skillet onto a
paper towel-covered plate when the Buick pulled to a stop under the
carport. Hiya, bud, said Moses, wrestling a case of soft drinks,
kicking the door closed with a heel.
Hey.
Thats smellin good. How bout a Nehi?
Ja get some grape?
Grape, orange, strawberry; eight each. Have to have em on th
rocks, though, til we get em cold. Setting the case down in a corner,
he retrieved a grape and a strawberry and put them on the kitchen
table.
Thatll do, Jack said as he thin-sliced a tomato.
They sat, temporarily mute, savoring the merger of home-grown
tomato and smoky bacon. Moses broke the silence with a single
word. Congratulations.
Thanks, said Jack. What for?
Becoming a hell of a cook when I wasnt looking. This is one
great BLT.
Well, thanks again. Ive been gettin a lot of practice at home.
Mom pushes dinner off on me about half th time. Like I said, shes
up on the damn roof every chance she gets.
Yeah, your moms got some pretty denite ideas about the kinda
artiste she wants to be, so shes pretty ruthless about having her time
up there. It sure as hell aint a hobby with her, thats for sure.
For damn sure. And she wonders why shes got problems.
She may not think she has any, said Moses.
Hell, shes not that far gone. Or she wouldnt be givin me hell
every time I turn around. You either.
Me? Shes not givin me any hell.
She is. Youre just not hearin it.
Then I guess you must be.
I am.
Then whats th nature of this hell Im gettin? Moses asked him.
She dont say that much to me. But she says plenty around me.
She must not think I hear it, but like I said, thats a pretty small place
we live in.
You gonna tell me, or not?
Sure, Ill tell ya. Th thing is, it wont sound th same when I say it.
Its more how it sounds when she does. Its like she wishes you hadnt
showed up here at all. Th one thing she says all th time is big
impresario sonofabitch.
OK. What else?
Ahh, stuff like Plucked from bullshit by th fuckin Egyptians.
Makes me wish I had a name from some other book than th
bible. Wouldnt be so easy for her to make those herniatin meta-
phors. So what youre tellin me is shes mad at both of the men in
her life.
Yeah, off an on, said Jack. He drained his glass and set it down
with a thump. Shes gonna be a major artiste, an were gettin in her
way.
Hm. Well, nobodys perfect. I guess shes told me pretty much
what shes told you. About goin back to New York, I mean.
Oh, yeah. Shes been tellin me that for a year or two. Makes me
think Im holdin her back, just bein her kid. An I guess I know how
you must feel, bein in love with her.
If anybody knows, pal, its you. Shes some homo sapiens, your
mama.
Standing up from the table, Jack went to the refrigerator for
another Nehi. If thats what you think, he said as he sat down,
how come yall dont get married?
Shes still married to your dad.
Would you want to if she wasnt?
Yep. Nothins changed since I asked her four years ago.
The boy, his face very still, contemplated this. Well then, I reckon
we better just keep on seein If we can handle who she is. But it aint
exactly the easiest job in th world.
1620 Tuesday 11 July 1950:
Telephone, Mr. Kubielski, line three.
Hello.
Mist Kabeesky. The Cajun quartertones of Skeeter Daguerre,
just above a whisper, trickled into his ear.
Skeeter?
Yeah.
How you been? Habmnt seen you in a coons age.
I been all right. Listen, you need ta know bout sumpm.
Can ya speak up a little?
OK. You know bout de Klan?
Th Klan? Th guys with th white sheets?
Das right. You gonna get a visit from dem dis Friday niit.
A visit.
Yeah. A cross-burnin.
What the hellre you talkin about?
Im talkin about you oughta not be home Friday niit, cause if
you be dere dey probly wont stop wid a cross-burnin. Dat fool Pis-
sant Grant got em riled up and ready ta hurt you. Say no goddam
Jewbabys gonna slap his ass an live.
Hm. So how many of these gentlemen would you say I could
expect?
Huh?
How many in this cross-burnin party?
Oh, twenny-thutty. Sumpm like dat. You don wawna be standin
up to no crowd like dat. Please jus be someplace else dis Friday.
You pretty sure bout this, aincha?
Dead sho, Mist Kabeesky.
OK. Listen, Skeeter, thanks a lot.
OK. Bye.
Still holding the handset, Moses pushed the one of the plungers
on its cradle, held it for a second and dialed.
Hello.
Gene Debs.
Yayuh.
Howd you like to blow up a Klan meetin this Friday?
Where?
I understand theyre plannin to burn a cross over here to thank
me for poppin one of their boys the other day.
Oh yeah. Pissaint. Pap told me you had ta straighten him out.
The very same. Hope you didnt get rid of that bazooka.
For a few seconds, all he heard was laughter; then Gene Debs
caught his breath and said, Still got it. Aint thought about it since
you and I made that bigass hole in th dirt last year.
Well, Moses said, I thought itd be fun to do th same to their
fuckin cross-burnin.
Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-fuckin-mm. What times th party?
Why doncha ease on over here about three? We can shoot some
skeet and get in th mood.
1515 Friday 14 July 1950:
The shadow of a large thunderhead shaded the porch from the after-
noon sun as Moses opened the door. Hey, said Gene Debs, his
craggy face split by a wolsh grin. Ready ta make a lil noise?
You bet, said Moses. How bout a beer?
The skeet table sat just a few steps from the edge of the pond near-
est the road. The shotguns, Moses Savage and Gene Debs Reming-
ton, breeches open, shared its sheet-tin covered surface with a hand
trap and four boxes of 12-gauge shells. Moses bent over to pull open
the top of a case of Peters clay pigeons that sat on the grass under-
neath. You take the rst ve, he said, and Ill get warmed up with
this trap. Havent thrown any with it since Spring.
That beats me by a year or two, said Gene Debs, pulling a pair of
yellow-lensed shooting glasses from the bib of his Big Dad overalls.
I aint used a hand trap moren two or three tiimes in my liife.
Oh, with this one there aint a lot to it. Just gettin the hang of
hittin the release at the right point in your swing. See? Slipping one
of the dark green discs into the traps bracket, Moses pulled it back to
set the spring. The spring does mosta the work.
They were out of targets by four oclock, in time for the suns pas-
sage to leave half the terrace in the shade, where they sat among
assorted hardware. Any idea which way theyll come? asked Gene
Debs as he swung the bazookas two tubular halves into line, a solid,
lubricated snick of mating metal conrming their alignment as the
latch slipped into place.
Well, theyve got two choices, said Moses, less of course they
come both ways. Wouldnt surprise me if they met up someplace
south of here, though, to get alla their shit together and go over
whos doin what. You dont gure theyd want to do that in town, in
front of a lot of people, with their goddam hoods on; somebody
might tag along and screw up their surprise. Either way, theyve just
about gotta put the cross over there on the edge of Larkins eld, just
opposite my gate. Otherwise, you couldnt see it from here, which
youd think was the whole idea.
Good thang about that, said Gene Debs, is at hill runnin up
behind therell catch any of ese he-unh rockets that miss. I never did
ask you; I dont guess you wanta kill any a these stupid bastards.
No, not that its not tempting. Wed be doin the world a favor,
but its not worth it. I just thought itd be fun to let a few rounds go
and watch em scatter.
Ats what I gured. And since we habmnt had a lotta practice
with this here M9A1 tank smasher, I reckon we oughta start shootin
up inta th kudzu with a round er two, an gradjilly ease down on th
cross. Hell, hittin that hillll probly get em movin right by itself.
They wont have a real good idea where were shootin from til we
get a few off.
I was thinkin, said Moses, that if we set up just a little way up
there, beyond th barn, wed have a pretty good eld of re and be
shootin down on em.
Makes sense. No big trees blockin th view, an maybe sixty-ve,
sebmty yards range at th most. I think I got this sight pretty well g-
ured out. Lemme show ya sumpm here.
After Moses locked the gate, they began moving gear up to the
rebase, in a clearing in the hillsides stand of pines from which the
view of Larkins eld was generally clear for forty-ve degrees or so
either side of where they gured the cross would be. Besides three
cases of bazooka rounds, each holding six rockets, they took the
shotguns, four boxes of 00 buckshot shells, and Gene Debs Marlin
.30-06 carbine, tted with a 4X telescopic sight. Sitting sweat-soaked
in the shade on ground softened by a cushion of pine straw, they
cracked a couple of Red Caps and were sharing Nelson Lord-fried
chicken with the mosquitoes and ies by six-thirty. What in the hell
dyou suppose makes people do shit like this? said Gene Debs.
What?
This fuckin Klan shit.
Oh. For a minute I thought you meant us.
Hell, said Gene Debs, What should we do, let them idiots just
go on doin what they please? Its time theyus shut down, and were
th boys to it.
A couple of old sailors, and not a Landing Party Manual between
us.
Old, young or one-legged, Id put two sailors up against a packa
shitheels like these any day atha week, said Gene Debs.
Got any idea whos involved, besides Pissant Grant?
Well, ya hear things. Like ole Chili-Dog Chiles has been for a
long time, still is, th Kleagle, or head asshole. Rni told me about Cat
Dander, that ole buzzard that she keeps around to sweep out th
hotel, sayin one time how proud he was ta be in th Klan. People like
that; fuckin scum. None of em could whip yer average nigger in a
fair ght, so they put on bedsheets an gang up on em at night.
Bisques got its share afreaks like that. You could probly pick em out
on sight, just walkin down th street. Hell, well probly recognize th
cars theyre in.
Well, said Moses, Ive been here long enough to know that the
law sorta picks and chooses how it gets enforced. You see that every-
where. Even so, how in the hell this kinda shit can go on in th middle
of th twentieth century amazes me.
Its gone on for a long time; since Reconstruction, said Gene
Debs. Back then it wasnt the scum a th earth under th hoods. After
th war, with Union troops an carpetbagger Yankee civilians ta back
em up, there was quite a few niggers that abused th privileges of
their new citizenship, along with th worst kinda whites. Vigilante
justice was th only kind available, and thats what some white South-
erners put in place with th Ku Klux Klan. But as time went on and
things got better, th Klan hung on, recruitin from the no-counts in
th name of white supremacy. And all this time, theyve carried on
without much interference from th law, because th people that they
prey on cant, or wont, identify em.
And, on occasion, because the people whore responsible for
enforcin the lawsre in cahoots with em, or at least dont see much
harm in what they do, said Moses.
Well, yeah, you gotta think about where these lawmen come
from; pretty much th same places as th Klanners. And I guess they
gure that what th Klan does to keep th niggers down jus makes
their job easier.
Looks to me like, Moses observed as he picked up a fresh drum-
stick, These boysre spoilin for the ultimate in practical jokes.
Gene Debs grinned as he patted the bazookas barrel. It may
seem damn impractical to em, time were done.
They did, as Moses expected, come from the south, a black 1936
Auburn sedan leading the caravan of six cars and two pickup trucks
that slowed from a stately pace as they rounded the bend below the
pond. Looka yonder, said Gene Debs.
Umm-hm, grunted Moses. Ive seen that heap in fronta th
Burger Shack. Its Chili Dogs. A brown 1939 Chevrolet was next,
followed by a dark green 1946 Ford atbed truck carrying the cross
and two robed gures standing on either side of the cab. The lead car
stopped momentarily, directly in front of Moses gate. Guess theyre
talkin about where to put it.
Several minutes later, a hooded gure opened the Auburns right-
side front door and got out. It walked back to the Chevrolet, gestur-
ing toward the left side of the road. The driver pulled the car out of
line and drove it well ahead of the Auburn, wheeling it hard left and
backing it onto the edge of the eld. The Auburn then followed suit,
leaving room for the atbed to back in directly across from Moses
gate; the next vehicle, a 1936 Dodge pickup, did likewise, leaving a
space of about forty feet between the trucks. The rest of the cars
backed in beyond the pickup and disgorged their cargo. The two
Klansmen riding on the atbed jumped down and walked over to
the pickup, pulling a pick, posthole digger and ve-gallon water can
from its bed. Going to the center of the open space, one of them
swung the pick into the rock-hard red earth, penetrating no more
than two or three inches. He swung again, and then again, going a
little deeper each time, then paused to let the other pour water into
the depression. The digging went on for about half an hour, one
Klansmen spelling another, before the necessary hole was produced.
The drivers of the three cars that chanced to pass by, realizing what
was taking place, all sped up quickly and were gone.
As twilight faded, several hooded gures surrounded the atbed
on its three open sides, laying hands on various points of the Creo-
soted wood cross and pulling it toward the back. Another soaked the
burlap sacks that had been wired around it with kerosene from a
ve-gallon can. They pulled the dripping cross off the truck, carried
it to the hole and dropped it in, jumping back as the heavy timber
fell into place. Except for two that were detailed as lookouts at oppo-
site points several hundred feet from the site, the party surrounded
the pickups bed and two large chests of beer.
Mm-mm-mmfuckin-mm, said Gene Debs. They built at
thang out of a phone pole. If we us ta hit it dead center, an it a-bur-
nin, theyd be splinters from shit to shinola.
Be some trick, from here, said Moses, but well damn sure get
their attention. Hey; looks like theyre ready to light it off. The light
of a match, pin-point brilliant in the now-dark eld, blossomed into
a bigger ball of light as the torch to which it was touched ignited,
illuminating the red-trimmed hood of the Klansman who held it.
Guess thats Chili-Dog in th fancy hood. The torch-bearer handed
it to another gure (maybe Pissant? he thought), who approached
the cross and touched it to the base, which exploded into ame with
a roar that could be heard on the hill. The ames ran quickly up the
crosss shaft, out to the ends of the crossbar and up to its top as the
Klansmen circled it outside scorching range.
Well, they do know how ta burn one, Ill give em that, said
Gene Debs. Guess we oughta give it a few minutes to let th wood
light off.
Makes me wonder if theyve got anything else in mind, said
Moses. Seems like thisd motivate em to some further mischief.
Gene Debs drained a Red Cap and stood up, walking over to one
of the ammo boxes. It might, if they us dealin with their usual vic-
tims. But I doubt they got anythang else in mind. They got that gate
to deal with, and they dont know what else.
Well, theyre about ready to nd out, said Moses. Shall we nd
the range?
Gene Debs shouldered the bazooka, looking through its sighting
tube. Damn if I can see much but that cross. Guess Ill just ease up a
little from th top and lay one in ere.
OK, said Moses, sliding a round into the tube and plugging its
wire contacts into the trigger box, making sure he was clear of the
backblast. Light er off, bud. His voice was lost in the rockets
whooshing roar. The re team watched its glowing tail ash past the
blazing cross and disappear. A split-second later, it crashed against
the kudzu-choked hill with a momentary ash that dwarfed the
crosss are, followed by the explosions concussive BOOM that
Moses felt sure took the Klansmens breath away, as it had his when
theyd rst red the weapon at Gene Debs. To a man, they appeared
to be frozen in place. Damn, wish we had nighttime binoculars. Id
love to see the looks on those bastards faces.
Load me up again, said Gene Debs. Maybe I can blow some a
them fuckin hoods right off. Moses slid another round into the
tube and got out of the way. The whoosh and explosion repeated, the
BOOM louder. Yeeehaah! Right at th base of th hill! Look at em
scatter! Quick, load me up! As the Klansmen ran to their cars,
Moses shoved another round into the bazooka and plugged in the
contacts. This time the roar of the rocket and the explosion of the
round were almost on top of each other. I hit it! Gene Debs
crowed! I hit th sonofabitch! And he had; the cross was blown to
bits, and the red-hot bits were everywhere; in the Klan robes, on the
roofs of the vehicles and all over the road. The Klansman in the red-
trimmed hood stood alone, his robe smoldering in several places,
sts above his head, shaking them at the sky. Seeing him, one of the
others came back to where he stood, sprayed him down with a
shaken bottle of beer, and dragged him into the back of the Auburn.
The pickup wouldnt start and was abandoned, its roof in ames. In
less than a minute, they were gone.
They sat for a moment in the deepening quiet, saying nothing.
Moses broke the silence as he went for the ice chest. Reckon that
pickupll light off?
Hard to say, said Gene Debs as he took a fresh Red Cap from
him. Guess we oughta sit here an see.
Makes sense; then we need to think about clearin off this hillside
an stashin the bazooka.
Hell; you think they wawna bring th law into this? What th hell
would they say, somebidy illegally innerfered with our illegal
doins? even that buncha fartheads got more pride than that. They
got whupped, an they dont even know how. The last thing they
want is for people ta ind out about it.
Thats true, said Moses, but I cant just act like they werent
here; thatd be a dead giveaway. Particularly if that smokin pickup
over there goes up. Gotta put in a concerned citizens call to ole
Wahoo, and if he wants to look around Id just as soon he didnt nd
our tracks up here.
Guess so. Hey.
What?
Jyou see ole Chili Dog shakin them sts up at heaven? Gene
Debs chuckle escalated slowly into uncontrollable wheezing, to
which, as he recaptured the image, Moses added his own whoopery.
Convulsed, they both slowly slid down the trees theyd been leaning
against.
Ive just got one thing to say about today, GD.
Yeah? Whats that?
Mm-mm-mm-fuckin-mm. The piney woods rang with their
laughter.
1535 Saturday 15 July 1950:
Ida been here sooner, but were short-handed, said Wahoo
McDaniel, gingerly scraping the ground around the base of the cross
with the lacquered sole of his highly-polished boot. Anyway, since
you said there was no real damage or anybody hurt, I thought Id
take a look personally, in broad daylight.
Well, I appreciate that, said Moses. For all the noise they made,
there really isnt much to see.
Thatair post looks like itus hit by liitnin, the sheriff said,
squinting up at the long, jagged splinters menacing the sky. Lucky
nobody got hit by th pieces when they hit th ground.
I thought at rst that it was thunder, said Moses.
More like some kinda bomb that went off when it ought not to.
Where were you when you heard it?
Up in th barn.
You keepin livestock? asked the sheriff, his eyebrows lifting
slightly.
No. Just workout gear. I converted the barn into a gym; I was
skippin rope up there when I heard the blast. The trees block the
view of the road from there. By the time I got far enough up the
driveway to see what was going on, they were all pullin out.
You were skippin rope, said the sheriff, letting the beginning of
a grin develop before suppressing it. And you were alone on th
property.
Right.
Well, somebodys gonna get a bill for cleanin this up. You didnt
see how any of em were dressed? That is, you didnt see any Klan
robes?
All I saw, said Moses, was a buncha cars and trucks hightailin it
outa here.
Could you identify any of th vehicles?
No; the only impression I got was they were pretty old, and
mostly black.
Hm. Well, I think we can safely assume that it was a Klan under-
takin, said the sheriff. And I think we can also safely assume that it
was directed at you, since nobody else lives within half a mile of here.
Any idea why youd be a Klan target?
Nope. I thought their specialty was people who were more or less
defenseless.
The sheriff looked at him for a long ten seconds before saying,
Theres a lotta truth in that. And you dont consider yourself in that
category.
Moses returned his gaze, saying, Would you put me in that cate-
gory, offhand?
No, offhand I wouldnt, the sheriff said. We dont know each
other all that well, but Id say youd be likely to give a pretty good
account ayourself. Unless youus outnumbered, or ambushed. And
they like ta do both.
I appreciate the warning; Ill watch my back; is there anything
else youd suggest?
Not much, short of leavin town, and I doubt youd have any
interest in that.
Not a bit.
After another of the sheriff s lengthy looks, he said, Doubt I
would either, if I was in your shoes. Well, he said with a wave,
lemme know if you have any more contact with these pissaints. The
way theyre goin, they miit just blow their own up an save me some
work.
Thanks for stoppin by, said Moses to the sheriff s erect khaki
back.
1615 Tuesday 19 December 1950:
Seeing much more black ink than usual at the top of the front page,
Moses picked up the Bisque Bugle lying on his ofce sofa. He
unfolded it to reveal a banner headline:
BISQUE MARINE DECORATED IN KOREA
Corporal Reginald R. Williams of Bisque, serving with the U.S.
Marine Corps First Division in Korea, has been promoted to his
present rank and awarded the Silver Star, the nations third highest
decoration for valor in combat. The citation followed:
WILLIAMS, Reginald R.
Rank and organization: Private First Class, U.S. Marine Corps,
Company C, 3d Battalion, 7 Marines, 1st Marine Division
(Rein.).
Place and date: Korea, 8 December 1950.
Entered service at: Augusta, Ga. Born: 3 February 1932, Bisque,
Ga.
Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of
his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as an act-
ing squad leader of Company C, in action against enemy aggres-
sor forces. Assuming the point position in the attack against a
strongly defended and well-entrenched numerically superior
enemy force occupying a vital hill position which had been
unsuccessfully assaulted on 5 separate occasions by units of the
Marine Corps and other friendly forces, PFC Williams fearlessly
led his men in a bayonet charge up the precipitous slope under a
deadly hail of hostile mortar, small-arms, and machine gun re.
Quickly rallying his squad when it was pinned down by a heavy
and accurate mortar barrage, he continued to lead his men
through the bombarded area and, although only 6 members were
left in the casualty-ridden unit, gained the military crest of the
hill where his squad was immediately subjected to an enemy
counterattack.
Although greatly outnumbered by an estimated enemy squad,
PFC Williams boldly engaged the hostile force with hand gre-
nades and rie re and, exhorting his gallant group of marines to
follow him, stormed forward to completely overwhelm the
enemy. With only 4 men now left in his squad, he proceeded to
spearhead an assault on the last remaining strongpoint which
was defended by the enemy on a rocky and almost inaccessible
portion of the hill position. Climbing up the extremely hazard-
ous precipice, he hurled grenades with one hand and, with 3
remaining comrades, succeeded in annihilating the pocket of
resistance and in consolidating the position.
Immediately subjected to a sharp counterattack by an esti-
mated enemy squad, he skillfully directed the re of his men and
employed his own weapon with deadly effectiveness to repulse
the numerically superior hostile force. By his valiant leadership,
indomitable ghting spirit and resolute determination in the face
of heavy odds, PFC Williams served to inspire all who observed
him and was directly responsible for the destruction of the
enemy stronghold. His great personal valor reects the highest
credit upon himself and enhances and sustains the nest tradi-
tions of the U.S. Naval Service.
Moses reread the article, then read it again. Then he got up and
walked out into the warehouse, carrying the paper and looking for
Ralph Williams. Seeing him, he shouted Hey Ralph!
Ralph looked up and, seeing Moses, walked toward him. Whats
up, boss?
Moses handed him the paper. Jyou see this?
Ralph took the paper, looked at it for a moment, then at Moses.
No, sir, I didnt. Got a letter from im a coupla days back. He said
keep it under my hat. Guess we shoulda known the Marines PIOd
get this to th home town paper.
Well, Ill be damned. Whyd he wanta keep th lid on this? Ziggys
a hero.
He said too many Marines didnt get nothin outa that action but
dead, and that he didnt feel too good about takin th credit for
sumpm they all did together.
Well, hes the one who was there, and he knows how he feels
about it. But he cant give it back. Any chance hell get some leave out
of the deal?
He said there hadnt been any word. Woundedll get priority, and
Im damn glad hes in one piece, even if he dont get leave right away.
Oh, theres one other thing.
Whats that?
Ralphs effort to conceal his pride was real, but failed. He said he
made Corporal.

Wonder if the war hero still keeps his money in his shoe, mused
Flx, perched on the crown of Jacks head as they read Ziggys Silver
Star citation in the Bugle.
How the fuckd you know about that?
Goddam, kid. Whenre you gonna get used to the fact that Ive
been around the block a time or two? Ive hatched and hatched and
hatched again, and Ive got a range you wouldnt believe, over space
and time.
OK, shitbird. Since you know so much, I got a simple one for
you.
Whassat?
How many men did Ziggy kill?
Flx ew to the top of Jacks chest of drawers. Sorry you asked
that.
Aha. You dont know, do you?
I could nd out, but I aint going to.
What? Why not?
Cause it wont do him, or you, any good to know. Once a person
kills one other person, all betsre off. If you knew how many he
killed, that numberd be forever stuck to Ziggy in your mind.
Jack thought, then spoke. Youre right. I dont need to know.
Glad one of uss got some damn sense.
- 227 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 4
Precious Lord
1323 Thursday 6 October 1951:
She sensed being looked at as she bent to shift a table into place at
the end of one of the lobby sofas. Hey, darlin. She stood up to nd
Wahoo McDaniel at her elbow.
Wahoo, Serena said, not bothering to disguise her exasperation.
Whatre you doing, sneakin up on me?
Couldnt help it, he said, I was struck dumb. I guess it was the
angle.
Nice sentiment, she said levelly. Whats up?
Well, maybe nothin; does there have to be somethin up for a
friend to drop by?
Guess not. Its just a bit of a surprise to have you make a friendly
call, if thats what it is, after such a long time.
Well, theres all kinds of friends. I thought you and I was just sort
of th noddin and smilin type by now.
Guess so. So shall we just nod and smile and you run along and
fuck my sister-in-law some more?
She got the tightest of murderous smiles in response. Actually, I
am here in the line aduty. Just wanted to pass the time of day with
ya, which used to be a pleasure. Guess you just have one too many
close friends to leave much room for some of your old ones.
May be. What the hells going on, anyway? Does it involve the
hotel?
Only so far as it bein the location of a sensitive meetings con-
cerned. Just had lunch with a couple of guys from Washington.
Oh? Whats the deal?
Nothin much. That I can say anything about, that is. They
wanted to brief Chief Bolton and me on security operations over at
the Savannah River site.
Oh. The a-bomb plant. That place gives me the willies, and Ive
never been near it.
McDaniels eyes widened. Whered you hear anything about a-
bombs? Thats a highly classied site. Theres nothin at all being
released about whats gonna be done there.
Oh, not ofcially. But people talk, and the talks about a-bombs.
You cant have that many people working on something and not have
it get out.
Well, from what these guys told us today, people who get caught
talkin about anything thats going on over there will be up to their
necks in trouble, said McDaniel, recovering his poker face. If I was
you, Id just act like the place didnt exist.
I wish that it didnt exist, at least in our backyard. Ive had all the
nuclear crap I want, for a lifetime.
I know. I guess Id feel the same way if it had cost me a marriage.
But nookie-lar weapons are whats going to keep this country safe, as
long as we stay ahead of the reds. Theyre not goin away.
Now its my turn to clam up. Except to say that Larrys involve-
ment with nookie-lar weapons just sped up our understanding that
getting married was a mistake. My feelings about nuclear ssion do
come from what I learned while we were together. And the main
thing I learned is how easy it is for it to slip out of control. Im not
the least bit interested in glowing in the dark, or ending up like those
Precious Lord 229
poor Japs that survived Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I wish that god-
dam plant was a thousand miles from here.
Wahoos smile went patronizing. But, just like the reds, it aint
goin away. The more talk, though, about stuff like glowin in th dark
gets around, the more upset peoplere gonna get. That was one of the
main things that these AEC boys talked about today. Even though
that sites been designed to be so safe nothin bad can ever happen,
public opinion could go against it and cause em a lot of problems.
That, and of course keepin the reds from gettin hold of our technol-
ogy, is why the security lids gotta stay tight.
Serenas face was execution-witness somber. Thats great, she
said. Were over here on the edge of their friggin abyss, but we cer-
tainly shouldnt cause them any problems. Thats doomsday shit
theyre messing with over there, Wahoo; nothing less than that. An
a-bombs a nuclear chain reaction gone wild. And one of them can
kill fty thousand people. Already has. And theyre gonna stack these
things up in quantity, not fty miles away from here? And what
about the radioactivity from the reactors that theyre running to
make the uranium? Did anybody ask us if wed like this nice little
piece of hell next door? You bet they didnt, because they knew damn
well what theyd hear. But Jimmy Byrnes and the rest of the big dogs
over there in South Carolina wanted it, and Senator George and the
Georgia delegation didnt object, so it got done. And we get to live
with this goddam death machine from now on. One more reason,
and a big one, for Jack and me to get the hell outta here.
If thats the way you feel, said McDaniel, then maybe you
should. Most people around here dont appreciate that yankee style
of yours anyway, gettin people all stirred up about crap that they
cant do anythang about.
She looked at him with something close to pity. Yeah. Im stirring
em up, all right. The good people of Bisque sit around the caf with
me, drinking coffee and listening to me prophesy doom. Hell, half of
emve already dug their fallout shelters. People arent that stupid;
they dont have to listen to me to know that Moscows got this town
targeted. The tragedy is that they think crawling in some goddam
holes gonna save em.

Gimme an R, Freddy George called over his shoulder, reaching
back and down with his right hand from his perch on the ladder.
Wait, said Jack, who had stepped back from the foot of the lad-
der and the case of marquee lettering, looking up at the letters that
were already in place. You need to switch the last 2. Its spelling
NIGA right now.
Oh, shit. Well, get an R ready while I change it. Shifting his posi-
tion to face the marquee, he removed the foot-high sheet metal A,
holding it in his left hand, and slid the G to the right on its support
bars to make room for the A, and made the switch. NOW gimme
the goddam R, he said.
Here you go, said Jack, stretching to slip the letter into Freddys
hand. Woulda been kinda funny to have people driving by here in
the morning seeing NIGARA on the sign, though.
Probably get more business that way, grunted Freddy. Marilyn
Monroe and Joseph Cotten in Nigara. Theyd be wondering whos
playing the nig. Gimme an A.
As he handed up the A, Jack observed, That Marilyn really
looks good, dont she? Layin back in that red dress singin Kiss me?
Boy, shes got some nice uns. He closed the letter case, securing its
latches. They had already nished the other side, and it was getting
close to his eleven oclock curfew. He held the ladder as Freddy
descended.
Yeah, theyre niice all riit, Freddy said, but Evvies re bigger.
You talk like youve seen em, Jack said, knowing this would
bring a response. He lifted the heavy letter case, taking it inside the
lobby doors, and came back outside to hold the bottom of the ladder
while Freddy tipped it over and lowered it to the street.
Precious Lord 231
I seen em, Buster, and since shes not around, Ill tell you
sumpm else; Ive sucked em til she squealed.
Jack laughed. Thats not what she says. She says youd like to.
Then shes a liar. Ill tell you what. If shes tellin you so much, ask
her about them little bumps all over her nipples.
They were taking the ladder down the right-side aisle, heading to
its understage storage spot. Whaddaya mean, little bumps? What
kind of bumps?
Just bumps. Like zits, but bigger, and theyre not zits. I wouldnt
suck on a zit. They lifted the curtain that screened the space under
the stage, turning the ladder onto its at side, and dropped the cur-
tain back in place.
Youd suck anything shed let you suck, Jack said as they walked
back up the aisle. He was enjoying this unexpected disclosure, true
or not. Im going to ask her to show me. I bet she will, and I bet
there aint a bump in sight.
It was Freddys turn to laugh. Show you? Show you? He chor-
tled. She wont show you shit. Shed be afraid youd tell, and theyd
lock her ass up for corrupting an innocent cheeeild. He released the
stops on the lobby doors, letting them swing shut behind them, still
enjoying his joke. An innocent cheeeild!
Well see. Im asking her tomorrow.
Well, just be ready, Sport, Freddy said, lifting the Servi-Cycle off
its stand and swinging a long leg over the saddle. Theyre bumpy as
blackberries. Dont tell her I said so, though. See ya. He kicked the
bikes starter, blipped the throttle a couple of times, and eased off in a
sputtering cloud of blue smoke.
Jack turned in the same direction, walking up toward Lee Street
and home. I wonder if they are, he thought. No chance Im gonna
ask her. Shed kill me. Oooh. What if they are? Thatd be awful. Like
zits. Id throw up; titsre too beautiful for that.

A couple of blocks away, Hank Williams sang Kaw-Liga, and
Moses sat with Lee Webster at the Bisque Lunch Room bar, watching
sweat beads run down the side of his third, or fourth, Red Cap. Rib-
eye was at the bars other end, inspecting a nickel-plated S&W .32
snubnose that a chubby, late-thirtyish guy who looked like hed just
come off a cotton-mill shift had brought in. No, too early for that, he
thought; shift changes at 12. Maybe he snuck off to beat the rest of
em here, in order to peddle the pistol in peace. He laughed to him-
self, just loose enough for that to be hilarious. Peddle the pistol in
peace, dum dum. You could dance el jarabe tapato to that. While
Ribeye does gun business. He must buy and sell half a dozen, or
more, in a weeks time. Wonder if he ever res any of them. Wonder
what hed give for a shoulder-stock Luger? The things Ive left
behind.
He dropped in Ribeyes one or two evenings a week; had since the
beginning, except for the few weeks just after he bought the house.
The house. He winced, thinking of the fantasy in which he was bath-
ing when he bought it, and the eight-and-a-half acres of pasture and
pine woods around it, almost ve years ago. The fantasy had been
gradually eroded into something else, the evolutions irony claiming
a smaller part of his consciousness each year. It would still come back
to him, however, as the anniversary of buying the house approached;
hed closed on the property on the twelfth of October. And hed lived
there all this time, fantasy slipping away, after buying it for her. But
she came and went, according to her mood, and he and Jack had
some ne times out there in her absence.
Slamming car doors and squealy womens laughter just outside
refocused his thoughts. If thats coming in here, he said to Lee,
Old Mosell be movin along. He drained his Red Cap and stood up
to reach into his pocket as the party breached the swinging doors.
Instead of the crowd that the noise suggested, it was Nelson Lord,
Precious Lord 233
another man hed never seen before, and two passable-looking
women, all looking to be fairly drunk. Hey, Ribeye!, said Lord, as
they pulled out chairs and sat down at the far table next to the juke-
box, Could we have a pitcher of yer inest horsepiss over here?
Seeing the pair at the bar, he grinned. Howdy, gents.
Evenin, Nels, said Lee. Evenin, folks. The women, attered,
giggled hello, showing, Moses thought, what looked to be complete
sets of teeth.
Ill see you, Webster, grunted Moses, sliding his stool back.
Hang on a minute, Lee said through his teeth, twisting his
pudgy frame around to grip Moses forearm. The world may be
coming to an end. Heres Precious Lord, president pro tem of Bisque
Bizarre, at the public trough with a stranger and not one, but two,
grown women. We owe it to posterity to divine the reason.
Well, Newshawk, said Moses, I think I can help you there. If he
brought jailbait in here, old Rib would lose a boot in his ass. Public
drinkin requires mature company.
True, all true. And all the more reason that old Sluts-a-Plenty
doesnt show up in here all that much. Lets have a nightcap and
observe this rarity. Lee beckoned Ribeye, just back behind the bar
from serving the Lord party, who had surrounded the jukebox.
Another round, gents?
Yeh-baw-ey, said Lee, pushing a wet dollar bill toward him.
And hows the scent of those lovely ladies this evening?
They smell all riit, Ribeye said, scooping up the money. I hope
they smell good enough to Lord so he wont miind gettin shot over
bein out with em.
Whoa! Lee responded in a low voice. Precious Lords tempting
fate againas only he can. Who might these ladies be, that youd
think Precious is in such peril?
I jest know th one with th long hair. Shes Johnny Lindalls ole
lady. Works at one of th mills. Reckon hes on the road.
Lindall? Whos he?
Trucker. Farms a little on the side. He dont come in here; hes
some kinda holy roller. But hes bad when hes mad. I hear somethin
outa th Mule Hole ever now and then about how hes done threat-
ened to shoot some nigger nother for shin in his pond.
Well, from the looks of the goings-on over there, ole Preciousll
be in the crosshairs before you know it, observed Lee. Butcha cant
blame him all that much. Dat ole crotch crushers the strongest mus-
cle on earth. Some people stand up to its lure bettern others.
Lord and Mrs. Lindall sniffed each other, their heads almost
touching across the corner of the table. The other man and woman
appeared to be engrossed in watching lust unfold until the man, tall,
wide, and fortyish, sandy hair cut severely short, abruptly stood up
and ran for the swinging doors, obviously seconds away from being
sick. The woman whod sat next to him watched his exit with mild
interest. She had a broad, open face and a mop of dense, curly hair
made blond. She was built solidly, about a hundred and twenty-ve,
Moses guessed. She had glanced toward the bar several times, but
Moses put that down primarily to the small size of the place, there
not being all that many places to look. There was no mistaking her
intent, however, when she stood up and walked over to them. Hey,
she said. She was looking at Moses. She was taller than hed realized;
he bumped up the weight estimate accordingly.
Hey yourself, said Lee. How ya doin?
Bettern miiy friend, she said, still looking at Moses.
Im Lee Webster. Whats your name?
Maxine.
Pleased to meet you, Maxine. This is your host, Mr. Randall, and
this is Mr. Kubielski.
Mose, said Moses, extending his hand.
Howre yall, she said, taking Moses hand in a rm grip and
nodding at Ribeye. Her pale blue eyes were heavy-lidded under blue
mascara, and moderately bloodshot. I hope you dont mind me
comin over here for a little bit. My friend and ol Nelson are just a
Precious Lord 235
little too damn busy to be sociable, and I thank th guy I come withs
through for th niit.
Yeah, they do look busy, said Lee, extending a battered Zippo to
light her cigarette. Are you from Bisque, Maxine? I dont believe Ive
ever seen you in here before.
Im from riitchere, she said, exhaling, an I denitely know you,
Mr. Lee Webster. Youre callin yourself R&B Lee these days.
Right you are, but only on Fridays; do you enjoy rhythm and
blues?
Well, my nieces do. They luv that nigra music.
Thats the idea. Would you like to join us? I dont think theyll
miss you. Lee said, sliding off his stool so that she could sit there.
Thanks, she said, looking at Moses as she sat. As long as I wont
be interruptin anythang.
No, said Moses. We were just about to leave when you guys
showed up to make life more interesting. Where were you before
here?
Over at Sadies. Just sittin around, drinkin and talkin. Nelsons
funny. Dont know when he hooked up with that Mickey giiy.
He damn sure is, Lee said with a grin. Hes a regular Jack-
fuckin-Benny. I dont know how he does it. Juggles all these girls
around, rambles all night and still slings that gourmet-grade hash.
And pretty natty without the apron, said Moses. Little bit of a
Steve Cochran look, now that I think about it.
Steve Cochran in th movies? Yknow, youre riit, said Maxine.
Cep he mostly plays naisty kinda giiys, an ole Nellies jist a teddy
bear.
That could explain the attraction, Lee observed. Little girls love
those hairy little rascals.
Honey, he just goes out jukin ever now and then. Dont you liike
a little jukin?
Just a little off the top, Lee laughed. Anyway, hes consistent.
Hes been jukin ever since he hit town.
How longs he been here? asked Moses.
Showed up in the summer of 45, as I understand it; right after
they dropped the a-bombs. Caught Reba between cooks, just after
burying her husband, and been there ever since.
Hm. Well, maybe they both got lucky, Moses mused. No tellin
what peoplell do, or trade for, to get what they want.
Nope. Precious gets a rich and varied social life, and Reba gets
herself a cradle-robbin cook.
Hey! Maxine was nished with philosophy. If yall are so inter-
ested, les go over there and see what Nellie has to say about it.
Now its my turn to say goodnight, Lee said, shifting his rotun-
dity forward in a rst preliminary to getting on his feet. I think this
is my limit on Lordly insights for one evening. Coming, Mose?
Oh, no! said Maxine, linking arms with Moses. Im not goin
back over yonder without at least one a yall. Im tired athis extra
girl bidness. Come on, Mose, lets play some juke or somethin.
Ennythang.
How about your friend?
At Mickey? Hes probly back in th ho-tel by now. I dawawna
mess with nobidy smellin like puke, noway.
Ill stay for awhile, said Moses.
Suit yourself, Lee said, grinning and shaking his head. Enjoy
the human comedy. With a wave to Ribeye, he was through the
swinging doors and gone.
Im ready for a drinka likker, said Maxine, but there aint that
many places to git it this timea niit. We could go to th VFW, but
Sadie wont do that. Her brother-in-law works up air.
Not that you look like you need your beauty sleep, said Moses,
but you dont seem to be too worried about gettin up tomorrow.
Do you have to go to work?
She looked directly into his eyes. Oh yeah, I gotta go to work; my
shops just around the corner and up the street two blocks away.
Maxines Beauty Shop. Now dont tell me you never saw it. Some
Precious Lord 237
amy customersre the top people in this town. Married to em, any-
way.
Oh yeah. Of course. Ive seen your sign out front.
But we dont open til ten, and my rst appointments not til
twelve-thirty. And since Sadie got me out toniit, Im not in enny big
hurry to go home. Lets go have one with the lovebirds.
Why not, Moses heard himself saying, halfway wishing that he
hadnt.
Hey, you two! Break it up. Theyll be callin the law.
The woman looked up rst, staring at Moses with the hint of a
leer. Hey, yerself. Who ya got there?
Hey, Mose, said Lord, turning slightly in his chair, sliding his
arm around her shoulder. Denitely Steve Cochran, Moses thought.
Black Irish good looks on a shortcoupled frame, and the bright,
slightly mad eyes of a Jesuit. How ya doin?
Fine, Nels. Youre lookin well.
Feelin well, too, thanks. Bettern ole Mickey, anyway. He left here
liike sumbidy give im a mickey. This produced uproarious laughter
around the table.
Dont believe I ever saw him before, said Moses. Is he a friend
of yours?
Just laid eyes on im tonight; he ate every last friggin catsh we
had in the place, and put up a goddam row wantin me to come out
front so he could tell me how good they was. So I thought Id bring
im along, and damn if he dont up and barf out on us. Oh, scuse
me, Honey, this heres Mose Kabeesky. He owns th Ritz. Well, it wuz
th Ritz.
Sadie turned her head slightly, working to focus her eyes on
Moses. Th what?
The movie house, darlin. Th Winston Theeatah.
Oh.
Mose, meet Sadie Lindall. I see you met Maxine.
Yes. Hello, Sadie.
Hey there, Mose. Good thang your rst names easy. Why don-
chall siddown?
Were tireda beer, said Maxine. Lets go to the VFW.
You know I caint go out there.
Law, chile, not ta go in. Ill just run in and get us a jug. Theyll
sell it to me. Then we could drive out ta Spring Creek an go wadin.
You comin, Mose? asked Lord.
Sure he is, Maxine said, If he dont Ill biite is goddam ear off.
She put her lips next to his ear, then gently pushed her tongue into it,
exploring its ribs and channels. Come on, honey. We wont keep ya
out too late.
I could use little snort of Canadian, said Mose.
They were driving Sadies car, a black 48 Ford two-door. Lord
drove, using most of both lanes, emitting an occasional groan, Sadie
sitting snuggled under his right arm. Sadies head slipped down
behind the seat back and out of sight. As she disappeared, Maxine
caught Moses wrist in her hand and brought it around her shoulder,
turning her face to him and touching his lips lightly with the tip of
her tongue. The slickness of the move surprised Moses, and gave him
an immediate erection. As they kissed, he put one hand inside her
blouse and the other on his crotch to straighten his swollen cock.
Ooh, are you hurtin, sweetie? Maxine said. Let Mama x that.
She pulled his zipper tab down and encircled him with her thumb
and forenger, surprised at the thickness. Squeezing lightly, she
kissed him again before wrapping both hands around his shaft. He
slipped back in the seat as she bent to take it, a little at a time, into
her mouth. Squeezing it rhythmically, she teased the tip with rapid
icks of her tongue. Moses lay back against the seat while she contin-
ued for the short time it took for him to come in a powerful gush,
which she swallowed in quick little gulps, lips distended over the
shaft, as fast as it came. She sat up to kiss him again, sharing with
him the come that lingered in her mouth. She sat back, looking at
him with satisfaction. You OK, honey?
Precious Lord 239
Just ne, Sweetie, said Moses, lying back in the seat. How about
you?
Lovely. I rilly enjoyed that.
So did we, giggled Sadie. I xed the mirror so Nellie could see.
Hey, here we are. They turned off the highway and into a gravel
drive. The drive led uphill, past a large one-story building and into a
parking lot. Lord pulled the Ford into a spot at the rear of the lot.
Somebody gimme me some money, said Maxine, pushing the
seatback forward and reaching for the door handle. Moses found a
ten dollar bill and gave it to her. Thanks, Hon, she said. CC OK
with evrybidy?
As she high-heeled it up the gravelly grade to the clubs back door,
Lord, his arm draped across the back of the front seat, looked back
smiling at Moses. Mose, he said. Reach up here and feel these tit-
ties.
What?
Reach over and feel Sadies sweet little titties, said Lord. Theyre
the niicest ones in Bisque. How come they so hard, Baby?
Sadie looked slyly at Mose. Theyve just always been that way,
she said. Wanta see, Mose? She, or Lord, had already unfastened
her brassiere; it lay in the valley of her breasts as she opened her
blouse. The breasts themselves, of medium size with pale nipples the
size of half-dollars, stood out, rm and symmetrical, sloping gently
from her clavicles. Feel, she whispered.
Moses, his hand turned palm up, put his ngers under the globe
of her right breast and lifted it gently. Very nice indeed, he said,
extending his other hand under the left breast. Moving to the nip-
ples, he squeezed them simultaneously, gently, using three ngers
and his thumbs, in a light, uttering motion. Does that feel good?
Um-hm. Do it a little harder. She put her back against the dash-
board for support as Moses continued.
Arent they somethin? said Lord.
Yes they are, agreed Moses, by now very much into the rhythm.
Yall hush, breathed Sadie, who had moved her hand to her
crotch. Im gonna come. Her eyes stared, unfocused, at the Fords
gray headliner as her breathing grew shallower. Twist em! she said
through her teeth. Moses obliged, with a gentle twist of the nipples
in opposite directions. Oooh, she said, an octave higher. Really
twist em! Hard! Shifting his grip to the globes themselves, he
turned them what he was sure a quarter of their circumference and
held them there, squeezing hard. Aaaaahhhh!
What the hayul are yall doin? Maxine, gripping a quart of
Canadian Club in its tightly twisted paper bag, advanced rapidly on
the car. Sticking the bottle through the window, she glanced at Sadie,
who was buttoning her blouse with Lords help. They playin doctor
with you, Baby?
Um-hm, said Sadie. Cured me, too.
Get in, Maxine, said Lord. lets go.
Wait a minute, Nellie, said Maxine, I gotta piss. She squatted
beside the car, and did. Still adjusting her drawers, she climbed into
the back seat. Damn! Good thang I had mhigh heel shoes on! Hey,
honey. Jya miss me?
Moses half-open eyes scanned a new ceiling. Maxine lay beside him,
an outstretched elbow supporting the hand on which her head
rested. She used the forenger of the other one to trace delicate g-
ure 8s around his nipples. Mornin, she said, bending to kiss him.
How you feelin?
Hi. Not so bad. What time is it?
Little past nine. You hungry?
No. A beerd be good, though.
What a giiy, she said, getting up. Hope I got one.
They shared a Miller High Life on either side of more love-mak-
ing. Maxine lay on her side behind him, one hand on top of his
shoulder, massaging the trapezious muscle. It felt, she thought, like
Precious Lord 241
squeezing new rope. How long you been around here, anyway? she
asked.
About ve years.
Damn. And were just gettin around to meetin up. Guess we just
go to different places. I aint never been in that beer joint before last
niit.
Have you always lived here?
No, honey. Im from Alabama. Huntsville, up north. I come
down here the year after my sister did. She and her husband live on a
farmranchthey raise cattle, out south a town.
Whats their name?
Bishop. They call im Big Boy. He played ball over at Georgia
way back yonder. Met my sister there, and married her right outa
school. They moved to the farm, his daddys place. The old man
started raisin beef cattle out there amongst all these cotton-choppers
right after th rst war, and got lthy rich a-doin it. He died back just
before th big war, an Big Boy took it over. The twins was three, four
years old, and runnin my sister crazy. Theyve got some kinda thang
makes em act real crazy if they get too far from each other. Liike
theyus almost one person, but in two bodies. Know what I mean?
No.
Anyway, she us slonesome she jist begged me to come down. I
didnt much want toI didnt like this at land all that muchbut Big
Boy said hed set me up in my own shop, so I come on. I couldnt
turn at deal down.
I guess not. Now that I think about it, hes the guy that bought
my old car. He is a big boy. Saw im the other day; the damn things
got a permanent lean toward the drivers side now.
He breaks em all down like that. Weighs closeta four hunderd
pounds. So that white Buicks yore ole car? He dont drive it that
much any more. Th girls drive it around out tair on th ranch all th
time now.
So do you and your sister still see a lot of each other?
Oh, yeah, she said, rolling onto her back, stretching. Them
girlsre still runnin her crazy. Theyre fteen now, an wantin to
drive all over th place, now they got learners liicense. Sissys got all
she can do ta keep up with em. Takes em to th doctor over in
Atlanta twiist a month. Im payin this little customer of mine, Evvie,
whos got a driivers liicense, ta ride around with em some on
Saddy, just ta get em outa her hair for awhile.
Evvie. Evvie Summers?
YeahOh, Yeah! She works for you, dont she? Im just puttin this
together. Youre Mr. K! Shes mentioned you now an then. Aint that
somethin!
Evvie was the rst person I hired after I bought the Ritz. Shes a
lot smarter than she lets on. Well, anyway; you feelin better about
this at land by now?
She reached across him for the beer. Better than ever, sweetie.

It was a short walk from Maxines back to Ribeyes, where Moses
car was parked across the street. As he bent to put his key in the door,
he heard a whistle. He looked up to see Ribeye standing in the door-
way, waving him over.
Whats up, Rib? he asked as they stepped inside.
That giiy at us in here with Lord last niit. He come back after
yall left.
He did?
Yeah. Looked liike hell, but still had lovin on his mind. Guess he
went to th ho-tel and cleaned hisself up. He us surpriised yalld
done gone.
Whats his name? Mickey?
Yeah, I think so. Said he works overt at Savannah River plant.
Some kinda guard boss er sumpm.
Well, Nels says he really likes catsh. Thats a long drive just for
dinner.
Precious Lord 243
Well, like I said, he probly thinks hits a short drive if theys a lit-
tle poonsh thrown in.
Well, I guess hell be back, said Moses. Anybody likes sh that
much.
1920 Wednesday 12 October 1951:
He was back. He sat at a table near the Bisque Cafs cash register,
chatting conspiratorially with Nelson Lord. Even in mid-October,
the cafs fans still dusted into the warm air of early evening. Seeing
Moses come in, Lord waved him over. Mose, he said, his grin wid-
ening, comeer a minute. As Moses approached, the man still only
known as Mickey extended his hand. This heres Mickey Porter,
Lord said. You almost met him last week, but he had to leave in a
hurry.
Yeah, I noticed, said Moses, shaking the mans hand and joining
their laughter. But I heard you made a comeback. Thats a sure way
to build respect down on Eighth Street.
Looking down at him, Moses saw what hed later realize was the
sheen of lunacy oscillating deep in Porters eyes, which were bright
blue and surprisingly clear. Set in a balding head shining with tiny
sweat beads, they moved almost constantly in a gentle roll, illumi-
nating the ironic grin that widened his ruddy face an extra couple of
millimeters. Hell, I jus needed me a little drinkin room. I ate sa
many of this ole boys cat tother niit, there jus wont no place fer beer
ta go. Had ta say bye to them baweys rst. An I miit justa made th
same mistake agin.
Them catll stay down all right, Lord said, long as you dont
confuse em too much. Sadie had th butt end of a fth of gin in th
car, and he killed it between here and Ribs. Aint no sh wants to
swim too long in hard likker. Anyway, he said to Moses, were goin
partyin in a little bit, soons it gets so I can leave. Wanta come
along?
Ill leave it to you boys tonight; Im still restin up from last week.
But if you still have some of them cat left, Ill have some and sit here
and visit with Mickey til youre ready to leave. If you can stand to
watch me eat em, that is, he said, looking at Porter.
Sho. Sitcher ass down, podnuh.
Praise th lard, Lord said over his shoulder.
Moses sat across from Porter, continuing to size him up as he
stirred sugar into a large glass of the cafs presweetened tea. His bulk
was accentuated by the red oral-pattern shirt that he wore with the
tail out. Moses gured him to be a little better than six feet and two-
forty. Rib was tellin me youre from over at th
The blue eyes slowed to a stop, xing him with a rare steady gaze.
They call it th Savannah River Project. Thats about all I can say
about it. Pticly with my job.
Whatta ya do over there?
Security.
Thats gotta be some job. Makes sense that youd like to get this
far away from it now and then.
Porter blew out his cheeks, spraying a mist of tea as his eyes rolled.
Yeah, it is. I oughta be used to it by now. Hell, I us raised up over in
Spartanburg. But gettin aways just part of it. Id drive a lot farther
than this for a messa Old Nellies catsh.
Its the best I ever had. And on top athat, hell party witcha til
hell freezes over. What you guys doin tonight?
Dunno. Maybe get wid em same two from last week. Or maybe
some young stuff, if they show up before we leave. One time is little
fuckin looteant tole me, Sarge, theres survival fuckin, passion
fuckin, horny fuckin, an sport fuckinbut the greatest of these is
adventure fuckin. An at damn Nellies got em treed all over town,
he laughed, his eyes once again rolling free.
Ive heard a little about the site, Moses told him. Sounds like a
hell of a perimeter to guard.
Porters xed stare returned, focused on Moses. How you know?
Precious Lord 245
What?
How you know its a hell of a perimeter to guard?
Oh, you hear about things; like a cleared-off spot the size of
Texas across the river.
Where jyou hear it?
Hell; that storys all over town; Ive heard it lots of places, but I
couldnt tell you where I rst heard it.
Porter cast his eyes around the caf; they became visibly larger as
he brought them back to stare xedly at Moses. Was you in the ser-
vice?
Yes, I was.
What branch?
Navy.
Rank?
Aviation Machinists Mate, Third Class.
Porters face relaxed, his eyes continuing their lazy, elliptical
orbits. You oughta know this. Theres nuthinan I mean nuthin
more important than whats goin on over there. Well live or die
dependin on how secure we keep our nook-e-lar secrets. I been in
that business for quite awhile now. Pretty much from th start. An
Im over at SRP now. Shift supervisor in th security department.
Porters expansive forehead gleamed afresh as he drove his point
home. What Im sayin is this. We all got a duty ta do everthang we
can to make sure our nook-e-lar secretsre kept. I do my job the best
I can ever day, an you an everbody else around here needs to do
yalls. Th more you put SRP totally out of yer mind th more youll
hep us stay ahead of th Reds. Thats what thiss all about; keepin our
side so far ahead atheir side that they stay scared shitless awhat we
can do to em that they keep ere damn bombers in ere own friggin
airspace. That make sense?
Yeah, it makes sense, said Moses as a plate of hot, fragrant cat-
sh slid under his nose. He wagged a nger over them in Porters
direction. Want one?
Porter hesitated momentarily. Naw, I bed not. You go ahead. But
listen. You was military, an you know how impawtnt security is. Im
gonna ask ya to do sumpm. Not jus fu me, not jus fu you, but fuya
cuntry. OK?
Sure, said Moses, chewing. Whats that?
Jus avoid talkin about th SRP facilty. But if ya hafta talk about
it atallan I hope ywontjus call it SRP. OK? Not, fer Gods sake,
th bomb plant, er anythang like at. I caint tell ya much about th
operations overair; its all classaed. But I will tellya thisbomb-
makin aint no part of it.
Thats little enough to ask, Moses allowed. Guess youre glad to
be back home again.
What? Oh yeah. I am. Guess ya hafta get away from a place like
South Clina fer awhile before ya can preeshate it. My momma n
daddys dead, but I still got a buncha folks up in Spartanburg. Funny
thang, though. That guy from overn Aishville, Tom Wolfe? He wrote
a book called Ya Caint Go Home Agin. Heus riit, too, if he means
that it aint never no way th sameleast not fer me. My folks sho as
hell treat me differnt. Its hardta pin down, an when I try they tell
me its me thats changed. Mrst cousin, a ole boy I us raised up
with, weus settin on th porch at mgrandaddys las month. He
dont know about what duty Ive had, cause I caint talk about it, its
all classiedhe says to me, shakin his head back n forth like heus
preachinhe says Mickey, what in th hayul happened ta you? So I
say Whacha mean? an he says Its liike you aint here sometimes. I
mean when yare here. I called yer name jus now, three-four times,
fore you answered me. Iowno what theyve got you adoin downair,
but it aint adoin you no good. Ya know, ya git tireda hearin that,
even if its true. Its got me where Ida whole lot rather jus come on
down here an blow off some steam, steada lisnen to that shit on
mtime off.
Yeah, said Moses, I guess people thatve never done military
duty have a hard time understanding what a job it can be. Particu-
Precious Lord 247
larly your relatives. My mom and dadre dead too, but I dont think
they ever understood what I was doing, or what I had to deal with.
Civiliansre just in another world.
Thats it! Porter said, his voice dropping as the luminous blue
eyes looked around the caf once more. They are! Its another
fuckin world fer them! They caint possibly understand what the hell
its liike ta know whats goin onan what could go on, if them fuckin
reds had their way. Thema my kin that aint still on th landre
punchin th timeclock at th cotton mill, aint been nowhere an aint
seen shit. How th hell can ya expect anythang else? Listen, anybody
that hasnt seen the powerv nook-e-lar ssion for therself caint
imagine what were dealin with.
Well, said Moses, that includes most of the worldand me.
Porter looked around the cafs perimeter once again, then riveted
Moses with a conspiratorial gaze as he bent toward him. I us at Los
Alamos, when they set off what they called th gadget, th rst nook-
e-lar explosion. I had guard duty at th Omega Site one niit about a
month later, 21 August 45, when this guy Ragland, one of th scien-
tists, come in ta th lab ta work. He us one ubm doin sumpm they
called criticality experiments. They had these little bricks ametal
damn heavy fer ther size, th way they handled emone obmd t in
th palm ayer handand theyd lissen to th radiation counters while
they stacked em up, one at a time. They us tryin ta make this balla
49 metal inside th stack do what they called goin critical.
He showed up around 2130. He said hey an went straight over
ta th assembly bench. He went over ta th vault n took out th balla
49 metal. He started stackin bricks an th instruments commenced
ta clickin. I us sittin with mback to im; wudnt but a few minutes
til I heard a clunk and th whole wall in fronta me lit up blue. I
wheeled mchair around and saw Ragland just astandin air, is arms
hangin down by is side, limpliike. I hollered at im, What th hell
happened?
He said She went critical, Sarge. He started takin down th
blocksn stackin em overt th siide. I need some help. I started out
to alert th duty ofcer, an ran inta this gal, a lab assistant, on th way
in. What happened? she ast me, an I tole er what I knew. She said
Im taking him to the inrmary. I ran out ta th duty ofce an
briefed th duty ofcer. Pretty soon th place was a fuckin madhouse.
They hauled my ass off ta th base hospital; they me there for a cou-
pla days, then gimme liit duty til October.
What happened to Ragland? asked Moses.
Shit, heus dead inside a month. They let me in tsee im once, an
itus all I could do ta stay inair fer a coupla minutesr so. Heus
awake, but swole up like a balloon and hurtin bad. I said Hey, Doc,
an he looked over at me an saw who it was. He smiled, best as he
could, an said Hi, Sarge. Sorry. Heus dead a week later.
And youve been OK since then?
Oh, yeah. They transferred me up ta th Presidio, in Frisco, an
gimme anuther striipe. Then downere ta SRP las month.
Thats some story, Mickey. Ill keep it to myself, said Moses.
I wouldna toldja if I didnt thinkya would, said Mickey. I caint
talk ta just anybody about it, see. But you-
Ill sit on it. For sure, said Moses. Whats amazing to me is that
youve still got the stomach for it.
Porters blue eyes turned into agates. Fer whut?
For nuclearuh, research.
I tole you, he shouted. Whats goin on at SRPs classied, got-
dammit, an I aint discussin it, widju er anybidy else. Id liike ta hope
theyd be some sensa security in th civilyun popyalashun. Miit as
well expect ta nd a platoona virgins down ere at at slop chute
weus at tother niit.
Mose. It was Reba, grimfaced.
Yes, Reba.
Are you leavin any time soon?
I was just about to, as a matter of fact.
Precious Lord 249
Then Id appreciate you takin this gentleman with you, before I
hafta ask him to leave.
Porter looked sleepily up at her. You know, sister, Id marry you
just so I could beat you up. Then his gaze shifted to the kitchen
doors. Yunder comes Nellie!
And, thought Moses as he regarded Rebas momentary paralysis,
not a moment too soon.
0835 Thursday 1 November 1951:
Morning, Mose, said Bruce Goode, opening the door to his ofce
and smiling broadly. Nice to see you; our paths havent crossed for
quite awhile. He waved Moses into the chair at the corner of his
desk. Hows the beverage business?
Fine, just ne, Bruce; everything jake in the world of legalities?
Couldnt be better, thanks, said Goode, his broad smile widen-
ing. Well, I guess it could get a little better, depending on what I can
do for you this morning.
I need a will.
Yes, always a good idea to keep your will up to date.
Im not talkin about updating anything; theres nothing to
update. I need a brand new will, since Ive never had one.
Goodes eyes widened slightly as he pushed back his chair; the
weighty package slid back on well-oiled wheels and bumped the
heavy-laden book case behind him, sitting him abruptly upright.
Well, he said, Looks like weve got the proverbial clean sheet of
paper to work with. Pulling one of two Parker 51 pens from his
onyx-based desk set, he scribbled something at the top of the top
sheet of the fresh legal pad that gleamed canary yellow in the morn-
ing sun. Why dont we start with a list of your assets. Did you bring
along a list of them, by chance?
No, I didnt; dont really think itll matter if Im leavin everything
to one person, will it?
Goodes lower lip protruded a little while his eyes remained wide.
No, I dont suppose so, but with wills its a good idea to be as spe-
cic as possible. We can ll them in later to whatever degrees neces-
sary. Whos the lucky legatee?
Jack Mason, said Moses.
I see. Well, well need to provide for the period of time between
now and the time that he reaches legal majority. Should you, God
forbid, die before he reaches legal age, the property that you leave to
him will have to be placed in a trust until he does.
Bruce, Im more than happy to leave those details in your hands.
Mose, a trust must be administered by a trustee. Youll need to
give some thought as to who youd like that to be.
Moses looked at him for a moment, then glanced out the win-
dow and as he said, His motherll be ne.
Goode looked back at him momentarily, with an air of being
about to say something and, having thought better of it, said some-
thing else. Well get a draft ready for you to look over; just as a start-
ing point, you understand. Ill call you in a week or so. In the
meantime, Id appreciate it if you could get up a list of your assets for
us to plug in there; wegn have it picked up whenever youre
ready
OK, Moses agreed. Ill call you in a couple days.
- 251 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 5
Jus Rub On It
0810 Saturday 8 October 1951:
Moses, his back to the door, turned turned toward the scuff of Jacks
approaching bare feet on the hall carpet. Hey, shitbird, he said, sit-
ting the percolator down on the kitchen counter.
Yo, shitbuzzard, yawned Jack as he pulled a chair out to take a
seat at the kitchen table.
Good game last night. Four catches.
Yeah. I coulda had more if theyda left me in.
Well, Moses said, sliding a cup of coffee in front of him, you
made the best of the time you were in. That one down in the at was
really nice. Right at twenty yards, Id say, and over your offside
shoulder.
Yeah. The plays called 15 Out, but Ricky and Ive been doin that
one since Mr. Harris taught it to us in sixth grade.
You and he are doin a hell of a job as sophomores, said Moses.
and youve got a lot of the season left. If you werent playin behind a
senior, youd be rst string for what you did last night. Ricky too. He
played most of th second half as it was.
Yeah, he did. Im glad we went into th second half ahead 23 to
nothing, so Coach put im in early. He didnt screw up once.
Dont forget, he had number 81 to throw to. Foldberg woulda
been prouda you.
Jack grinned at hearing the name. Dan Foldberg. All-America,
Army, 1950. Whatta guy. Wonder if hes in Korea, right now?
Wouldnt be surprised, said Moses. But wherever he is, hed
love to know about what you did while you were wearin his number
last night.
I hope so. Doubt Ill ever be in his league, to say nothin of Davis
or Blanchard.
Hey! Armys had some great teams, but even Foldberg couldnt
get em by Navy in 50.
Jack laughed. Yeah, that was the high point of the year for you
and Gene Debs. 14 to 2. Yall had way too much fun that day; I had
to drive im home, remember?
Yeah, I sure do. That was th day he spilled th beans to you about
us shootin up Chili Dogn them.
Oh, yeah! What a storywe havent seen th Klan around here
since. Pissed me off that yall didnt tell me.
I was goin to tell you later. Tell you th truth, I didnt know how
long a war Id started with those fuckin idiots, and I didnt wanta get
you involved with somethin that mighta had a nasty side to it. Hell,
ol Cat Dander was in with that gaggle agoons.
Yeah, I know, Jack said, standing up to rell his cup. Scuttlin
around th lobby with angry-lookin scorch-spots on his ratty-ass
head. Th whole story was all over town in a coupla days, and every-
body knew damn well that you had sumpm to do with it. Nobody
guessed th bazooka part, though. I bet he was fartin sumpm besides
shave and a haircut that day. That was really some job. You and
Foldbergre my two Jewish heroes. So far. he added.
Well, Im glad you said so far, buddy. Because when you add the
Jewish adjective, Lieutenant Dan Foldberg and I take serious back
seats to a lot of people. David Ben-Gurion, for instance.
Oh, yeah. Israels head guy, right?
Jus Rub On It 253
Right, said Moses with a big grin. Youve been readin the
papers. You know why theres an Israel in the rst place?
Just that the Germans killed all those Jews during the war, and
that most everybody thought that the Jews should be able to go back
and live in their original homeland.
Good, as far as it goes. But heres what you probably dont know.
The Jewsve been trying to get back to their homeland of Israel since
before I was born, and Ben-Gurions been at the heart of that process
for all that time. Hes been an advocate, a criminal, a spy, a soldier, a
politician and now a statesman. In fact, Hes the founder of Israel.
Thats my idea of a hero.
Mine, too. I just thought the whole thing came out of the war,
said Jack.
It did; youre just thinkin of the wrong war. Their wars been
going on for a long time, and its not over. The League of Nations
gave England sumpm called a mandate over Palestine at the end of
World War I. They partitioned Palestine into Arab and Jewish states.
England gave up the mandate back in 1948, after the Jewish State was
declared, and the war between Arabs and Jews got goin almost
immediately. The United Nations came in as mediator, to very little
effect. Because Ben-Gurion saw to it that Israel had a serious army,
they got control of a fair amount of Arab land. And theyre still
ghtin, every day, to keep it.
They must be some kinda people. Youre lucky to be one.
Moses laughed. A lot of people wouldnt see it that way, but I
guess you know that.
Hell, Mose, a lotta peoplere fulla shit. Far as Im concerned, Ive
learned a lot more from you than I have at school. He looked out
the window as a ock of geese swept over the house, headed for a
landing on the pond. And youve seen me play more football than
my Dad ever will, which is none. He continued to look out the win-
dow, after the geese were gone, ghting his tears.
Moses busied himself, rst at the sink, transferring coffee from
the percolator to a pitcher, then opening the refrigerator door and
putting it inside. By the time the door closed, Jack was on his feet
and heading back down the hall. Minutes later, he was back with a
question. Do you know what a fack-ade is?
A what? Moses asked, relieved at the boys change of mood.
A fack-ade. See here?
He had a volume of Moses encyclopedia, open to the entry on
Buckingham Palace. He read as he put a ngernail under the word in
question. Built by the Duke of Buckinham in 1703. Residence of
British rulers since 1837. Located in Westminster metropolitan bor-
ough, London, England, near St. Jamess Park. Purchased by George
III in 1761. Remodeled in 1825 by John Nash; the eastern fack-ade
was added in 1847.
Oh, said Moses with a grin, Faade; that means the front.
Comes from a French word, so its pronounced fuh-sahd. Some-
times, when somebodys putting up a front, peoplell say that theyre
hiding behind a faade. Whatcha doin, homework?
Jacks answering grin had a sardonic twist. Naw. I just woke up
thinkin about Buckinham Palace. Hell, yes, homework. A paper,
really. For my History class; on government in England. Ive got til
the end of the month, but I thought I might get a start on it with
your encyclopedia. Im not meetin Rickyn them til one.
Whatre yall doin?
Just gonna take a little ride on th bikes.
Looks like theres Whizzersre all over town these days, said
Moses.
Theres a bunch, Jack agreed. Ol Roys business has sure
picked up since he started sellin em. I preeshate you lettin me keep
mine out here. The less Mom sees it, the better.
Yeah, Momsre like that. Hell, its just a small step up from a bicy-
cle. You dont even need a drivers license.
Jus Rub On It 255
Theyre really fun, though. And since I already had my spring-
fork Schwinn to put the motor in, it didnt cost near as much as a
Cushman or anything. Denitely worth a hundred and ten. And you
helpin me puttin it together saved me twenty-ve.
Glad youre enjoyin it, pal. Hows it runnin?
Just ne. Im gonna drop in a new plug and check the points
before I leave. But Im gonna jump on Buckinham Palace for awhile.
You xin breakfast?
Smiling as he turned back to the sink, Moses said, Yeah, Ill call
ya. Go get em, Bud.
As they nished their breakfast of wafes and bacon, a particular
favorite of Jacks, he leaned back in his chair and blew out his cheeks.
Wish we could come back here to spend th niit. This Sunday mor-
nin routine overt Rickys is gettin a little old.
His folks wont make an exception to him bein in church every
Sunday? asked Moses as he relled their coffee cups.
Hmp, Jack grunted. Bout as much chancea that happenin as
th sun comin up in th west. Its like theyre afraid hell run outa
God if he dont get topped up once a week. I cant see it; maybe Im
missin sumpm, I dawnno.
Im sure they think theyre doin right by im, said Moses. Its
probably what their parents insisted on, too. Most of what people do
about Gods what they were told to do as kids by the minigodstheir
parents.
Was that the way it was with you? Jack asked him.
Pretty much. My papas people were Catholic, but he was the
typical academic of his time; he looked down his nose at most of the
world, but particularly at religious people. His favorite text was the
essays of Thomas Huxley, who did a lot to popularize the views of
Charles Darwin. Youve no doubt heard of im.
Oh, yeah, said Jack. The evolution guy.
Thats th one. They called im Darwins Bulldog, and ol Dad
loved im. The unmeetable challenge of the twentieth century, he
used to say, is to replace discredited myth-based gods, and the guilt-
fed religions that perpetuate them, with something superior to these
so-called belief systems. An enlightened world will have no patience
with irrational answers to rational questions. Humanity itself must
provide the inspiration for societys evolution.
Wow! He didnt beat around th bush, did he?
Oh, theres more; I mustve heard it two, three times a week.
This objective will not be reached as long as humanity remains far
too abundant a commodity. Short-sighted leaders who are afraid to
confront the need to reduce population growth will bring the world
to a gradual and tragic standstill.
Couldnt call him an optimist, couldja?
No. I called him Herr Boss, which sorta tickled im and pissed
im off at th same time. And my mama came from the kind of Jewish
background that didnt have much truck with God beyond a polite
nod at the various holy days as they came and went. As a kid, I asked
him why most of the people that lived around us went to church, and
we didnt. Superstition, hed say. A total waste of time. And that was
it for him. Case closed.
So thats how you look at it too?
Yeah, pretty much. Guess Id say, like Huxley, if you cant see it or
measure it somehow, its not worth worryin about. Meanwhile, the
church bandies the Holy Trinity about, and th faithful respond with
th Bisque Trifectalow self-esteem, delayed gratication and parent-
hoodearly and frequent. Long as that goes on, I dont see how peo-
ple have a chance in hell of gettin a handle on what lifes about.
All this hootin an hollerin about God an what he wants us to
do about this an that.
Well, it comes down mostly to fear. Most people dont like to
think about dyin, and more so not havin a nice place to go when
they do. And thats one thing every religion I know anything about
guarantees. When you die, you go someplace else, good, bad or
indifferent. And generally, the closer you cleave to the rules of what-
Jus Rub On It 257
ever religion thats under consideration, the nicer your new destina-
tions likely to be. Plus, its an ego shot for whatever priesthoods
involved. Easy to imagine what the rst caveman priesthood had to
say to each other about gettin th parishioners cranked up; Heylets
tell em theyll get it all in this place, Heaven, after they die, as long as
they agree how bad theyve been and kick a tenth of their bearskins
into thelets call it, umm, church, then their, uh, spiritsll live really
well, forever, in Heaven! Makes th old saw Whacha dawno wont
hurt ya ring a little hollow, huh?
Jack chuckled. So you dont believe we go anywhere when we
die?
Nowhere but back to Mother Earth, sooner or later. Dont see
much evidence to th contrary.
Thats pretty much what Mom says, too. Sometimes. And if there
is a goddoes that mean you need to worship it? Why would it care?
So why are so many people religious?
Or whore pleased to say that they are? Th number of truly reli-
gious people in th world whore capable of holdin on to true and
abidin self-delusions a pretty small fraction of that bunch. For th
majority, Ive got no better answer than what I said a minute ago:
just th simple human fear of dyin. Unless its sumpm that scares a
lot of people more than dyin.
Whats that? Jack asked, eyes shiny with the search for truth.
Hell, son. Bein different.
1405 Saturday 8 October 1951:
Hurry, Di, fore she changes her mind! Dolores Bishops long legs
propelled her through the front door into the warm Fall afternoon,
her twin sister at her heels. She ran across the porch and down the
steps, snatching open the white cars drivers door. Diana, unhappy
at being outmaneuvered, slid with clinched teeth onto the front seat
from the other side. Dolores stepped on the starter as she closed the
door, pulled the gearshift lever down into low, and got the car mov-
ing down the driveway. Unconsciously matching her gum-chewing
rhythm to the wheels skrunch-skrunch over the pea-gravel, she
glanced with a wide-eyed grin at her twin sister. I still dont believe
it! she said as they turned north out of the driveway toward Bisque,
the big straight-eights torque building implacably under her right
foot. Were drivin to town, just you an me!
Damn these learners licenses anyway. Be a lot better if we could
just cruise around by ourselves, steada havin to pick Evvie up, said
Diana. Just cause shes got a license. Any boys we run intoll spend
all their time lookin at her chest.
We promised Mama wed go straight to pick her up, and thats
what were gonna do. If thats all we have to do to get out cruisin in
this ole car, Evvie can lean out the window and shake them titties in
the breeze if she wants to.
Thats what wed have to do to get some attention, with her
along, said Diana.
I will if you will, Dolores said with a grin, not taking her eyes off
the road.
Evelyn Summers lived in a small house near Bradenton Mills, one
of many virtually identical clapboard bungalows that the textile
company built in the thirties to house its workers. She stepped out
onto the front porch within seconds of Dolores drumming out
shave-and-a-haircut on the horn.
At nineteen, she dressed to command the attention of every post-
pubescent male who crossed her path. Her shiny, straight brown hair
fell in a heavy mass onto the shoulders of a teal-blue sweater, which,
with no blouse underneath it, embraced the contours of rm, black-
lace-brassiere-constrained adolescent breasts the size and shape of
fancy-grade tangerines. A tiny football player, suspended in mid-
stride from a ne-linked, gold-colored chain, shot a stiff-arm into
her cleavage. The view presented by the sweaters scooped neckline,
its effect diminished only slightly by a scattershot of tiny skin erup-
tions over the hemispheres that continued up over her neck and face,
Jus Rub On It 259
promised a hard tweak to small-town sensibilities. Her tan wool
skirt, cut modishly long, split well past the knee on the right side,
dropped down over black mesh stockings whose seam ran from
panty-girdle clips into ballerina slippers.
She opened the cars back door and looked inside. Godamighty!
she breathed, gauging the distance from the folded jump seats on her
right to the back seat on her left. What a playpen! Climbing in, she
settled herself on the white cars dove-gray upholstery, extending her
arms to stroke it with attened palms, exhaling a small sigh that
pushed the scent of her perfume forward to the twins. You sure you
can drive this thang?
Were here, aint we? said Diana, twisting around to look at her.
Weve been drivin it all over the ranch for a year; were way past
ready.
Well, then, drive on, honey; Ill just lay back on this di-van and
see if I can get over that ball game last niit. Winnin a game, after this
losins gone on foreveritus tough on us pore cheerleaders when
them boysd just go out an get beat, game in an game out. Im glad
Im not doin it no moreby th second half, even if weus ta win, th
crowd probly wont yell, less you end up after every cheer, and
show em yer cute little asses.
Sounds like fun to me, specially if theyre gonna win now an
then, said Diana. Were tryin out next year. Maybe you can help us
outwe need to practice showing emour cute little asses.
Sure; I guess so, Evvie said. Good lands, she thought, when
Maxine said shed gimme ten bucks to ride around with these kids
on Saturday afternoon, I didnt bargain for no big sister bidness.
But its moren I make in a niit of sellin tickets at the Winston, and
their daddys loaded. I guess I could get to know me a rich boy or two
if I went to their friends parties. Its not like Im that much older.
And they seem like they could be kinda wild if they got the chance. I
can get you girls all set to get picked next year, but youll have to
work with me. Itll take some tiime.
How would we do it? asked Dolores, as she turned right on
Main Street.
Well, we could practice once a week for an hour. Some time
when Im not workin. And I can tell you a few thangs about gettin
friendly with th junior cheerleaders, wholl be seniors then. They all
have a vote on who the new onesll be. Maxines gonna hafta pay me
more than she gured, thought Evvie. But shell get it the same place
that she got this ten; from these kids mama. Since theyre sisters and
all.
That sounds great to me, said Diana, pulling down the sun visor
to peer into the vanity mirror mounted on its back side. Wonder
wholl be at th Dog House?
Well, well know in just a minute, said Dolores as the car
approached the top of the hill at Main and Fifteenth streets. As they
reached the intersection, the girls all looked to the left at a couple of
dozen cars parked in a cratered, gravel-surfaced lot. The lot sloped
up toward a small building sitting under translucent red light bulbs
that spelled out DONS DOG HOUSE. Dolores put her arm out the
window to signal a stop. They began identifying cars as they waited
for a break in the oncoming trafc that would let her turn into the
lot.
Theres Gary Sartains 48 Mercury, Evvie said as they turned
into the lot. They say hes had it up to a hunderd and fteen or
somethin.
Whats he doin now, anyway? asked Dolores. Hes been outa
school for a couple of years.
Anybody he can, I reckon, Evvie said with the faintest of smiles.
Dolores pulled the car into a vacant spot under a big oak tree. A
slight negro boy in a white coat and paper Dog House hat saw them
parking and walked out to the car. Whachoo ladies gonna have
today? he asked, smiling as he looked the white car over from stem
to stern.
Jus Rub On It 261
Hey there, Eugene. Lemme have a cherry Cocola and an a order
a pickles, said Evvie.
Me, too, said Diana.
Make it three, said Dolores, craning her neck to survey the cars
and the boys standing around them. As the carhop left, she said, I
shoulda backed in here.
No, said Evvie. Dont make it look like you wanta see these ole
boys that much. Theyll start comin over directly; thiss a new car to
th Dog House, an theyll wanta see whos in it.
Theres Freddie Dawson over there talkin to that bunch in Lynne
Browne-who-thinks-her-shit-dont-stinks car, said Diana, indicat-
ing a tall boy with brush-cut blond hair, leaning on his hands against
the drivers door of a Plymouth station wagon with four girls inside.
Sho nuff, said Evvie. He had a good game last niit, even
though we lost, as usual. Intercepted at one pass an ran it back all
th way, for our only touchdown. Mustve been thirty-ve, forty
yards.
Cute as shit, observed Dolores, And smart, too. They say hes
goin to West Point.
Where? said Evvie
West Point. The Army school, up North.
Oh. No point in messin with him, Evvie thought. I need me a
Georgia Tech boy or two, to go see in Atlanta.
As the carhop locked the tray of paper-plated pickle slices and
Coca-Colas onto Dolores door, Jack rapped on the trunk as he,
Ricky and Walt Jefferson rode in on their Whizzers. The girls swiv-
eled in unison as they rode to the base of the big tree in front of the
car, echo tube exhausts booming, shutting the bikes down and
leaning them against the big tree. Hey girls, said Jack, walking over
to the car and looking inside. Cruisin in the old Mose-mobile,
huh?
Hey, Jack, said Evvie, looking at Walt Jefferson as she did. That
Jefferson kids folksve got half the money in Hamm County, she
thought, an that brother of his looks real sharp. Wherdjall nd
them rattletraps? Gonna get mufers for em some day?
Mufers? said Ricky, looking through the back window at Evvie
and her assets. What for? Thats way too mellow a sound to be
chokin down with a mufer. Come take a ride with me; youll like
the sound when youre sittin on it.
Youre crazy, Evvie sniffed. This heres the kinda riide I liike.
Smooth an quiet; room ta stretch out. Hop in an see what I mean.
I know all about this ole car, said Jack as they scrambled into the
back, he and Walt unfolding the jump seats as Ricky slid onto the
back seat beside Evvie. I rode around in it some with Mose Kubiel-
ski, before he traded it in. That was a long time ago; how do yall like
it?
We learned to drive in it, said Diana, smiling, turning on the
seat to look back at him, wide-set brown eyes glowing with secret
thoughts, and we love it. I guess you always love the car you learned
to drive in. Jyou ever drive it?
Nope. It was gone before I was big enough to want to. Looks like
fun, though.
Those motorbikes look like fun, too, said Diana. Ive seen yall
on em at school. How fast can they go?
Fifty-plus down that hill out there, said Ricky, sitting as close to
Evvie as he dared. Walts brothers got the new model; its a little
faster than ours.
Supposed to do sixty-ve, ventured Walt out of painful shyness.
Hed heard about Evvie; who hadnt? And now he was sitting in the
same car with her, and Terrell trying to look down her dress. If they
knew where I was right now, he thought, my folksd shit. They hadnt
been that hot about his getting a Whizzer in the rst place, even
though Charlie, his older brother, had had the rst one in Bisque.
But it was different with Charlie, whod go on to unk out of Georgia
in two quarters, which is fairly hard to do, and come home to his
new career of nail-driving. So his folks had long since ratcheted
Jus Rub On It 263
down their expectations for Charlie, and at the same time ratcheted
up for him. And their expectations didnt include what his father
would, he was sure, label whore-mongering. He says he can soup
up the older ones to be just as fast, though.
As fast as that little black un Freddy useta have? asked Evvie
with a grin. I had a riide on that rascal one tiime.
You ought to catch a ride with im now, said Ricky, who had slid
his arm from the top of the seat back down to a point where it barely
grazed Evvies shoulders. That 40 coupe of hiss full-race.
I know, she said, sitting up on the edge of the seat and stretching
her arms up to the headliner, arching her back and stopping all
breathing in the back of the white car but her own. Him an his
Charles Atlas Di-matic Tension. He takes me home sometiimes after
I get off at the Winston. It makes too dayum much noise, too.
Does Mr. Kubielski ever let you drive that wagon of his, Jack?
asked Dolores.
Mose? Yeah, just a couple of times out to his house. I wont have
a learners license til next month.
Mose. Why do we always want to call him Pedro, I wonder? Or
Peter. We just cant help it.
Beats th hell outa me, said Jack. Hes a damn good guy, but I
dont think hes Saint Peter.
No, said Diana, her face solemn. We dont think so either.
He miit not be no saint, said Evvie, But hes the best boss I ever
had. Wish my boss on my full-time job was half as niice as Mr. K. If
he us ten er fteen years younger, Id see what I could do about mar-
ryin im.
And all this time, said Jack with a chuckle, Weve been thinkin
youd be Miz Wahoo someday.
Evvie skewered him with a look that made him realize hed made a
mistake. I dont think that giiy belongs in this here conversation, do
you? Watch im back offa this, she thought. That damn Wahoo
miita stuck that big dick inta me a tiime or two, but its been in his
mama, too, and everybidy in town, includin Jack, knows it.
Hey! Jack said, reaching for the cars door handle and opening it
without looking at Evvie again. If were gonna make it over to Water-
ville today, we better shag ass. See yall.
Walt? said Evvie before he could get to the door.
Uh, yeah?
Would you mind doin somethin for me?
Whats that? he managed in a strangled squawk.
Tell Charlie Id love a riide on that new model. Habnt seen him
since hiigh school.
Uh, OK.
Dont forget. Id rilly preshate it.
Diana hopped out of the car as they headed toward the Whizzers.
Jack. Wait a minute. He turned as she walked up the hill toward
them, almost as tall as he was, her white tennis outt in sharp con-
trast to her slow-to-fade summer tan, the tenacious ghost of Evvies
scent clinging to her. Smiling, she touched the bikes clutch lever.
Whats this do?
Clutch, he said, still dealing with the olfactory message. Lets th
engine run when th bikes standin still.
I know what a clutch does, she said. How about a ride around
the block?
Were just takin off to Waterville
Oh, come on, itll just take a minute. You can drive our car
When?
Anytime you want to. Dont you have to get on rst?
He said nothing for a minute, then smiled. Yeah, Ive gotta sit on
the gas tank. You sit on the seat. Theres no place for your feet. Just
let em hang down, and watch out for stuff in the street. Wait while I
crank up. Hey, he called to Ricky and Walt, Back in a minute;
gonna take er for a quick ride. He straddled the Whizzer combina-
tion of air-cooled motor and bicycle, a single cast iron cylinder on
Jus Rub On It 265
top of an aluminum crankcase that occupied the usually empty space
between the wheels of its host, a maroon spring-fork Schwinn that
had long since shed its fenders, but retained its pedals and chain. A
combination of two vee-belts took the Whizzers booming, if asth-
matic, power pulses from its ywheel rst to the clutch pulley, thence
to a sheave screw-clamped to the spokes of the rear wheel. Jack
pulled the handlebar-mounted compression release to open the
exhaust valve, rolled the Whizzer down the hill into the parking lot
and pushed the release shut as the bike hit walking speed. Deceiv-
ingly powerful thrums exited the echo tube. Thus did some three
horsepower take Young America into harms way.
Jack swung the idling bike around, heading it downhill to let grav-
ity, rather than some undignied pedaling, get them moving. Sliding
forward onto the gas tank, he glanced down to check the clearance
between his right knee and the spark plug, contact with which would
bring a shock like a lick from a baseball bat. Responding to his beck-
oning wave, Diana ran out and swung a leg over the seat, putting her
arms around Jacks waist and grinning at Evvie and Dolores, who
had gotten out of the car to observe the launch. Dont you get too
far away, Di, Dolores shouted.
As Jacks left hand gradually released the clutch lever, his right
twisted the throttle grip open. They were off. He banked the bike to
the right and headed across the parking lot to Fifteenth street,
Dianas outstretched legs an ongoing threat to stability.
As they reached the end of the block where Fifteenth dead-ended
into Juniper, Jack looked both ways and, with no trafc on Juniper,
ran the stop sign, maintaining their momentum and crossing the
street into the Juniper Street Grammar Schools parking lot. He
turned left and headed toward the athletic eld, loving the echo
tubes booming sounds as they bounced off the side of the building.
This is really fun! Diana shouted as they circled the eld. I wanta
ride it some time.
As they returned to the parking lot, a pale green 50 Chevrolet
two-door turned into the lot from the opposite end. Preston, Jack
thought. As the distance closed between them, the car moved quickly
to its left toward the bike. Jack saw it in time to swerve, jumping the
curb as the car ashed by. The quick movement and Dianas ailing
legs put the bike into side-to-side oscillations that almost dropped
them onto the schoolyard grass before he got it stopped. They sat
there in mild shock for a moment before realizing that the car had
stopped and backed up to a point just behind them. They turned to
see the drivers door open and Preston Rogers argyle-socked,
Weejun-shod feet slide out. Gee, Im awfully sorry, he said, smirk-
ing. Hope youre not shook up or anything. As he spoke, Kenny
Browns head and large shoulders appeared above the roof on the
other side of the coupe.
Fuck you, Jack croaked. Hop off, Di. As she did, he swung his
leg over the bike, closed the gas tap under the tank and dropped it on
its side. He walked toward Preston, not knowing exactly what he was
going to do. This guy was no athlete, unless you counted golf, but he
was a couple years older than him, and Kenny the Ape, whod man-
aged to hang on to a second-string tackle position on the Bisque
Bears, appeared to be backing him up. All he could do was take
Moses advice about handling trouble. Meet it head-on, keep your
options open, and watch the other guys eyes.
Preston hadnt expected the situation to develop into anything. It
had just been a target of opportunity; he and Kenny had seen people
on one of those shitty little motorbikes like Terrells. Once he realized
that it wasnt Terrell, he thought, he shouldve just forgotten it. But it
was his asshole buddy, Mason, and he just couldnt let it go without
doing something. Whatd you say?
Jack, now two feet away, responded off the top of his head. I said
fuck you, Rogers. What the hell you think youre doin? Cant you
drive that shitcan?
Jus Rub On It 267
Youre the po-tential accident, said Preston, checking Kennys
position with a quick glance over his shoulder. Pissin around outa
control with a passenger on that goddam stomach pump; hell, you
dont even have a drivers license. Youre lucky youre both not in an
ambulance right now. You still could be, if you dont get on that pie-
cea crap and get outa here. He reached a hand out to Jacks chest to
push him. As a dim memory of a mail-order judo book illustration
jumped into clarity, Jack clapped both of his hands on top of Pre-
stons, anchoring it to his chest, and quickly bent forward at the
waist. His hand bent back to the limit of its travel, and Preston went
to his knees, yelping in pain and surprise.
Jack, just as surprised, stepped back, saying nothing as Preston
scrambled to his feet, gripping his wrist with his other hand as he
fought back tears of embarrassment. Kenny! What the hells going
on? Get that bastard! Kennys synapses labored through his mental
molasses, processing the non-ght; eyes narrow, lips drawn back
over green teeth, hed picked up considerable momentum as he
rounded the corner of the car, his objective a collision with Jack at
destruct velocity. He collided instead with Dianas outstretched foot,
sending his two-fty-plus crashing nose-rst to the concrete, lungs
exhausting in a whooshy grunt. Stepping between his splayed legs,
she eliminated any remaining interest in carnage with a smart kick in
the balls. And she wasnt done.
Stepping over Kennys fetally-contracted body, Diana moved past
Jack and confronted Preston, looking straight into his distended eyes
with a fury that neither boy could have ever imagined. She screeched
Asshole! Asshole! Asshole! Her face distorted by an anger that
seemed to have no place to stop short of murder, she grabbed the
boys sore wrist and smashed it against the cars fender. As he
screamed, she reached down and gripped both his ankles, pulling his
feet out from under him. Preston sat down hard on his coccyx, cry-
ing uncontrollably. Diana turned back to Kenny and kicked him in
the side of the head, continuing the Asshole! chant.
In the forty seconds since bastard had left Prestons lips, Jack
had been a dumbstruck spectator. Seeing that Diana had no inten-
tion of stopping her assault, he tackled her as she jumped up and
down on Kennys midsection, taking her into the grass and rolling
on top of her. Di! Stop! Theyre hurt. Theyre hurt bad!
No, theyre not, grated Diana. But theyre gonna be. Lemme
up. As she struggled to get up of Jacks grip, the Bishops car rolled
to a stop beside them, two Whizzers on its tail.
Diana! screamed Dolores. Whatd you do?
Jesus Christ, said Ricky, running to the pair, looking over them
at Preston and Kenny. What the hell happened, Jack? Get offa her!
Seeing her sister, Diana stopped struggling and sat up, crying softly.
Everyone jumped out of the white car; Dolores pushed the boys
out of the way and sat on the grass next to her sister, holding her,
stroking her hair and talking to her in hushed, soothing tones. Ricky
gave Jack a hand up and, under Evvies watchful gaze, pulled him
aside. What the fuck did you do to those guys, and how?
I didnt do a damn thing, Jack replied, looking xedly at Preston
and Kenny, who were still on the pavement. It was Di.
Bullshit.
No. But I wouldnt believe it if I hadntve seen it myself. She went
nuts. It was like she was a different person.
What happened?
After hearing Jacks recap of the events of the past few minutes, a
fast-growing smile lit Rickys face. Holy shit, he said, She must be
friggin fast. Come on. He walked over to a spot between Preston
and Kenny. Hey Preston, hows it feel to have a girl kick your ass and
the helps? If I was you, Id be keepin my distance from these girls.
Just think what both of em could do to ya. Prestons wet face looked
up at Ricky and Jack with high-test hatred, saying nothing and say-
ing everything. Kenny, who had rolled to a sitting position against a
back wheel of the green coupe, made a move to get up that his body
Jus Rub On It 269
quickly vetoed. I wouldnt do that, Ken, said Ricky in a stage whis-
per. Shes still here.
Accidents will happen, boys, said Jack. Get well soon. He
walked over to the girls. Everything OK?
It is now, at least as far as Dianas concerned, said Dolores. Will
those boys be OK?
Oh, sure, Jack said, standing the Whizzer up on its wheels.
Well wait on you girls to get outa here. Yall ready? The boys red
up their bikes, turned and waited for the Buick to back up and pull
out of the lot.
Dolores headed the car toward town on Julep, away from the Dog
House and back to Evvies. Yall gotta be straight wi me now, said
Evvie, who had gotten into the front seat with the twins, Pticly if
Im gonna hep you make cheerleader next year. I heard Jack say that
you us th one laid them two big boys out, Diana. I never saw
nuthin like that in my life. Yall must be ju-jitzers r sumpm. Whats
goin on?
Its nothin, said Dolores, Just that were better off stickin
together. If we get too far away from each other, sometimes we get
excited and do stuff that we ought not to.
Like what?
Like that situation back there. We just sort of over-react to things
we dont like. But as long as we stay together, were just like anybody
else.
No, honey. I just saw that sitchashun back there, and I know
yall re sumpm special, aint no gettin around it. How longve yall
been livin with this stickin together bidness?
Since we could walk, said Diana, fully restored to her Dog
House bounciness. When we were two, Granny took Dolores to the
doctor one time, and she popped im. Gave im a black eye. It didnt
take too long for our folks to gure out we did better by stayin
together.
Guess not. Is hittin people mainly what yall do when you get
separated?
No. Sometimes we cuss. Real bad, said Dolores.
But, you know what, Diana interjected, We do some really spe-
cial thingsinteresting thingswhen were together.
Thats right, said Dolores. Like seeing ahead.
Seein ahead? said Evvie. Ya mean liike at ere fortune teller
whassername, Madam Sophiaout north atown?
Shes a fake, sniffed Diana. We do it.
Izzat riit? Tell me somethin thats gonna happen.
Its not like that. Stuff comes when it comes. We dont have a
crystal ball or anything.
Sumpm else that comes sometimes, said Dolores, is stuff that
happened before. Guess we got ourselves some kinda cranky-ass
time machine. It wont work less it wants to.
Oh. Well, Id sure liike to know anythang that comes inta yall
about me; you know, just anythang. You can tell people when
sumpmuhcomes to ya about em, caincha?
Oh, yeah, we can; but its not always such a good idea. Theres
good stuff and bad stuff, and sometimes its just a feelin that could
be either good or bad. So we really havent told anybody muchyet.
Weve seen a lot of stuff happen the way we understood it would,
though. If youre sure you wanta know, though, you can make the
chances better for us to have sumpm of yours.
Liike what?
Just give us sumpm of yours that we can keep around. Seems
liike peoples stuff attracts stuff about them sometimes.
OK. What?
Anything thats yours. If youve had it for awhile.
Well, miit as well take care uv it riit now. Lemme see, what can-
Evvie, said Diana. How bout your little football player?
Evvie looked down at the gold gurine. Sure. Guess thatd be bet-
ter than my panties, wouldnt it? Theres not much else I got ta take
Jus Rub On It 271
off, an the boy I got it froms long gone. Here; undo th chain an just
hold onto th whole thang. She turned her back to Diana, who
undid the clasp. Hey; why donchall just take turns wearin it? Might
shake sumpm loose a little quicker, bein so close.
Theres no tellin when somethingll come, or if it will at all, said
Dolores, but well pass on whatever we get, if youre sure you want
it.
Sure I do, Hon. Nothin like a little warnin, dont matter if th
newss goodr bad.
Thats true, I guess, about the future, said Dolores as they
stopped in front of Evvies house. But not about the past. Then its
not a warning. Just reminds you about things. Things you might not
want to remember.
Ill take mchances, Hon, said Evvie, leaning on the white cars
window sill, grinning. Yall jus rub on at little ballplayer fah me
now an en.
Nelson Lord, mouth agape and breathing hard, cut through the hotel
lobby, marbly black eyes looking back in terror over his shoulder as
he pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, a half-hour
late. Hed parked two blocks away and run along the network of back
alleys that crisscrossed Bisques business district. Sweeping lank
black hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head, he grabbed his
apron off its hook and stuck his head through the neck loop. Johnnie
Mae, whod been looking at him since the doors had hit the wall with
a boom, shook her head resignedly and stirred the large skillet of
streak-of-lean that was destined for the days collard greens.
Whenre these here meat loafs due out, Johnnie Mae? he asked
as he closed the oven door.
Ten-thutty, she said, still studying the bubbling sowbelly. Stew
meats ready riit now.
OK. Ill git th carrots. He took three bunches out of the refrig-
erator, chopped the tops and tails off with a large chef s knife, and
took them to the sink to scrub. That crazy bastard wont come in
here, he thought, his hands steadying as they sliced the carrots.
Layin for me outside my place, talkin about retterbewshun, that
shotgun propped up where I could see it, an actin like he wanted ta
whup my ass. Next time I see that bastard Ill have my own iron. Ill
use this here knife on his fuckin neck. Wouldnt be much more to
itn loppin th head off a turkey.
Moses saw the black 48 Ford as he pulled up to the hotel, its
drivers door agape, a thread of blue-white smoke drifting up from
its tailpipe, abandoned in the street. Maxine had called him at the
ofce, unable to keep the hysteria out of her voice. Mose? I just
hung up with Sadie; she us just asquallin. Johnny beat er up when
he saw them black an blue tits, and she told im shed been out with
Nels. She tried to call im at th cay-fe, but th line us busy, so she
called me. He left th house carryin is shotgun. Shouting at Ralph
Williams to call the police as he ran out the door, Moses was outside
the caf minutes later. Leaving his car in the street, he ran inside just
as a shotguns thunder shook the building. Crashing through the
kitchen doors, he almost collided with Reba, who stood over a writh-
ing, screaming John Lindall. She held his 12-gauge Remington pump
and looked down at him as though hed dropped onto the oor from
the moon.
Reba, Moses said in a gentle voice as he held out his hand to take
the gun. She gave it up without looking at him; he pumped the shells
out of it and stood it in the corner. He put his arm around Reba, who
hadnt moved.
He us gonna shoot Nels, Mose, she said, her voice barely audi-
ble.
A small crowd had gathered behind them, holding the swinging
doors open. Somebody call an ambulance, Moses said over his
shoulder. Did you shoot him, Reba?
Jus Rub On It 273
No. Hes burnt from the coffee I poured on him. The gun went
off when I picked it up.
Run get some ice, willya? He took a step toward Lindall, whose
screaming had turned to groaning. Helps on the way, Lindall, he
said. Well cool ya down in a minute.
Two policemen, one a sergeant, pushed through the crowd. All
riit, chall; move on outa here, the sergeant said. Shows over. He
turned to Moses. Whats your piecea this, mister?
Got here just aheada you. Looks like this guy had shootin th
cook in mind, and Miz Reba put a stop to it with a pot a hot coffee.
Reba had returned with Johnnie Mae, who rolled Lindall on his back
and covered his lap with the cafs miniature ice cubes.
That what happened, Miz Reba? asked the sergeant.
Yessir, she said through chattering teeth. He come in here totin
that gun, grabbed me by th arm and said, wheres at damn Lord at?
Weus headed for th kitchen, and I grabbed a pot a coffee offa th hot
plate an poured it on im.
Where is Lord at?
He run out th back door when he saw this crazy fool, said Reba,
an us with th lunch rush ta handle.
Well, call us if he shows up. Well need to talk to im. Dont look
liike youll be covered up with business thisheer lunchtime, no way.
We need ta take yores an Mr
Kubielski, said Moses.
Oh, yeah, Cueuh, Kabeesky. Th beer dealer, riit? Sergeant
Malone. We need yore statement about what happened, too. Does
any athem cars outair in th street belong ta you?
Yeah. The Buick.
You mind if my man parks it while we go in yonder- he indi-
cated the hotel lobbyan getcher statement? We gotta get this trafc
movin.
Thats ne. Ask im to bring the keys back, willya?

At the end of Moses ve-minute police interview, he stood in the
lobby in a haze of decompression when Serenas voice cut suddenly
into the back of his neck. Well, dickhead; whattaya do for an
encore?
Huh? Startled, he turned around to face her stony gaze, the
green eyes dark with a rage hed never seen. Whatchoo talkin
about?
Nothing much. Just about you and your goddam pal in there
bringing your fucking low-life antics into my hotel in broad daylight,
disrupting my business this way. What the hell is this bullshit all
about? Whatre you doing just happening by when that maniac
shows up?
I got a phone call
Oh, you did? How nice. His wife, no doubt.
Well, yes, in a way; she told a friend of hers that that asshole was
gunnin for Nels. What should Ive done, just let im get blown
away?
Obviously not. But Ill be goddamned if Im gonna let you
worthless sonofabitches ruin this hotel. I dont care how good a cook
Nelson is, this is his last day under my roof.
I think you owe it to him, said Moses, to hear his side of the
story.
Oh, I know the story, she grated through her teeth. Its been
making the rounds for a day or two. Maxine runs a beauty parlor,
remember? They say she really thinks a lot of you and Nelson. Sorry
I cant say the same.
Moses reddened. Well, Im afraid I cant afford the time to watch
you cut off your nose to spite your face. Be seein you. He walked
out on the street to nd his car.
Jus Rub On It 275

The Steinerbru clocks hands pointed to ten after eight when,
against his better judgement, he walked through the Bisque Lunch
Rooms swinging doors. For the rst time in his experience, there
was no place to sit. Lee Webster, who must have been there for
awhile, waved him over to the left side of the bar. Hey, buddy; take
this stool. I need to stretch my legs.
Moses sat, looking behind the bar at Ribeye and a volunteer
cracking beers as fast as they could. He caught Webster, who was
looking toward the door, by the shoulder. Whats going on?
Huh? said Webster, startled.
Why the crowd?
Youre kiddingI heard you were there.
Where?
The caf. When Lindall shot at Lord today.
I was. Lindall didnt do any shootin. Not that he wouldntve.
Reba baptized im with a pot a coffee before he could throw down
on Nels.
By now half the bar was eavesdropping. Is that right? The story
goin around here says he shot and missed.
Reba shot, said Moses after a swig of Red Cap. Or the gun did,
when she picked it up. By then Nelsd run out the back door; havent
seen im since.
You can get odds either way that hell show up here tonight, now
that Lindalls in th lockup, said Webster, glancing again toward the
swinging doors. Im betting yes.
Looks like you win, said Moses as a swarthy gure pushed
through them.
Hey, boys, said Nelson Lord, stopping two steps inside as he
checked the crowd. Whadjall do with th women?
0830 Tuesday 11 October 1951:
Terry and Lynne stopped talking and turned earnest faces to Jack as
he walked up to them. The homeroom bell had just rung, and the
crowd in the yard began moving sluggishly toward the front steps of
Bisque High, but the girls stayed put in their near-identical sweater
sets and pleated skirts. Do they call each other in the morning to
make sure they dress alike, he wondered, or set it up the day before?
A darker thought itted across his consciousness; they just know.
Cant argue with the effect, though, he concluded as Terrys hazel
eyes picked up the sky blue of her sweaters and shot it back at him as
green highlights. Hey, yall, he said.
Jack, said Terry, why didnt you call me about what happened
over there?
You mean that ole buzzard comin after Nelson? Itus all over by
th time I got there. Coach kept us out at practice til way after six,
and Mom didnt say much about it. She was real tired, and went to
bed pretty soon after we ate. Time I was done with homework, itus
after eleven, and all she said to me this morning was get up, its
almost eight, before she went down to th desk.
That man, Mr. Lindall? Lynnes daddy said he was after Nelson
Lord because hed been foolin with is wife.
Yeah, thats the story. Ill ask Mose about it. Mom said he got the
gun away from Reba; she picked it up and it went off. Sho emptied
out th caf in a hurry.
That Nelson Lords got a reputation for chasin anything in a
skirt, Lynne sniffed. Why does your Mom keep him around?
Jack looked at her as if shed farted. Keep im around? You know
whatd happen to th hotels business if Nelson Lord left? He blew a
long Doppler-effect whistle, the still-familiar sound of a falling
bomb, extending an arm with a turned-down thumb at its end.
That. Plus, he doesnt work for the hotel; he works for the caf,
meaning Reba. Nelsons not goin anywhere, less he decides to. And
Jus Rub On It 277
God help us if he does. Anyway, chasin skirts was legal last time I
checked.
Not if theyre married, Mr. Know-it-all, Lynne responded super-
ciliously.
Well, Miss Sure-as-hell-dont-know-it-all, I never heard of a mar-
ried skirt gettin chased that didnt wanta get chased. I dont reckon
ole Nelss gonna get locked up for acceptin an invitation.
No, said Lynne scornfully, Just shot.
Well, said Jack with a grin, Just shot at, almost, so far.
Terry reached for Jacks hand, pulling him none too gently toward
the school steps. Thats not funny, Jack. Nobodyd better be shootin
at you like that. I just might shoot you myself.
1830 Tuesday 11 October 1951:
The familiar squeal of 42 Hudson brakes betrayed Serenas station
wagons poking its nose under the carport. Moses opened the door
to let her in, but she hesitated, looking up at him. Id like to talk
about what happened yesterday, she said.
Sure. Come in. Drink?
Please. Whatever youre having.
He took a second to note that she was wearing blue jeans for, as far
as he knew, the rst time. They were the same brand, Dickies, that
Bisque boys, and a few girls, had been wearing for a while by then,
leaving the legs long and turning them up a couple of times to make
gray-blue cuffs, local style dictating that they cover the tops of the
wearers shoes. These, however, betrayed serious alterations that let
them encase her hips without a wrinkle; shed tucked the tails of a
mans pink oxford-cloth shirt inside them, with the top two buttons
left open. Filling two squat glasses midway with Scotch, he splashed
soda on top and handed one to her. Confusion to our enemies, he
said, touching her glass with his.
Havent heard that one in a while.
Classics go on forever.
I guess they do. Anyway, Im here, she said, to apologize for
what I said to you yesterday.
Oh. Hell, I knew you were pissed off. You had a right to be.
Maybe so. But what I said to you was awful. I didnt mean it, and
I had to let you know that.
Thanks. And Im sorry too. Sometimes things just get outa hand.
Fuckin around with Nels and his cronies guarantees trouble.
Thats for sure. And Id been furious with you since I heard about
you being in a foursome with him and those bimbos. Jesus Christ, I
thought youd drop by when you got horny.
Like I say, it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Not to be
repeated.
She snorted, taking a long swig of her drink. Id hardly think so. I
dont want you tied to my apron strings, but Jesus! People around
here know what we are to each other, and doing what you did puts
me in the same class with those goddamn people. Youd be raisin hell
with me if Id done something like that. At least I hope you would.
Yeah, I would. Because I love you.
She looked at him almost as angrily as she had yesterday. I love
you, too, goddammit. I wish I didnt, but I do. And theres not a god-
damn thing I can do about it.
Except give me hell, Moses said with a smile.
Thats about it.
I can think of something else, he said.
Oh, no. I thought wed settled that.
And I dont mean gettin rid athat guy you married.
Hm, she said, the threat of a smile animating the corners of her
mouth. What, then?
He encouraged her smile with one of his own. Id like to see you
in just the jeanswith your shirt off.
Not so fast, buddy. You havent seen my surprise.
Surprise?
Mm-hmm.
Jus Rub On It 279
What is it?
Come over here. She walked over to the kitchen sink and leaned
on it, presenting her denim-sheathed butt for his inspection. Like
it?
Yeah, its spectacular. Is that the surprise?
Give me your hand, she said, extending her hand behind her. As
she pulled his hand to her, a thin streak of white split the denim blue
in half. Spreading the heavy fabric with his thumb and forenger, he
touched drenched hair, then the slickness beyond, with the middle
one.
Now thats, he said, a surprise.
Like it? she asked over her shoulder. I took the whole seam
out.
Yes I do, he said, probing deep inside her pussy rst with one
nger, then two, then nding the clit that still fascinated him with its
size and stiffness.
Well fuck me, Chili; I didnt go to all this trouble for nothing.
Delighted. But lets get that shirt off.
Pull it out, then; but put your dick in rst.
He did, moving inside her, impressed as always at the erceness of
her grip on him. This is a beautiful sight; I wish you could see it. I
miss seeing the little dimples at the tops of your cheeks, though.
Does that fat beautician have any?
I really dont remember, he grunted, thrusting deep to focus her
attention.
She pitched her voice low, synchronizing her movement with his.
Howd you like to do Cordelia and me sometime?
Would you like it? Youre the mnage a trois expert.
Id love to do her with youand shed do it in a minute, particu-
larly since youre even more notorious, with that supporting role in
the shootout yesterday.
It couldve been the leadin rolehe was pissed about her tits bein
bruised. She was playing with herself in the car and asked me to twist
her tits while she came, so I did. If hed known that, Im the one
heda been gunnin for.
Hmm. Mind showing me?
Ive gotta go, she said an hour later.
OK, he said, sitting up to drain the glass on the bedside table.
Ill get your things. Hope you wont feel too much of a draft on the
way home.
Get my bag, too, will you? Theres a pair of blue panties in there
that pretty well match the jeans. Hey.
What?
Howd you like to take me someplace when Ive got em on and
have me sit on your lap?
Without the matching panties, I presume.
Damn right without the panties. Im sitting on your lap, say in
the park in Augusta, were having a nice little picnic, and you unzip
that Crosse & Blackwell and slip it into me while we eat fried
chicken.
Just the two of us at this picnic?
No, four; you, me and these Technicolor titties.
0832 Thursday 27 October 1951:
It was just after 8:30, 2:30 London time, when Moses turned on the
beefy Zenith Transoceanic portable behind his desk to hear what
Britons had to say about the Conservative partys return to power
yesterday, Churchill becoming Prime Minister for the second time,
just weeks before his 77th birthday. The BBC announcer, much as he
might announce a croquet match, observed that his acceptance
speech, given to parliament at high noon, had called for a new Eliz-
abethan age, calling on the British people to excel as of yore.
God knows they need him, Moses thought, but coming back at
this age could kill him. The announcer read off the Conservatives
list of objectives:
Jus Rub On It 281
300,000 new houses to be built, mandated wage increases, return-
ing the trucking and steel industries to private ownership. Reinvigo-
rating the Empire. The announcer droned on; he might as well,
Moses thought, add walkin on water to the list. Good luck, you
magnicent old bastard. Ill be watchin you.
1735 Friday 30 November 1951:
This just in to the WBQE newsroomJohn V. Lindall, found guilty in
Superior Court of attempted murder yesterday, has just been sentenced
by Judge Rupert Mundy to ve to seven years imprisonment. Lindall,
who attacked a local restaurant employee with a shotgun earlier this
year, will serve his sentence at Reidsville State Prison.
- 283 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 6
The Rough English Equivalent
That was Big Joe Turner doin Honey Hush; and alla yallll hush up
too, or maybe SCREAM YOUR HEADS OFF when you see Gort,
Klatus giant robot sidekick, in The Day The Earth Stood Still, open-
ing today at the Winston. Ol Klatu lands his yin saucer in Washing-
ton with an important message for mankind, but he gets shot soon he
sets his foot on the ground. Sounds like a Bisque Saturday niit, dont it?
Well, thats just a little bit of the unearthly goins-on in this brand-new
science ction thriller. And waitll ya see what ol Gort with that ne-
lookin Patricia Neal! Check it out at the Winston, Biques home of ine
motion picture entertainment. See yall at the movies!
1320 Sunday 6 April 1952:
And what well be doing this afternoon, boys and girls, will be visit-
ing homes here in Bisque, just saying a neighborly hello and inviting
any unchurched people to join us in worship at First Baptist, Miz
Clark told us. She was the WMU lady in charge of getting all of the
Sunday school kids out knocking on doors, where it seemed like to
me wed pretty likely be unwelcome. I didnt even have to go, but
since Ricky did and Miz Terrell was acting so happy about us going
together while she fed us way too much Sunday dinner, I gured Id
go along, even if we did have to leave our Sunday clothes on. We
started out at the church; everybody had to be there at one-thirty, so
the WMU ladies could put us together in teams. There were four
kids on each team, and each team had a parent or a WMU lady to
drive us out into the neighborhoods so we could start bothering
people by 2:00. I guess they were trying to have the same number of
girls and boys on each team; anyway, two girls, Virginia James and
Bonnie Williams, were on our team. They were in our grade at
school, but we didnt know them all that well. They were both what
Ricky called church-birds, who showed up at church any time in the
doors were open, and if you wanted to be nice, youd just call them
plain.
We were going in Mr. Jamess car, a 50 Ford two-door, which
seemed to make Virginia think she was in charge of the whole damn
thing. Mr. James was a tall, skinny guy with black hair that he
combed over the bald spot on top of his head. He seemed like he was
used to taking orders from Virginia, and I expect from Mrs. James
too. One thing for sure, he wadnt all that happy about what he was
doing that afternoon; I didnt see him smile once the whole time. He
didnt say much either; just If any of yallre chewing gum, get rid of
it before you get in the car. And be careful of the upholstery. Any-
way, Ricky, Bonnie and I got in the back seat; Bonnie ended up in the
middle, with one foot on each side of the bump in the oor. She was
just about as big as we were, so we were packed pretty tight in there.
She and Virginia talked about what they were going to say to the
people all the way out to the neighborhood that we were supposed to
work in. It was out in east Bisque, and about the only thing you
could say was that nobody who lived there was anything like rich.
Most of the people who lived in these little houses, jammed
together as tight as they could be, worked in the cotton mills. You
could see the mill buildings, with their tall checkerboards of glass
windows taking up as much of the walls as possible, from anyplace in
the neighborhood. Mr. James stopped the car near the corner of one
of the streets, said OK, kids, do your stuff, and opened up the fun-
nies section of the Sunday paper this week hed brought along.
Were leavin at four, ready or not, he said from behind Moon Mul-
lins and Maggie and Jiggs, and you dont wanta get left. Bonnie was
in such a hurry to get out that she almost attened my ass in the pro-
cess. She and Virginia headed across the street, white bibles and
chubby asses bouncing up and down, and Ricky and I just watched
them for minute, looking at each other and wondering how we got
into this.
Well, Ricky said, Guess we may as well get this shit over with.
Lets go, buddy. We walked up to the house closest to the car; a taxi-
cab, a pea-green 49 Chevy with bald tires and a big dent in the trunk
lid, was parked in the driveway. The wire-sprung screen door looked
like it might fall off if you hit it, so Ricky knocked on the door-fac-
ing, just below a vertical 149 of black metal numbers nailed onto
it. And even though I hoped it wouldnt, the door opened almost
immediately. A short, stout man in an undershirt looked sleepily
through the wavy brown wire at us. Afternoon, sir, Ricky said.
Were from the First Baptist Church of Bisque.
Oh, the man said, scratching his bellybutton. Whacha want?
Ricky thought for a minute, then said, How about a glass of
water?
The man thought for a minute, then said, Sure. Cmon in. It was
just that easy. We stayed in the living room while the man walked
into the kitchen. Hed been watching a baseball game on television;
little ballplayers a couple of inches high pranced around the eight-
inch screen in a light TV-snow blizzard. We were trying to gure out
what teams they were when the man got back with two Bama jelly
glasses, with little bits of their labels still stuck on the sides, full of
water. Here ya go, boys, he said.
Thanks, I said. Whatcha watchin?
Dodgers and Giants, he said. Exhibition game. Set a spell and
watch er with me, if yall got time. Names Edwards. Rocky
Edwards, he said, extending his hand.
Jack Mason, I said, shaking it. This is Ricky Terrell.
Pleaseta meet chall. Now whacha say we watch a little baseball?
We sat down on his couch, where we could see the houses across
the street as Virginia and Bonnie walked in and out of them, staying
ve or 10 minutes a house. It was almost four when we saw them
rounding the corner down at the far end of the street, still jabbering
and waving those Bibles at each other. I poked Ricky and glanced at
the window. He nodded and said Guess we better go, Rocky. He
was payin serious attention to the game, and just waved a hand at us
without shifting his eyes from the television. We got to the car before
the girls did, wakin Mr. James from his nap as they walked up.
Ready to go? he asked. Everyone allowed as how they were, and
it was a pretty quiet ride back to church, where the WMU ladies had
a big basket of ladyngers and red punch waiting for us. And I nally
found out from their little ag they had hanging up that WMU
means Womans Missionary Union. The only embarrassing part was
when she asked us for the names of the people that wed seen.
Nobody told us to make any kind of a list, Ricky said. She rolled
her eyes up to heaven, but since it was getting late, that was all we
heard about it. Anyway, I wonder what the missionary ladies
wouldve said if old Rocky had shown up on the First Baptist steps
next Sunday.
1516 Wednesday 9 April 1952:
Diana Bishop, the winner of the latest heat in the sisters ongoing
footrace to the drivers seat, backed the white car out of its space in
the Bisque High parking lot. Pulling the gearshift lever down into
low, she headed across the lot and out the East entrance, turning
right onto Cypress Street into the cool, rainy afternoon. Bisques
retail businesses had been closed since noon, as theyd been every
Wednesday afternoon for years. A cannon-shot down the middle of
Lee Street on Wednesday at 12:01p.m., it was often said, would never
hit a soul. Whatll we do if hes already gone? Diana asked her sis-
ter.
Drive out to is house, I guess, said Dolores. I bet hell still be
there, though. Hes not like these old guys who run off shin every
damn Wednesday of the world. Id liketa let the air outve the tiresve
the next car we see that has one of those damn God Dont Deduct
Days Spent Fishing From Our Time On Earth signs on it.
Well, well know pretty soon, one way or another. Dyou still
think that thiss a good idea?
What else can we do? Weve got about all we can get from this ole
car by itself. We cant go on not knowin why he attracts us th way he
does. If we get the car close to him for awhile, maybe itll come.
Well know in a minute, Diana said as she turned left onto Sev-
enth Street. If his cars there.
It was. The 52 Roadmaster wagon, clad in brown wood with
blond trim, sat alone in the Hamm County Beverage Companys
parking lot, big bucktoothed grille bars snarling at the empty street.
Drive on past and turn around, Di, said Dolores. We can sit over
there behind that old truck on the other side of the street til he
comes out.
Hope he dont work late. Theyll be wondering what were doing
if we dont get home pretty soon after six.
We miit get sumpm just sittin out here. Just cut this motor off.
They sat with the cars radio off, close behind the old black
pickup, watching raindrops hang briey on the rust-and-silver edges
of the Ford stamped into its tailgate. Its comin, said Dolores.
Mm-mmmmaybe, said Diana in a low voice. Siga, Pedrito.
Were thinking in Spanish a lot more now, said Dolores.
Whether its about him or not.
Yep. Spanish classs almost like cheatin.
Its not like we asked for it. Weve just got it.
Well, Id just as soon we didnt, said Diana. I mean its fun
sometimes, looking back and forth. But it scares most people. Look
what happened with Mama.
Yeah. Seein-ahead scares me sometimes. Uh-oh; here he is!
Moses tripped boy-like down the buildings front steps. He walked to
the left side of the building, unlocked the door to the alarm systems
switch panel, ddled inside for a few seconds, closed it and sauntered
back to his car. Seconds later, a thin cloud of steamy exhaust spewed
from the tailpipe. The girls held their breath, waiting to see if hed
turn down Seventh Street toward them. He turned the other way,
giving no sign of having noticed his old car. When he turned right at
the Academy street stop sign, Diana pulled the white car out of its
parking spot. Dont get too close, Di; if he turns right on Lee, then
hes probably headed home; we can just lay back and keep im in
sight.
Moses cruised out Lee Street at a leisurely pace. After a productive
afternoon alone in the ofce, he was looking forward to a workout, a
hot bath and an evenings reading. He was a little over halfway
through Atlas Shrugged, and nearly half of the big lasagna that hed
made on Sunday was still in the refrigerator. Life, he reected, was
good. A little strange in spots, but good. The wonder of where he
was, and, even more, at the role hed assumed, was intact. Best of all,
there was Jack. The kid now sat squarely at the center of his life. The
quickness of his mind was a continuing delight to Moses; he was an
excellent ight student, who would, with Rnis OK, solo sometime
this summer. Hed had his own room at the house for a couple of
years, and he and his friends worked out in the gym that Moses had
set up in the well-built barn that no quadruped would ever again call
home. About time, he thought, I started to feel at home here.
The woody rectangle of the wagons tailgate was growing bigger at
way too fast a rate. Hey! Dolores squawked. Slow down. Were
catchin im!
I cant, Diana grated. The gas pedal wont come up.
The houses on Lee Street grew in size, then shrunk and strung out
over the countryside as Moses drove out of Bisque. He glanced up
into his rear-view mirror, then locked his gaze onto the fast-growing
image of what was unmistakably his old car, its collapsed left-side
springs making it look like an aircraft correcting its landing
approach in a crosswind. What the hell, he thought, that things
doing seventy anyway. He eased the wagon as far to the right as pos-
sible to give this pesky relic of his past as much room as possible to
hurtle by him. With no oncoming trafc, it ew by with room to
spare.
Hell! said Diana, her teeth clinched. It wont let up. Im switch-
ing it off while were on a straight stretch.
Might as well, while hes behind us, said Dolores. We can ag
him down for help. Hey! This way hell be closer to the car than we
ever hoped!
Well be closer, too, Diana observed, reaching over to the
switchs key and turning the motor off.
Moses, to his surprise, watched the white car slow quickly and
turn onto the shoulder. A hand extended from the window of the
drivers door, waving him over in a circular motion. He was almost
on top of it as the door opened. One of the Bishop girls, smiling
brightly at him, continued to wave, running to the side of the wagon
as he stopped ahead of the white car. She was tall, ve-eight or so,
dark and coltishly pretty as only a young girl can be. Hi, she said.
We couldnt get our motor to slow down, so we just turned it off.
Can you give us a hand?
Sure, Moses said, getting out. I know a little about this car. It
was mine once.
We know, said Dolores. You probably dont remember us; Im
Dolores Bishop, and this is my sister Diana. We saw Ziggy run into
you on his bicycle when you rst came to town. You did a little tap-
dance to show us you werent hurt.
Well Ill be doggoned. Youre the little girls who hadda jump out
of th way! Sure, I remember. You thoughcha knew my name. What
was it that you called me?
We called you Pedro, said Dolores.
Thats what it was. Whos Pedro?
We thought you were. Didnt anybody ever call you Pedro? For a
nickname, maybe?
Nope. And didnt one of yall say sumpm about me breakin my
leg?
Sure enough. You did, didnt you?
Yeah, but howd you know?
Well, Mr.is Kabeesky the right way to say it?
Kubielski, but thats as close as most people around here ever
get.
Thats why they call you Cueball, she thought. Well, anyway, you
just walk like you probly had a bad leg one time, and you still favor
it.
Oh. Well, what about this ne old Buick? Guess wed better run
on out to my place and call somebody to tow it in. You all better call
your folks, too. Tell em Ill bring yall home as soon as we get a tow
truck.
Uhwould you mind just taking us now? said Diana. Our
daddyll have some of the hands to come get the car. That way we
wont be late for dinner. Our folks hate having dinner held upfor
anything.
OK, said Moses. Hop in, then.
Moses hadnt driven out McEver Road in quite some time. Dont
let me run past your place, he said as they drove through at red-
dish-brown elds speckled with the bright green of new crops.
Oh, its a ways yet, said Dolores, who sat next to him, her fresh
girl-smell teasing his nose. Just look for the rst hill on the left-
hand side. Youll see it way before we get there. Guess its pretty
much the only hill, out this way.
Guess you girls know my friend Jack Mason, said Moses.
Oh, sure, said Diana. We have a couple of classes with Jack.
Hes really nice.
Sure is. He was one of the rst people I met when I came here. I
lived at th hotel for awhile, and he was the rst person in Bisque that
I got to know. Showed me around town while I was waiting to have
myyourcar xed.
We had this really funny feeling the rst time we sat in that car,
said Diana. We get feelings about things sometimes. About who-
evers been around whatever it is that gives us the feeling. That time,
it felt like the car turned into an airplane.
An airplane?
Yep. We were ying it; not both of us in the plane, but we both
there, and we both saw everything. We could see out front, and out
back, over the sides of the plane; we couldnt see too much straight
up or down because of the wings. And we were going down; the
engine wasnt running any more, and we were headed into a eld
with some cows in it. We landed OK, but then we hit something that
bounced us back into the air. Then we turned over, and we saw the
ground coming up again. We hit hard, and things turned black as
night. It scared us so bad we couldnt move for a long time. All we
could do was hold ourselves and shake.
Moses, having no idea what else to do, kept his eyes on the road.
Sounds awful. Has anything like that ever happened to you all
before?
Not just liike that, Diana said, but we get feelings, liike I told
you, from peoples stuff. Thats been happening for a long time, but
were gettin better at it as we get older.
And the longer sumpm stays around, said Dolores, pressing her
thigh hard against his, the more we get out of it. We can start puttin
things together, from one time that we get a feeling to the next time.
Like that rst time with you, when we saw Ziggy run into you and we
got that feelin about your broken leg. You had that little limp, of
course, but we denitely got that feeling. We even saw into your leg,
where the bones broke. Riitchere, she said, tapping her right leg just
below the knee.
Moses laughed, trying in vain to suppress the shiny projectile of
panic that was ying back and forth from the pit of his stomach into
his throat. Whats next, he thought. Thats amazing, he said.
When did yall realize that you could do stuff like that?
Way back, said Diana. One of the rst times I remember was
when Daddy bought that bull.
Oh, yeah, said Dolores, laughing. Wed just turned three. Had
our birthday party a day or two before. Daddy came drivin up by th
house with this ol bull in a trailer. We rode down to the pasture with
im to see it, and while they were walkin im in, we went up in the
trailer. Wed never seen it before, and just wanted to see what it
looked like inside.
Yeah, said Diana,We walked up the ramp into that trailer. Ol
Stoneythats what they called im for shorthe had one a them
godawful long-ass names on his papershed gone Number Two in
there. It really stunk! And as soon as we smelled it, we knew one
thing about Ol Stoney.
And what was that? Moses asked.
He was through bein a daddy. Thats what our daddy told us that
hed bought Ol Stoney for; a new daddy for the cows. We didnt
want to tell Daddy, but we knew as soon as we smelled the bullshit;
that bulls daddyin days was over.
And were they?
Daddy said Ol Stoney never hit a lick. He took im back to the
man he bought im from a couple months later. Anyway, thats the
rst time I can remember.
Yep, said Dolores. That was the rst time. And just liike we
didnt tell Daddy about Ol Stoney, were careful about tellin people
about th stuff that we feel. If what it is wont make much difference
to em, we just let em nd out in their own time. We dont wanta be
fortune tellers or anything like that.
Theres our house, said Diana.
Moses slowed to turn onto the gravel driveway, the wagon nosing
up as the grade increased. He heard the gravels message as it
skrunched under his wheels: getemout getemout getemout getemout
getemout. As they reached the parking area behind the house, a
woman stepped through the back door and onto the porch. Thats
Momma, said Diana, waving through the window at her. The
woman kept coming, heading for the wagon with a big smile. Hey,
Momma; the car broke down.
Diana opened the wagons door, got out and hugged her mother.
As she did, Dolores hugged Moses. In the instant that it took for him
to think about whether or not to hug her back, shed kissed him,
tongue rst, and was sliding across the seat. Get out and say hey to
Momma, she said over her shoulder. Seeing that there was no
choice, and wondering if shed left lipstick on his mouth, he did.
Momma, thiss Mr. Kubielski. He was passing by when the car quit.
And guess what? It used to be his car.
The woman smiled, somewhat perplexedly, at him. She seemed
somehow to be accustomed to the condition. Hello, Mr.
Kubielski. Moses Kubielski. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bishop, said
Moses.
You too, she said, not meaning it. I know exactly who you are,
she thought; youre the yankee bastard that screwed my sisteronce.
Thanks for bringin these girls home; since they started drivin, I just
cant keep up with em. What happened to the car, sugar?
It wouldnt stop; just kept goin faster, so we cut it off and pulled
off the road. Wed just passed Mr. Kubielski, and he saw that we were
havin trouble. He pulled over to help, and gave us a ride home. We
thought Daddyd want one of the hands to go get th car.
Yes, I guess he will, said Mrs. Bishop. Well, thanks again for
your help, Mr. Kabeesky. Drop back and see us if ever youre out this
way.
Yes, said Dolores. Please do.
Be seein ya! said Diana.
Jesus Christ, he thought as the wagon hauled him back home,
what the hells happening? Her kissin me like that. Those little
witches are scary. They already know too much about me, and
theyre probably tellin anybody wholl listen. That Peter shits
gonna be all over high school, and then around town, in no time.
May be already. The question is, what do I do about it? If theres any
truth to that business about them getting feelings from peoples
stuff, theyre gonna be gettin more about me every time they sit
down in that car. Not that anyone who hears what they know so far
would be able to make much of it; it sounds like so much bullshit at
this point. Maybe the connection between me and the carll peter
out. Ah, shit. I cant even say my own name without being worried
about what they know, or guess, or whatever the fuck it is theyre
doing. Question is, whatmI gonna do?
1615 Wednesday 13 August 1952:
Im gonna demonstrate a Chandelle to ya now, said Moses, push-
ing the J3s stick forward as he spoke. Thats French. Far as I know,
theres not even a rough English equivalent; guess thats why they still
say Chandelle. Anyway, what it is, is a zoom climb combined with a
hundred-eighty-degree turn. You trade some air speed for altitude,
and reverse th aircrafts direction. Th Chandelle saves ya energy and
gains ya altitude. Ya stay in th ght an keep your eye on th target,
lookin back and down. As the J3s airspeed indicator touched 120 he
pulled its nose up into a shallow climb. What you want is a nice
coordinated turn, with a little back pressure on the stick, so that
youre gaining altitude throughout the turn. But watch how much
you pull back; you dont want to lose any more airspeed than you
have to.
Why use a Chandelle? Jack called back to Moses as they leveled
off at six thousand feet. Why not just do a level turn back the other
way?
Well, its kinda like th pushups and situps ya do at fuhbawl prac-
tice, said Moses to the back of Jacks head. They give you some
extra strength that you can call on when you need it. When ya y,
you have to assume that things wont always go right. When they go
wrong, ya need to get th airplane out of trouble. You may need to
nd a place to put it down, or you just may need to get it headed
another way, at another altitude, as quick as you can, like in a combat
situation. Practicing maneuvers like the Chandelle makes sure that
ya have th skill and experience to do whatever ya need ta do ta stay
alive. Now you try one. Just check around you for trafc with a cou-
ple of clearin turns; then nose er down about twenty degrees til ya
see 120. Then pull the nose up gradually, and make your turn to th
right.
They were headed due north. Jack followed Moses instructions,
watching as the airspeed indicators needle approached 120. The late
afternoon air had some bumps in it, and the J3s fabric covering
exed as it absorbed them, making little drumlike thumps as it did.
At 120, the thumps came faster and louder as he pulled the stick back
and over to the right. Not too much back stick, Moses cautioned.
Get your rate of climb to 800 feet a minute, and hold it. Youll lose
too much airspeed if ya pull up too fast. Jack eased his back pressure
on the stick, continuing his turn. As the compass neared the 180-
degree mark, he began releasing his sidewise pressure on the stick,
settling down on a southerly heading and dropping the nose to level
off. Not bad, said Moses, gently shaking the stick. Ive got it.
They had drifted gradually north and east with the prevailing
winds. As they proceeded on the southerly heading back toward
Bisque, the Savannah River snaked along their route a few miles to
the left. Just south of the city of Augusta, it ran along the western
border of a sprawling open wound of cleared red clay soil and a
clutch of large unnished buildings, most of them only a story or
two in height. Thats the a-bomb plant, said Moses, banking the
plane to the left to get a better look. Theyve been working on it for
awhile now; looks like theyve still got quite a ways to go.
Goddamiteydayum, its big, said Jack. You could put a buncha
Bisques in that patch. Lets get a little closer, can we?
Nope. Im not gettin my ticket pulled for ying into restricted
air space. Hell, they might even shoot at us.
Guess the rough English equivalent for thats Keep the hell out,
Jack laughed. We must need one helluva lot of bombs.
Guess so, said Moses.
Jesus, that Marlene, said Lee Webster, as Moses slid onto a stool,
waving a hand at Ribeye in drink alert.
Zozuh boss lady uff Rrancho Notorrious vass atrrraktif to
you? said Moses.
Never more so, old as she may be. Fritz Lang got a hell of a per-
formance out of her, stringing those horny young gents along. Shes
been down that road before, of course. Remember Destry?
Yeah, she has. But I liked this one better. Takes a Kraut to get the
most out of a Kraut, I guess.
Dont tell Hemingway that, or John Wayne either, Webster said
with a grin. According to the columnists, they got quite a bit out of
her.
Here I thought we were gonna have a serious disquisition about
art, and you switch right over to screwin.
Hell, screwing is art. You cant wanta debate that.
No, I guess not, Moses said, returning the grin. What fools we
fuckers be, and so forth.
Haha. In riposte, heres my proposal for licentious poetic justice.
Henceforth, thats how Ill be thinking of that modest little shack of
yours.
Hows that?
Are you paying attention? Chez Mose is forthwith Rancho Notori-
ous, and no place deserves it more.
Come, come, my boy. Surely my humble little compound
deserves better.
Hm. Maybe I have been remiss. The spread may be notorious,
but lets call de big house Chez Cock, and your liniment-soaked barn
Chez Jock.
You have been here awhile, havent you?
Just long enough, Webster pronounced, six or seven Red Caps
adding to the curious dignity the portly can sometimes assume, to
perceive in sharp clarity the parallels in which life and the cinema are
cast. Your quaint little theatre, my boy, is more than a window on
civilization. It is a veritable crystal ball. When you sit on the green
expanse of Chez Cock, you should indeed feel the pride of a patron of
the arts.
Well, in all candor, I do. Almost as much as Im sure that my col-
league in artistic endeavor, the eminent Buster Redding, feels in his
garish mobile sculptures of sheet steel.
Ah shit. Talk about breakin the mood. Whats the huckster of
Hudsons doin to get you excited? Your lady friends the artist in that
family.
Arts an all-pervasive phenomenon, my boyyou of all people
should realize that by now. When you pitched me on sponsoring
R&B Lee last year, you mustve been thinkin about what that music
means to th teenage soul. It might not make Carnegie Hall any time
soon, but it moves these kids like nothin else, and Ive got th Win-
ston ticket sales to prove it. Im prepared to call it art, just the same
as I am to call Busters four-wheeled jelly beans art.
Theyll hafta build bigger galleries, then, said Lee.
Oh, I dunnoYou got a gallery; your show. Its as big as you can
make it, within the strength of your transmitter. The movie studios
got galleries all over the country, and they move more minds with
one big release than Michaelangelo did on his best day. If arts not
about changin minds, what th hell is it about?
So you think Busters gonna change some minds? Whose? Lint-
heads and farmers? Who else gives a shit about cars chasin each
other around a dirt patch?
Just about every male child in th country over th age of eight.
All I can tell you is this; all those lintheads and farmers drive cars and
buy cars, and th banksre only too fuckin happy ta lend em money
to do it. And by th way, what th hell else does damn near everybody
have in common? Cars! Every time they scratch off at a green light,
theyre dreamin of race tracks theyll never run on. Buster may be a
little rough around the edges, but hes got his nger on the pulse of
the common man. Hes had a pretty good year so far; a fth at Lake-
wood behind Buck Bakers nothin to sneeze at. If he does anything
like that well this year at Darlington, hell probably get Pap behind
him to run the full Grand National schedule next year, and a rst-
rate driver. The fat little fuckers no fool. Know what he said to me
the other day? You see a man wearin a necktiebesides politicians,
who already gave up so much manhood that they dont counthes
tellin you one thing and one thing only: I aint got enough money
yet.
Not what Id call the wisdom of the ages, Lee sniffed.
You determined to miss th point? The guy knows what th people
whore his customersre thinkin, and he uses that knowledge to send
em a message: Look at this; its powerful, its pretty, and you can
have one just like it! Maybe not ne art, but art just th same.
Well, since these damn Hudson suppositories appear to be a
growing part of our destiny, I guess the great artiste is doing what he
set out to do. Shame he doesnt give that knockout wife of his the
same kind of attention that he does dumb machinery.
Yeah, mused Moses. That is a shame. Maybe you should pic-
ture yourself in a New York bakery.
And how, pray tell, will that help me?
Taking a number for faster service. Ask her, in other words.
Oh, said Lee, reddening. You know, thats not all that bad an
idea, since Buster doesnt appear to be a cuckold-shooter. Maybe this
is her month for fat disc jockeys.
Well, laughed Moses, getting to his feet, Tell em Groucho
sentcha.
Lunchtime at the Bobwhite Caf, on Broad Street in downtown
Augusta a couple of blocks off the Savannah River, is pretty well over
by two. Cleanup and shift change has the dark wood-paneled inte-
rior ready for the inux of thirsty patrons that starts a little after
four. Regulars maximize their cut-rate cocktail intake before the
eight oclock price change, knowing that the res of happy hour
hooch will be banked by a solid Neapolitan buffet whose inclusion of
moussaka and baklava afrms the Bobwhites Greek ownership.
Having done so, some call it a night, heading home to who-knows-
what, while others await the Bobwhites nightly juke-joint conver-
sion, after which, in the knowledgeable opinion of Nelson Lord, is
th best grabass joint in Richmond County. Some regulars, includ-
ing Lord, generally limit their patronage to the grabass segment.
Moses and Lee Webster walked into the Bobwhite for the rst
time. Theyd met Lord a little after nine, making the short drive from
Bisque in separate cars. Lord was received as a regular by the owner,
Leonard Metaxas, his barmen and waitresses. Lenny, an ex-army
cook, had, for whatever reason, joined the relatively short love col-
umn of the Love Lord or Hate Im ledger. He waved when he saw
them come in, pointing at an empty table near the edge of the area
that had been cleared for dancing. Between words of gracious but
perfunctory greeting to Moses and Webster, the Bobwhites owner
prevailed on Nels, not for the rst time, to take over his kitchen.
Dont wanna work nights, Greek, Nelson responded, grinning as
he shook his head. Just here for th pussy.
He always tell me dat, Lenny said to them with a mournful
shake of his own head. Alla my waitresses, dey love him, would
marry him in a minute. But all de summonabitch wanna do is fuck
my customers.
And the pussy to which Nels refers is there, if you can deal with a
certain variance in quality and sobriety. The women who frequent
the Bobwhite, usually in twos and threes, tend to be drinkers rst,
dancers second and lovers later, if at all. At a given point in the
evening, Nels said, they make the ght or fuck decision. If its
ght, he said, youll know it right away; theyll sit there lookin
snotty cause theyve done brought some kinda shit in with em from
outside, and now theyre ready to blame yo ass for it. Dont matter
how good they look, you got a crazy bitch on your hands. Talk yer
damn ear off, maybe take a swing atcha, plus theyve already poi-
soned th ones that come with em. Denitely no pussy in that pic-
ture. Jus look fer a knotted-up jaw muscle. You see that lockjaw, jus
move along, cause you will not be havin a niice evenin wid dat
lady.
Well, Nelson my boy, said Webster,You have no peer as a picker
of low-hangin fruit, and thats an effective and time-honored strat-
egy. But did you ever wonder what itd feel like to turn just one
athem crazy bitches around? Redirectin all that poison inta passion,
from ghtin to fuckin? Could be quite an experience.
Lord looked at him with ill-concealed pity. How many of em do
you guesss gonna shit in yer hat while you be redirectin? I dont
want nothin ta do with them odds.
I could stand a little abuse, Moses observed, from that little ras-
cal over there. He indicated a booth on the far side of the room
which was occupied by two very different women. The older, a
stringy, streaky blonde well into her thirties, was laughing at some-
thing that the other, who was maybe ten years younger and wore her
dark hair cut short, had said.
Yeah, Lord said after a thirty-second appraisal, shes riit niice.
Th beanpoles OK, too; I seen her around. Jus been rode hard n put
up wet now an then. Wanta get em over here?
How about dancin with em? asked Moses. The jukebox was
playing a succession of songs geared for slow dancing. That way we
can back out if theyve got th lockjaw.
Well, sure, why doncha daince widdat little black-headed thang?
If she goes fer it, Ill snag th beanpole. Less you want to, he said to
Lee.
No, you go ahead, said Lee. Ill check around for other targets.
As he approached, the women looked up at Moses with tentative
smiles. Hi, ladies, he said, switching his gaze from one to the other.
Dont mean to interrupt, but I thought maybe- looking this time at
the dark-haired oneyou might like to dance.
Let me nish my drink rst, she said, looking up at him with
solemn navy blue eyes, then down at half of an Old Fashioned. Why
dont you dance with Roberta, and well have the next one. Roberta
dialed her smile up a few candlepower, awaiting developments.
By all means, he said, extending his hand to the blonde. Shall
we dance, Roberta?
Sure, said Roberta. Why doncha have a seat for a minute and
lets see what th next song is? Thisns about over. She slid back in
the booth to make room for him, keeping him in focus with red-
webbed eyes.
Thanks. He sat down. My names Mose, by the way.
Hi, Mose. This heres Dotty. The girl extended her hand, Moses
taking it for a brief shake. You and yer friends from around here?
Bisque, said Moses, as Lord sidled up on her left. This, he said,
is Nelson.
Hi, Nelson, Dotty said, saying a lot more at the same time as she
slid to the inside of the booth. Wont you join us?
As the juke box launched the sound of Harry James trumpet lead-
ing his orchestra into Marie, Moses felt Robertas elbow in his ribs.
Here we go, sweetie, she said. Standing and moving aside to let her
out of the booth, he saw Nels duplicate his move, slipping his hand
around Dottys waist. She bumped him lightly with inverted-heart
hips as they moved toward the dance oor.
So whattya do ovair in Bisque, Mose? asked Roberta.
I work for a beer distributor, Roberta; how bout you?
Whiitehed Wholesale; in th ofce, she said in a stage groan, the
sharpness of her pelvis pressing lightly into him. Dotty used to too,
but shes back in college ny-uh. Shes just home for th weekend, so I
brought her over here tniit for a little celebration.
Whitehead Wholesale; whadda yall wholesale?
Growshry iitems. You know; coffee, crackers, canned goods. Stuff
liike at.
He spun her once as Harry launched into his major solo. Wheres
Dotty goin to school?
Berry College. Up in Rome.
Hm. Never heard of it.
I never did either, she laughed, letting him pull her close, sur-
prising him with breasts like baseballs loosely loaded with buckshot
under her loose-tting blouse. She went thair before she come
twork at Whitehead; says the schools got a lotta acreage that th stu-
dents help farm. I kinda wish I could go too.
Sounds pretty good; why doncha?
Her exasperation was evident as she looked up at him. First Id
hafta get a high school diploma. Then Id hafta talk my folks inta let-
tin my daughter live with em fer four years. Then Id hafta be smart
enough ta pass th work. Then all Id need is money.
When you put it that way, guess it wouldnt be such a good idea.
How olds your daughter?
Niine. Seems liike just yesterday sheus a baby.
James nished Marie with his trademark ourish, and the dancers
returned to the booth as Hank Williams began a lament about a
cheatin heart. Before they could sit down, Dotty said Would it be
all right if we sat over there with your friend? Hes all alone over
there, and the booth only holds four.
Sure, honey, Nels, having neatly slid into the drivers seat with
her, said. Youll like Lee. Hes a disc jockey.
Wait, said Roberta. Bisque. WQUE. Izzat R&B Lee?
None other, said Moses. You sound like a fan.
With a dainty snort, she said, You bet I am; he was playin R&B
before Gene Nobles and Hoss Allen on WLAC. At bawey at knows
th blues.
Hey, Webster, Lord called as they reached the table. Heres a fan
ayours.
Lee, who had been observing their approach, hauled himself to
his feet. Well, well, he said, How very nice, taking Robertas out-
stretched hand.
Its mah pleasure, she said, giving his hand a vigorous shake. I
caint believe Im meetin R&B Lee, an here of all places. Thainks
fer playin all th good music.
The pleasure, I assure you, is mine, said Lee as he pulled the
chair next to him out for her. Please, sit down. As he did, Nels
pulled out the adjacent chair for Dotty, then sat down on her other
side. Smiling mostly to himself, Moses sat down opposite the two
happy couples, and waved their waitress over.
Janice, bring us a round, please. The ladiesre havin Old Fash-
ioneds, and back up my Red Cap with a shot a Jack Daniels.
Green or Black, hon?
Black, please. Either of you boys wanta join me?
Sounds pretty good, said Nels. This here daincin takes th edge
off a buzz riit quick. With a nod, Lee made the drink order unani-
mous. The group watched with mild interest as the people moving
people move back and forth to the dance oor: soldiers from nearby
Camp Gordon in nondescript mufti, haircuts giving their occupa-
tion away as surely as a uniform, fresh-showered bluecollars in sticky
white wafe-texture nylon shirts, men from various strata of
Augustas business community and a sprinkling of their female
counterparts. Some would speak or wave at Roberta in passing, eye-
ing the others with ill-concealed curiosity.
I understand youre back in college, Moses said to Dotty, who
looked quickly at Roberta, then back at him.
Thats right; shouldntve left in the rst place, but the money just
plain ran out. Took me three years to save what I needed, but I made
it back, thank the Lord.
Well, the best of luck. Whatre you studyin?
Im a Business major.
An a monkey-business minor? Nels added, drawing polite
laughter from everyone but Dotty.
As Janice put the fresh drinks in place, Webster raised his shot-
glass of sour mash in a toast. Heres to you, Dotty. Hope you make a
million. He drained his glass, as did Moses and Nels, following up
with a pull off his Red Cap.
Thanks, she said. Thats what Id like to do, if its Gods will.
Coming back here when you nish? Moses asked.
Nosiree. I wanta go to Atlanta and get a decent job with a future
to it, even if I will be an old lady of twenty-six by the time I get
there.
An a decent man, riit? said Nels with what he intended as a win-
ning grin, circling a nger in Janices direction for another round.
If thats His will.
His will? Whose will? Nels persisted.
I think she means God, Nels, said Lee, little puckers at the cor-
ners of his mouth hinting at his private enjoyment of the moment as
he glanced at Moses.
Yes, Dotty said, nodding. Thats who I mean.
Well, hell, God, said Nels as the new drinks arrived, dont guess
you can miss if you put God on th job. He raised his shot-glass;
Heres to Dotty an big doins in Atlanta; an ta Gods will too, I
reckon.
Dotty turned in her chair to face Nels. Id appreciate it if you
wouldnt refer to my Lord with disrespect. You may think its funny,
but I dont. And whyd you order more drinks? I havent even started
the last one she brought.
Nels looked back at her for a couple of seconds, then stood up.
Picking up whiskey in one hand and Red Cap in the other, he said,
Would yall excuse me? and headed for the bar, immediately
engaging one of the bartenders in conversation.
Nels move left the table momentarily quiet. Then Lee said, Dont
be concerned about Nels, Dotty. Hes got the rare habit of saying
exactly what he thinks. The problem is, you never know what hes
thinking, and if you did, half the time itd probably make you sick.
But he really doesnt mean any harm; Mose and Ive known im for
years.
Oh, we aint studyin him, said Roberta, reaching over to pat
Lees knee, leaving her hand there. If he liikes it better at th bar, well
get along jus ne without im.
Im sorry, Dotty said, navy eyes still wide-open intense, if he
was offended. But he offended me; he really did.
When I was a sailor, about a million years ago, said Moses, an
ofcer told me that in the wardroomthats kind of a clubroom for
ofcers, on every Navy installationthey never discussed three
things: religion, politics and sex. Guess they wanted to avoid argu-
ments while they were at sea. All weve missed so fars politics.
Well, hell, les dont git inta that, laughed Roberta, grabbing Lee
by his upper arm. I aint had th rst chance ta talk to this man
about music yet. Jus let that lil pissaint set overair all niit if he
ownts to. She picked up her bag, shing inside. I need a cigarette.
As she rummaged, a metal-studded beanie fell out onto the table.
Hey, wheredja get that? asked Dotty, picking it up for a closer
look.
Aw, ats Christys, Roberta said, nding her cigarettes, Lee stand-
ing by with his lighter. It us out in th yard when I come out ta
leave, an I jus picked it up so some kid or dog wouldnt. After all th
damn Kelloggs Pep I bought so she could get them buttons that
come in th boxes. I probly got twenny bucks in at damn beanie.
Looky here, said Dotty, turning the beanie over in her hands.
The buttons have comic characters on em. She looked intently at
each button. Heres Smilin Jack, and Perry Winkle, Lillums,
Skeezix, Kayo, Little Moose, Dick Tracy, Tess Truehart, Hans n Fritz,
th Inspectorthis is great! Dont put it up, Robbie, leave it on the
table for us to look at, OK?
Sure, honey, if you like them little rascals. Cant tell what peo-
plere gonna liike, can ya? Roberta said with a shake of her head.
Now, Mr. Lee, lemme ask yaany of yore recordin artists ever drop
in fer a visit?
We aint that bigyet, Lee snickered good-humoredly. Id love
to do some live interviews with th big names; up-and-comers, too,
before they get too big- swinging his arm and slapping his Red Cap,
sending it spinning off the tableto monkey around with small-
town DJs.
Jeesus, yelped Dotty, as the ale sprayed her.
Small-town, but not small-time, honey, said Roberta, patting
his soggy knee and leaving her hand there. Anybody sides Lee ready
for another round?
By a little after one, the conversations tempo had slowed, but
Roberta had kept it focused on the romance of radio rhythm and
blues. Nels had been gone for quite awhile, having left with two girls
Janice grimly identied as the Gump sisters. Whos that guy that
does th lead vocal on Sixty Minute Man? she asked. Hes great. I
know its th Dominos, but nobody ever says who he is.
Billy Ward, said Lee, squelching a belch. You like that song,
huh?
Hell, who dont? I love it; If yo man aint treatin you riit, come
up an see ole Dan she laughed. Id luuve to see what that bawey
looks liike.
Maybe we could catch im in Atlanta sometime, said Lee. Zack
Shears
Zack Shears! You know Pappy Shears? Blues Train? Hes been on
WTGS faever! Wisht he come in clearer over heanh. How come you
know im?
Well, I havent alwaysh been a small-town jock, honey. I knew
Zack when I was at WBS.
Wow! WBS! When we goin?
Oh, most anytime that the Dominosre in town and our off times
match up, said Lee, the instant impresario. Ill give im a call.
Looks like youll get to Atlanta before Dotty, said Moses.
Yeah, but not to stay. But maybe Ill gure out a way to do it by
the time youre there, honey.
I dont see why not, said Dotty. Theres not much holdin you
here. Youll never get rich at Whiteheads, she giggled.
Roberta grinned mirthlessly as she stubbed out her cigarette. Ill
never get close to rich less I get trained ta do sumpm sides debits n
credits.
Theres all sortsha schools in Atlanta, observed Lee. All you need
to do is decide what you wanta learn; beauty operator, court
reporter, hell, even broadcashtin school. Ive known lotsha people
whove changed jobs after takin courses like at.
Yeah, an if theyre like th ones in Nyoauk, heres one thing
youll hear sooner or later. He picked up the button-studded beanie,
now somewhat soggy, and set it on the crown of his head.
Whassat? asked Roberta.
Moses voice went up an octave: Step troo da klessroom doah
dere, gif your money to da Jew, an heve a zeat.
Lee, getting it, commenced wheezing. The wheeze turned into a
run of whoops, accompanied by uncertain smiles from the women,
Roberta emitting a little bark of laughter as Lees whooping subsided
into a gasping t. Goddam, he sputtered, you oughta have an
AFTRA card. That was friggin perfect!
Dottys smile had disappeared almost as soon as she ashed it; she
looked at Moses, still wearing the beanie, the way she might look at
something that she wished dead. She asked, Why was that funny?
She turned her head to look at all three of them in turn. Getting no
answer, she asked again, Why was that funny? Is it because you all
think Jews are funny?
Moses face went at as he returned her stare. Shitcheah; theyre
human, arent they?
All but one. But that one makes them special. Theyre Jesuss peo-
ple, and I dont like it when anybody makes fun of them.
Well, then, sugar, speakin as a Jewwhich I amI can tell ya that
yer in for a lot of grief.
Youre not a Jew, Dotty proclaimed through a Mount Rush-
more-audition face. A Jew wouldnt say something like that.
Your friend knows lotsha Jews, does she, honey? Lee asked,
thinking that he was suppressing a grin. Sure shounds like she
does.
Oh shit, Lee, hush, gritted Roberta through her teeth. She
taikes all this stuff real serious.
As Moses took a breath to continue the exchange, Nelson Lord
sidled up to the table. Where you been? Lee asked him. We heard
you left with th Gumps.
Who? Gumps? Aw hell, thats jus what Janice calls them girls.
Ther names McGinnis. I ran out to ther place fer a lil bit, but ther
damn dog woke up th chickens, an at woke up ther ol man.
Shoulda never rode out air wid them; hadta haul ass out on foot.
I need to get on home, Robbie, said Dotty.
Roberta removed her tongue from Lees ear. You wanta go,
honey? OK. Haing on jus a minnit. Returning to Lees ear, she whis-
pered, Cmonn go with me ta drop her off.
Sure, baby, Lee said, starting to move his bulk to a standing
position.
Nice tove met you, ladies, said Moses. Dont take any wooden
Hebrews. Nels, sprawled in the next chair, his ngers coming close
to grazing the oor, grinned and nodded his head. Hey Lee.
What? barely containing his glee.
You comin back?
We miit be awhile, said Roberta.
Lee bent over close to Moses ear. Thish girl want R&B dick, an
ol Lee gonna let er have it. Youn Nels go on.
OK, pal, if youre sure. Tally ho.
As the trio moved toward the door, Janice approached the table,
eyeing Nels, whose eyes had shut. Scuse me; you probly dont know
it, but Lenny lets im sleep here when he gets liike is. Theres a cot in
th back.
The Bisque Bears were on the road, a two-hour school-bus ride away
from home for the opening game of the 1952 season. The home
team, traditional rival Ledbetter, set the tone for the evening with its
opening cheer:
Miscue high,
Miscue low,
Miscue got a problem,
Ho-ho-ho!
Go-o-o-o, Lions!
The cheer, from Bisques point of view, had the unfortunate ring
of truth; they hadnt beaten Ledbetter, a perennial state champion of
the Georgia High School Associations Class A division, since before
the war. Bisques cheerleaders exhorted a response from the visiting
crowd, which responded with:
Leadbelly, Leadbelly, so high-class; tonight youd better watch
your
The Bisque stands nished the cheer: ASS! With much grinning
and nudging, and faculty wincing. The cheerleaders would get hell
for doing the unauthorized cheer, but this was war.
Coach, team, pep, steam; fteen rahs for the whole dern team!
Rah, rah, rah-rah-rah,
Yeeaa, Bisque!
Everyone on Bisques side of the eld knew that the cheer was an
empty threat; Ledbetters line averaged fteen pounds heavier, most
of their backs were seniors, faster and more experienced, and their
quarterback, Leonard (Lash) LaRue, had made All-State for the last
two years. He was throwing forty and fty-yard passes during the
pre-game warm-up, making it look way too easy.
Rocky Whitehead watched his Bears warming up, preparing him-
self for what he knew would be required of him tonight. First, a rous-
ing pre-game harangue before the Lords Prayer; then, a wegn still
get em speech at halftime; and an Im proud of everbody on this
bus benediction after the inevitable loss. Everybody, players, cheer-
leaders and the team managers, bawling. Christ. All this and three
classes of Civics, for four thousand a year and a free suit of clothes
from Squires Mens Clothing. If we win at Homecoming. I was better
off getting shot at by the Krauts; at least all the re was from the
front, and all my damn clothes were free.and no wife.
Scratching his crotch, he watched another long Lash LaRue pass
y down the opposite sideline, into the waiting hands of that squatty
little halfback, Pierce. And sure as hell, as soon as we drop back to try
to defend against that, theyll run a sweep or some goddam thing. He
swiveled his head back to his team, just as Terrell let a pretty good
one go to Mason, who picked it out of the air with those good hands
of his. Good average high school players, both of them, but he was
putting them in harms way tonight. Hed brought them up from the
B team last season for the nal two games, so theyd had some game
time. The 51 season had been complete crap2 and 8so hed had
very little to lose. And they looked good enough then, and in early
practice this year, that he was starting them, several other juniors
and two sophomores tonight. Whether theyd have the sand to hold
up against this buncha crackers, he thought, well soon nd out. Just
have to hope we dont get our asses kicked too seriously.
Warm-ups completed, the teams clustered on the sidelines, dget-
ing, slapping asses and staring across the eld at each other as the
ofcials completed their pre-game discussions. OK, fellas, White-
head said, If we win the toss, well receive. If they do, theyll take the
ball, and you know what youve got to watch out for. You backs and
linebackers, dont let them receivers get behind you. If they beat you
by a step, LaRues gonna hit em every time. Linemen, watch for
traps; if you get past your man too easy, you know a trap blocks
comin. Rush hard, we cant give LaRue time to get set to throw; just
be alert to gettin past your man too easy. Ends, keep your heads up
and eyes open for the run; theyll send that little number 23, Pierce,
takin off to the outside on pitchouts if they can turn you inside. OK,
get in here and gitchyer prayer.
The team gathered around him in a cloud of sour-smelling ner-
vous sweat, stacking their hands on top of his outstretched one as
they chanted the Lords Prayer in quicktime. They broke their cluster
with GO, BEARS! as one of the ofcials approached to escort
senior tackle Chuck Collier, the team captain, to the middle of the
eld for the coin toss.
Jack and Ricky stood together, watching for the referees signal for
the winner of the toss. Straightening up from his crouch, the ofcial
raised both arms and brought them down toward Chuck. Ricky
slapped Jack on the butt, saying,All right! Well run 26 on rst
down, then Im hitting your ass in the at. 63 y.
If I dont run the kickoff all the way back, said Jack through
clenched teeth; he always felt like he had to shit just as the game
started.
OK, Bears, said Whitehead. Gimme the receivin team over
here. The receivers, mostly backs and ends, moved into a tight circle
around him. Nothing fancy on this return; check which side they
kick to, probably away from Thomas, get back and form the wedge.
And everybody KNOCK SOMEBODY DOWN!
Jack, trotting over to his spot on the far right side of the receiving
formation, struggled to control the pre-game butteries that were
more active than usual. Theyll kick to me, he thought, away from
Dick Thomas. Coach doesnt want to chance a fumble, so no handoff
to him. Ive just gotta read my blocking and get to daylight if I can. I
wish theyd hurry. The quicker that balls in the air, the quicker Ill
stop feeling like Im going to shit my pants. He watched Ledbetter
lining up to kick, the big lineman, 76, squeezing the ball a couple of
times before tossing it to the holder. He looks like he could hit the
end zone anytime he wants to. Maybe he will this time; I hope not. I
want this runback.
He glanced over at the line of cheerleaders, clapping staccato just
before theyd turn to the crowd to blunt Ledbetters kickoff cheer.
Terry caught his eye, as though shed been waiting for him. She
raised her clasped hands over her head in a boxers self-handshake.
He clapped his hands twice in response as they turned away. 76
raised his hand, responding to the ref s own, indicating that Ledbet-
ter was ready. He ran forward at the sound of the ofcials whistle;
Jack watched the ball as it arced high above them, looking for the
rst clue to where it was coming. To me, he thought. To me. The ball
came to him; it was short of where hed thought it would come, and
he stepped up, catching it in outstretched hands and tucking it away
in the cradle of his right hand and arm. He ran straight ahead,
watching his teammates fall back to form the blocking wedge.
As they turned to face the oncoming Ledbetter rush, he scanned
the colliding bodies for the rst clue of an opening. Nothing up the
middle; players hit and stuck momentarily in a solid mass. No room
to the right; Jack cut left, still looking for daylight. Then the rst Led-
better player to break through the wedge bore down on him from the
right; running at full speed now and using his momentum, Jack
head-faked a move to the would-be tacklers left, running past him as
he took the fake. He was close to the left sideline now, the corner of
his eye picking up the blur of his teammates red-and-white uni-
forms. Turning upeld near the thirty-ve yard line, he picked up
two blockers, one slowing the rush of a defender long enough to let
him get by, the other putting his man on his back with a well-timed
shot as Jack cut toward the middle of the eld. He saw daylight again
to the left, and planted his right foot to cut back. As he did, a pair of
arms from his right side encircled his knees, taking him down in his
tracks just short of mideld. Going down, he was hit hard in the ribs
from the left, and quickly found himself underneath half a ton of
grunting, sweating, cursing young male humanity.
Howya like gittin yo dick knocked in th dirt, 81? Ats all th
runnin yo asss gone be doin toniit. grated a Ledbetter player from
somewhere in the pile.
Ats all youre gonna be seein toniit, bub; my ass. Get used to it,
Jack said, as an ofcial approached to spot the ball.
Getting up, Jack loped back to the Bears huddle. Ricky, already
kneeling inside it, glanced up at him. Way to go, Mason. He looked
out at the Lions formation, then back inside. 26, he said. On
three. They broke the huddle and moved into their offensive lineup,
the newly-adopted T formation. Coach Whiteheads decision to
abandon the single wing wasnt at all popular with Bisque fans or
with Cecil McMillan, the Bisque Gazettes sports editor. It was an
offense built on passing, and most Bisquites still favored the running
gamethree yards and a cloud of dust.
26 was a running play over right tackle; Jack, at right end, lined up
split right, some ten feet outside the tackles spot. His hands between
the centers legs, Ricky looked the defense over, then called Down!
53; hut-one, hut-two, hut-three- As the ball was snapped, Jack took
one step to the right, then pivoted left and sprinted toward his block-
ing assignment, the left linebacker in the Lions ve-three-two-one
defensive formation. The linebacker had rst taken the fake, moving
toward Jack; then, seeing Rickys handoff to the Bears halfback, he
turned back to meet the run. Coming through a large hole in the
line, the ballcarrier turned upeld. Allowing for the linebackers
redirection, Jack ran toward the spot on the eld where their com-
bined motion would bring them together. As he reached it, he
pushed off the ground with his right foot, launching himself into his
target. The linebacker had kept too much of his eye on the runner;
by the time hed switched back to Jack, it was too late. He was hit sol-
idly, just above the belt, and had no place to go but down. The ball-
carrier cut to the outside of their tangled arms and legs, gaining
momentum and nearly twenty yards from scrimmage before the
Lions safety man could bring him down. The ofcial spotted the ball
ve yards into Lion territory.
Headed back to the huddle, Ricky gave Junior Jordan, the right
tackle, a slap on the butt. Great block, he said, grinning broadly.
You too, Jack. In the huddle, he looked briey outside at the
defense, then at Jack. 63 y, on two. As they came to the line and
Jack took his same split right position, he avoided looking downeld
at his destination, looking instead toward the center before taking a
three-point stance. The play called for a fake run over the same spot
as 26. Anticipating the two count ever so slightly, Jack cut right,
then left toward the linebacker for two steps, then back right, sprint-
ing past the closest defender for as much distance as possible as he
looked back for the ball. Ricky pump-faked once to the left, then let
the ball go in a high trajectory toward Jack. Coming from his left, the
Lions safety couldnt reach the ball as it screamed in high to their
right. On a dead run, Jack looked over his right shoulder, picking up
the ball in ight. Reaching out as far as he could, he watched the ball
onto his outstretched ngers, juggling it momentarily, then grasping
it and cradling it securely in the crook of his right arm. Instinct had
him stop short, causing the charging safety to run a step past him.
He cut behind the defender, accelerated again and sprinted across
the goal line. Standing in the end zone, he raised the ball over his
head as his teammates, with Ricky in the lead, surrounded him, hug-
ging him and pounding his helmet and shoulder pads. Crowell, the
Lions head coach, gazed down the eld at his shellshocked team, his
jaw clenched shut. The game clock showed nine minutes and ve
seconds left to play in the rst quarter.

Coach Whitehead sat in the front of the bus, his assistant Roger
Price beside him. I still dont believe it, he shouted over the contin-
ued uproar behind them. Thats it; these guys were unbelievable
tonight. Could you imagineholdin LaRue to eight completions and
62 yards on the ground? We stayed in their backeld all night long.
Them Bishop twinsit was like they knew the play before LaRue ran
it.
Price shifted in the seat to talk close to his coachs ear. I couldnt
believe it when they started tellin me where theyd be coming. At
rst I shooed em off, but I saw real quick that they knew what they
were talkin about. Cheerleadersthats damn spooky, ya ask me.
Them kidsre strange, thats for sure. And theygn go on bein
strange if thats what it takes. 16 to 7 over the state champs? I can live
with all kindsa spookiness for that. Next week well have our hand
signals worked out so you can stand closer to em and get the play to
the defense a little quicker.
Lee Webster set a fresh Red Cap down after a long opening swig as
Moses pushed through the Bisque Lunch Rooms swinging doors.
Well, he said, Jack and the boys wore em out last night.
Yeah, Moses replied, I still dont believe it. Im sure the boys
dont either. All of a sudden theyre a title contender, after being the
joke of the division for so long. Ole Rockys got his work cut out for
him now.
Yes he has. You talk to Jack today?
Few minutes ago. He said a couple of cheerleadersd gured out
some way to steal Ledbetters play calls. Said they knew what theyd
do, every time.
Youre kiddin!.
Nope. He said that by the second half, it was like runnin a
defense drill in practice, when you know where theyre comin. Said it
was drivin Ledbetter crazy.
Thats some story. Wonder what McMillan had to say about it
today?
I saw the paper up at the hotel; shoulda brought it with me. He
called em the bafing Bishops. Thats their name. Anything to take
the credit away from his favorite target.
Yeah, hes been on Rockys butt since before the war.
Wonder how it started?
Ahh, McMillans a horses ass. A horses ass whose daddy owns
the paper. And Rockys an easy mark; just plods along, scrapin by
the best he can, teachin a buncha kids a little solid fuhbawl along the
way.
Speaking of scrapin; any idea whats goin on over there across
the river?
What river is that?
The Savannah River, Doctor IQ. That government project that
Porter wants us to call the SRP.
Shit, said Webster,That joints shut down tightern Eleanor
Roosevelts Jockey shorts. To hear the public information ofce tell
it, theyre all just gonna be sittin over there jugglin test tubes for
peace. nuclear power research is all youre gonna get outta them,
even in th face of all th bomb scuttlebutt.
Well, you could make another Rhode Island with the ground
thats bein moved around over there. Jack and I ew as close as we
could last week without actually getting into the airspace, which I
know without checkings gotta be restricted. They must be plannin
to blow up a shitloada reds.
1120 Wednesday 17 December 1952:
Ralph rapped twice on Moses door as he stuck his head into the
ofce. Ziggys comin home, he said, every tooth in his head visible.
Moses returned the grin, pushing the chair back from his desk.
When?
Friday, Ralph said, still grinning. Dont know what time yet.
Well, dont be showin up around here at all on Fridaytil youve
got im in th car. How longs he got?
Thirty dayshes goin to recruitin duty in Atlanta. Did I tell ya
he made Sergeant?
Moses eyebrows jumped a half-inch. You did not. When?
Last month. Thought sure I tole ya.
Hey, thats fantastic! Whens he due in?
His planes due into th Atlanta Naval Air Station around noon
Friday. I didnt get the chance to ask you yet; I need to take Friday off
to pick him up.
Take Thursday too. Youve got some gettin ready to do.
Thanks, boss. I can use it.
How longs he going to be here?
Hes got thirty days leave, but hell be here through Christmas.
Hes invited to a New Years Eve party in New York.
Well, Ill be damned. Whats the deal?
One of the guys in his outts from there. Got the same leave
time as Ziggy; theyre gonna see the New Year in on Times Square,
like I did in 45. Hes gonna stay a few days with him and his family,
see a little bit of the city, and get back to Atlanta and report for duty.
Boy, hell never forget doing that, Moses said, smiling. But well
do what we can to compete. Ziggys got a lotta friends thatll wanta
see im; Id like to have everybody over to my place one night. Maybe
Saturday week. Think hed like that?
Ralph hesitated for a heartbeat longer than he had to. Sure. I
know hed love it. What time would you wanta do it?
How about eight?
Thatll be great. Thanks, boss.
1435 Monday 15 December 1952:
Jack stopped the wagon in front of the Williams house, just down the
dirt road from Hamm Foods. He got out and walked up the two con-
crete-block steps that preceded the walkway of wobbly concrete-
hexagon agstones to the front door. Before he saw the grasshopper-
leg of a crack in the lower left corner of the pane of glass that made
up most of the doors upper third, he knocked on it lightly with the
backs of his knuckles. The rattle made him jerk his hand back as
though hed been burned. Shadows moving behind the gauzy cur-
tain that was drawn over the inside of the window preceded the
sound of footfalls approaching the door. It was opened by a tall,
gaunt Ziggy Williams in Marine dress blues, three gold-on-red buck
sergeants chevrons dominating each sleeve. The vertical red, white
and blue bars of the Silver Star ribbon were joined by two rows of
lesser decorations on his left breast, along with the crossed ries of
the Rie Expert and the Maltese Cross of the Pistol Sharpshooter. He
extended his hand across the threshold. Bwy, he said in a deeper-
than-remembered voice. Git in dis house.
Jack, for a long moment, couldnt respond, beyond surrendering
himself to Ziggys bearhug. Once released, hed regained his voice.
Hey, Zig, he said, feeling his voice pitch a lot higher than he
wished. How you doin?
Pretty good, buddy. I glad ta see ya.
You too. Some duds.
Well, I gotta get used to em; dey tells me recruiters wears dress
blues a lot. Whole bunch different than what I been wearin las cou-
pla years. He put a hand on Jacks shoulder. Gone take me fo a spin
roun de ole town? He pushed the curtain aside to look at the
wagon. Dat Mistah Ks cah.
Sho is. Hey, is your mom here?
Ziggy laughed. Bwy, you know she workin dis timea day. She
comin to de pahty; you kin see er den.
They rolled down the gentle grade, stopping at the intersection
where the dirt road dead-ended into the street leading into Bisques
city park, opposite the lump of bronze-faced granite that memorial-
ized the town bigwigs who were in ofce when it was opened.
Where to rst? asked Jack.
Since we in Mistah Ks cah, les go see him rst.
Makes sense. Jack turned the wheel to the left, heading the car
north on the park road, which quickly turned into Ninth Street.
Unbuttoning a middle button of his blouse, Ziggy withdrew a at sil-
ver ask. Inclining its neck toward Jack, he asked, How bout it?
Jack thought for a second or two. Thanks. I better wait til were
gone from here; dont think I want Mose to smell it on me while Im
drivin.
Ziggy pondered his reply. Then he opened the glove box and put
the ask in. Thass a good point, he agreed. He dont need to be
thinkin Im givin you none, either. Five minutes later they were in
the Hamm County Beverage Companys parking lot.
Bev Tyler saw them rst. They saw her call in the direction of
Moses ofce; he joined her in the lobby before they reached the
door. Ziggy! he said. He moved toward them, arms wide open, as
they walked in.
Hey, Mistah K! How you doin?
The questions howre you doin, Sarge. Moses took a step back.
You look damn good. Jack gettin you around to see everybody?
Zig wanted to come here rst, Jack told him.
Well, we appreciate that; we sure do. Lets head back and see the
crew.
As they headed out of the parking lot, Jack asked, Where now?
Lessee, Ziggy said as he opened the glove box. How bout de
sto? Mist Ahchah ain gone notice no likker smell. He got his own
bref goin.

Evvie Summers, in a departure from her regularly scheduled
break from the Winston box ofce at ve oclock, had taken it today
at four. Overcome by a craving for Nelson Lords fried chicken livers,
she bypassed Lyles Rexall Drugs, her usual BLT and large Pepsi for
the Bisque Caf. Entering by the cash register, she had barely slid into
a seat at the counter when she was transxed by the sight of a black
face. Unfamiliar to her at rst, sitting as it did under the white halo
of a Marine Corps frame cap, she realized within a few seconds that
it belonged to Ziggy Williams, and that it had broken into a broad
grin that was directed at her, closely followed by a jaunty wave. Hey,
Evvie! Jack shouted. Its Ziggy! Leaving the kitchen doorway, they
walked over to the counter. Looks a lot different, dont he?
She looked up at them, absorbing the contrast of the blue/red/yel-
low/white of Ziggys uniform with the deep mahogany of the boys
face. Yeah, he sho does. How you doin, Zig?
Fine, Miss Evvie, jus ne, Ziggy said with a ash of tombstone
teeth. Sho niice tsee you again. He looked around the empty caf
nervously. We just stopped by to see Miz Reba an evrybody in th
kitchen fo a minute. Les run on now, Jack.
Id like to see anybody givin you shit about bein in here. Youre a
hero, goddammit; Bisques only hero of th Korean war, at least so
far.
I know. But ainno use makin trouble. Les jus ride around some
more, OK?
We just came from down at Archers, said Jack. Boy, were they
glad to see im. He won th Silver Star, Evvie!
I know, she said. I seen it in th paper. Congratulations, Zig.
She stood up just as Reba emerged from the kitchen. Comere and
lemme give ya a hug. She wrapped her arms around the rail-thin
Sergeant, looking up at him. She stepped back. Yeah, Id say you feel
just like a hero. How long ya gonna be in town? They didnt letcha
out already, did they?
Nope. Im jus here on leave for a few days; then over to Alanna
fo rcruitn duty.
Really. Thas nice. I bet youll do jus ne, recruitin, too. Youll be
back home now an then, woncha?
Yeah, sure, I guess so. But we gotta go now, he said, casting an
anxious glance at Reba. Be seein you, Mis Evvie.
Bye, boys. Yall be careful out on th roads, now, heanh? As they
moved away, Evvie admired the two slim butts withdrawal. Well,
well, she mused; Atlanta. Id denitely do him. Whats that old sayin;
fuck a nigger, change your luck
1935 Saturday 20 December 1952:
Better run around and crack a few windows, honey, said Serena,
pulling the last of the Bisque Cafs rectangular food pans from
Moses oven. Its already gettin stuffy, and theres gonna be a lot
more people in here.
OK, Jack said, taking the pan from her. Finding a place for it
among the dishes that were arrayed buffet-style on the dining room
table, he opened windows on both sides of the room a hand-width
or so, then did the same in the living room and the den to get some
air moving through the house, shooting a quick smile in the direc-
tion of the guests that stood around the bar opposite the big eld-
stone replace. It could just as easily be an evening in October, he
thought, instead of the weekend before Christmas. We sure as hell
didnt need this re, but Moses had insisted, saying that it wouldnt
be a Christmas party without a re. He poked at its base, insuring
that the three large pieces of split poplar needed no immediate com-
pany. Let that damn re be, bwy, said Ricky, who had come in from
his lookouts post outside the house.
If were gonna have a re, it might as well be a good un, said
Jack, setting the poker back in its rack. Any sign of Ziggyn them?
Nope. Its early yet. Didja get ole Scotty- he indicated the stocky,
fortyish warehouseman currently tending barta sneak you a little
drink?
Hell, no. He knows Mose wont stand for it. Well hafta handle
that little job ourselves. Itll be easier after the room lls up.
Well, nobody oughta hafta be sober at Bisques rst race-mixin
shindig, Ricky said. Wonder how many just wont show up.
I dont think too many; at least not from work. Everybody likes
ol Ralph, and Ziggy aint just Ziggy any more. Hes the only war hero
Bisques got, so far, from this war anyway. And Mose didnt ask any-
body else much; just people that he knows like ole Zig.
Well, I wish theyd get on over here; who alls comin with him?
Just his mom and Ralph, fars I know, said Jack, looking to see
who was in the group that had just arrived. The girlsre takin their
time; howre they gettin out here?
Trisha said she was gonna pick Terry up. I better run back out
and make sure nobody gets th guestv honors parkin place.
Ricky had just gotten outside when he saw Ralphs car at the end
of the driveway. He waved them forward to the reserved parking
place under the carport. Ziggy was in the drivers seat. Walking to the
passengers side of the car, he opened the door and extended his
hand to Arabella Williams. She took it and stepped nimbly out of the
car. Hey there, Ricky, she said. Looking up at him, she was slender,
almost childlike, yet shed borne these two large sons and two daugh-
ters.
Uh, hi, Miz Williams. Hey there, Ralph. Ralph, sitting in the
back seat, grinned hello. Hey, Ziggy. Welcome back. Cmon in;
theyre waitin for you.
Indicating the way to Arabella Williams, Ricky reached behind her
to shake Ziggys hand. Hey, buddy, he said, pumping Ziggys long,
bony hand. Congratulations on your Silver Star.
Ziggy, natty in the new shirt and slacks that were part of the ward-
robe that Moses had him pick out at Larsons, grinned at him.
Thanks, Ricky. I preeshate it.
Serena opened the door for them. Mrs.Williams. Please, come in.
Thank you so much for coming.
Im so glad to be here. Thank you for doing this for Reginald.
For Reginaldoh, yes. Well, its a very small thing compared to
what hes done for us. What can I get you to drink?
Most of the men circled around the bar, shooting questions at
Ziggy, mostly about the war. He answered ve or six as briey as he
could with courtesy, then Lee Webster took the conversation in
another direction. So, are ya lookin forward to livin in th big city?
The smile that he got in response was the brightest imaginable.
Sho am. I rilly lookin foward to it.
How longs the assignment?
Two years. Dey tole me it could be fo two mo, if I be a good
rcrooter. An if I ships over.
Ships over? said Ricky. Whats that?
Reenlist. Give em fo mo years.
Thats quite a spell, said Moses. Think youll do it?
Dawno. I see if I likes bein a Marine dat ain gittin shot at, er
frozen stiff. Den we see.
Guess thats fair. Well, theres always Bisque.
Bisque? said Ziggy. You mean come home?
Sure, Moses said. Therere worse places than here to live, if you
decide to get out.
Das true. But if I gets out, I speck I be stayin in Alanna.
Well, its a big town; plenty of things to do there.
Sho is. First thing I be doin is goin ta college.
The room got suddenly quiet. College, said Moses. Good idea.
Where?
Mohouse, I reckon. If I don have no problem wif my high
school test.
I doubt you will, Moses said, looking with what he hoped was
veiled amusement around the room. I expect youll do ne.
I hopes so. I got some books ta help me git ready.
But Ziggy, the voice came from the circles fringeYa mean ya
wouldnt rether git on back ta Ko-rea an shoot some more athem
gewks? They say at college shits tough. Yew gotta readan ever-
thang.
A forest of heads turned to see who spoke. The source made it
easy for them; he spoke again. Thay teach ya ta read since ya left?
Hell, I caint bleeve thay could teach ya ta shoot. Himenny of em
didja plug in th back?
Wash Davis was drunk. He was also short, sandy-haired, and sal-
low, with a mouthful of alarmingly bad teeth. No one at the Hamm
County Beverage Company knew him that well, aside from his
uncle, Pat Greer. Pat, the companys third most senior employee, had
leveraged his longevity to get Wash hired, despite a spotty, but color-
ful, employment history that included roong and concrete nish-
ing. Just the man, Pat assured Moses, for the spot on the loading
dock that had opened up when Roscoe Jarvis got drafted. Wash,
whod done a hitch in the army, wouldnt be called. Hed been on the
dock since September, having a lot to say and making no friends.
Moses put a hand rmly on Ziggys arm and looked around for
Pat. He wanted Wash out before Ralph Williams could get his hands
on him. He caught the uncles eye and jerked his head toward Wash,
who ashed his luminous teeth to counter the ill will of those closest
to him. Pat made a bee-line for Wash, lifting him almost clear of the
oor by his upper arm and frog-marching him through the house
and out the door. His parting Silver Star, mah aiess! was delivered
over his shoulder, punctuated by a glancing blow from the door-fac-
ing to his head as Pat shoved him through.
Ralph Williams, his face frozen in the smallest of smiles, returned
to the room from the kitchen, from where hed watched Wash being
pushed into the cab of Pats 49 Dodge pickup. Thanks, boss. Guess
we shouldve expected sumpm like this. Dont think my mama
heard any of it, up there in th livin room.
Jesus, Ralph, Im sorry. He looked across the room for Ziggy,
whod moved to the bar as Wash departed and was smiling, fresh
drink in hand, at a couple of sober-faced young men, obviously
doing what he could to put them at their ease. Doesnt look like it
bothered Ziggy much.
No way a little shit like thats gonna upset ole Zig, said Ralph, his
face relaxing as he felt a new surge of pride for his little brother.
Ill call Pat at home, Moses said with a rueful short wag of his
head. I dont want that sonofabitch around any more. He can take
im his check Monday after work.
What can I do to talk you out of that, boss? Ziggy wouldnt want
anybody red over sumpm like this.
I know it. But this aint his call. Weve got a small crew, and I
mean for us to work happy around there. Itus my mistake lettin Pat
talk me into takin im on in th rst place.
Youre right, its your call. Ill scare up somebody else quick as I
can.
Fine. Now les go see what your brothers bangin on Websters
ear about.
2050 Monday 22 December 1952:
That us quite a party you threw ole Ziggy, said Webster after the
rst long slug of his latest Red Cap as Moses took his seat in the
Bisque Lunch Room.
Thanks. You left sort of early.
Guess Im not as young as I used to be. Or maybe I thought Id be
gone if the maniac returned with friends, rearms or both.
That little asshole? Not likely.
Dont be too sure. Its in his blood.
Whatchoo talkin about? Ole Pats a right guy.
Hes got another uncle, at least one more, that Im talkin about.
Doin ve to seven down at Reidsville, lessn a hundred miles from
here.
Moses eyebrows twitched. Lindall?
Yep. Hes Washs uncle on his mothers side.
Sorry to hear that. But therere lots of nasty people in the world.
And Lindalls got about four years left to do, minimum.
Im just sayin you wanta watch yourself. That little assholes the
kind whod lay for you with a shotgun, just the way Lindall did with
Precious Lord.
Thanks, Ill watch my back.
Make damn sure you, buddy.
By the way, Ziggy was givin you the gas hot and heavy right
before you left. Whatd he want?
The usual. For people movin to Atlanta, that is. An introduction
to Zack Shears.
Hm. Did he say why?
Appears as how he wants to join the herd of would-be singers
that want Zack to make em famous.
Well, dont sell the boy short. He got out of here, and hell proba-
bly get out of Atlanta when he gets ready.
He probably will at that, said Webster.
- 327 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 7
Little Old New York
Jack brought the Harley to a halt with a scant screech of rear tire. No
longer the Wincycle, it was his bike since Moses gave it to him,
sidecar and all, for his sixteenth birthday, November rst of 52. Hed
left the sidecar on just long enough for his mother to get used to his
riding it every day; it became a solo rig way before Christmas, the fat
buddy seat and its hydraulic plunger giving way to a small dual
spring-supported number made by Bates of California. By the fol-
lowing June, Jack having taken his cues from photos in Cycle maga-
zine, it was a full-edged bob job, with a new front fender
hammered out of the spare tire cover off a 36 Ford roadster, the old
front fender cut down and moved to the back, and with Roy
Hartwells connivance, a four-speed transmission in place of the old
three-forward-plus-reverse. Roy had also heated and bent the end of
the exhaust pipe upward to a forty-ve degree angle and sent the
pipe to Atlanta to be chromed. A matching chromed reverse cone
megaphone rode at this jaunty angle beside the rear wheel, replacing
the bikes mufer and giving Jack the satisfaction of making more
noise than Freddy George could with his new Triumph Thunderbird,
which sported its own twin megaphones.
Moses looked up from his desk at the sound of his knock. Excuse
me, Mose.
Hey, bud, Moses said with a grin as he looked at his watch. It
was just past one oclock. This is a surprise. Whadja do, get kicked
outa school?
Jack, who had been smiling, stopped. No, but Im AWOL.
Sumpm happened over there a little while ago that I need to talk to
you about.
Sure. Have a seat. Whats going on?
They suspended Ricky today; and kicked him off the football
team. Trisha McNeils dad told the principal that shes pregnant, and
that Ricky did it.
Oh, no. What does he say?
He told me theyd been making love since Thanksgiving, and
that she didnt have her period last month or the month before that.
She told him when she missed the rst one, and they kept on waitin,
thinkin it would come. Then the time for her next one came and
went. They were just too scared to tell anybody. Finally Ricky told his
dad, and he went and told her folks. He said that they could get it
xed; she could get an operationyou know, an abortion. But that
made em so mad they threw him out. Theyre really mad.
I guess they are. Abortions are illegal, and most of the people
who do them arent doctors. Its a very dangerous thing to mess with.
Matter of fact, Im amazed were havin this conversation. You guys
are way too young to be talkin about stuff like this, and youhe
damn sure shouldnt be doin it. Wheres Ricky now?
Home, I guess. He left school during lunch period, as soon as he
told me. Hes really confused, and mad, too. Im goin over there, but
I wanted to talk to you rst.
Im glad you did, buddy. Do me a favor, though. I need some
time to think this through. Go on back to school before they miss
you, and meet me back here when it lets out.
Little Old New York 329
No, Mose. I cant. Ricky needs me now. Im not leavin him
alone.
Jack. You came here to talk to me. Did you want me to tell you
what I think, or just listen to what you have to say?
Focusing on him, the boys eyes widened. No, Mose, I need your
help. Just dont ask me to go back to that school right now. I cant.
Moses got up and walked around the desk. Stopping behind Jacks
chair, he put one hand on each of his shoulders. Mm-mm-mm
fuckin-mm. OK. Forget about that. Lets run out to Rickys.

Hey, Melinda, Moses said, forcing a smile.
Mose. Jack. She looked as though she hadnt slept, and was try-
ing not to cry. Youve caught us at a bad time.
Yes. Im very sorry. We were hopin to help somehow; Jacks wor-
ried about Ricky.
So are we, she said. Richards not here right now. Why dont
yall come on in. Jack, you wanta run on back and see Ricky? Hes in
his room.
Yes maam. Thanks. He looked questioningly at Moses.
Go on, buddy. Ill sit out here with Miz Terrell.
Jack knocked on the red-and-white steel KEEP OUT sign that
Ricky had bolted to his door. It made a boinking sound like the one
it had the night that theyd ripped it off the door to the gymnasiums
furnace room. Rick?
Rick opened the door. His face was almost the same light gray as
his sweatshirt. Hey.
You OK?
Shit. Ricky said. Shit fuck piss. No, I aint.
Is Trisha home now?
I dawno.
Have you talked to er?
You kiddin? They wont let er. Theyre so pissed off Ill probly
never see er again.
Mose brought me over; I told im about it; I think he can help
us.
Ricky looked at him for a long thirty seconds. Maybe so. You did
right, buddy. Hes always backed you up, and God knows I need
some good ideas about what to do. Daddys idea went over like a lead
balloon, and now Im sittin here without a clue.
What wouldja really like to do? asked Jack.
Right now?
Yeah.
Id sorta like to cut my dick off, if you wanta know the truth. Ive
fucked a buncha people, not just Trisha and me. And you know
what? It wasnt fuckin worth it.
And here Ive been envying the shit out of you because you were
gettin steady pussy. Remember that bet we made way back that
fourth of July at Paps?
Oh yeah. When Koread just started. I won, Ricky said, smiling
at the irony.
Yeah, you were denitely rst.
Wanta swap places?
Jack smiled ruefully. No thanks. But I still wanta help. Believe
me, if Id had the chance you had, Ida done the same thing. Funny,
aint it?
What?
You say it wasnt worth it, and I believe you. But most guys want
it bad; really bad, I mean. Do most anything to get it, far as I know.
Thats what nearly every damn movies all about. So if there aint
much to it, what in the fuck are we gettin so shook up about?
Easy, said Ricky. Between times, you forget. All th blood that it
takes to get a hard-on must drain right outa th brain. Remember
what Smokey said that time? A stiff dick aint got no conscience.
One things for sure; we aint got much control over it, or I wouldnt
be sittin here feelin like such a fuckin idiot.
Youre no fuckin idiot, no more than anybody else with a dick,
said Jack as he stood up, looking at the Lockheed P-80 that hung
from the ceiling, its wingspan something over two feet. No idiot
built that, he said, and were gonna get through this shit together. I
made up my mind about sumpm while we were drivin out here, by
th way.
Yeah, what?
They decided they could do without your services as quarter-
back; Im gonna let em do without mine, too.
Ricky stood up, spinning Jack around by the arm so that they
faced each other. The fuck you are! he said, his jaw set. What the
fuck do you think youre doin, givin me one more person to feel
guilty about? Goddam it, whatre you thinkin about, anyway? You
just fuckin forget that, pal.
You forget tellin me to forget it, pal, Jack shot back as he shook
Rickys arm off and moving his face within a couple of inches of his.
Im in this with you, just the same way youd be in it with me. You
would be, wouldncha?
Ricky turned away, looking out the window. Yeah, sure I would,
he said, his voice dropping. Goddam it, dont you get it? Nobody
can get me outa this, or make it better. But youre right. Id try, and I
wont keep you from tryin. Thanks, buddy.
Jacks hand reached out to clutch Rickys shoulder, just below his
neck, and squeezed. OK. Moses gotta get back. Ill call you in a little
bit.
Howd it go? asked Moses as they headed back to the ofce.
OK. How was Miz Terrell?
Not bad, except shes convinced that theyll have to leave town.
Beats anything I ever saw; most of the people in this fucking town
are so full of fear that theyve forgotten what theyre afraid of.
Jack looked at him for a long moment, jaw set, green eyes nearly
black. Yeah. Sumpm like this hurts people like th Terrells the most.
Its important to them to do th right thing, and when somebody
points a nger at em and says they did wrong, it hurts just as much
whether they really did it or not. If you play th Bisque game, youre
guilty until proven innocent. Somebody like you or Pap or Momd
just tell em to go to hell, but most people just knuckle under. Well
get em through it, though. Im takin the rst step today. Wouldja
drop me off at school?
Sure. What kinda step you got in mind?
Im tellin Coach Im off the team.
Moses kept his eyes on the road. Sounds like youve already
thought this though. Any chance youd like to sleep on it?
Nossir.
OK, buddy. Shall I come in?
No, thanks. Id like to handle this myself.
Moses turned the car toward the gymnasium. No, said Jack,
just drop me at the back door. He drove into the parking lot, near
the cafeteria, and stopped. Coachs civics classll be out in a few
minutes. He sat looking straight ahead. He pushed the door handle
down, then turned to Moses as the door swung open and the bells
clanging surged into the car. Hey, beer man.
Yeah?
I love you. He was already out of the car.
I know, Moses shouted after him. I love you, too, buddy.
Moses sat smiling in the car, the motor running, watching Jack
through a trickle of tears as he walked past the cafeteria toward the
door. That kids bitten off a very large piece of growing up, he
thought; and right this minute I dont see much that I can do to help
him chew it.
1255 Tuesday 24 February 1953:
Bisque High Schools new building, Serena thought as she walked up
the front steps, looks a lot like those long, narrow chicken houses
theyre building around here. Even the wire imbedded in the glass of
these doors looks like chicken wire. Looking through its hexagons,
she saw the familiar gure of Miss Nola Thomas pushing her way
through the stream of student trafc. She leaned her weight against
the inbound door, calling to the white-haired woman as it hissed
open. Miss Nola!
Yes? Well, my goodness, Serena, she said, smiling over her half-
glasses in the bemused, inquiring way that took the younger woman
back over twenty years, to her desk in Miss Nolas World History
class. Still wearing that green cable-knit sweater that she wore way
back then. Howre you doing?
Just ne, said Serena, Considering.
I know, Miss Nola said, Ive heard about it. Its all over school,
and Ill tell you Im not the least bit surprised at what Jack did. He
has a pretty good instinct for justice.
You cant know how good that makes me feel, said Serena. He
hasnt said all that much to me about it, except that he feels that he
has to stand by Ricky, and this is the way hes chosen to do it.
Miss Nolas smile faded as she looked past her old student toward
the administration ofce. Its been too long since we visited, Serena;
would you be free to have a cup of coffee with me after school? I
could drop by the hotel around three-thirty.
Thatd be just great. Lets meet in my apartment, up on the sixth
oor, so we wont be interrupted. Suite 601. Im really looking for-
ward to catching up.
So I am I, honey, said the teacher as she turned to go. See you
this afternoon.
The clock on the ofce wall behind conceded a single tinny chime
as John Martin stepped through the door. The principal extended a
long arm toward Serena, offering his hand. Good afternoon, Mrs.
Mason, he said. Thank you for coming. Please come in. They
walked past the ofces chest-high counter and into Mr. Martins
ofce, where Jack and Mr. Whitehead sat, their faces reecting the
walls dusty, aging yellow. They stood to greet her. Of course you
know Coach Whitehead, the principal said as they shook hands.
Shall we sit down? Serena sat beside Jack on the sofa opposite Mar-
tins desk.
After Coach Whitehead told me about Jacks decision to leave the
team, Martin said, I thought it might be a good idea for us all to
get together and talk about what we think the results of that decision
might be.
As far as I can see, Serena said, the results are pretty obvious.
Unless Ive missed something.
In one sense, I suppose, thats true, the principal said, shifting in
his chair to bring Coach Whitehead, seated at the far corner of the
desk, into his eld of vision. Football, like our other sports pro-
grams, is an elective activity. So if Jack doesnt want to play any more,
the school respects his decision. I just want to make sure that he, and
you, Mrs. Mason, are sure that the decision in his best interest.
From what Jacks told me in the last few days, Serena replied, I
believe that it is.
Yes. Well. Im sure that hes told you a great deal by now, and that
he feels like hes done the right thing. Hes standing beside his friend,
and thats very admirable. Im concerned, though, that in this imme-
diate response to the necessity of suspending Mr. Terrell and remov-
ing him from the team, Jack may be overreacting. Id like to make
sure that you folks understand that the school had no discretion in
the handling of this matter. Even if we had, I can tell you that
wouldve made very little difference in my decision. These children
made a very serious mistake, and the school cant ratify that behavior
by ignoring it. Id just hate to see Jack pay too high a price for this
gesture hes making on behalf of his friend.
Jacks the one to tell you how he feels about that, said Serena,
but as long as Im here, Ill tell you how I feel about it. The time for
a gestureand the action that backs it upis when a friend needs it.
Yes. Of course. I know he feels that way
Youve asked him?
Well, not yet, but
Then why dont you ask him? Thats why were here, isnt it? To
make sure Jack knows what hes doing?
It is, said Coach Whitehead, shifting his bulk on the seat of a
chair not designed for it. Absolutely. But we want himand youto
be real sure you understand what Jacks gonna lose by passin up his
senior year of football.
OK. And lets also look at what he stands to gain. That all right
with you, son? asked Serena, smiling as she looked at Jack.
Jack, sitting with his back away from the sofa, his hands on his
knees, returned her smile. Thats just ne, he said.
Well, Mr. Martin said, Perhaps we ought to hear what Jack has
to say rst. If thats all right with everyone. He paused for a quick
glance at the three faces, and continued. Would you like to tell us
why you decided to support your friend in this particular way?
Jack took a moment to look at each of the three, then said, Its
just like I told Coach. If Rickys off the squad, then so am I.
I think we all understand how you feel, Jack, said Mr. Martin.
Loyaltys essential to friendship. Ricky, Patricia and their families
have a very serious problem, and so has the school system. Every-
ones going to have to concentrate on dealing with their part of the
problem. I cant understand what you think leaving the team will do
to help solve it.
Itll solve my problem, sir.
Your problem? What is your problem?
My problems being sure my friend knows Im with hima hun-
dred percent. I think thatll help him solve his problem.
Did he ask you to quit?
No sir. Matter of fact, I may have to ght im when he hears
about it.
A faint smile ickered over Martins face for a fraction of a second.
Then he said, Thatd be a strange reaction to what youre doing
strange, at least, for him. Wouldnt it?
You wouldnt think so, Ricky said, returning the principals
smile with a shake of his head, If you knew Ricky.
Coach Whitehead responded to Jacks headshaking with his own.
Youre sayin he wants yuh to play next year?
Yessir.
Howyaknow?
I told you. Hes my friend. I know im.
It seems to me, said Martin, that youd want to respect his
wishes.
I would, said Jack, if he was right. Hes not. Hes my friend, but
that doesnt mean hes always right.
Are you always right, Jack? asked Martin.
Nossir. Not by a jugful. But I think Im right about this.
Well, heres the deal, son, said Coach Whitehead. With you and
Terrell, Bisque High looked like itd repeat as state champion next
year. It wouldve been real hard to without Terrell, but itll be impos-
sible to do with both of you out. The way I see it, this way we all lose.
Terrell loses, the school loses, and so do you. Bein all-state last year
and a cinch to make it again next year, you could write your own
ticket to dern near any school you pleased. You know how many
scouts there was around here in th post-season last year. I wish there
was somethin we could do about Terrell, but there idnt. But its
within your power to help us overcome losin him, and do somethin
important for your future too. Thats what wed all liike to see you
do, includin Terrell.
Not all of us, Mr. Whitehead, said Serena.
The principal looked over his glasses at her. What are your feel-
ings in this matter, Mrs. Mason? he asked.
My feelings are that Jacks made his decision to support Ricky in
the way that he feels that he must. When we rst sat down, you said
that Ricky, Trisha and their families have a very serious problem, and
they certainly have. Thats what this meeting shouldve been about;
what Jack and his fellow students will learn from whats happened to
Ricky and Trisha. Particularly about whether the school system, and
Bisque in general, is right to turn these children into outlaws because
they made a mistake. Instead, were talking about football. Football,
for Gods sake! What can you men be thinking about?
Martins poker face said, What were thinking about is the long-
term welfare of the children that Bisque families place into our care.
That welfare includes reinforcing the values that they learn at home,
and at church. It certainly does not include the erosion of those val-
ues by allowing behavior such as this to go unpenalized.
Oh, theyll be penalized, all right. And plenty, said Serena,
standing up. In this town, you can be sure of that. And since your
options as employees of the system are so severely limited, helping
them deal with the penalties looks like its going to fall to their
friends. Unless you have anything else to add, I think weve pretty
much covered everything that relates to this situation. And Im sure
Jack needs to get to class.
Everyone else stood up. Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Mason,
said Martin. Im sorry
Serena held up her hand in the manner of a trafc cop. You go
on, honey. I need just a minute with Mr. Martin. Would you walk
out with me, please? She extended her hand to Coach Whitehead.
Nice to see you, Coach.
I wanted to ask you something, she said as they walked down
the schools front steps. Where did Trisha get pregnant?
Martin stopped short, a step below her, and looked up. What did
you say?
I said, where did Trisha get pregnant?
Im sure I dont know, said Martin.
Would you say that it happened here?
Here? You mean on school property? Certainly not.
Then on what authority are you suspending Ricky Terrell?
Martins mouth opened slowly, soundlessly, and shut. Then he
said, The policy of the school board
Serena smiled. I doubt that there is such a thing, other than
whats made up as they go along.
Martins poker face returned. I dont think I should discuss this
situation with you any further outside of
No, Serena said, You wouldnt. Theres a little Hitler in the best
of us. Well, Mr. Martin, take this back to your precious school board.
If I were one of Rickys parents, Id sue everyone in sight. I hope they
do. You peoples sanctimoniousness makes me sick. Just one last
thing.
Whats that?
Her eyes were green onyx. Leave Jack alone. She turned and
strode down the long, wide walk to Main street.

Miss Nola was, as was her habit, on time. Hi, Serena said, smil-
ing as she opened the door.
Hi yourself. This is very nice, she said as she looked around the
apartments living room. I knew you lived here, but I really hadnt
thought about what it would be like. Was your apartment in New
York like this?
It was, but bigger. Jack and I get along just ne, though. Please,
have a seat on the sofa. Coffees almost ready.
Thanks. Im glad to hear you like it. Im sure some people
around here think youd probably rather be in a house, or that Jack
would. I think Id enjoy living here, though.
Well, we both like it; its sort of like keeping the door open to
New York. We lived there until Jack was six, you know. He has a lot of
memories of the city.
I understand you all went out to Los Alamos.
Serena looked at her with unconcealed surprise. You know about
Los Alamos. Not a lot of people around here do.
Oh its not quite the secret that it used to be. Even Walter Winch-
ell talks about it; he mentioned something about it on television not
long ago.
Well, God knows what the Bisque grapevines version is by now,
but all I can say is that we were there for awhile, and that Bisque
never looked better to me than when we got off the bus. Scuse me
while I get us some coffee.
Certainly. Well, we were all real glad to have you back, she said
as Serena disappeared into the kitchen. And Ive really enjoyed hav-
ing Jack in my class this year. I hope this football business blows over
in a hurry, so that he can concentrate on his schoolwork.
Serena returned with two cups of coffee and Toll House cookies.
So do I. Its the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Always has
been.
Now you sound like your Mama. She never put up with this
towns nonsense; not for a minute.
No, said Serena, she didnt.
I grew up in her shadow, you know; she was ve years older than
I was, which was a lot when youre a girl, but she was always really
nice to me. I went to Agnes Scott because she did. She was a real rev-
olutionary, at least for around here. Silly as it sounds today, we used
to say that she had spunk. She was so different from Bonnie, it was
almost like they werent sisters.
So Ive heard. She used to say that Aunt Bonnied accuse her of
wanting to be an only child.
Rest her soul. She was the oldest, and as soon as Rose got to be
school age it seems like she just got left in her dust. Rose shouldve
done what you did; I know I wish that I had.
Whats that? Serena asked her.
Gotten out of this Godforsaken little backwater at the rst
opportunity.
Serena smiled. But then whodve gotten Gene Debs, Buster and
me through World History?
Some other old maid, I suppose. Honey, I told you when you left
that you were doing the right thing. And even though youve come
back, I have the feeling that you wont be here forever.
Well, Miss Nola, the war changed a lot of things.
Which war do you mean, honey? The big one, or yours?
The smile tightened a notch. Both, I guess, but in any case I have
Jacks welfare to look out for now.
Yes, indeed. Theres an awful lot of you in him, Serena; Jacks a
really bright young man. Did he inherit your artistic talent? If he did,
he doesnt share it with us at school.
Not much, at least not drawing, and I guess if he had thered be
some sign of it by now. I was drawing by the time I could talk. Hes
got a lot of his father in him, too; hes had straight As in math since
rst grade, and his vocabulary passed mine up a year or two back.
Well, I hope you can help him see all this football business for the
nonsense it is, and put it behind him for good, Miss Nola said with
an abrupt shake of her head, loosening a long yellow pencil that was
lodged, forgotten since school, in the mass of her pinned-up white
hair.
I dont think hes going to need much help, Miss Nola; I wish you
couldve been in that ofce today. Ive always been proud of him, of
course, but I saw another side of him today, for the rst time. He
dealt with them respectfully, but as their equal. He just told them
there was nothing they could do to change his mind.
Good! she said, relodging the pencil as she picked up her cup.
As far as Im concerned, footballs gotten to be way too important a
part of high school. Its a dead end, particularly for the smart ones.
Takes up way too much of their time, and for what? Cheap heroics,
and rst dibs on the pretty girls, she said, her cheeks contracting in
a quick wry grin. Which, now that I think of it, is why well never be
rid of it. But youd think now that people could see how stupid it is,
with millions dead in the war. Old men sending young menno,
boysout to get hurt or killed for what the old men want. I think
about it every time I see an injured player being carried off the eld.
Thats football, as far as I can see itjust a part of the ongoing cha-
rade that rationalizes sending the young to war.
Thats exactly what went on there today, Miss Nola. Two old men
clutching to their perches by keeping the ock under control. Oh, I
know theres got to be a strong defense against the tyrants of the
world. But weve got to look out for whos doing the leading.
Yea, verily, child. Thats the job, and itll never be easy. Look at
what that maniac Hitler was able to put the world through, bending
the people of one of the most advanced countries in the world to his
will. Well, global madness begins with small acts of madness, and
Jack struck a blow for sanity today when he told them no. Hes under
an awful lot of pressure.
And I dont think itll end for awhile. I told Mr. Martin when I
left today that I wont stand for them treating Jack unfairly.
You know Ill keep an eye out for that, Miss Nola said with an
abrupt nod of her head. And theyll hear from me if I see any of it
going on. She stopped to take a sip from her cup. Theres another
aspect of this situation that I wanted to talk to you about.
Oh? said Serena. What is it?
You know the Bishop sisters.
Oh yes. Theyre the ones that drive Moses Kubielskis old white
Buick.
Theyre the ones. Theyre in my class this year. Cheerleaders;
striking young things, and bright. They share a diseaseTourettes
Syndromeand rumor has it that theyre clairvoyant to some
degree.
Yes, Jacks told me about their telling them what plays the other
teamsll run. Sounds pretty shy to me. Im sorry to hear about the
Tourettes, although I dont know that much about it.
Yes, its tragic, said Miss Nola. Theyre subject to behaving scan-
dalously, with no warning at all. Their mother told us that the ten-
denciesre minimized as long as they stay close to each other.
Hm. Psychic Siamese twins.
Miss Nola paused momentarily to ponder the idea. Yes, I guess
you could characterize it that way. Thats not a bad analogy. Such
lovely girls to have something like that to deal with. She paused
again. This is what I wanted to tell you. They told me that since Jack
had refused to play football because of Rickys suspension, they were
going to drop off the cheerleading squad.
Really? Well, its a nice vote of condence for Rickyor Jack, I
suppose.
You could look at it that waybut thats not really the reason.
Dolores told me something else.
What was that?
She said that Trishas baby isnt Rickys.
Serena looked keenly at her. Then whose?
Preston Rogers.
Whos out of the schools reach, of course. Does shedo they
know this for a fact, or is this something that they just know, like
the football plays last year?
The latter, Im afraid, said Miss Nola. But theyre absolutely
convinced.
It may be academic at this point, since Rickys admitted respon-
sibility.
Miss Nolas hand stroked her chin, her head reciprocating in a
small arc. He may have been her lover, but Trisha wouldnt be the
rst girl, in Bisque or elsewhere, to have had more than one at a
time. Thats one of the oldest stories in the world.
Even if Rickys not the one, said Serena, Im not sure what you
and I canor shoulddo about it.
Well, these things tend to take on a life of their own, once theyve
seen the light of day. Remember, the truth will out. I just wanted
you to know about it, or the possibility of it, since Jacks involved. He
probably knows already. Gossip runs fast over Bisques grapevine,
but Bisque Highs puts it to shame.
Well, whatever the truth is, Jacks motives the same, said Serena.
He stood by his friend.
Yes. And since Rickys suspension isnt as much for his potential
fatherhood out of wedlock as it is for just having sex in the rst
place, the truth, when it emerges, wont change that. But one things
for sure.
Whats that?
Both of those boys future, and yours, ought to unfold on a big-
ger stage than Bisque.
Miss Nola, said Serena, Youre preachin to the choir.

An apple-cheeked androgyne in a Coke-cap hat grinned down
conspiratorially from the cafs new Pause That Refreshes clock as its
hands inched up on six. Sounds like yall won, observed Moses.
Yeah, I guess, said Jack, twirling an ice fragment in a series of
small circles around the table with the end of his straw. Damn if I
dont believe that grown-ups spend most of their lives just tryin to
get people to do what they want em to do.
Yeah, said Moses, And watch out for the ones who try to get
you to want to do what they want you to do. Ever hear of a guy
called Sartre?
Sart? Nope.
Guess hed be a little strong for high school anyway. Hes a frog;
Frenchman. Wrote a play called No Exit back during the war. Theres
a line that people quote from it sometimes; Hell is other people.
Jack laughed. Thats pretty good. Id like to read it sometime. Bet
its not in the library, either.
Ill see if I cant get hold of it. A lot of people think that hes got
the right idea about life as it is today. A philosophy called existential-
ism.
Hm, said Jack. What do you think of it?
I havent spent any time with his work, so I dont have an opin-
ion. Just remembered that line as it applies to your experience over
the past few days.
Falls in there pretty good, I think. This whole damn things
screwy. Screwy as hell, you might say. What a pregnant girl and foot-
ballor school, either, have to do with each other. Reminds me of a
book were readin now; The Scarlet Letter.
Oh, yeah. Hawthorne. What timin. Ambitious, for kids in high
school English.
Were not doing it in English. Miz Thomas assigned it in History.
Said itd help us understand the Puritans.
Ill be durned. Well, how dya like it so far?
Pretty heavy goin for me, the way he writes. A lot like Hardy.
Remember how I choked on Return of the Native? Maybe its just the
way I read. But I can see this much; Hester, Dimmesdale, Chilling-
worththeyre fuckin hypocrites. What they do in the books pretty
much the same thing that they did down there in the principals
ofce today. People who were supposed to look up to doin stuff that
could really hurt other people just so thingsll stay convenient for
them. Instead of God, they just substituted fuhbawl, and kept the
shunnin part.
Moses took a few seconds to absorb Jacks insight, and a few more
to come to grips with the fact that it had come from him. The kids
growing up in a hurry, he thought. What he said was, So no spring
fuhbawl practice for you guys this year. Whacha gonna do with all
this free time, bub?
Dawno. Whatever it is, Ricky and Ill be doin it together.
I knew that. I thought maybe if you guys wanted to stay in shape,
you might like to spar around a little.
Jack snapped his head up to look Moses in the eye. Box? Ive
thought about it a time or two since you set the gym up, but I dont
know much about it. Neither does Ricky. Would you have time to
coach us some?
Sure, said Moses. Otherwise I wouldnta brought it up. Cant
have yall beatin on each other just any ole damn way. Wanta get
started right away? Might take Rickys mind off his troubles if we
did.
Yeah, lets do. How bout tomorrow afternoon, since its Wednes-
day?
You got a deal, shitbird.
Oh, you know what? His folks might not let im outa the house
unless you ask em. Wouldja mind callin Mr. Terrell?
Not a bit, said Moses. Hey.
What?
Theyve tried to make you a pariah, the fuckin pissants.
A pariah? Whats that
It means outcast, and theyre not gonna get away with it.
Damn straight. How dya spell that, anyway?
The faint odor of long-gone horse manure still haunted the con-
verted barn, particularly on a rainy day. Jack and Ricky, regarding
each other with self-consciousness and suppressed glee, stood with
their backs against the ring ropes while Moses, steadying the fat end
of one glove at a time against his stomach, tightened their laces and
tied them off. Ricky, his gloves complete, moved away from the
ropes, shufing tentatively around a few square feet of the ring as he
shifted his protective headgear slightly upward with glove-fattened
wrists. Seconds later, Moses stepped back from Jack, who stepped
into his own small area of the ring and poked the air with several
tentative jabs. This was the rst day of sparring for the boys, who had
worked out in the gym for the previous six weeks, concentrating on
shadow boxing and hitting the heavy and speed bags under Moses
close supervision.
Calling the boys to center ring, He rechecked their headgear as he
briefed them. Were gonna alternate offense and defense for a cou-
pla rounds, he said, to let you guys see what its like to throw the
punches that youve learned and how to duck or slip em. Well try
three-minute rounds and see how quick you get tired. Ill be talkin
to you, so the pace will be pretty slow. Later well go to a coupla 1-
minute rounds so you can poke at each other without havin to listen
to me. Ricky, youll be the aggressor in round one. Just start out
throwin jabs; keep movin, lookin for an opening, but even if you
see a chance to throw a right hand, dont do it. Therell be plenty of
time for that later; what we wanta do right now his get you guys used
to movin around in the ring and watchin your opponent at the
same time. Jack, watch Rickys eyes; theyll tell you where hes goin
with his punches, and you can pick em up out of the of the corner of
your eye. Youve got the option of blockin or slippin em, but dont
throw either hand. Just take it easy, move around, jab, block and slip
and lets see how it goes. Go to your corners.
Moses stepped through the ropes, reaching down for the bell
string. Standing at a neutral corner post, he barked, Ready? Both
headgear bobbed up and down. The bells clang echoed off the
rafters, and the two friends closed at center ring, Rickys left hand
darting out swift and straight to open the round. Backpedaling, Jack
caught it in the palm of his glove and feinted a jab to counter it.
Dont counter, Jack, Moses called out. Just keep movin and save
your punches for round two. Nodding a brief assent, Jack quickly
stepped back and to the right, reversing his direction and trying to
stay just out of range of Rickys jab. Ricky moved to his left, follow-
ing his target with a series of jabs, the fourth or fth of which broke
through Jacks defense. The punch glanced off the right side of Jacks
headgear, and Ricky instinctively closed to press his advantage. Ease
up, Ricky, Moses admonished. Remember, this aint a ght; just
keep the punches goin and try to get a feel for what Jacks doin to
make you miss.
Ricky didnt land another punch in the round, and both boys
stood in their respective corners, breathing hard with their arms
looped around the rings top rope. You guys OK? Got any ques-
tions? Moses asked them.
Jack took in a deep breath, exhaled, and took in another. You
sure that was just three minutes?
Thats all; wanna try another one, or cut down the time?
We better do another three minutes, Ricky said, Or Jackll
never let me hear the end of how he didnt get equal punchin time.
OK, Moses said. Remember, relax, relax; the tighter you stay,
the quicker youll get winded. Ricky, Jacks comin after you now.
Protect yourself and try not to let him get a hand on you. Move in
with your jab, Jack; jab, jab til you get an openin. And botha you,
keep movin. Movements the key to a good attack and a good
defense. Rick moved to his left as Jack bore in, catching the rst
urry of jabs with his gloved palms. Elbows in, Rick, he barked.
He wont do it now, but keep that up and soon hell be slippin an
uppercut up between your hands. Slip th punches to th side like I
showed ya. Move right, now; you cant keep goin left or youll get
dizzy, and then youre cold meat. As Ricky planted his foot to move
right, Jack saw his chance, landing a glancing right hand off the side
of Rickys headgear, scoring in much the same way as Ricky had off
him. Good, Jack! Make your transition fast, Ricky; its a lot easier to
hit a slow-movin target than it is one thats movin fast.
After two more rounds of offense/defense, Moses stepped in to the
middle of the ring, motioning to the boys to join him. Howre yall
feelin?
Good! they echoed in unison, each breathing hard and standing
in puddles of sweat.
Got enough left for a little real sparrin?
Sure! another echo.
OK. well do a couple of one-minute rounds and see how youre
feelin then. Go to your corners and remember, were workin on
technique, not knockouts. Just try to score on your opponent with
hits to the head and body. When you hear ding, come out of your
corners and start sparrin. When you hear ding-ding-ding, stop
sparrin and return to your corner. Remember, keep movin, look for
openins and score points on your opponent.
Impatient to be free of their offense/defense restraints, they
rushed out at the bells ding, trading exploratory jabs, stirring the air
with near-misses and blocks. Theyd learned their lessons fairly well,
Moses thought as he lived each exchange with them. He could see, as
you almost always could very early in a match, the differences in per-
sonalities. Jack fought a little more with his head, strategically, trying
to play two or three moves ahead. Ricky fought purely with passion,
his fakes transparent in that each ended with a punch that was meant
to connect. Reading the fakes, Jack was content to backpedal, parry
these overt thrusts and counter them, mostly with shots to the body.
They went three one-minute rounds before Moses ended the
match, calling the boys to center ring. Thats it for today, gentle-
men, he said as he pulled their headgear strings free of their knots.
Good workout; toward the end you had the pace about right for a
ten-rounder.
Hell, Ricky wheezed, we were gettin tired. At least I was. How
bout you, Slugger?
No shit, Jack said between breaths. Thats hard work.
Like I said, good; for the rst time sparring, that is. Youll get
more of your heads into it as we go along. A boxing match is kinda
like a chess match; you read your opponent, watch what he does in
response to what you do, and do your best to save more of yourself
for the endgame than he does. The good openings, most of em,
come when one guy tires quicker than the other. What you wanta do
is be the one thats not so tired.
1315 Friday 27 February 1953:
Hey, Jack! Walt Jefferson trotted up the hill to catch up with him,
as Jack slung a leg over the Harley.
Hey, Jefferson. Whats up?
Youre askin me? This whole damn place is up, and you know it.
I cant believe you habmnt had two dozen ghts by now.
Youre kiddin. Aint nobody much mad at me. Ricky neither. Hop
on an well run outn see im.
I bed not, Walt said, dgeting. If anybody saw me an told my
old man, Id be in deep shit.
What the hell for? Ridin on this? Your brothers got two of em.
Yeah. And thats part of th reason. I gotta be Sammy Straightar-
row because Charlie aint.
Bad deal, man. Dont put up with that shit.
Hunh. You dawno my old man.
Thats true. And damn glad I dont, Jack thought. Hes just
decided on his own to make you the older brother, whether youre up
to it or not.
Oh, I wanted to ask you sumpm else, Walt said.
Whats that?
Jyou wanta work in the mill this summer? He said theyd hire a
couple of my friends to work with me. Dollar and a quarter an hour.
Guess not, buddy. I spend August in New York with my dad, you
know.
You could still work June and July. Cmon, itll be fun workin
together.
Naw, I dont think so. Im already workin nights at the Winston;
sounds like a little too much, even for a stud like me. Didnt you tell
me you were deaf for a couple of hours after you got off every day?
Aw, yeah, but that was in the weave room. Im not workin in
there again. we can work in th spinnin room. Thats where the
good-lookin women are.
Sounds good, man, but I just cant make it work. Jesus Christ,
Jack thought, whens he going to get the message?
Well, OK, but if anything changesif you dont go in New York or
sumpm, let me know, awright? Theres really not many people Id
wanta take out there. Most all the bastards we knowre fuckin lazy.
Theyd probly get red and embarrass the hell out of me.
I will, Jefferson, but there aint much chance of it, so dont count
on me. About the last thing I wanta do, he thought, is learn to be a
linthead.
1315 Thursday 5 March 1953:
Hello?
Serena.
Yes.
This is Nola Thomas.
Oh, hi, Miz Nola.
I thought youd like to know that Diana Bishop just told me that
theyd met with the Terrell, McNeil and Rogers families today. The
twins told him that the baby was Prestons, and that shed been see-
ing him while she and Rick were together. They told them exactly
when and where it happened, all the details down to what they both
were wearing. Trisha was so shocked by how much they knew that
she broke down and admitted it, saying that Preston had told her he
wouldnt marry her because shed been intimate with Ricky. Mr. Ter-
rell told Dr. McNeil he intended to go with him to Principal Martin
today and tell him the truth of this matter.
My God! said Serena. Thats wonderful.
I thought youd like to know. And I have another small piece of
information.
You have?
Yes. Apparently Mr. Terrell has some friends whove suggested to
him that Ricky should apply for admission to Taylor Academy, up in
Chattanooga. From what the twins could tell, hes already done it.
My goodness; that really is a new development.
Yes, it is; I wonder if any of these troglodytesll learn anything
from it. Bye, dear.
Sitting sidesaddle on the Harley, Ricky waited for his folks to come
out of the house for the trip to Chattanooga. He grinned up at Jack.
Im gonna miss whippin your ass next Wednesday, he said.
Sheeit. At pissy little jab ayours, youd be lucky to whip my baby
sisters ass. If I had one, and if she was havin a bad day.
You better just get in this damn old Pontiac and go on up there
with me. Wed rip their ass a new un.
And give up all this free ight time? No thank you, Jack said.
Maybe Ill y up in September to see your opener. Whos it with?
Hell, I dawno. Admiral Semmes School for Seasick Sailorboys,
or sumpm like that. He looked up as Mrs. Terrell stepped out onto
the stoop. Guess were bout ready, he said as Mr.Terrells back
appeared in the door, pulling it shut and locking it. Ricky stood up,
extending his hand. See ya in June, Fuckhead.
Shaking hands as he returned the Terrells waves, Jack returned
Rickys grin. Not if I see you rst, Pissaint. Paying more attention
to the Harleys pre-start procedure than was necessary, he preserved
the stoicism that this parting of young men required.
1035 Saturday 21 May 1953:
Good mornin, Miz Mason; hiya, Jerry, said Moses as he walked up
to the hotels front desk. She looked up from the work schedule at
which she and Jerry McClain, the assistant manager, had been look-
ing. Jerry nodded and smiled a return greeting.
Mose. Hey. You here to see me? she asked.
None other, my dear, if you have a minute.
Sure. Just hang on while we nish this one thing.
Moses walked into the caf and sat down, making small talk with
Reba as she brought coffee. Miz Masonll be here in just a minute,
he said to her. Might as well bring another cup.
They sat at adjacent sides of the table, Reba pretending not to
watch from the counter, betraying her intent with the trace of a
benevolent smile. Hey, sailor. Didnt expect to see you today, said
Serena. Whats up?
Wanted to see if youd set up Jacks summer trip to New York, he
said. Feingold, one of our brewers, is having its annual distributors
meeting there next month, and I thought maybe he could drive up
with me.
When are you leaving?
The meetings the second week in June. I thought we might leave
in time for a nice leisurely trip, a few days before I have to be there.
So the rst week in June, give or take.
Right.
Well, you know hed love it, specially helping you drive. Its been
a hell of a year for him, all things considered.
Yeah. For all concerned in th fuhbawl asco. At least that little
girl didnt hafta face bein a teen-age mother.
Serenas face sobered. What she did have to face was enough. A
miscarriages a hard thing to go through; I dont think a man can
understand what it does to the mother. Its not too much different
from having a full-term baby die. She covered his hand with hers,
looked up at Reba studiously looking the other way, removed it and
said, Ill call Larry this afternoon. Wed been thinking about a little
later on, but its ne with me if it is with him. And I think youd
enjoy meeting him.
You kiddin? One of the real heroes of World War II, even if you
did nd him to be a pain in the ass? Id love it.
Well, being a pain in the asss one thing you have in common.
Thanks. Hes never been down here?
She released the ironic version of her down-deep chuckle. Never.
Not that I expected it. Hes got a deep-seated aversion to all things
Confederate. He told me before we got married; Ill do anything for
you but set foot in Georgia. He wasnt just being snotty, although he
has a talent for it; the thought of it scared the shit out of him.
And whatd you say to that?
I thanked him on behalf of all Georgians and said, Just tell your
folks, from whom I suppose you inherited your crackerphobia, not
to expect us out there at that rock pile of theirs any more. Thats how
its been.
Rock pile?
The Mason manse. Out in Oyster Bay.
Moses right eyebrow went up momentarily. Well, he said, smil-
ing. Little country girl nailed a patrician!
If you mean his folksre cob-up-the-ass Yankees with a buck or
two, then give the man a kewpie doll. I laid eyes on em a grand total
of three times in my life, which puts me three up on Larry in spouse-
parental contact.
He shook his head, sadly. Thats the goddamnedest thing I ever
heard. Anybody thatd pass on takin a decent part in Jacks life
because ofwhat? Geography?
Larry turned his back on what they wanted him to do, which was
to marry Miss High School Sweetheart, the daughter of some other
Oyster Bay family. It was something boys like him just didnt do, and
it nearly broke his relationship with them, permanently. Jack was
almost two before they saw him for the rst time.
So how is it now?
Not so bad. As you said, One of the real heroes of World War
II They werent about to pass on that reected glory. Larry and
Jack usually go out to see em when he goes up.
Some deal, he said. They dont deserve him, he thought; no
fuckin way.

He rapped on the door to the hotel roof just after dark. Who is
it?
Mose.
Hi, Serena said as she pulled it open. Push from your side. Its
gotten so it sticks. He pushed, and the door swung open.
You need a good stout turnbuckle on that thing, he said as he
pushed it shut and dropped the bar in place. Its just sagging a lit-
tle.
Its not the only damn thing, she said through her teeth, intend-
ing it to sound funny, he thought, but he felt the thread of sadness,
and she knew that he did.
Whats this, some veiled reference to the advancing years? Take it
down the street.
In case youd forgotten, Ill be forty next month. While you and
Jackre kicking your heels up in New York, Ill be stuck here in
Bisque, working my ass off.
Guess its out of the question for you to come along.
She turned to look at him, to see if he meant it. Ive got a good
mind to do it. If it was just a week, I would. I need to get away from
this thing- she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at her current
work in progressfor awhile.
Moses relled her glass from an almost full bottle of Sancerre and
lled a fresh one for himself. He walked over to the workstand; he
felt, for a moment, the tangle of shapes moving under his gaze. As he
worked to stie the grin that it kindled inside him, he was absolutely
sure of one thing; hed never seen anything remotely like it. As he
looked, the mass devolved into a long snaky penis, looped around a
stalk that rose from a watermelon patch (well, there were 2 big
watermelons). The head, a crossbreed of pit viper and prepuce, was
hooded by the bloom at the stalks top. He thought he recognized it;
a Venus Flytrap.
Holy shit, he said with a grin. Has it got a name yet?
A working namePenis Flytrap, she said. Youre familiar with
the termhomage?
An homage usually honors a particular person, doesnt it? Whos
the lucky homagee?
You. This is you, relative to me.
Should I be attered?
Lets see what the critics have to say, if it survives in this incarna-
tion.
Well, critics be damned, Im choosin to be attered, til you say
different. Wish my balls were that pretty.
Those arent your balls. Those are juicy watermelons, full of the
promise of your love and the seeds of reality.
I see. What about the dick part?
She moved next to him, reaching out to take the wedge of the
head in her hand. Oh, you see a dick in there, do you? Cant fool
you for a minute. Tempting little thing, aint it? Make a girl lose her
way, if shes not careful.
Is that what I do to you? Tempt you off the straight and narrow? I
mustve missed something.
Well, this is a sort of retrospective of temptation. Its about what
I felt when we were rst together.
Hm. So hows dat ol snake today? Lost a little potency, would
you say?
Oh, no, she protested. Not the last time I checked. Its a ques-
tion of perception. If I were doing this to represent my feelings about
you today, Id probably go with different imagery.
Like what?
Id have to think about it. Smaller, cuter snake, maybe, on a
bunch of bananas, oating on a raft. Something like that.
Sounds friendlier. Thats encouraging.
May be, but I doubt Ill ever do it.
Really?
Think about it for a minute, and look again. Would you rather
be this, or ride a bunch of bananas on a gondola to God knows
where?
Since its inside your head, I guess Ill skip the gondola. Rather be
ugly than cute.
Well, she said, Im sorry you think its ugly. Im going for
imposing, confounding, tantalizing, threatening. Unique. Ugly
doesnt come into it at all for me. Youve led me a merry chase, you
wildass sonavabitch.
Moses smiled, shaking his head. Likewise. Well, you know by
now what my sense of arts like. To say nothing of my sense of grati-
tude. How many people can say theyve inspired a work of art?
About as many as can say that they had alfresco sex with the art-
ist, I guess.
Ours isnt just alfresco, he said as he looked out over the street.
Its alfresco at altitude.
Jesus. Its been almost seven years since you came up here that
night. Doesnt seem that long, huh?
Could be yesterday for me, Moses said, turning her face to him,
kissing her lightly.
The green eyes searched his. Gonna show Jack the sights?
I thought wed look around the old town a little, if his Dads OK
with it.
She blew out her cheeks. OK with it? Hell be better than that.
From what Jack tells me, I dont think Larry knows what to do with
him. Up to now he seems to fall back on movies and the ritual cam-
pus tour.
Well, maybe we can see some stuff thatll keep a sixteen-year-old
interested, said Jack.
Im sure yallre gonna have a good time. Now, how about a little
inspiration for the struggling artist?
0930 Monday 1 June 1953:
Moses was walking down the hall to his ofce when he saw them
coming; he paused to meet them. Dissimilar in height, weight and
color, one in a dark blue suit and one in gray, and one sandy blond
and one Mediterranean dark. Identical unstylish briefcases of red-
dish tan. They came solemnly, deliberately up the steps and through
the double glass doors. Mutt n Jeff, thought Moses, who spoke rst.
Good morning.
Good Morning, said the dark one, speaking through his Roman
nose in a voice made at by a multitude of routine interrogations
like the one he was about to conduct. Mr. Kubielski?
Yes. What can I do for you?
My names Long; this is Franklin. They held their credentials
out to him. They contained their pictures and the words that Long
repeated, U.S. Army Security Agency. Wed like to speak with you in
private, sir, for a few minutes.
All right. Step into my ofce here and well shut the door. Please,
have a seat, Moses said as he closed the door. Would you gents care
for coffee?
No, thank you sir.
Then how can I help you?
Sheriff McDaniel told us that you were acquainted with a
Michael Porter from Spartanburg, South Carolina, Mr. Kubielski. Is
that correct? Long asked as he opened his coat to pull a notebook
from an inside pocket. Moses caught a glimpse of shiny, deep brown
leather under his left arm.
Mickey Porter? Yes, I know him. Havent seen him for awhile.
How long have you known him?
A couple of years, I guess. Hes more an acquaintance than a
friend. Drives over to eat at the hotels caf. Or used to. As I say, I
havent seen him for quite awhile.
Has he ever mentioned the kind of work that he did to you?
Yes, in the only conversation that Ive ever had with him. Hes a
mutual acquaintance
What did he say he did? interrupted Franklin.
Said he was in the security force at the Savannah River plant.
He did. Did he say that he was in the Army?
Yes.
Do you know anything about the place that he referred to?
Some people around here call it the A-bomb factory.
They do, do they, said Long with a quick grimace, the outsize
pores in the skin of his nose a miniature moonscape. Did Mr. Porter
refer to it that way?
No. He said that what was going on there was classied, but that
there were no bombs being made.
Did he have anything else to say about his Army duty? Franklin
asked.
He said that hed been at Los Alamos, in the security force there.
The security men exchanged a brief glance. Did he mention any-
thing unusual that happened to him while was there? asked Long.
Moses was slow to answer; he looked at each of the men in turn.
Then he said, He told me about a man that was killed doing an
experiment.
Did he tell you how he knew about thisaccident?
He said that he was in the room with the man when it hap-
pened.
And did he tell you, asked Long, what the man was doing when
the accident happened?
He said that he was stacking bricks around a ball of metal, and
that a blue ash bounced off the wall that he was facing. When he
turned to look at what happened, the man said It went critical.
Did he tell you what he thought that meant?
No. He just said that when he visited the man in the hospital, he
was blown up like a balloon and in a lot of pain. And that he died
pretty soon after that.
Did he say what he thought killed the man?
No. I guess he thought it was obvious.
Well, Long said, swiveling his head from side to side, stretching
his neck so that his adams apple dropped to the top of his shirt collar
and against the knot of his tie, its likely that he did. After all, he was
there. Even though he left pretty soon after the accident. He was hos-
pitalized briey as a precaution, then transferred from Los Alamos
up to Western Defense Command headquarters at The Presidio in
San Francisco.
Yes. He did mention that. Said he got an extra stripe.
Yes, thats right. He was promoted to Staff Sergeant. And a short
time later he was honorably discharged on medical grounds.
Moses made no effort to hide his surprise. I thought that he was
still in the Army.
Apparently thats what he was in the habit of telling people
around here. And that he was in the SRP security force. He was dis-
charged in January, 1946. And hes never had anything, whatever, to
do with the Project. Until recently, he lived with his brother in Spar-
tanburg.
Until recently? Moses said.
He was admitted to the Veterans Administration hospital in
Augusta last month. He died a few days ago.
On May 27
th
, said Franklin.
My God, said Moses. What did he die of?
Leukemia, said Long. Myelogenous leukemia.
Im sorry. I guess the funerals already taken place.
Yes, it has.
Well, then. Said Moses.
Uh, yes, said Long. Well, were charged with following up on all
cases like Sergeant Porters. As you might imagine, everything about
the Los Alamos facility is classied. When information concerning
the facility is imparted to unauthorized persons such as yourself, its
necessary to secure an oath of secrecy from those persons covering
the subject information. Have you any objection to executing such a
document?
Not in theory, said Moses. Naturally, Id like to look it over. I
assume you have it with you.
Yes sir, said Long, bending to unlatch his briefcase.
1142 Wednesday 3 June 1953:
This thing really holds the road, said Jack, smiling down the hood
at the Roadmaster Estate Wagons hood ornament. I cant ever look
at that thing without rememberin that one that Mom snuck onto his
old wagon, he thought. Couldnt stand those shitheads callin im
Budick when word got around about what it was. Nobody called
im that to his face, though.
Yeah, it does OK, said Moses. Itll haul a ton of stuff, too. Ill
admit I was tempted to trade with Buster for a new Twin-H Power
Hornet, but it just doesnt have the class of this ole four-hole Buick.
And I like sitting up off the road like this. Just shows you that what
makes a good racer doesnt necessarily make an ideal road car.
It always gets a second look from people, driving through these
little towns. I doubt that they ever saw this much wood on a car
before.
Probably not. Buick really scaled up in size with the 52 models.
That grille looks about eight feet wide; seems like it wants to take a
bite out of you. You getting tired?
Not at all. I can take it right on into Baltimore; were not even
two hours out now.
OK, but dont try to hang on if you start getting sleepy. Maybe I
can get a Baltimore station on the radio. WBALs pretty strong.
You know your way around Baltimore, Mose? asked Jack.
Yeah; remember, I lived there for awhile during the war. Its a
pretty nice town, said Moses, as Clyde McPhatters tremulous tenor
belted Money Honey from the dashboard speaker. Damn. Theyre
playing that stuff up here, too.
You dont like it? said Jack, bouncing lightly up and down on
the wagons upholstery to the musics beat. The Drifters are really
whats happenin. Lee plays em all the time now.
Hell, Webster. Hes nuts anyway. I dont know when he sleeps,
bein R&B Lee on top of Sundown Serenade and the news. Whod you
say this is?
The Drifters. Thats Clyde McPhatter, their lead singer.
Clyde? Sounds more like a girl. Well, theyve got some beat, any-
way. Seems like all of these bop groups are Negroes.
Yeah. But its rhythm and blues, said Jack, still bouncing. R&B.
Bops something else. Old stuff.
Well, as the man says, Thass what makes horse racin. Every gen-
erations got to have its own music. And I guess this must be music.
Must be why the Winstons R&B Lees sole sponsor.

The next afternoon, they rode majestically up the New Jersey
Turnpike, the wagons big straight-eight still loang as Jack let his
speed creep up toward seventy-ve. Glad to have Baltimore behind
them, Moses had lapsed into reverie, not noticing Jacks ignoring
their keep it under sixty agreement. Theyd be in New York soon.
Hed made new arrangements on the phone last night with Larry
Mason. He seemed a decent enough sort, as least as far as could be
determined from a single phone call. He was looking forward to
their meeting, he said, but he was on his way out the door to catch a
cab to LaGuardia. Hed left a message for them with the doorman.
He said that hed been called, on a days notice, to testify before a
congressional subcommittee. Hed be in Washington for at least
three days; the universitys legal counsel had advised him to pack for
a week. Both Jack and Moses were invited to make themselves at
home in his apartment. His housekeeper would see that theyd be
comfortable. Theres plenty of room, he said, and theyd have time to
visit when he returned. He hoped that would be all right. Moses said
he thought that would be ne, since Jack would be at home, in a way,
and Moses could attend his meetings and not be worried about him.
Besides, this was a fait accompli. And he and Jack might do a little
sightseeing together.
He hadnt yet told Jack about Linda. She was twenty-six, maybe
twenty-seven now. And hands down the best part, he thought, of the
war years hed sweated out in Baltimore. Like thousands of other
young artists, shed come to New York looking for God knows what,
but she was there, and he meant to see her. It had been almost seven
years since hed talked to Sarah, her mother, and their conversation
last week hadnt been particularly pleasant. She had, true to the cli-
ch, remembered nothing and forgotten nothing. As alcoholics often
are, she was by turns mean, sad and noncommittal, but she knew
that Linda would never have gotten to Johns Hopkins, let alone n-
ished her degree, without his help. So shed given him Lindas num-
ber in New York, without asking for his in return. The conversation
ended lamely, and he thought that it was probably their last.
First things rst, though; theyd get settled at Masons apartment,
which was on Manhattans upper west side, near Columbia. He
thought that hed keep his room reservation at the Hilton, where the
Feingold meetings would be. Hed run down tomorrow, the day
before it began, look things over and check the event schedule. Then
hed give her a call. Sarah had said that she was working with pho-
tographers, and that she was in and out at all hours.
Mose. Hey, Mose.
Jacks voice brought him back inside the Buick. Yeah. What?
We only have a couple of more exits before the tunnel. You want
to take over soon?
Yeah. Look for a Howard Johnsons sign. There should be one
soon. I could use a cuppa coffee before we hit New York trafc.

Them towels suit you, Mistah Kabeesky? asked Marella, Larry
Masons housekeeper. She was, he guessed, last forties and ve-two,
her squat frame packed inside a black and white maids uniform, its
shortness accentuated by the battered house slippers that encased
her broad feet.
Theyre just ne, Marella, thanks. I think were all set here. Hope
we havent kept you too long.
Shoot. Im used to it. Dr. Mason have two-three parties a month.
He pay me well to get home late now and then. Anyway, I aint hur-
ryin off when Mistah Jacks here.
Youve been with Dr. Mason for awhile, then?
Since he come back to Columbia after de waw. Fall terma 45.
And little Jack, he come up for Christmas dat rst year. We had a
lotta fun; still do, evy time he come. He might as well be one a
mine.
Yes, hes a wonderful kid.
And he have a wonderful daddy, too. He done tole me about
you.
Moses stiffened, just a little. He did? What did he tell you?
He say you useta live here, but you went South and got rich.
Smiling, Moses said, Thats a little strong, Marella. Ive had some
good luck in Bisque, but Im a long way from rich.
She shook her head slowly from side to side. Guess dat depens
on whatcha call rich. All Dr. Mason know is what he hear from Miz
Mason. And what he don hear. Well, I wawna go visit with Mistah
Jack some now while you freshen up. If I be gone fo you nish, din-
ners in de oven. Hope you likes pok roast; dat an mash taters be his
favorite.
It sounds mighty ne to me, too. Thanks for everything; see you
tomorrow.
0930 Friday 5 June 1953:
He was on the street at nine-thirty the next morning, leaving Jack
asleep and Marella on duty. Moses pulled out of the Park Avenue
parking space that theyd been lucky enough to nd the day before,
drove downtown to 86
th
Street, turning right and driving across
Manhattan to Seventh Avenue. Turning downtown again, he drove
down the avenue to 54
th
Street and turned left. He saw the sign for
the Hiltons parking garage halfway up the block, drove to the
entrance and pulled in. Getting a claim check for the car, he rode the
elevator up to the lobby and checked in. Can I get a long-term park-
ing rate for my car? he asked the desk clerk.
We do have a weekly rate, sir; I see your reservations just for ve
days, though.
Can you extend the reservation through next weekend?
Lets see. Would you want to check out Monday, the fteenth?
Yes. Thatll be ne.
All right, sir. Youre all set, Mr. Kubielski. Enjoy your stay in New
York.

He had the elevator to himself on the ride up to his room on the
twenty-eighth oor. It had been years since hed been here, but the
drive downtown had him feeling very much at home again with the
citys noise and frenetic, purposeful confusion. His thoughts drifted
to a cold, gray day in December of 1928, thirty-odd blocks down-
town, sitting with his mother in their Gramercy Park apartments
kitchen, the morning after hed joined the navy. Hed wanted to tell
his mother rst, after his father had left. Even though New York Uni-
versity wasnt in session, Herr Doktor still went to his ofce almost
every day.
Her reaction to his news had been, as hed imagined, a combina-
tion of curiosity and concern. He knew that his fathers would be
much different. Her soft brown eyes, set in the heart-shaped face
that, at forty-six, was still as smooth as a girls, looked steadily across
the table at him. The Navy. shed said, her Irish accent deepening,
adding a couple of extra as to the word. She might as well have said
the circus. Of all things, son. Why?
Well, Mama, NYUs through with me, and I cant live here with
you and Papa forever. If I stay here, all Ill want to do is go on ght-
ing, and thatll just make you and him unhappier with me than you
are already.
But joining the Navy! Just like that, and without a word to your
father and me! Where did you get such an idea in the rst place?
I met some Navy guys the other day on the ferry. One of em was a
ghter. He told me about boxing in the navy. They have a champion-
ship elimination round every year. So I can go on ghtin while Im
in, workin on my skills, and by the time I get out Ill probably have
fought enough to know if Im good enough to make it as a pro.
Maybe Ill come out a eet champion.
Peter, all I know about boxing is that winning means hurting
your opponent more than he hurts you. But even I know that there
are many good ghters, but very few who can make a living out of it.
What will you do if you turn out to be just another good one?
I dont know, Mama. But I do know that I hafta nd out one way
or the other. At least I can do a four-year navy hitch, learn some stuff
I dont know, go some places Ive never been and maybe save some
money. Then, if ghtins not in the cards for me, Ill move on to
something else. But I cant just stay here.
She shook her head slowly, standing up and moving to his side of
the table, leaning over to put her arm around him, her mother-smell
comforting him in a way words never could. You are all we have,
son, your father and I. Weve lived for the day that youd get your
degree and go on to graduate school. We came to America in time
for you to be born here, so that you might start your life as some-
thing that we both had to work hard to become; an American citizen.
Do you remember going out to the Statue of Liberty when you were
three? On your birthday?
Yeah, a little. Or maybe I just remember talking about it when we
went the other times. I still love boatridin around Manhattan.
You were so small then. Like a little Viking, with your blond hair.
Papa held you up on the railing at the front of the boat, and you
wouldnt let him put you down. I was so afraid that youd catch cold.
It was a bright sunny morning, and warm for November, and you
kept pulling the hood of your jacket off your head, and Papa couldnt
put it back on because he was holding you tight with both hands. I
remember the sun shining through your ne yellow hair, and the
wind blowing through it, and you pointing at the statue as we came
closer and closer. Do you remember what you called her?
Sure. And I still think its the best name for her. Da Green
Queen.
She laughed, hugging him tighter. Thats right. Da Green
Queen. The weather turned her copper skin green. And times
turned your hair brown. I shouldve guessed that you loved the sea
even then. Well, I suppose there are worse things you could do than
serve this great country while you decide what to make of your life.
Thats what well tell your father.
I wish I couldve been what you and Papa wanted me to be. I
cant understand why school drives me crazy.
She squeezed both his shoulders, walking over to the stove to stir
the oatmeal that shed kept warm for him. Maybe its Papa and I
whove been a little crazy, pushing you towards an academic life
because of what its meant to us. It wouldve been different if youd
had brothers or sisters; as it is, you carry our little familys destiny on
your shoulders. What we seem to have lost sight of is the fact that
theyre your shoulders. Had her back not been to him, she would
have seen the icker of shock pass over his face.

He called the bell stand from his room, conrming that the rst
Feingold function was a cocktail party at ve that afternoon. Ill hit
that for an hour or so, he thought, and then take a cab back up to
Masons. He had insisted that Marella not cook dinner today, want-
ing to take Jack out to a restaurant and for a look around the neigh-
borhood. That settled, he picked up the telephone and dialed Lindas
number. It rang just a couple of times before she answered, her
husky voice wiping out the years since hed last heard it.
Hello.
Linda. This is Mose.
Mose! Where are you?
Right here in little old New York.
Mother called me yesterday; said you were coming up on busi-
ness. When can we get together?
As soon as you have time. Are you working today?
Yes, I have a shoot from one to ve. Where are you staying?
The Hilton. On Sixth Avenue.
Thats on my way to work. If youre going to be there, why dont I
drop by on my way? I cant wait to see you.
Likewise, kid. Ill be right here. Room 2831. He placed the
receiver back into its cradle, slowly and precisely as if he were testing
the t, as his thoughts eased him back onto the narrow streets of the
Baltimore neighborhood that he, she and her mother had shared
during the long years of a war that he, though a noncombatant, had
taken a hand in winning. His concern, love, for the daughter was far
deeper than the gratitude that he felt toward the mother; hed cov-
ered the difference between her Johns Hopkins scholarship and the
total of what it had taken to see her through to graduation.
Moses answered her knock on the door at a little after eleven. He
opened the door to a grown woman whom hed last seen as a girl.
Mose! she said, smiling, stretching out her arms as she crossed the
threshold. They hugged each other like long-lost relatives, laughing
and patting each other on the back. How long will you be in town?
she asked as they held each other at arms length.
As plain as she used to be, he thought, shes turned out to be
damn sexy. And shes gotta be ve-ten. Her dark red hair, at shoulder
length, framed the angular face that her mother said had come
straight off her father. Her tanned skin was in striking contrast with
the light gray of her sleeveless shift.
Til the fteenth. Monday week.
Oh, thats terric! Well have a chance to really catch up. What
brings you to town?
Business, with a personal twist. Im here for a meetin, but I drove
up with the son of a friend of mine. A boy, sixteen. His dad lives here,
and hes visitin him for a few weeks. Since his dad was called out of
town unexpectedly for a few days, Im keepin an eye on Jack til he
gets back.
So your friends his mother.
Right.
Sounds familiar. Taking care of your women friends kids.
Only the good ones, Moses laughed. Youd like him.
Jack, huh? Why dont you bring him over to my place? I live over
on the river. On a boat.
Really! Which river?
Hudson. At the 79
th
Street Marina.
Yeah, Im sure hed like that. And youll like him.
How about dinner one night? You guys come over, well have
drinks and go someplace. Hed probably like Mama Leones.
OK. Whats a good night for you?
Tomorrows ne, if you guys can make it.
Dont see why not. Hows seven?
Great. The boats the Petrel. The cab can bring you most of the
way. Ill put a red ag on the mast truck.
Where?
The mast truck. The top of the mast. Just look up at the top of
the boats masts for a red ag. Petrels painted on the stern. You cant
miss it.
I forgot to ask you; is she yours?
The Petrel? No. I rent it. From a friend.
Do you ever take her out?
Sure. If you guys are up to a little crewing, we could go out on
Sunday.

Their cab dropped them off at the 79
th
Street Marina a little after
seven. She said to look for a red ag at the top of the mast, said
Moses, as they walked down the ramp to the marina level.
There it is! said Jack, pointing well down the dock to a mast a
couple of dozen boats away. They headed toward the ag past large
and very large sail and powerboats until they reached the Petrel, a
sloop that Moses estimated to be at least forty feet long.
Ahoy the Petrel! Moses shouted as they walked along the jetty to
the boats gangway.
Ahoy yourself, said Linda, stepping up on deck through the
deckhouse hatch. Her white mens oxford cloth dress shirt was tied
at the waist above her dungarees, which hugged her hips and legs.
The cuffs of the shirts rolled-up sleeves contrasted nicely with her
tanned forearms. Come aboard. She extended her hand to Jack,
who had stepped onto the gangway ahead of Moses. Hi, Jack.
Hi, said Jack. If she werent so sexy, he thought, shed be kinda
plain. He took the warm brown hand, hanging on to his composure
by a thread. Nice boat.
Thanks, she said, Glad you like it. Hi, Mose.
Hi yourself. This isnt a boat, its a yacht. How long is it?
Forty-four feet.
And youre checked out to skipper it. Thats terric.
It didnt happen overnight, she said, motioning them to seats on
the upholstered benches that ran along the sides of the boats cock-
pit. Took me almost a year. My friend, the guy I rent from, has
taught me a lot, and Ive taken four Coast Guard courses, including
celestial navigation. How about a drink? Coke OK for you, Jack?
How about you, Mose? Ive already got a Scotch working.
Scotch is ne. So do you take it out often?
Whenever I can get a crew together, and I crew for the owner
when he has guests on board, every couple of months. Be right
back. She went below, returning almost immediately with their
drinks. So. How would you guys feel about a little sail tomorrow?
You look like crew material to me.
Sounds great! said Jack. OK, Mose?
Id like it as much as you would, Champ, but I think we need an
OK from your Dad on this one. Nothing against Lindas expertise,
but my charters just to keep an eye on you til your Dad gets back.
Aw, Mose! Jack said, shaking his head. Dad wouldnt care. Ive
never been out on a sailboat before, and I may not have another
chance to do it for who knows how long? Couldnt you call him?
Yeah, I guess I could, if we can catch him at the hotel. Thats the
only number that he left.
Want to try him now? asked Linda. Ill bring the phone up.
Who else needs a drink?
We can at least try him person-to-person. Hes at the Statler. My
drinks OK.
Im ne, said Jack.
Linda brought a telephone up, plugging its cord into a socket on
the deckhouse bulkhead. She sat down next to Jack, taking a long
pull from her fresh drink, while Moses got the long distance operator
on the line and placed the call. After a minute or so, he spoke.
Larry; its Mose. Just ne. Hows the hearin goin? You havent? And
no idea when or if they will, huh? Nothing to do but ride it out, I
guess. Yes, Marellas made us very comfortable. Thanks. Larry, I
called to ask you if youd mind if I took Jack on a little boat ride
around Manhattan. No, not a Circle Line; its a sailboat, forty-footer
thats skippered by a good friend of mine. First-class craft. Wonder-
ful. Im glad youre OK with it. Yes, hes very excited. Hes right here;
let me hand him the phone. He waved Jack over and gave him the
handset.
Were all set, huh? asked Linda.
Yep, said Moses. Hell be off the phone in a minute, and we can
celebrate over dinner. Guess Im ready for another drink.
What a coincidence. So am I, she said.
Youre really ripping through the Scotch; this mustve been some
week for you.
It has been. I like what I do, but if the photographer or art direc-
tor youre working withs an asshole, the days can get real long.
Your mother told me youre a photo stylist. What exactly is that?
I work with photographers whore shooting layouts for advertis-
ing. I make sure that the models clothes t perfectly and look great.
It gets tricky sometimes, and it denitely aint that glamorous.
Sounds like a pressure cooker to me. Dont count too much on
Scotch as your relief valve; it wont work for all that long.
Dont worry about me; this is a celebration, thats all. Besides,
were sailing tomorrow.
1730 Sunday 7 June 1953:
True to her word, Moses was happy to see, Linda had had nothing to
drink while they were under way. They had sailed down the Hudson
past the Statue of Liberty, coming about to head up the East River,
passing Welfare and Wards islands to starboard, striking sail and
using the boats engine to take them around Wards Island and back
south through Hell Gate. Once through, theyd come back to the
marina under sail. She was indeed a rst-rate skipper. Jack was an
apt student, following Lindas instructions and having a great deal of
fun learning some basic seamanship. They were back at the dock by
ve-thirty, everything secure and, in Lindas words, ready to splice
the main brace, the nautical version of cocktail hour. This has been
a great day, Linda. said Moses. I always knew that youd grow up to
be a remarkable adult, and its a pleasure to see how right I was.
Aw shucks, Uncle Mose, she said, Twernt nothin. They both
laughed, enjoying their unexpected reunion.
Guess wed better be getting out of your hair and give you a
chance to get ready for Monday, Moses said.
Dont hurry on my account, she said. I dont have anything
booked for tomorrow. But you have those Feingold meetings to go to
all day, right?
Oh, yeah. Starting with an eight oclock breakfast.
Hey. If you dont have anything to do tomorrow, Jack, would you
like to come back and help me do a little touch-up painting? Ill
spring for lunch, and Mose could pick you up when hes done.
Thatd be great! OK with you, Mose?
Dont see why not. Matter of fact, Linda, hes an old painter from
way back. Youre getting experienced help.
Then Ill really have to make it worth your while, she said, smil-
ing.
Dont suppose your Dad mentioned anything to you about what he
expected to be asked at the hearing, Moses said to Jack as their cab
progressed jerkily down Ninth Avenue the next morning.
Not much. He just said that the lawyer told him that they were
checkin into some things that happened where he was workin back
durin the war.
Hm. Where was that, anyway?
Out in New Mexico somewhere. Los Alamos. Mom told me that
we were out there with him, but I was so young that I dont remem-
ber much about it.
Well, Im sure hell tell you all about it when he gets back. Guess
hell know more about when thatll be in a day or two. The cab
lurched right on 79
th
Street, headed toward the marina. Hope youll
have a great time today. Watch the sunburn; we got pretty red yester-
day.
Yeah, Ill keep my shirt on. Ill have a great time, Im sure; Lindas
really cool, and I can learn a lot about this boat stuff from her. So
you rst knew her in Baltimore?
Yeah. Shes the daughter of a woman I met there. A librarian. I
could tell even then that Linda wouldnt be satised with staying
there.
The cab pulled into the marina parking lot, and Jack opened the
door as it pulled to a stop. See you this afternoon, he said.
Right, said Mose. About six.
He retraced yesterdays path to the Petrel, scattering some pigeons
that we gathered around an open garbage can. Not seeing Linda, he
went on board, calling her name as he hit the deck.
Her answer came from the after cabin. Jack?
Hi.
Im back here. Come on in.
The after cabin was the most spacious of the boats three bunking
areas. It housed a double bed, a dresser with a large mirror, and a
built-in couch with gooseneck-mounted reading lamp. Linda was
sitting up in the bed, a sheet covering her legs. She wore a long-
sleeved red annel nightshirt that failed to hide her breasts con-
tours, the nipples thrusting out to Jack as he stood at the foot of the
bed. His throat tightened a little, making his second Hi an octave
higher than the rst.
Hi. She responded. Im a little slow getting started this morn-
ing. You look nice today; that looks too good for a painting shirt.
Oh, its not that good. His voice stayed at the higher pitch.
Come let me see, she said, extending her left hand. He moved to
his right around the foot of the bed, within her reach. She took the
shirts fabric between her thumb and forenger at a point just above
his waist, holding it tightly. Its way too nice. I can nd something
around here for you to wear. Sit down, she said, pulling him by the
shirt, and Ill pull it over your head.
Its really OK, he said as he sat, facing her at an angle.
She put one hand on either side of his waist and pulled the shirt
free of his pants. Here we go, she said as she pulled the shirt up and
over his head. He put his arms up as she pulled. As the shirt cleared
his face, she stopped pulling, leaving his arms pinned above his head
in the fabric. Boo, she said as their eyes locked. She pulled him to
her and kissed him, jetting her tongue deep into his mouth and
holding him tightly against her. Jack moaned as her tongue went into
his mouth, relaxing and giving her full control of the exchange. Half
a minute later, she nished pulling the shirt over his head. Your
turn, she said, pulling her nightshirt free of her butt and putting her
arms up. Jack took the cue, pulling the shirt up and pinning her in
the same position as shed put him. Oho, she laughed, as he kissed
her. She quickly lay back on the bed, her arms still tangled in red
annel. Jack dropped down and buried his face between her breasts,
then sucked on rst one nipple, then the other. Her areoles were fully
two inches across, and Jack took each of them in turn completely
into his mouth, sucking them insistently. Struggling free of the
nightshirt, she put her arms around him, one hand cradling his
head. Enjoy, baby; we can paint any time, she whispered into his
ear. When his fervor slacked somewhat, she said, Lets get your
pants off, sweetie.
Ohmigod, he thought. Wait til Terrell hears about this.

He had helped her rig the cockpit awning for shade from the
noonday sun. They sat on one of the cockpit benches, holding
hands, watching the birds ying over the river trafc and doing their
best to act as though nothing unusual had happened. Will your Dad
be home soon? Linda asked, swirling the ice cubes in her drink.
Yeah, I think so. Hell call me tonight; maybe hell know for sure
by then.
So hell be here for most of your visit.
Yeah. Hope so, anyway.
When do you go back home?
To Bisque, you mean? Sometime next month.
That long. Really gives you and him time to catch up with each
others lives.
Yeah. This years going to be different, though. Hes teachin a
class this term; hes usually off when I come up in the summer.
Jack.
Yeah?
Are you OK?
Sure.
No, really. If youre upset I need to know. I didnt mean to shock
you or make you feel uncomfortable
Linda.
What?
Did you like it?
Did I like it?
Did you like what we did?
Well, Iyes. Yes Jack, I did. But Im-
I liked it, too. A lot. So dont worry. Its just that I never did it
before.
I know, Jack. I shouldve known. I guess I did know. And I
shouldntve let it happen.
No. We both wanted it to happen.
Well, it happened. And Im sorry that it did and Im glad that it
did. Youre a beautiful young man. What do you want to do about
Mose?
What do you mean?
Do you want to tell him?
What? That we made love?
Yes. Would you feel better if we did?
Id feel better if we just kept it between us. Hes screwin my
mother, you know.
Hes good at that, said Linda. Screwed mine, too.
How about you? asked Jack.
Not yet; you beat him.
And Im not about to stop.
Oh, Jack. No.
You mean you dont want to?
I mean that we shouldnt.
Why? You wanted it, waitin there in the bed for me. And as soon
as I knew you did, so did I. It was beautiful. And now that the sur-
prises out of the way, I want us to do it more. When I can really put
my mind on whats happening, and you can show me what you like.
She laughed, in spite of herself. As long as you feel that way, I
guess I can forget about having shocked you. How about lunch?
Then we can paint something so Mose wont be suspicious.
Could we go back to bed for awhile? Its not even eleven oclock.
Get you another piecea chicken, Honey, said Marella, holding the
platter at Jacks elbow.
No thanks. Im really full, except for the room I saved for lemon
pie.
You useta eat more, when you wudnt nearly this big, she said,
shaking her head as she walked into the kitchen.
Larry Mason, just returned that day, sat at the far end of the long
dining table, looking very comfortable in the role of host. He was tall
and slim, with thinning dark blond hair combed over a substantial
bald spot that extended his forehead by a couple of inches. How
about you, Mose? he asked. Anything else before Marellas famous
lemon icebox pie?
No thanks, Larry. Marellas a great cook, but pies going to do it
for me, and then some. Bet youre glad to get back to home cookin.
Yes, I am. To be back here and away from the Congressional hot
seat. I hope I never have that dubious pleasure again.
What was it all about anyway, Dad? asked Jack.
A former student of mine, Son. He went to work for the Voice of
America when he graduated, and this committeethe Senate Perma-
nent Investigations Subcommitteedecided to investigate his loyalty
when they found out that hed been a member of the Young Marxists
League here at Columbia. Silly damn thing. I blame Dean McNeil; he
volunteered the facultys cooperation in these investigations.
From what I hear, said Moses, that committeed just subpoena
you if you werent cooperating. Its McCarthys committee, isnt it?
Yes, it is.
Whats your impression of him, having seen him close-up?
A gorilla. Youve no doubt seen his picture. It seemed to me that
he was half asleep a good part of the time. Asked me no questions
whatever.
So they were investigating this kids loyalty. Presumably to his
country?
They way they put it to me was Do you have any reason to ques-
tion his loyalty, and if so why? My response was that I didnt, and
thats when they opened up the subject of the Young Marxist League.
When I wasnt able to shed any light on that, they implied I was cov-
ering up for this boy, whom I hardly knew. He wasnt even a physics
major.
He wasnt? Then why call you at all?
Thats easy. Since the Rosenbergs and Klaus Fuchs were caught
passing information about the construction of the atomic bomb to
the Soviet Union, anyone who was at Los Alamos during the war is a
potential target for these people. Particularly those of us who were,
and are, close to Dr. Oppenheimer.
These people are after Oppenheimer? Hell, hes a national hero.
Hes the father of the bomb.
Not in the minds of lots of people whore behind a bigger bomb
program. Theres denitely a movement afoot to advance the views
of Dr. Teller, at the expense of Dr. Oppenheimers reputation. That
effort, I think, is being extended to his supporters. Many of us think
that weve done enough bomb development already.
Jacks eyes widened as he listened to his father. Dad. You helped
build the atom bomb? You never told me.
Larry looked solemnly at Jack. No, son, I havent; not until now. I
took an oath not to tell anything that I knew about the making of the
bombthey called it the Manhattan Project. The only reason that I
feel OK about discussing it at all, even now, is that so much came out
in the news about the capture of the atom spies. I still have to be
careful about what I say.
Butyoure a hero. Pap says that the bomb saved thousands of
lives.
I can understand that youd feel that way, but I dont feel that
heroic, son. Far from it, unfortunately.
I dont understand.
I dont suppose theres much reason that you should, without
knowing a great deal more about it. Well talk more about it while
youre here, if you like.
Yes sir. I would.
Well, Mose, Larry said, So youre taking off tomorrow. I hope
that keeping track of Jack didnt keep you from attending to your
business.
No, Larry. Not at all. I hadnt done one of these brewer meetings
before; turns out theyre one percent business and ninety-nine per-
cent monkey business. They couldve just put the business part of it
in the mail. So I didnt feel at all bad playing hooky. I guess Jack told
you I carted him down to Gramercy Park to see where I grew up.
Yes, he mentioned it. Are your parents still living?
No. They died back before the war.
Well, it can be sort of a mixed experience to go back where one
grew up, particularly after a long absence. I hope it was enjoyable for
you; you enjoyed it, didnt you, Jack?
Oh, yeah. And the Staten Island ferry was cool.
Between the ferry and your sail around the island, this has been a
pretty nautical visit for you. I hope Ill be able to nd a couple of
things for us to do that are as interesting as the things youve done
with Mose.
That shouldnt be too much of a problem, said Moses. New
York has an incredible amount to offer.
Yes, thought Jack. Yes, it has.

The gangplanks squeak announced his arrival. Jack? Her voice
oated up from somewhere below him.
Hey, he answered.
Im in the galley. Cmon down.
Moving to the hatchway, he looked down at her through its nar-
row opening. She was peering into a drawer underneath the stove,
her back to him. Above the bright white of her shorts, three vertebra
bisected the golden tan of her back before her faded blue denim shirt
took over. The galleys yellow light highlighted her hair with the
sheen of new copper. Whatcha doin?
Just getting us a little dinner together. Get your butt down here
and give me a kiss.
His breath gave out rst. Hi, he said, looking down into her
eyes.
Hi yourself, big boy. Whatre you drinking?
How about a scotch.
Hm. Thats a switch. Didnt know you liked hard liquor.
I think its time I learned what its all about. Dyou mind?
I guess not, if we keep it between us. Water or soda?
I dont know. Whatre you having?
Water, she said, dropping ice into his glass.
They sat in the cockpit, she with her legs stretched out along the
portside seat, leaning against him. How long have you known
Mose? she asked him.
Since I was nine. He checked into the hotel when his car broke
down.
Youve known him longer than I did at your age. I was fourteen
when my mom and I met him. At the movie in our neighborhood.
Did he own it, too?
No. He was just running the projector when we met him. He
took over as manager later on.
He wasnt in town a month before he bought the Ritz. Hes a
good businessman.
Hes a good man, Jack. He put me through college.
Jack sat up in surprise. Really! And you never-
Hes never asked me, or showed any interest. He was in love with
my mom. I think.
He shifted his gaze to the decks gray teak planking. I think hes
in love with mine, too.
It was her turn to sit up. Are they getting married?
No. Shes still married to my dad. Besides, she doesnt want to.
Why not?
She wants to come back here and be a big-time artist.
What does she do?
Sculpture.
Any good?
Yeah, I think so. She just sold a piece for two thousand dollars.
Linda leaned back against the cushions. Well, at least shes pass-
ing him up for a better reason than my mom did.
What was her reason?
Booze.
Oh.
1730 Saturday 20 June 1953:
His solitary drive back home seemed much longer than the drive up
with Jack had been. Moses rolled into Bisque a little after ve, in the
thick of the towns Saturday afternoon shopping trafc. He listened
to Lee Websters version, the latest in a succession of radio accounts
that hed heard that day, of last nights execution of Julius and Ethel
Rosenberg. After two years on death row, they had each sat briey in
Sing Sings electric chair, he rst, then she. Lee was reading Bob Con-
sidines eyewitness report of the execution:
They died differently, gave off different sounds, different gro-
tesque manners. He died quickly, there didnt seem to be too much
life left in him when he entered behind the rabbi. He seemed to be
walking in a cadence of steps of just keeping in time with the mutter-
ing of the Twenty-third Psalm. Never said a word. Never looked like
he wanted to say a word. She died a lot harder. When it appeared that
she had received enough electricity to kill an ordinary person and
had received the exact amount that had killed her husband, the doc-
tors went over and placed the stethoscope to her and looked at each
other rather dumbfounded and seemed surprised that she was not
dead. And she was given more electricity which started again the
kind of a ghastly plume of smoke that rose from her head. After two
more little jolts, Ethel Rosenberg was dead. She has gone to meet her
Maker, and shell have a lot of explaining to do. Thats reporter Bob
Considines impression, folks; the end of life for two convicted atom
spies. This is Lee Webster, and thats the news on a Saturday after-
noon. Hope your weekends going well, and that goes double for a
certain lady of my acquaintance. See you soon, Robbie.
Moses smiled to himself, thinking of the way things had worked
out between Webster and Roberta, but his mind swung back to the
Rosenbergs. Conspiring with a motley assortment of players to get
information on atom bomb construction into Soviet hands, they
were the only ones who were sentenced to death. Their two small
sons were now orphans. Dying for what you believe in is one thing,
he thought, but putting those kids in jeopardys something else
again. God, when I think of having to leave Jack like that. Theyre not
that different from me, or lots of others. They pieced together a phi-
losophy from what they heard from people they were around as they
grew up. A little here, a little there, along comes some half-baked
opportunity and before you know it youre a goddamn spy. A little
myopia goes a long way in the making of a spy. Then you slip up,
youre sitting in the hot seat, and your kids pay the tab, for the rest of
their lives.
He turned left off Main into the alley by the hotel, parking just
past the corner of the building. Driving the last couple of hundred
miles non-stop had thoroughly kinked up his body. He stood by the
car for a minute, arching his back and stretching his hands in front
of him, ngers interlocked. Swiveling his head from side to side, he
walked around the corner and into the lobby. Jerry McClain, presid-
ing over the deserted lobby from the registration desk, greeted him
with his usual faint smile, which to Moses always seemed to carry the
seeds of a secret embarrassment within it. Hi, Jerry, he said. Miz
Mason on board?
Yes, she is, Mose. Let me call upstairs and tell her youre here. Just
get back?
Sure did.
Jerry spoke briey into the phone. She says come right up, he
said to Mose as he hung up. Jack doin all right?
Yeah, just ne. He walked into the elevator, which had been con-
verted to self-service earlier in the year, and pressed the 5 button. He
still took great pleasure in not having to look at the back of Cat
Danders dandruff-besieged head as part of the ride. Guess theyve
found enough other things to keep that old bastard busy, he thought.
He knocked on the door of Suite 600, which opened immediately.
Hey, she said, stepping back from the doorway and opening her
arms for a hug. Still dressed for business, she wore a sleeveless, burnt
orange linen dress that subtlely suggested the tenacious near-perfec-
tion of her body.
Hey yourself, he said, feeling the start of an erection building as
he hugged her to him.
Hows my boy? she asked, smiling at him and her perception of
his arousal.
Im ne, he said, still holding her close.
She laughed as she pushed him back, slapping the front of his
shoulder. Not you, you horny bastard. Jack.
Oh. Hes ne too. You didnt talk to him today?
He called when I was out. Ill call him back in a little while.
Say hey for me. I miss the little rascal already.
I will. To Larry, too, if I talk to him. He thinks youre OK, you
know. Puts you in a rather small fraction of the worlds population.
Come sit down, she said, walking over to the couch. Want a beer?
Yeah; thanks. I like him, too; what I saw of him, at least. Hes a
pretty good dad to Jack, under the circumstances.
He is, she said. Were lucky tove been able to keep their con-
nection as close as we have while hes grown up.
Yeah; you couldve picked a worse guy to father your child.
No question about that, she said, handing him a Red Cap. They
clinked frosty bottles in a toast. Hes a good man. Too bad he drove
me nuts.
Funny. Thats what he said.
Bullshit.
Moses grinned. Aint it? He wadnt about to talk to me about
you.
and you probably think that I shouldnt be talking to you
about him.
No. I always wished that you would, but I wadnt about to ask.
See how well Ive gotten to know you?
It wouldntve made much sense unless you knew him. Now that
you have, maybe you can see what I was up against. The nicest man
in the world, whose only passion is nuclear physics.
Yeah. You wouldnt have any interest in second place.
She looked sharply at him. And why the hell should I? As I recall,
the vow says forsaking all others. That certainly included Robert
fucking Oppenheimer, as far as I was concerned.
Contrary to her parents oft-repeated instructions, Terry and Jack
were in the Marshes fallout shelter, making out on one of its four
Army cots, each covered with identical owery linen spreads. It was
his rst day back from New York, and Jack, still assimilating his
experiences with Linda, was a little less horny then his girlfriend. Her
mother was helping out at the store today, and Terry had obviously
spent some time thinking about her strategy; shed told Jack to park
the Harley behind the house, so that any chance visitors would
assume that no one was home.
Within minutes of closing the shelters heavy door, they were both
stripped to the waist, kissing and fondling as if the end of the world
were actually underway. Ive missed you so much, sweetie, Terry
said in a gushing exhale. You were gone way too long.
Yes, yes I was, baby, Jack breathed into her ear, tasting the sour
sharpness of its wax as he spoke, the ngers of his left hand working
to open the buttons of her shorts, kissing her nonstop as his right
hand kneaded the puckered nipple of her right breast. She breathed
in and out, sharply, as his hand slipped past the waist of her panties
to touch the skin of her belly and graze the fringe of her hair.
His middle nger had barely touched labia when she stiffened just
slightly, saying Jack; we said we wouldnt, remember?
Yes, baby, I know, he said, kissing her again and easing his hand
away from her crotch and toward his own. I know we did. He
pulled her toward him with one arm as he used the other to lift her
legs onto the cot. He lay down beside her, jade-green eyes looking
into hers. He kissed her eyelids, one at a time, relaxing beside her
and feeling her relaxation in response. You feel so good, baby, I get
carried away so quick. As much as Id like to, I know I shouldnt be
inside you. You shouldnt be havin any babies for a long time.
You know how much I want us to do it, Jackie. But youre right,
its just way too risky.
It is; but this ol boy dont listen. His pants unbuttoned now, he
held his erect dick loosely at the base. Shaking it playfully, he said,
Hes only got one thing on his mind.
I can see that, she giggled. he wants it so bad hes droolin.
He sure is. He took her hand, bringing her ngertips to the tip.
Feel.
Eeeewww, she squealed, but didnt pull her hand away. Its
slipry.
It sure is, he said, moving her ngers back and forth across the
tip. So its easy to slide into your sweet little thing. Looks good all
shiny like that, dudnt it?
Umm-hm.
This craziness will go away just as soon as I come. Youre always
so sweet to help me; how would you feel about doing something new
for me as a welcome home present?
What? she asked, her voice querulous.
Oh, nothin much, he assured her. Just give it a little kiss while I
play with your sweet titties. It sure wont be much, he thought as he
remembered Linda taking him to her mouth until he could feel the
tip of it deep in her throat. But weve gotta start somewhere.
Jack she said; the look in her eyes said shed do it, but needed
just a touch more encouragement. He took a drop of the juice on his
forenger, smiling as he twirled it in midair, and put it on her nipple.
He rubbed it in with his thumb and forenger as he turned on the
bed to reduce the distance shed have to cover to reach the swollen
red penis. She covered it quickly, kissed and pulled back with an
involuntary ick of her tongue over her lips as she sat up.
Oh, baby; again. Please.
Well, Terry said as she adjusted the speakers volume knob in mild
exasperation, at least this one works. They had tried two other
spaces in the Osiris Drive-In Theatres gravel-surfaced lot before
nding one that did.
Leave that window down as far as you can, said Jack. Maybe a
breezell come up.
You wanta sit on this side? she asked him. They were in the
Marshs newish 53 Mercury Monterey hardtop, a minor miracle in
itself as it was Mr. Marshs pride and joy. He had been, however, in
the generous mood that Gilbeys gin and tonic visited on him from
time to time, and offered the Monterey, fake hood scoop and all, as
an alternative ride to the movie. Her parents assumed that their
destination was the Winston, where the current attraction, Lone
Hand, starred one of jeweler Marshs personal favorites, Joel McCrea.
Neither Terry nor Jack corrected the assumption.
No, thanks. I kinda like this side for a change. Hope your dad
likes drivin the rod.
Jack! He was just bein niice, sayin all those things about that ol
Ford. He wouldnt be seen in that noisy ol thing if his liife depended
on it.
Yeah, maybe he asked me for th keys just so he could move it if
yalls house caught on re. You saw im lookin at that engine. Hed
never seen one with three carburetors on it before, I know that. Hell,
neither had I til Smoky told me about Skeeter pullin this manifold
off a wreck. Anyway, its all right with me, cause this front seats way
better than mine for th drive-in. Slide on over here, why doncha?
OK, but no more New York funny stuff, mister. I wanta see this
movie. Mama wouldnt let me go when it rst came out. Said I was
too young. But Tyrone Power was my favorite way back then. And I
cant stand that stiff ol Joel McCrea.
Nightmare Alley. I dont remember it at all. Whats it about? He
draped an arm casually about her shoulders, his mind going back to
New York in spite of Terrys sweet-smelling proximity. It served pri-
marily to call Lindas breath to mind; almost always with an under-
tone of Scotch, mixed with the gamy overtone of his juice. Shed only
sucked him twice, but if twice could breed a habit, he thought, by
God Ive got one.
Theyre all in this carnival, doin wild things; sumpm about
mind-readin. I really didnt remember from before, and thats about
all you can tell from th ad in th Bugle; I just know I liike at Tyrone.
Well, play like Im ol Ty for a minute before I go get us some
popcorn, he said, putting two ngers under her chin to turn her face
up to him. Temporarily, the fresh taste of teenage tonsils banished
Linda from his conscious mind. They kissed for a long minute.
Mm-mm, he said, thats good.
It must feel real good. Look what happened, Terry giggled. Your
things about to poke riit through those Palm Beach pants.
I know.
Well, you cant go get popcorn lookin liike that. You be sweet-
southern girls have a special way of saying itbay swaight- when
they were fending off passionand lets watch these previews til you
simmer down.
OK, but I cant promise anything, bein away from you all this
tiime. Specially after yesterday. He sat back, his arms draped along
the back of the seat, his dick creating an eggshell-colored wigwam in
the middle of Palm Beach. He watched its effect on Terry, feigning
interest in the coming attractions while he willed the wigwam to
stand tall.
Good gracious, that things not goin down, Terry said, her eyes
riveted on the cone of fabric.
I told you, baby; I really missed you.
I missed you too, honey. She leaned over the wigwam to kiss
him.
Ooh, you know what I wish?
Yes, I think so. Too bad it cant happen til were married.
Oh, no, sweetie, I know we agreed on that. We dont want you
gettin pregnant. What I was gonna say was I wish I could put it
between your sweet little titties, and you kiss it for me again.
Jack!
I just said I wish.
You go off to New York and come back with ideas like that, you
just better stay up there, she said, her tone far too gentle to match
the verbal rejection. She laid her hand ever so lightly on the wig-
wams apex. Bad boy. She kissed him again, leaving her hand there.
Ooh, baby. Im gonna make a mess in a minute.
No! Not in this car. Cant you make it to the bathroom?
You know I cant. Its still stickin out a mile.
What can we do? she asked, solemn as Circe on Sunday.
Ill get in th back seat and let it go in my handkerchief. Opening
the door, he slid onto the back seat as he withdrew his handkerchief
from his hip pocket.
Im not lookin! Terry called, facing front with an eye on the
rear-view mirror.
The meat cooled a few degrees as it hit the open air, giving Jack a
little breathing time as hed anticipated. Its OK to look if you want
to. Might as well enjoy what we cant help. He gripped his dick,
rmly but gently, and lay back, his handerchief spread over his lap.
See?
She turned to look at him. Its pretty big.
Yeah. He moved his hand up and down, squeezing it to show the
head to its best advantage. Hey Terry.
What?
Why doncha come on back and help me?
No! Yesterday was enough for awhile. You just go on and take
care of that, she said, not taking her eyes off the slick, thrusting head
as Jack continued to stroke the shaft. And dont get any on the seat.
You touched it when it was inside my pants. Doncha want to feel
it again?
She pondered the possibility, then said, Ill jus reach over from
here. Very tentatively, she extended a nger to within half an inch of
the tip. Very slowly, she closed the remaining distance, touching,
drawing back, and touching again, this time extending her thumb as
well, gently pinching the esh. Its so slipry. Whens it going off?
Any time now. If you come on back here, you can see it. The
handerchief ll be in th way if you stay there.
Oh, all right. She opened the door, looked around at the sur-
rounding cars for a moment, then slid in beside him.
Ooh, Im sooo close. Touch it again. She repeated the pinching
move, leaving her grip in place. Come hold it with me, he
breathed, putting his hand over hers, arranging her ngers around
the shaft, then closing his hand over them. Now. Heeere we go,
baby. Six, seven reciprocations and it was done, the pale string of
ejaculate hitting the handkerchief near dead center. Aaaah! Dont
move yet. Please dont move yet. Leave it there; please kiss it for me,
baby. And she did, this time letting her lips slip down the shaft just a
millimeter, lingering for an instant to take in a little of his ejaculate.
Jackie, you felt so strong. That was amazin.
Jyou enjoy it, sweetie?
Yeah. Loook, the little mans shrinkin. Gimme that handkerchief
for a minute.
- 391 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 8
Hoochie Coochie Man
Well you know Im the hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows Im him
Muddy Waters, Hoochie Coochie Man
1805 Friday 12 February 1954:
The white cars cheese-slicer grille grinned at him as he topped the
hill, boosting his blood pressure a quick twenty points or so. Shit, he
thought, rapidly reviewing his options, what now? He was tired, too
tired even to have made the ritual stop at Ribeyes, and his reexes
deserted him. He turned into his driveway and stopped to get out
and open the gate, having answered the girls cheery gesticulations
with a matter-of-fact ick of his hand, much as if hed seen them
parked downtown somewhere. Even as he did, he knew that he
wasnt likely to escape that easily. Three quick beeps of the limos
horn bore him out; the girls had pulled in behind him; the twin in
the drivers seathe still couldnt tell one from the otherstuck her
head out of the window. Hay-eey!
Her jauntiness made him grin in spite of himself. Hey yourself.
Whatre yall doin?
Dliverin Valentiines, she said, her grin eclipsing his. Can we
come in for a minute?
Sure, he said, wanting to take it back as soon as he had. Mind
closin the gate behind you?
He lit the rewood hed laid in the dens stone replace that morn-
ing and headed for the kitchen. Would yall like a drink or any-
thing? he asked over his shoulder.
If youve got Cocolas. You really have a niice place, Petey, said
Diana. He knew she was Diana since shed just called the other one
Dolores. He was surprised to see how tall theyd grown, to ve-ten or
so; reminiscent, he thought, of Jean Peters when she did Viva Zapata,
but more athletic.
Thanks, he said, letting the Petey apellation go uncontested,
the better, he hoped, to defuse it. Glad ya like it. Yallll have to
excuse me, though. I had a long day, and Im tired like youll never
understand til youre this old yourself. So-
Dolores, approaching from behind, put her hands on either side
of his neck and squeezed with surprising strength before he could
resist. He felt the resistance that he wouldve exercised leave his body
through his feet, much as if he were an upended tube of Ipana. He
exhaled and said nothing. Hows that? she asked as her thumbs
dug into the long muscles on either side of his spine.
Good, he said. Very good. But-
Just sit down here for a minute, she said, pulling him back
toward the edge of the ottoman that sat in front of his Eames chair.
Let me get that tension out while we give you your Valentine. Then
well run along and let you get overuh, relax.
OK, he said, unable, unwilling, to stop the molten ow that
oscillated from his heels to his head.
Lets slide you back just a little, Diana said. They helped him
ease back on the ottoman. Dolores sat down on the front edge of the
chair, her ngers continuing their magic, and Diana began removing
his shoes.
Hoochie Coochie Man 393
Wait, he said. And that was all he said, as Dianas ngers dupli-
cated the dexterity of her sisters. He quickly gave up both the soles
of his feet and any idea of holding out against the girls ministra-
tions. They continued for twenty minutes or so, ending with his
being seated in the Eames chair, his feet on the ottoman, sipping his
neglected Red Cap.
Feel better? Dolores asked him.
You bet, he said. That was some Valentine. I didnt even know I
was on your list.
Youve been on our list, she said, ever since we sat down in your
old car for the rst time. Theres a lotta magic in there. But this lilole
massage isnt your Valentine.
It isnt?
No. We really want to exchange Valentines.
Hm. Nice idea, but I didnt expect-
Diana interrupted him. Dont worry. You already have ours; you
just didnt know we wanted it.
Being of sound mind, Moses could see this one coming. Hey,
girls-
This time Dolores interrupted. It aint sex, Petey, if thats what
youre thinking. Not just sex, anyway.
We got the idea from Evvie, said Diana. We were talkin about
men one time, like girls do, and she said that she wished you
couldve busted her cherry.
Too relaxed to jump to his feet, Moses settled for a groan of pro-
test. Evvie? I never-
We said wished, said Dolores. Its too late for Evvie, but not for
us. And we went to a lot of trouble to make it special. Show im, Di.
Diana dropped her jeans around her ankles, revealing rock-hard,
milkglass cheeks, freckled with tiny red hearts. Oh, God, he
breathed. Tattoos?
Nah. Ball-point pen, Diana laughed, stepping clear of her jeans.
See? she said, backing up to put the tropical heat of her labia six
inches from his nose.
Dolores, standing behind him, continued squeezing Moses trape-
zius. Shifting her left hand to the front of his shirt, she deftly undid
the top button and slipped the palm of her right hand against his
chest. Isnt she pretty? she said, catching his nipple between her
middle and ring ngers.
Moses leaned forward, lining up the right cheek, and sunk his
teeth in it, easing off just short of drawing blood. Dianas scream
broke the mood; jerking her hands away from him, Dolores moved
to embrace her sister, who had whirled to face him, both hands on
the offended area.
You bit me! Motherfucking cocksucker, you bit me! That hurt,
you fucking sonofabitch, she screeched, tears coursing down her
cheeks.
Im sorry, sweetie, Moses said, getting to his feet. But you
shocked me. Guess I made a mistake. I thought yall were serious
about getting your cherries busted.
We were! snifed Diana, pulling up her jeans. -ah, I mean, we
are
But didnt you know itd hurt? More than that little love nip, any-
way.
It would? said Dolores.
Damn right. Why do you think they call it bustin? Its not some-
thing you just go out and do, like gettin a haircut. For your rst
time, youve gotta want it so much that you dont care if it hurts. And
your lovers gotta want it that way too, otherwise hell stop when you
say stop, and you just have to start over.
Evvie didnt
Tell you itd hurt? Well, I guess its been long enough ago that
shes forgotten. I appreciate the compliments, both yours and hers,
but doin one of you girls under these circumstances would be
almost impossible for me, let alone both.
You dont understand, said Dolores. We have to be together
when it happens.
You do? Well, let me ask you this. Are you girls in love with any-
one?
Yes, said Diana, with you.
Really? With me? What did I do to be so lucky?
Its just who you are, said Dolores. Youre an adventurer. And
you helped win th war.
Moses guts turned icy. I wasnt in the war.
Maybe not; were not sure. What we do know is you saved the
Presidents life, and Mr. Churchills too.
Struggling to regain control of himself, Moses aimed a very spotty
grin at the girls. Me? An adventurer? Well, thats certainly a nice way
to be thought of, for sure. But if thats what you want, I think you
should look around some more. Im just a small-town merchant,
and pretty near three times your age.
No, said Diana. Youre not. Thats just what youre doin right
now. Youve got some swashbucklin days behind you, and more to
come.
And we love you, so get used to it, said Dolores. Even if you
wont bust our cherries.
Well, said Moses, Maybe later. Say when yallre twenty-one.
How about for your birthday?
Twenty-one? they bleated.
Whats th hurry? Didnt Evvie tell you that you could have fun
without gettin your cherries busted?
Diana drained her bottle of Coca-Cola. We better go now, she
said. Would you like to have some fun like that with us some time?
Well see, said Moses, his arms around their waists as he ushered
them to the door. Now yall scoot, and Ill see ya later.
As the white car backed down the driveway, Moses leaned heavily
against the door, trying to get hold of the implications of what had
just happened. How the hell, he thought, do I put some distance
between those little maniacs and me without risking their blabbing
whatever other shit they think they know? Maybe I can sic Nelson on
em; if he hasnt been there already. Damn!those cheeks
1610 Wednesday 5 May 1954:
Three thoughtful souls sat on Gene Debs porch, speculating on the
chances of a spot of clear sky sufcient for Jack and Moses to go y-
ing. If they got airborne, Jack, whod gotten his private pilots license
on his birthday last year, would pass the hundred-hour mark in J3
pilot time today. Now hed start to work on his instrument rating. He
could only get so far with the work in the sparsely-instrumented J3,
but hed do as much as possible, while logging hours that were virtu-
ally free.
Jall see God last night? asked Jack as he watched the clouds
shades of gray lighten, then go darker again.
I wadnt at drunk, said Gene Debs. Flying done for the day, he
sipped from a jelly-glassful of Jack Daniels. Lifting his hip slightly off
his rocking chairs oak-slatted seat, he released a long, relatively
silent jet of sulfur dioxide into the humid air. An I hope you wadnt,
either. Where was God sposed ta be hangin out last night?
On You Bet Your Life. It us just a gag, but I think the ole boy that
was supposed to be God really thought he was.
How much did he win? Moses asked.
Not much. Of course nobody wins a lot of money on that show.
That the one with Groucho Marx?
Yep. Pretty funny, in a square sorta way, the way that Finami-
namin kisses is butt non-stop. And th duck, of course.
Hes been funnier, but it takes th whole brother act to do it, said
Moses. Remember Duck Soup? he looked at Gene Debs as he said
this.
Gene Debs thought for a minute, then smiled and said Hail
Freedonia!
Thats the one, Moses said with a snicker. A little before your
time, Bub; came out in 1933. The best one the brothers ever did, far
as Im concerned. We showed it, Monkey Business and Horse Feath-
ers, all of em made in the early thirties, in a Mark Brothers Week at
the theatre I managed in Baltimore. Itus a satirical slap at Germany,
just after Hitler took over. There was this guy, Rufus T. Firey, played
by Groucho, who this rich woman, Mrs. Teasdale, helps become dic-
tator of Freedonia. The country next door, Sylvania, wants to take it
over, and sends Harpo and Chico into Freedonia as spies. Its one of
the funniest things Ive ever seen.
The thing Ill never forget, laughed Gene Debs, is the mirror
business. Remember? That damn Harpo dressed up like Groucho,
broke a mirror and when Groucho came in he got on the other side
of th mirror frame and did everything that he did.
Oh, yeah, said Moses, and th hat routine, where they drive ol
Edgar Kennedy nuts? Oh, man! They shook the porchs rattly
planks laughing.
You know, said Gene Debs, all their stuff s based on Jewish
humor, straight outa that Yiddish burlesque that us big in New
York, and I guess in some other big northern cities. Them boys never
did try ta cover up their Jewishness, like a lot of em do now.
Yeah, to be so Jewish, the movie business makes a lotta overnight
Goyim, like Danny Kaye and Kirk Douglas. But if ya dont look
Goyim, ya cant carry that trick off too well.
Whats Goyim? asked Jack.
Gentiles, said Moses. Th people who buy th tickets.
Well, hell, if the boysre that good, I need to see em, and so does
the rest of Bisque. How bout another Marx Brothers Week?
You know, that aint a bad idea, Moses mused. Well do it, soon
as youre back from New York. Be a good kickoff to Fall, get em into
th house with a big promotion. Hell, we could even do some kinda
tie-in with Bowmans; give away a DeSoto or sumpm.
Tell em Groucho sentcha! laughed Jack.
Hell, Gene Debs guffawed, Tell em God and Groucho sentcha,
but dont get a Firedome V8 up your ass!
Let us not assassinate this lad further, senator. Youve done enough.
Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last? Facing the swinging
doors, his arm stretched wide, hand on the bar, Webster extended
the mood of his address to a ponderous side-to-side shake of his
large head. Then he swiveled it toward Moses with a grimace. Jesus.
Welch truly put old Joe away today, didnt he?
So I hear, said Moses. I didnt catch it. Had to go put out a re
at a customers. If his delivery was as spellbindin as yours, the poor
bastard didnt have a chance. Tailgunner Joes own tails probably still
smokin.
Yeah, union bigwigs, state department fags and Hollywood reds
can breathe easy when they put McCarthy away; Bob Taft must be
rollin over in his grave. Somebodyd better pick up the torch in a
hurry, somebody wholl go on gettin after em the way ol Joe did.
Otherwise, well be livin in a far different world pretty soon.
Some people would say with all deliberate speed, Moses said
with a faint smile.
Webster took a bite from the pickled egg that was soaking a bar
napkin alongside an iridescent Polish sausage. Oh, Christ. Dont
remind me. These fuckin Democratsll have us up to our necks in
coons and commies if we dont send a bunch of em home in
November.
Now, now, said Moses, suppressing an urge to grin. Dont be
too hard on your former associates. Whatta they call em these days?
Fellow travelers?
Now, now, my ass. Dont you be gettin on your high-horse just
because you saw th light a year or two before I did. There were damn
few people around here who werent Roosevelt Democrats when you
came to town. And I bet you voted for Truman in 48.
Moses inspected the polish sausage and glanced at the gallon jug
that held its siblings with a near-imperceptible shiver. Who in hell
would admit to votin for Dewey?
I not only admit it, said Webster, Ill say it on the air. Looking
quickly over his shoulder, he said, but not in here. Most of these cit-
izens still think Roosevelts comin back.
I can remember when youd laugh if you heard hysterics like Ol
Joes, regardless of which side of the aisle they were comin from.
Now you sound like the Walter Winchell of Bisque.
Sneer if you must. But I dont want my kids goin to school with
reds or rugheads. If Congress doesnt turn this Supreme Court deci-
sion around with some ironclad law, our schools wont be worth th
powder itd take to blow em to hell.
Wait a minute, said Moses, poking Websters puffy deltoid. My
kids? What kidsre we talkin about?
The kids Ill be havin with Robbie. I forgot to tell you; were get-
tin married next week.
What??
I said were gettin married next week. And unless you have some
objection, youll be there as best man.
Moses looked at him as though Webster had just announced his
imminent hanging. And where will these nuptials be conducted?
Augusta. Saturday at 12. The Second Baptist Church. He seemed
to have caught the mood of execution.
What, was the rst one booked?
How the hell do I know? All Im doin is showin up. With you,
now. Mind drivin me over?
Sure.
I dont wanta show up in my rattly-ass Allstate Henry J. She just
bought a friggin new Dodge Coronet ragtop, Red Ram V8 and all.
Were goin on th honeymoon in it.
Sounds good.
Paid cash for th goddamn thing.
Sounds better. Where yall goin?
Daytona. Think Bisque can do without R&B Lee for a week?
I think so. Anybody else comin from Bisque?
Nobody, as far as I know. Thiss Robbies show.
None of your relatives?
No. Therere not any close enough, physically or, I guess youd
say, spiritually. Im an only child with two dead parents.
Moses sat his Red Cap on the bar. How is it, he said, as if hed
received private notice that Websters execution had been stayed,
that of all of th shit weve talked about since 1946 hasnt included
that fact?
Most of th shit weve talked about since 1946 hasnt been that
personal, which is to say none of it has. I took my cue from you on
that. Know what I know about you? Youre a New York Jew pro-
moter, come here by way of Baltimore. And you didnt tell me any of
that.
Moses cocked his head over slightly, picked up his Red Cap and
considered Websters statement. Guess weve just had too much else
to talk about. But heres the thing; Im an only child with two dead
parents myself.
Zat right? How bout that? Weve been havin our own widders
and orphans society meetins all these years. And now youre gonna
ease my way outa the hellish loneliness of my existence up to this
very moment. Thats damn white a you, Mose. Now Ill tell you
sumpm.
Whats that?
Remember Dotty? Robbies friend?
Ohyeah. The Bible school girl.
Shes th maid of honor. An shes lookin forward to seein yo
yankee ass.

The Roadmaster wagon was, as usual, the rst car into the Hamm
County Beverage Companys lot. Moses was earlier than normal this
morning, having slept tfully and nally giving up the effort around
four. Jack had been in New York since last Saturday. I miss that little
shitbird, he thought. And soon as hes back hell be gettin set to
move to Athens. Joe College. Seems like about day before yesterday
when he had to sit on two cushions to see out of the sidecar. Waitll
he sees my surprise.
He walked to the left side of the building, unlocked the small steel
door covering the alarm panel, and used another key to disarm the
system. Returning to the front door, he unlocked it and went to the
main lighting switch panel on the halls right wall, ipping switches
that brought uorescent lights winking on throughout the building.
He got the coffee started and sat down in the ofce, looking out the
window toward the garage doors that extended in a right angle from
the main building. He thought for a couple of minutes about the
days schedule before drifting back to the weekend in Atlanta.
Jack had asked to y to New York this trip, and his parents had
agreed. It would be a graduation present, Serena had said. Hed put
the fuhbawl horseshit behind him and was an honor graduate of
Bisque High, headed for the University of Georgia in the fall, and
riding a Eastern Air Lines DC-6 to New York was, she thought, a t-
ting reward. If youre not busy Saturday, wanta drive us over to the
airport? shed asked. If youre feelin sporty, we could have a night
out in Atlanta.
The Atlanta airport terminal was the largest collection of Quonset
huts Moses had ever seen, its rattly corrugated steel surface mottled
by years of weathering and broken up by various add-on structures
of glass, steel and concrete, one of which was the observation deck
on which they stood. They watched Jack walk nonchalantly to his
ights boarding stairway, a couple of hundred feet away; he stopped
at its base and turned toward them with a wave. Then he was up the
stairs and inside the plane, unaware that Serena was still waving, a
tear squiggling down her cheek. Moses had put his arm around her
waist, hugging her to him as she peered at the DC-6s windows,
looking for his face in one of them. They stood like that while the
crew started the aircrafts engines and taxied away from them, a
mini-hurricane climbing up onto the deck to test their grips on the
grabrail. They stayed on the platform, waiting for the takeoff. Well,
he looked pretty grown up down there, she said, but hes still my
baby.
That hell always be, said Moses. whatever the world has in
store for him. In a few minutes, the plane taxied onto the end of the
runway and began its takeoff roll. She squeezed his hand hard as it
broke ground and climbed gracefully, deliberately away.
Lets go to town, sailor, she said. I could denitely use a drink.
Theyd gotten one of the Henry Grady Hotels best rooms, on the
north side of the twelfth oor. They were high enough that they
could see the tops of an almost unbroken sweep of trees that
stretched to the horizon, on which, to the far right, sat a cool,
smoky-blue lump that Serena identied as Stone Mountain. This
town, Moses thought, has a lot of room to grow. The room service
cart held the remains of a jar of caviar and a bottle of Mumms Cor-
don Rouge. She lay facing him, along his right side, his arm circling
her, as they lingered in the afterglow of the rst sex theyd had in
nearly a year. What time is it? she asked him.
Four thirty-ve.
Oh, good. Nothing to do but you til dinner. Have I ever told you
how much I love the way you suck my tits?
Umm-hm. But tell me again.
I mean it. The way you take your time with with each one, con-
centrating so much that it almost seems like youre a blind man, try-
ing to memorize every square inch. The way you make that ring with
your thumbs and forengers, and squeeze so the nipple skin gets
tight as a drum. The way you lick and bite. Thats what I think of
when Im doing myself.
You have been paying attention.
You inspire me, Chili; Im about to return the favor, assuming
that sucking your dickll do it.
Easy, missy. Between that and those nice little cunt-hugs, youll
wreck my health.
Bullshit. Youll be around when were all dead.
Wont be any fun without you.
Hm. Well, we havent had all that much fun lately.
I know, he said. Well, weve both been busy.
Yeah. Both of us stay busy. And youre gettin rich, and Im not.
Itll be a long time before Im rich. Your daddys rich.
And my mama used to be good-lookin, she said, green eyes
misting over. Long time ago.
And youre the nest thing I ever saw. And a great artiste.
Time will tell. At least Haps getting a fair price for my work.
Jack and I went by the gallery last year. Madison Avenue, in the
seventies; high cotton, as Webster would say. We got there too early;
they were closed, and we never made it back. He told me that he and
Larry went back later, though. He was really excited to see the piece
of yours that was in the window, on display in that high-art settin.
I know. The one I call Foundation. It was probably the rst time
that he realized how serious I am about my art.
Yeah. Up to now, youve been just Mom. And a pretty damn good
one at that. But hes old enough now to start to see you as a whole
person.
I hope so, that sweet thing. Hes such a beautiful kid. Hes worked
under a terrible handicap for all this time; Larry knocked me up, and
we were nowhere near ready for Jack when he showed up. It seems
that neither of us meant to let parenthood change us and our ambi-
tions. I think Larry still feels that way; hes seen as little as he con-
scionably could of Jack as hes grown up. That wasnt an option for
me, and a damn good thing, too. I did grow up, to a degree, and one
things for sure; Im prouder of Jack than Ill ever be of anything else
I do.
And Im proud of you. And not nearly as puzzled as I used to be,
although Ive never known a woman anything like you. No small
part of why I love you, I guess.
Do you think I ever knew anybody remotely like you? she asked.
The way you accepted my reasons for not marrying you, even if you
didnt really understand them, isnt something many men would be
up to. What we have is as unlikely a thing as I could imagine. She
cradled his balls gently her hand, hefting their weight as she encir-
cled the base of his cock with her thumb and forenger. But that
sucker does have a rm foundation.

Mornin, Beverly Tylers voice echoed down the hall as she
stepped through the door, bringing Moses back to the reality of
Tuesday morning in the ofce. He looked at his watch; seven fty-
ve. Were off and running, he thought, his mood lightened as
always by her brisk, cheerful air. He found it hard to imagine staying
on top of this business without Beverly. She hadnt been all that
interested in staying after Fulford sold out, but Moses hadnt wanted
to lose any experienced help until he learned what selling beer was all
about. An immediate hundred and fty a month raise helped to con-
vince her, and Moses could look back on that decision as the best
investment hed made in the business so far. It hadnt taken him long
to realize that Beverly, given the chance, could run Hamm County
Beverage Company with very little help.
Hiya, Bev, he responded as her short, trim frame appeared in
the ofce doorway.
She shot him a lopsided grin. Whatd you do, sleep here?
Probably shouldve; I might have gotten a little work done,
instead of tossin and turnin all night.
Well, boss, it aint up to me to tell you your business, but Ill just
remind you of what Satchell Paige said one time.
Whats that?
The social ramble aint restful.
Moses leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands at the back of
his head. Social ramble? Me?
I dont know what else youd call hangin out with the likes of Lee
Webster and Nelson Lord.
So I like creative types. Who would you suggest that I hang out
with?
I told you, its none of my business. I gured you were already
makin some new friends, like Mr. Browne, when you and him were
in here for so long the other day.
Moses chuckled. No, that was just business. Monkey business. He
was here to get my supportmeaning moneyfor his city council
campaign.
Is that right? I dont even know whos running.
Well, youve got plenty of time to nd out; the elections not til
November. Since Browne won the Democratic primary, hes as good
as elected anyway.
Then whys he need money?
To pay off his primary campaign. Remember? We gave him some
money for that; now he wants more, to clear up his debts.
Oh. Yeah. That Committee for Good Government? Back in Feb-
ruary. Thats his outt?
Yep. And the two grand we gave him wasnt enough. I dont know
how good an idea it was for me to join the committee, but I didnt
care much for Brownes opponent. Still dont.
Who was it, anyway?
Edwards. Barry Edwards.
Oh, yeah. The Hopkins Mills Edwards?
Right.
Well, I dont know much about any of those silk-stocking folks.
Why dont you like him?
You pretty much put your nger on it. silk stocking is a good
term for people who think that theyre better than other people. Im
afraid I just made my decision out of personal bias. Just dont like the
cut of his jib.
So are we kickin in again for Mr. Browne?
Yep. Sorry I hadnt mentioned it to you before. Another two
thousand.
OK. This cant be just because you dont care for Mr. Edwards,
since Mr. Browne already beat im.
No, no. Remember what business were in. We want friends on
the council, on the county commission, at the Capitolanywhere we
can make em.
Yeah. For a minute I forgot, she said, ashing the lopsided grin
and turning to go. Beers as much about politics as it is about busi-
ness. Shed known that a long time, she thought, as she walked
down the hall to her ofce. That was one thing that Mr. Fulford had
always donekept his fences mended, as he put it. Because Mose
was so much more of a businessman, it was easy to forget that by
now he also understood the politics of selling beer inside out.
She hadnt been optimistic when Mr. Fulford told her that he
would be retiring and selling the business. And to a Yankee at that!
The one thing that had encouraged her was that Mr. Redding was his
partner. He hadnt made too many mistakes in business, as far as she
knew, so shed decided to give the man who was known around town
as Cueball the benet of the doubt. It had, she now knew, been a
very good decision. At the time, all she had to go on was Mr. Red-
dings involvementand a hundred and fty dollar raise.
It didnt take Mose long to convince her that things would not
only be different, but better. He spent more time with her that rst
month of the new ownership than Harvey Fulford did in a year. Dur-
ing their talks, she now realized, he had been learning the beer busi-
ness. He asked a lot of questions. After all the questions were asked
and answered, they didnt meet for a few days. The next time they
did, Mose showed her what he called the blueprint. It was his plan
for making Hamm County Beverage Company the countys number
one distributor.
Acme Brands is three times our size, Bev. How do you suppose
that happened?
Easy. Theyve got the most popular brands. And theyve got
Zenith behind them.
The best brands and lots of money. Thats a tough parlay to
beat.
Who wants to beat em? Mr. Harvey never did. I dont see how
we could.
I guess Mr. Harvey was satised with second place. Im not.
Wouldnt it be great to be top dog?
I dont know. Would it make that much difference?
It would make the biggest difference you can imagine. It would
change what we do here every day from work to a life-size game.
Instead of just coming in here and going through the motions of
beer-in, beer-out, pay-the-bills-and-bank-whats-left, wed have an
objective to get excited about. To kick Acmes ass, every chance we
get, until Schlitz and Anheuser-Busch take notice and come knock-
ing on our door.
You make it sound like fun. OK, lets say that playing this game
excites me. Ive been in this business a long time, and Id like for us
to be number one. But thats me. If this is going to have half a chance
of working, seems to me that everybody heres going to have to bust
their butts. Do you think we can get the guys out there, in the ware-
house and on the trucks, to work a lot harder just so we can kick
Acmes ass?
Yes, I do. You said that I made it sound like fun. If it sounds like
fun to you, the only woman in the business, itll sound even more
like fun to those guys. Heres a question for you; back in the ware-
house, what will most of the talk be about today?
Easy. Fuhbawl.
Right. The BHS game on Friday, and Georgia and Georgia Tech
on Saturday. And its only Tuesday. What if they could get half that
excited about the Beer Game? Hell, theyre players in this game, not
just spectators. If they stop thinking about just comin to work and
start thinkin about being part of the team thats kicking Acmes ass,
then all well have to do is tell em how theyre doing and stay out of
the way.
Like I said, it sounds exciting, and you mustve thought about
how to get everybody thinking that way. Whats the plan?
Glad you asked. Since I learned all I know about the beer busi-
ness from you, I want to tell ya how I think it can work. Then you
poke whatever holes you can in my ideas, and well x em.
What Mose had thought of was to put a very simple plan in place,
and make sure that everybody in the company understood both the
plan and the part that theyd play in making it work. Its simple,
Bev. Were going to sell more because people are going to want more
of what were sellin. Then were gonna make sure that customers get
what they need when they need it, and make sure that they under-
stand that were here to help them make money. And that were
damned happy to be doing it, because its our job and because we all
share a big fat bonus pool.
That was almost four years ago. Like most plans, it wasnt perfect,
but it had worked. HCBCs revenue was up almost twenty percent
that year, and twenty-four the year after that. The company was able
to get their brewers to contribute the majority of the costs of much
larger advertising campaigns, and they had worked. HCBCs brands
started selling better almost immediately, and nally an Acme
brandSchlitzswitched to HCBC in January of this year. It was, she
thought as she poured a cup of coffee, a lot more fun to work here
than it used to be.
Jack banked into the parking lot, braking to a stop just a couple of
steps from the front door of the Hamm County Beverage Company.
He kicked the Harleys stand out as he ipped the ignition switch to
the OFF position and dismounted. As was his habit, he stepped back
a few feet to admire the old warrior before trotting up the stairs.
Moses had just hung up his phone as Jack walked into the ofce.
Hiya, kid, he said, getting up as he spoke. How was New York? he
asked as they hugged hello.
Just ne, Jack grinned.
Ja call Linda?
Yeah. I sure did, he thought, as a vision of the taut brown body
moving over and under him slid through his mind.
She doin OK?
Sounded just ne. Said she was workin too hard.
Arent we all. Glad youre back, anyway. I called this afternoon
cause I wanted to show ya something. Cmon out back. He hurried
past Jack, down the hall to the warehouse door. Jack stayed close
behind as they went through the door, taking a right turn toward the
loading dock. Then he saw it. Sitting there on its center stand, just
inside the docks sliding door, was a luminous two-wheeled black
and silver bullet. A Vincent.
Hey, Jack said. Who belongs to that?
Yer humble servant, said Moses, grinning broadly. I decided
you and George were havin too damn much fun without me.
Damn, said Jack, walking around it, his gaze jumping from one
shiny compound curve to the next, from the polished aluminum
front fender to the huge black speedometer and sensuously-owing
gas tank to the sculpted dual seat. Damn damn damn. Seein em in
th magazines doesnt getcha ready for this. He focused on the black-
enameled crankcases. Its a Black Shadow, right?
Right, said Moses. The guy says they guarantee itll top out at a
hundred and twenty-ve.
Jeeezus. What a scooter. Whendja get it?
Couple weeks ago. Just trucked it over from Atlanta and stuck it
in here til you got back. Figured you wouldnt want half the town
tellin ya the news.
Youre right, I do appreciate that. But I dont see how you stayed
off of it for two weeks.
Hell, I didnt. Im out here sittin on it six times a day. All these
guysve gotta be relieved that they dont hafta keep the secret any
longer.
Well, hell; lets go ride.
Moses rolled the Shadow, which is what theyd call it from then
on, onto one of the trucks lift gates, which eased it down to ground
level. Moses straddled it, pulling the clutch lever in. He ran the kick-
starter through a couple of times to free the clutch plates, released it,
set the ignition advance to full retard, closed the choke lever, eased
the throttle twistgrip open a crack, and kicked. Once. Twice. Three
times and BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM, the Shadows sixty-one
cubic inches of v-twin leapt to life, drawing applause from the
HCBC employees, Beverly Tyler among them, that had gathered on
the dock. Her applause was an ironic headwag and an unavoidable
small smile. Still grinning, Moses toed the gearshift up into rst,
eased out the clutch and was off with a backward wave. Jack ran
around to the front of the building, cranked the Harley and took off
out Seventh Street in pursuit of the shrinking Shadow.

As she pulled the old Hudson wagon up to the hotel alleys inter-
section with Main street, Serenas scan of the trafc also picked up
the Reverend Osborne Abercrombie on his way to the cafe. Giving
him a hasty wave and a hey-preacher smile, she turned right and dis-
appeared behind a following semi-trailer rig. Jesus, she thought, you
could land a plane on that forehead.
At that moment, the Reverend concluded that hed had enough.
Enough of politely passing the time of day, day after day, with that
auburn-haired vixen. Enough of her saucy, green-eyed smiling
responses. Enough of her, the daughter of one of the towns most
important men (and a deacon!), keeping the church (and him!) at
arms length. And enough, in particular, of the unbidden, unrequited
tendency toward erection of the pastoral penis. The situation simply
had to change. She was available. He was available. He had buried his
wife Ellen more than two years ago. And even if he werent power-
fully attracted to Serena Mason, various of his parishioners had for
months been giving him not-so-subtle hints that it was time for the
church to be led, once again, by a married man.
It wasnt that he didnt have things to offer her. The First Baptist
Church was Bisques largest, and the majority of its socially promi-
nent citizens could be seen there on Sunday mornings. As pastor, he
defaulted to the upper levels of the towns pecking order. And, he
thought, I dont look bad for forty-two. Wish I had more hair, but
Im not upset by what I see in the mirror. Even features, prominent
forehead, honest brown eyes. My suits t well; Hart, Schaffner &
Marx, Palm Beach; serge, glen plaid, covert; maybe not tailor-made,
but the worthy members whose stores provide them make sure that
their wares are shown to the best possible advantage in the pulpit.
And God knows Im well-spoken.
These things alone, he knew, werent enough to bring Serena to
him. Even after eighteen years of marriage, he still had no idea about
how women make up their minds about men. As an experienced
observer of humanity, however, he had come to some conclusions
about her likes and dislikes. His only source of information, Reba
Turnipseed, had provided him with a few insights about this remark-
able woman. With the Lords help, theyd be enough to give him the
basis for a successful campaign for her hand.
First among these insights that Reba had provided him was her
impression of the relationship, if it could be called that, between Ser-
ena and the beer baron Kubielski. While Reba has a very good opin-
ion of him as a person, she says, she doesnt believe that theyre
good for each other, and that, being Jewish, he doesnt present seri-
ous potential as a husband. At least not in Bisque. But shes been
back here for ten years; if a husbands what she wants, maybe my
timings pretty good.
The second insight, while less encouraging, must be confronted. It
is that, despite her deep roots in Bisque, shes here only because of
the boy, and that her residence here will end contemporaneous with
his departure for college. She is, Reba says, an artist; she sculpts.
And, even though no one save Baron Kubielski is admitted to her
rooftop studio, there seems to be a market, hitherto solely in New
York, for what she sculpts. The only evidence reputed to be her work
thats ever been available to Bisques eyes was the efgy of the Barons
organ behind which he shamelessly drove around some years back.
Third, and perhaps most troubling, is Rebas opinion that,
although sporadic, Serena and the Baron have maintained an eight-
year sexual liaison that appears to be mutually satisfactory. Although
her facts concerning this licentious union are necessarily sketchy, she
is rm, as only she can be, in her conviction that its alive and well
today.
Given these insights, the pastor mused, whats my strategy? As
much as I fear doing it, Im forced to base what I do on an assump-
tion, that assumption being that Serena doesnt want to do anything
forever, which both frightens and comforts me. Shes an artist. Is her
art truly appreciated by Baron Kubielski, or is this the fatal niche in
their accommodation? Everything that I know about the man sug-
gests to me that this is the relationships Achilles heel. It could be the
gap into which I can insert the cold chisel of Gods love, followed by
a warmer insertion of my own.
As opposed to what seems to be the Barons cavalier notice of her
art, I shall prove my love for Serena through an understanding of
what she does. I shall give her as many opportunities as I can to
appreciate what I know about her art. I must begin to see her
socially, in a series of gatherings that are stackedhow can a man of
God conceive of this duplicity, yet I do, and happilyin my favor.
Perhaps, as a start, a simple party given by some church member
with whom shes friendly. In the meantime, I shall do what I can to
make sure that she hears more good things from me about art in
general, and ultimately her art, in the next few weeks than shes
heard from the Baron since they met. Once were friends, anything
can happen.
Go ahead and get the sandwiches out of the frigerator, will ya,
honey? shouted Jolene Marsh, chairwoman for Bisques Salvation
Army Funding Plans Committee. She was determined, under any
circumstances, to be an effective chairwoman, and if all that it took
was shanghaiing Serena Mason, well that was easily done. She knew
that the appreciation of her efforts would begin with Reverend Aber-
crombies, who knew where it would end? The Reverends inuence
was far-reaching in Bisque, and readily usable for lots of purposes,
religious or sectarian. And if what he had in mind in getting Serena
to show up was what she thought it was, well, his gratitude would be
considerable if she reciprocates his interest.
Wheredya want this bowl of blackberries? asked Terry, strug-
gling a bit as she slid the three-tiered silver tray onto the table beside
them. Dont they have sumpm that goes with em?
Yep. Theres a dish of hard sauce that goes over em; probably
right behind where the sandwiches were. You sure you wanta stay for
this thing, baby? Its bound to be dull as dishwater.
It wont be if Jacks moms coming. Do you really think shell
show up?
If she doesnt, shes no friend of mine. And she is my good
friend.
But whys she coming? This isnt something shed be interested
in. She doesnt even go to church.
This isnt about church. Its about helping people who arent as
fortunate as we are. Were going to help the Salvation Army raise the
money they need to do that for the poor people of Bisque. This gath-
erings mostly about getting businesses to give us things that we can
rafe off to make money, and Miz Masons a pretty good business
woman. I think shell have some good suggestions. And possibly
boost old Abercrombies self-image right through the roof, she
thought. Its about time old Cueball had some competition; foolin
around with Rni for all these years, and not marryin her. Not that I
think shed ever be a preachers wife, but who knows? The guy obvi-
ously believes in miracles; guess you could say he practices what he
preaches.
By ve-fteen, the Marsh living room was full of well-behaved
Christian housewives, an artist and a preacher. Jolene, fullling her
implied bargain with the holy man, had handed Serena over to him
upon arrival. You know Reverend Abercrombie, of course, shed
said, and Serena had allowed as how she did.
Daddy says youre some sermonizer, she said as Jolene ushered a
lady in a hat toward the tier of little sandwiches.
Well, he said, modifying Preacher Professional Post-Sermon
Smile for the occasion, thats high praise indeed, coming from Dea-
con Redding. Maybe you should join us some Sunday and decide for
yourself.
I have a hard time sitting down for that long, Im afraid, she
said. Guess Daddyll have to go on representing us.
Hm. Well, I hope youll change your mind some day and join
him.
They say anythings possible, but I wouldnt bet on it. But you
dont bet, do you? How about a sandwich?
They hovered briey over the buffet table before Abercrombie was
called away for protocol with the Salvation Armys Major Murphy.
By the time he could get back to her, the business of the gathering
had been done and people were gabbling the appropriate goodbyes
to friends, acquaintances and holy folk. The Reverend pounced as
she was escaping Jolenes hug. Mrs. Mason
She turned to him, unable to avoid a look up at the expanse of
brow. Call me Rni, why dont you? After all, were neighbors.
Whythank you, ahReenie. I wondered if I might ask a favor.
Shoot.
Hed begun to understand that it was going to take everything he
had to deal with this directness. Well. I understand that you sculpt,
and I wondered if I might see some of your work.
Word gets around, doesnt it? she said, smiling. Goddamn that
Reba anyway. What kind of sculpture do you like?
I can more easily tell you what kind I dont like. None. Sculp-
tures a miraculous gift. How people shape beautiful things from
ordinary materials is absolutely beyond me.
A spark of insight momentarily dimmed Serenas just-for-polite-
society smile. Wish more people felt that way, she said, looking at
him squarely for the rst time. Its not a common attitude, as far as
I know. Stop by tomorrow, if you like. Around six? My studios on
the hotel roof. Theres some recycled Reba-news for you, she
thought. The desk clerkll tell you how to nd the door to the roof.
Youve gotta knock hard.
The reverend was early, but shed anticipated it. Good thing Snare,
alias Penis Flytrap, has gone to New York, she thought as the Rever-
ends thumping resumed within seconds after it had stopped. This
alabaster version of Cordelias bustll be about all he can take. Haul-
ing the door open, and now more or less prepared for a top view of
the expanse of ecclesiastical headskin, she greeted him. Howdy,
preacher.
Good afternoon. Clearing the last step, he looked around the
rooftop. What a wonderful place to work. I can see how inspiration
would come to you quite easily.
Its not bad, once you get used to the weather and the trucks. I
cant understand why trucks cant have mufers thatd make them as
quiet as cars. Their engines cant be that much bigger.
Thats a question that I have absolutely no qualication to
address, he said, smiling. Have you asked your brother? The car
dealer, I mean.
No, I havent; too obvious, I guess. But you didnt come up here
to discuss trucks. Come on over here and Ill show you what Im
working on. As they approached her workstand, she said, I gener-
ally have a glass or two of wine while I work, but I can offer you
water or a Coke instead-
Oh, nothing for me right now, thanks, he said, his eyes xed on
the bust, a two-foot-high piece of pink-veined white stone that stood
on the workstand, embedded in sand. In spite of a quickly-drying
throat, he managed to say, Id just like to look at this marvelous
thing right now.
I hope itll be at least mildly marvelous when Ive nished. Still
lots of polishing to do.
Hed recovered enough from the sight of Cordelias alabaster
breasts to ask, What kind of stone is it?
Alabaster. This is the rst piece of stone that Ive carved since I
was in school, more than ten years ago. Its a lot easier to work than
marble or granite.
Now he was back on his feet. Those pink striations running
through it create a really nice effect. Where did you get it?
From a sculpture supply house in New York. It was quarried in
Colorado.
I think I know who it is.
You can guess if you want to, but my models identitiesre con-
dential.
Well, shes a very striking woman, for Bisque anyway.
Ill say she is; for Bisque or anywhere else. Im lucky shell model
for me.
When this is done, Im sure shell say that shes the lucky one. Im
in absolute awe of your talent. How many women sculptors do you
suppose there are?
Not that many, relative to men, as far as I know. And thank you
for not saying sculptress. Thereve always been a few, though. Ever
heard of Camille Claudell?
No, he said, wrinkling the massive brow. Who is she?
She was a studentand mistressof Rodin. Probably the best-
known woman in sculpture. Died in pursuit of her artand Rodin.
Really. When did she die?
Back during the war, 43-44, I think. Shed been in an asylum for
many years.
My goodness. Rodin was no help to her?
Far from it. Ibsen wrote a play about them. When We Dead
Awaken. He abandoned her at the point where she couldve become
well-known for her work. As Ibsen would have it, he just wasnt
interested in having an artistic competitor in his bed.
Thats a very sad story. A slow death at the hands of love and art.
She looked at him, not disguising her surprise. Thats it, in a nut-
shell. She was destined to be lonely, because she wanted to do some-
thing with her life that society decreed women shouldnt do. She
chose to live and love like a man, and to be an artist. But she wasnt a
man, and she pursued her desires, even after pursuing them drove
her crazy.
I must read that play. Do you have it?
No. I left a lot of books behind when we left New York. And a lot
else besides, she mused.
Seeing sadness come over her, he sensed opportunity. Do you
know anything about Stone Mountain?
Not much, she said, startled at the change of subject and
remembering the only time shed seen it, from a room in the Henry
Grady Hotel back in June. beyond the fact that its in Atlanta.
It has Lees head sculpted out of one side. I was reading in the
Atlanta paper the other day that some people are trying to get work
started on the original design, the one done by the fellowBorglum, I
think thats rightthe one that did the presidents heads on Mount
Rushmore?
Yes, Serena said, Gutzon Borglum.
The paper said that Lees head is seventy feet high. Ever since I
read about it, Ive wanted to see it. Would you like to drive over there
one day and take a look?
The surprise returned to her eyes as she looked at him, appraising
this unexpected ploy. Sure, she said after some seconds of silence.
When?
It was the Reverends turn to be surprised. Well, he said, looking
skyward as he came to grips with the unexpected ease of victory.
How would one day early next week, or the week after, be? Wednes-
days prayer meeting, and I begin working on my sermon on Thurs-
days. Say Monday or Tuesday? If we leave early, we could be back by
ve or six, I would think.
Yes, its quite a drive. Wed better say week after next. Ill need to
make sure my desk clerks ready to work straight through whatever
day we choose. Can I let you know tomorrow?
A welcome, if unusual, breeze rufed Cordelias glossy hair and the
tops of the massive oak trees across the street as she looked down on
the ow of main street trafc. When am I leavin for New York?
Cordelia asked. Im lookin pretty damn smooth.
Yes you are. I swear, I know your nipples now better than I know
mine. Maybe next week, Serena said as she rubbed the alabaster bust
with a cloth and jewelers rouge. After the polishings done. Ive got
several coats of wax to put on and rub out. Then well crate these
cute little tits up and ship em to the gallery.
Well, they look damn good. Be sure you crate em up good so I
wont break.
You can count on it. But you know, if all I wanted to do was sell it
I probably wouldnt have to ship it.
Really? Who could you sell it to?
A most unlikely, and hitherto unknown, art enthusiast. Only he
wouldnt be able to display it at home.
Why not?
Because preachers just dont have nude sculpture. Not Baptist
preachers, anyway.
Rni! Cordelia shrieked. You showed my tits to Abercrombie?
No!
Serena stopped polishing and turned to look at her. Im afraid I
did, sugar. Since I didnt tell him you were the model, I didnt think
youd mind.
Well you were wrong! Anybody with one eyed know its me.
When you told me that you wanted to do me in marble, and I sat
again for you for weeks with my tits hangin out, the only people I
thought would see it would be Yankee strangers and family. I dont
want Pap to see this!
I dont want him to, either. And Im sorry I showed you to the
preacher. It just sort of happened.
But what was he doin up here in the rst place? You dont let
people up here all that much. But a friggin preacher?
Im sorry this has upset you, sweetie. I guess you better hear the
rest of it so youll know how upset to get.
Cordelia shook her head slowly from side to side. You got any
wine up here?
Its a little early, but Ill go get us some if you feel the need. Mat-
ter of fact, Im startin to feel the need myself. Lets go downstairs.
They sat in the living room with glasses from a bottle of Pouilly
Fuisse for which Serena felt shed overpaid, but now was glad shed
bought it. You know where I was day before yesterday? she asked
the still-ustered Cordelia.
Where?
In Atlanta; well, Stone Mountain actually, lookinup at a seventy-
foot head of Robert E. Lee with th preacher.
Damn! Donchoo lie ta me!
No really. We drove over there, six hours over and six hours back,
to get a look at it. And Ill tell you, its amazing.
Damn! I didnt think that anything you had to say about this
could possibly surprise me, after what you told me upstairs. Howja
get involved with that giiy, of all people?
I got to talking with him at a Salvation Army deal that Jolene
Marsh dragged me into a couple of weeks ago. Turns out hes a lover
of sculpture.
Sounds more like a lover of sculptors to me. Does he really know
anything about it?
Not much. But his heart seems to be in the right place. Hes fasci-
nated by what it takes to create sculpture. How well do you have to
know something to love it?
Cordelia sipped her wine before answering. I think youre about
to nd out. How the hell you got from th Salvation Army to Stone
Mountain and General Lee in two weeks just beats th hell outa me.
Tsay nothin of why.
Serenas smile held a tinge of the rueful. Im askin myself the
same question. Id hate to think that Im shallow enough to just get a
kick out of having somebody like that admire me and tell me that
what Im doings important. And at the same time wanta get in my
pants, even if he doesnt really know much about how to do it.
Hell, Cordelia said with a grin, If thats shallow call me knee-
deep.
Serena observed her models change of mood with relief. Yeah,
you cant really say theres a lot wrong with that, except that its
comin from such a strange source. You just gure that a guy like
thats bloods not all that red, and that hes gonna be throwin Jesus at
you every chance he gets.
And does he?
Not at all, at least so far. Well, once. We put in a pretty long day
in that Dodge of his, just gettin there and back. All he wanted to talk
about was what I was doinand what Id done.
I know you didnt let im get away with that.
I didnt wanta get into some kinda conversational tennis match
with im. I found out a few things about him, but to tell th truth it
was more restful just talkin about artand me.
Cordelia started to reply directly to that, but instead said: Dyou
think he really wants to courtshe made quotation marks in the
airyou? How the hell can a Baptist preacher go out with awhat?
Atheist? Agnostic? I know you aint sittin around waitin for th sec-
ond comin. Those goddam Baptistsll throw his ass out if hes not
careful.
I know it; and I guess he must know it. He seems to be a pretty
bright guy, about most things. He did let those proselytizing pants of
his down pretty far one time, and Im not sure he meant to, or even
noticed that he had.
Really. Whadd he say?
It was while we were standing under the sculpture, right after we
got there. I said sumpm about how it wouldve inspired the people
of the Confederacy if they couldve seen it. He said Inspiration is
everything. I said, It certainly is in my work. And he said, It is in
mine, too. Take faith. You know, its not as important that we be
completely certain that God exists, as long as we behave as though He
does.
Whoa! Honey! He better not be droppin that bomb on anybody
else in town. He wouldnta said it to you, but he knows that if yallre
gonna get together, hes gotta be gettin yo ass inta that big ole Bap-
tist church, one way or another. Either that or hes tireda makin his
livin thataway.
Yeah. I started to tell im that his church-birds might as well have
good times in Heaven to look forward to, because they aint likely to
have many down here. And that if God was really on the job, shit
wouldnt stink and cumd taste like tapioca. But I didnt. I dont
know what the ole boy has in mind, but Im sure I will before long.
Hes gotta be lonesome for female companionship, with Celeste
Abercrombie dead these two years.
Hm, Cordelia said, I forgot that was her name. She wadnt that
much to look at. They didnt have any kids, so she might notta been
that much fun nekkidif Baptists actually get nekkid. Maybe youll
nd out. You could make room for one more on your dance card
these days, I magine.
More than that, if I had a mind to, which I dont, Serena said
between sips of wine. That ole rascal Cueball still does it right well
for me.
And for some others, too, Cordelia thought, as she said Dont
seem like you see im as much as you used to. Im glad yall still
please each other after this long. Mself, I just gotta have a lil variety
now an then.
Serena ignored the last part of what shed said. It seems like its
hard to nd the time, as busy as we both are. Hes not somebody you
satisfy in an hour or so. It takes about a half a day to haul that boys
ashes. If you cant take that long, youre just askin for frustration.
Cordelia pondered that thought for a minute. Maybe itll be eas-
ier for yall with Jack off at school.
Could be. His being gones gonna make a big hole in both of our
lives for awhile, Im sure of that. And you know what? I wouldnt be
surprised if his hole turns out to be a little bigger than mine.
Yeah, he and Jack seem more like kin than Jack and either one of
his real uncles. All that yin and everythang. But its time for him to
get out in th world, and yallve got him as ready as anybody can be
to do that. If his goin to school dont get you and Mose closer
together, well, some art appreciation from th preacher miit do it.
Dawno whatsa bad about religion, anyway.
You mean aside from its being the sworn enemy of free
thought?
Oh, that. Cordelia moved to sit beside Serena. I gotta go. I still
wish you hadnt shown th preacher my tits, but its done an I forgive
you. Besides, if yall ever got down to bidness, hed forget about em
in a heartbeat soon as he gets a loada that sweet clit ayours.
Assumin he knows what one is.
He cant be that ignorant, Serena said as they moved toward the
door.
Well, honey, you showed me where mine was.
Yeah, but you were thirteen. Shouldnt hafta do show and tell for
a grown man.
The parking spot just outside the door to the Bisque Lunch Room
was vacant, so the bright mass of the white cars right side lled the
doorway as Lee Webster walked in. Its horn tooted a triple as it went
by. Hey, bub, he said, squinting into the shade at Moses. See what
celebrityll buy you in this town?
Moses grunted as he kicked the adjoining barstool around to
receive the oncoming burden. Those goddam girls. Dont they do
anything but drive?
Im sure they do, said Webster. They had the curtains drawn.
Jesus. You know, I sorta liked that heap for as long as I had it. Itd
top eighty in second gear if you had enough road to let it wind out.
Then I trade it in, old Bishop buys it, it looks like for life, and those
girls start drivin it around. Now theyre usin the goddam thing to
haunt me. Every other time I look up, that damn old white Buicks
lookin at me.
Still lookin pretty good, too, said Webster.
Thats the hell of it! The goddam thing looks bettern it did when
I bought it! Theyre hauntin my ass with that big white fuckin zom-
bie!
Webster shifted on his stool to look squarely at his friend. Wait a
minute, pal. Id be attered if those little Boobsie Twinsd pay me
some attention. Besides, you know teenagers. Idiot savants or not,
you let em know theyre gettin your goat, theyll just keep it up.
Moses returned Websters gaze for a moment, then glanced down
the bar at Ribeye, whose interest in their dialogue had picked up as it
got louder. More like clitiot savants, if you ask me. Got time to take
a little drive with me?

Theres Lee Webster, said Dolores, tapping the horn in greeting.
Bet hes meetin Mose in there, said Jack from the back seat.
Diana sat between him and Ricky, facing a galvanized gray tub of ice
and beer on the oor in front of them.
Well, he had is chance, said Diana, pulling Jacks head over and
catching his earlobe between her teeth. Now yall get to have all th
fun.
Yall asked Mose rst? Be still my heart, chuckled Ricky, resting
the base of his can of Budweiser on bare tanned thigh, just below the
hem of her cutoff jeans. He was rewarded with an ecstatic shriek and
a backhand to the chest.
Qweeeut! she said, laughing. Thats cold!
Yall dont be messin with her til we get where were goin,
Dolores shouted from up front. Were sharin yall!
Theyd driven north of town to a small Negro-owned grocery
store for the beer, where thered be no quibbling about how old the
buyer happened to be. The Bisque Lunch Room was on the way to
their destination, a shed-out pond east of town. Then get this
damn boat movin, shouted Ricky, draining his beer, chucking the
can into the tub and grabbing another. Wheres at church key?
The pond was the better part of ve miles out of town, where
Main Street turns south and changes back into U.S. 1. Pine thickets
dominated both sides of the road. There it is, Ricky exclaimed.
Dolores turned the white car off the highway to the right, jouncing
onto twin ruts that led through a scrubby meadow and into the trees.
Dammit, what the hellve yall got us into? This looks liike a frig-
gin jungle.
Ya want privacy, doncha? Jack said, gripping Dianas other
thigh, which felt the way he imagined the mid-section of a ten-foot
python would, but hot.
This is really niice a yall, she said. It just wouldnt do for us to
go over to Georgia this Fall and still have our cherries.
We preeshate it, said Ricky. But you know what? You never
told us why you decided you wanted us to help you out.
Well, said Diana, smiling lazily as she rested her hands on top of
the boys, We liike yall, an we know yallve got experience.
Experience? Jack said in surprise. In cherry-bustin? Whered
you get that from?
Dolores parked the car behind a clump of brush that obscured it
from sight. She opened the white cars back door just as Jack spoke.
Ah, we didnt care about that. Tell th truth, aint much cherry left ta
bust. Somebody told us it was gonna hurt, so we just started playin
with ourselves til we could get a couple ngers in. Wudnt nothin to
it. She cracked a fresh beer, took a large swig and slung an arm
around Rickys neck. Hay-eey, she said, darting her tongue
between his lips.
We didnt wanchall worryin about hurtin us, said Diana.
What we wanchall to do is get us past this damn cherry shit and give
us a good solid screwin. She unbuttoned her cutoffs and hooked her
thumbs over the waist. Cmon, les get nekkid!

Last Valentines Day, said Moses as they drove out Main Street,
those darlin little Bishop twins paid me a visit. I dont know if they
told anyone about it; I sure as hell didnt, until right now. Im tellin
you because I dont want you thinkin Im nuts, and I know it
mustve sounded like it back there. Somebody besides me has to
know what these maniacs have been doin to me ever since I rst laid
eyes on em. Ive kept it to myself until now; people around hered
want me locked up, either as a rapist or just plain fuckin crazy.
Well, said Webster, I can tell this is gonna be way off the record.
What the hells going on?
Like I told you. Those girlsre not just a little touched; theyre
the weirdest human beings Ive ever run across in my life. Remember
back in 52, when Bisque beat Ledbetter, and there was a lotta talk
about them tellin old Rocky Whitehead what plays Ledbetterd run,
before they ran em?
Oh yeah. McMillan had a lot to say about that in th paper. Need-
lin Rocky and givin two cheerleaders th credit for th biggest foot-
ball win this town ever had. Called em the bafing Bishops.
Rni told me a while back that theyve got that, that
That what? Webster asked him when the pause had gone on for
half a minute or so.
Waita minute. I almost had it. Oh. Tourettes.
Tour-ets?
Yeah. Makes em act wild. Cuss like sailors, only worse.
Screamin, ghtin; and the farther theye apart from each other, the
worse it gets.
Damn. Whend their folks nd out they had it?
Quite awhile back, I guess, said Moses. When they were nine,
ten, I guess, from what I remember. And sexs a big part of it
Sex?
Yeah, sex. Because thats whats botherin me about them. Listen.
This goes back before what I was startin to tell you. Before th Led-
better game. I was goin home one evenin, and they passed me up in
my old car. A little farther down th road, they pulled up. Said the car
quit on em. Well, I couldnt get it started, so I put em in my car and
took em home. We got out there, and when they got out, one of
emthe one sittin next to mekissed me, real quick, tongue and all,
with their mama standin right there.
Jee-sus.
I dont think shemamasaw it. Looked like the other one was
blockin her view, tellin her what had happened to th car. But it sure
as hell surprised me.
Yeah, I guess, said Webster, rubbing his temples with both
hands.
Since then, seemed like every time I turned around Id see my old
car. Parked somewhere close to wherever I was at the time, drivin by
th warehouse, my placeall th fuckin time. Like they were followin
me.
Jyou ever say anything to em?
Hell, no, said Moses, looking over at Webster as he stopped at a
trafc light. What the hell was I gonna say? And what would they
say? They were in a public thoroughfare, completely within their
rights. I sure as hell didnt want them tellin their folks that Id come
anywhere near em. Ive had all the woman trouble I want from this
town without messin with jailbait. But they kept messin with me,
and still are, just like today. That drivin by Ribeyess happened
before, right down to th horn-toot.
Hm. So what happened on Valentines Day?
Moses recapped the twins visit to his house, leaving out the
hero reference. Holy shit! breathed Webster, ngers to his tem-
ples again. Those little bitchesre sickern I thought. Thats a fuckin
time bomb. If they told somebody, anybody
Bingo! Now, see why I go a nuts every time I see that damn
Buick?
You shoulda come to town in a Ford or a Chevrolet, Webster
mused.
Hows that?
You reckon ole Big Boy woulda bought sumpm like that? No Big
Boy, no Boobsie twins drivin a car with Kubielski-spoor.
Yeah, but if Id just ushed that Buicks coolin system before I
left Baltimore, Ida never been made an honorary redneck.
Whadja do, Webster asked, Elect yosef?
As long as you got locals that fart shave and a haircut, two bits,
said Moses, Id say theres room for a new kinda redneck or two.
- 429 -
s
c h a p t e r 1 9
Roll Out the Barrel
0520 Saturday 9 April 1955:
Mose. It was Gene Debs, calling, as he would, at the crack of dawn.
What?
Jyou ever see a Grumman F3F?
A what?
A Grumman F3F. I ew em in th eet, back in the thirties. A
ghter. Biplane.
What time is it?
What?
I said, what time is it?
Five-twenty. Why?
Because its FIVE FUCKING TWENTY! Whyre you calling me
at ve fucking twenty to ask me about some goddamn airplane?
Did I wake you up? I thought you got up with the fuckin chick-
ens.
Not on Saturday. But Im awake now. Whats the deal?
This heres th deal. I got a call last night from a guy I know out in
Waco. He works at the airport where the crop dustin school is.
Theres an F3F out there for sale. A two-seater! They just made a few
two-seaters. The guy says the ownerll take eight grand for it. I
thought you might like a half interest.
Moses said nothing for a few seconds. Then he said, Whatd you
say it was?
An F3F. Grumman. You know the Wildcat, the carrier-based
ghter that we had in th war before th Hellcat?
Yeah.
Well, think of a Wildcat with two wings. Thats an F3F.
Oh. Is that a FiFi? We had a few of them come through Gitmo.
These came after the FFs. Much hotter bird.
And you ew em.
Yeah. Back in 38, 39. Great-yin aircraft. Fast. 190-knot cruise.
Any idea of what kinda shape its in?
The guy says its beautiful. About 75 hours on the engine since
overhaul. This aint a Navy bird; Grumman built the 2-place version,
the G-32, for demonstrators and executive taxis. They put the Navy
paint job on em, which this one still has; yellow wings, red cowling
and tail, gray fuselage. Of course, we need to y it before we make th
deal. Wanta take a run out to Waco?
1738 Sunday 10 April 1955:
The Stearman got them to Waco in a shade over seven hours, with 2
gas stops. They approached the eld at dusk, turning on nal over
Lake Waco, touching down with Gene Debs usual smoothness.
Turning off the runway, they taxied past the control tower and down
the ramp to the third hangar. The G32, looking combat-ready,
crouched in front of it. Lookin tough, babes, shouted Gene Debs
through the Gosport tube. If that ole barrel aint ready to go Im a
broke-dick dog!
Somehow you just had to use its Navy nomenclature. The F3F
looked a lot like a barrel, scarlet cowling contrasting sharply with
Navy gray, stuck between two stubby wings, the upper wings top
surface bright yellow, its tail the same scorching scarlet as the cowl-
Roll Out the Barrel 431
ing. It sat low between the outsize wheels of its retractable landing
gear. The big nine-cylinder Wright Cyclone engine lurked behind the
broad paddles of its three-bladed propeller, compelling evidence of
the performance Gene Debs had talked about. It has to be a barrel,
Moses thought, to hold that engine and those big-ass wheels. Thats
some linkage that gets them up in there; hard to imagine all those
tubes and bars tting up inside the fuselage. But they obviously do.
Parking the Stearman in front of the hangar, they headed straight
for the F3F to get a closer look. The closer they got, the bigger it
looked; they stood in its shade, inches away from the prop, looking
up at its hub and the massive engine behind it. Eighteen hundred
and twenty cubic inches, said Gene Debs. And pretty close to a
thousand horsepower. We can kick some ass with this.
If we dont go broke buying gas, said Mose. Hows it do on fuel
consumption?
Not too bad; bout thirty gallons an hour.
A slight, sandy-haired man of about forty approached them,
pushing his Stetson back on his forehead. Mr. Redding? he said,
looking from one to the other.
Im Redding, Gene Debs said, extending his hand. Thiss Mose
Kubielski. You must be Mr. Young.
Randy, he said, shaking with both men. Howus your ight?
Fine; looking forward to gettin in this bird, though.
Well, shell be topped up and ready bright and early in the mor-
nin. I got you a couple of rooms at a decent place just up the high-
way.
Appreciate that. Hows th weather look for tomorrow?
Hot n dusty, so far. Oughta be a nice ride.

They were back at the eld shortly before seven the next morning.
I aint got much in the way of manuals on this ole bird, said Young.
What Ive learned about her I got rsthand. I dont expect youll see
much difference between this un and the single-seaters. He led
them through a detailed pre-ight inspection, pointing out things
that had been done to maintain the ships airworthiness. Habm had
to do nothin major to her; Grumman built these thangs strong as
new rope, and theres just a little over a thousand hours on the air-
frame.
Its comin back to melike it was yesterday, said Gene Debs.
Well then, lets take a spin if youre ready. You and me can take a
short hop to let you get the feel of her, then you and Mose can take
er back out for as long as you wanta.
It must be hard for you to turn er loose, said Moses.
It is, Randy said, but I got my eye on a lil ole Mustang thatll
do a heap to ease my grief. Youd think a man of my age would know
better than to screw around with air racin, wouldncha?
Hell, said Gene Debs, this aint got nuthin to do with good
sense.
Gene Debs horsed the F3Fs inertial starters short port-side crank
around, building its momentum as Randy sat in the aft cockpit ip-
ping switches. Seconds later, the starters whine gave way to the
Cyclones lumpy gargle, even louder than Moses had imagined it
would be. As they rolled, he walked to the far side of the taxiway,
watching the rotund old warrior make its way deliberately down to
the runup area. Eight hundred yards away, the engine, climbing the
scale to a brawny tenor as Randy ran it up, still rattled Moses
insides. The runup check complete, he throttled back and released
the brakes, adding power back to taxi into takeoff position.
The F3F responded quickly to takeoff power, getting its tail up
within the rst couple of hundred feet of runway. Gaining speed
quickly, it lost every trace of earthbound clumsiness as it broke
ground, climbing fast, its big wheels creeping into their retracted
position in the fuselage. Leveling off at about a thousand feet, it ew
a mile or so straight ahead, then turned back toward the eld, shed-
ding altitude for speed. Randy brought it straight back down the
runway at no more than two hundred feet, at what looked to Moses
like well over two hundred miles an hour. Nearing the runways end,
he pulled it up in a near-vertical climb, the shrieking engines pitch
running downscale as the plane soared. They leveled off at around
ve thousand and headed east, a rapidly diminishing gray spot in the
sky.
Just slide right in there, Mose, shouted Randy over the engines
idling thunder. Gene Debs had switched to the rear cockpit, and
Moses slid carefully into the snug connes of the front seat. He
pulled on the cloth aviators helmet that Randy handed him, and
connected the gosport tube, through which he and Gene Debs would
communicate during their ight. Just sit tight for a little bit, par-
dner, Randy said. Its a lot cooler if you just leave th canopy open
til you get out to the run-up area. Youll still be able to hear each
other through the gosport. Im gonna run up to the tower and see if I
can talk em into lettin you boys buzz th eld one more time before
trafc picks up.
Fastening his seatbelt and shoulder harness, Moses began looking
around the cockpit. The fat stick between his legs was topped by a
large black pistol grip incorporating a gun trigger. The throttle and
fuel mixture controls were on his left, pivoting on a common shaft.
The engine and ight instruments, centered around a large radio
directional compass, stared back at him from the panel. A set of trim
tab control wheels protruded from a box-like housing on the left side
of the cockpit oor. The radio panel sat in the same location on his
right side. Looking straight ahead over the aircrafts dashboard, he
saw through the top wings struts a narrow strip of blue sky over a
stretch of gray fuselage that ended abruptly with the engines giant
cylinders. Taxiing this thing cant be that easy, he thought.
Hey, Mose! Gene Debs voice came over the gosport. Waitll
you feel this thing climb. Its gotta be as fast as an F6 up to seven or
eight thousand feet. Ready ta taxi?
Yep. Can you see well enough to get us off the ground?
Oh yeah. The views a lot better back here. A little s-turnins all it
takes. You get used to it. See that crank down on your right?
Yeah.
That retracts th landing gear. Thirty-two cranks, by my count.
Start crankin as soon as were off the deck. Here we go. Waco tower
cleared them to taxi, and Gene Debs goosed the throttle to get the
plane moving. As they reached the run-up area, Moses reached over
his head and pulled the canopy shut. Gene Debs expedited the run-
up, and they were quickly cleared for takeoff. Watch this! he
shouted over the gosport. Moses both felt and saw the power build-
ing; Gene Debs advanced the throttle, and the manifold pressure
gauge climbed quickly through thirty-ve, forty, then forty-ve
inches of mercury. The F3F hit takeoff speed in just a few seconds,
but Gene Debs held it on the runway with forward pressure on the
stick until the airspeed indicator showed 120 knots. Then he released
the forward pressure and pulled back on the stick, popping the air-
craft off the runway as he maintained takeoff power.
Getting his excitement over the planes raw power under control,
Moses checked the altimeter as he cranked up the gear; they were
roaring through two thousand feet, still picking up airspeed. Yeeee-
haah! He bellowed into the gosport. What the fuckre the pore peo-
ple doin?
So you think we ought to keep this ole bird? asked Gene Debs as
he dropped the nose and leveled off at ve thousand feet, easing the
throttle back as the airspeed hit 210.
Bet your ass. Go on and get your showin off out of the way so
you can check me out.
If you insist. As he spoke, Gene Debs pushed over into a shallow
dive, picked up another twenty knots of airspeed, then pulled the
nose up to just past level ight attitude as he brought the stick
sharply over to the left, holding it there as the plane corkscrewed
through one, then another aileron roll. Dropping the nose again as
they resumed level ight, he pulled straight up into the start of a
loop, rolling a hundred eighty degrees as they dropped onto the
loops back side, completing a half Cuban eight and diving for speed
again. Still alive up there, sailor? he asked.
And kickin. When you gonna to do sumpm remarkable?
Hang on. They were approaching the eld again.
Waco tower, Grumman 44932.
Grumman 44932, Waco tower.
Requesting a nal low pass down runway 9.
Roger. 932 cleared for a nal, repeat nal, low pass down runway
niner. Observe a minimum altitude of three hundred feet.
932. Wilco. Gene Debs nosed over in a shallow dive toward the
eld. The airspeed indicator eased past two hundred knots as he
lined up with the runway, heading east. The wind sang a frantic
soprano through the struts and wires, harmonizing with the engines
howl. They crossed the airelds boundary at three hundred feet and
two hundred twenty knots. The runways concrete passed under
them, coming suddenly closer as the plane rolled inverted. He
checked the altimeter, steady at two hundred fty feet. Im back in
the saddle again, Gene Debs sang through the gosport. Out where
a friend is a friend, where the longhorn cattle feed on the lowly Jim-
son weed, back in the saddle again. Rolling the plane upright as the
opposite end of the runway approached, he added power and pulled
the F3F up into a steep climb. Well, sir; he asked. Would that pos-
sibly t your denition of remarkable?
With a capital R, said Moses. Goddamiteydayum! Lets take this
rascal on home. They kept each other in sight on the ight back to
Bisque, gaudy naval veterans, colors intact, the lean yellow dragony
hustling to keep pace with the fat variegated bumblebee.

Well, my boy, queried Lee Webster, answering Moses greeting as
he pushed open the door to the Bisque Lunch Room that chilly Tues-
day afternoon, where the fuckve you been? All Bev would say was
Hes on a little business trip.
Hell, Webster, Ive been to heaven. And I can take you there.
Ribeye set a Red Cap on the bar in front of him, and stayed to listen.
No thanks. I was there last night. Not that it put the look in my
eye thats in yours right now. Its got to be airplanes. What the hell
have you been up to? Moses told them. Holy shit. And now youre
gonna be yin it?
Bet your ass, mister; every chance I get. I can take you guys up in
two-three weeks, as soon as Redding checks me out. Its a hell of a
ride.
Not nunna me, vowed Ribeye. I aint gettin in nunna em
thangs.
Aw shit, Rib, cmon, said Moses, laughing. You know Im a
good pilot. What the hells gonna happen?
Who th hell knows? You ever see a goddam airy-o-fuckin-plane
widda bent fender? Youre already th biggest fuckin cuckleburr this
towns ever had under its goddam saddle; I aint about to git kilt hep-
pin you drive at sucker deeper.
1850 Friday 16 December 1955:
Motormotorhead babyshe wanta riide all night longif ya don
have transportation, then she treat ya wrong.
Shell ride in a Cadillacoh, yeain a Buick wid a smiletake a
Fohd or a Shebalay, mus be a 52 style
Jack had parked in the remotest corner of the parking lot at Dons
Dog House, where they sat with freshly-cracked Black Labels, having
waved off the carhops attentions, listening absently to Johnny Gui-
tar Watsons radio plaint. It had been colder than usual for Decem-
ber the past week. The old Fords heater collaborated with their
breathing in rapidly fogging its windows. So how they treatin you
in th big city? Jack asked Ricky over the idling V8s rumble.
Not too bad; had an OK season; Ive just about learned your old
position.
I always knew you could run, but since QBs dont have to do it
that much, I thought maybe youd forgotten how to.
Bullshit. You get a coupla 250-pound linemen chasin you
around th backeld and see how fast youll run. Woke my ass up in a
hurry; Im damn glad to be catchin now, or tryin to, steada tossin.
Yeah, well, said Jack, its th part that comes after th catchin
that smarts.
Ah, shit. Th hurtin goes away, and all you remember is th crowd
hollerin at what a good catch you made. And at your fuck-ups, too,
of course. He smiled for a second at his own joke. You oughta
come over and work out with us at spring practice. I feel pretty good
about makin th team, but you could probably get my job if you us
to get back in shape.
All Id do, Jack said, is get Coach Dodd in hot water with the
Conference, for harborin some walk-on from Athens. Its all behind
me, Terrell; I just dont want it any more.
A patina of sadness tinged the smile that returned to Rickys face.
Funny how things work out. Couple years back, nobody coulda
convinced me that we wouldnt be someplace in the SEC playin
together. If Ida been throwin to you in 53 and 54, weda had num-
bers that woulda let us write our own ticket. Hell, we mighta gone to
Oklahoma or somewhere. The smile faded as he said, I blame
myself for you gettin outa fuhbawl. If Trisha and I-
Jack interrupted him. All you and Trishas deal did to me was
good. It got me to thinkin about what I really wanted to do, and to
realize that fuhbawl was just a side issue for me. I had th chance to
show old Martin an them that they couldnt just shit on people and
get away with it. If Ida gone back to th team after that, itda taken
alla th sting out of th message. This way, every time they saw me was
a reminder that they better think twice before they tried sumpm like
that again.
Hell, you coulda just come on up to Taylor with me.
I know I couldve. But I wouldnta been able to get my yin time
in, and that was important to me. Still is. Sorry you had to go up
there by yourself, though.
Turned out all right. Anyway, Smilin Jack, I was up thataway for
homecomin, and I got hold of a little sumpm that I been savin for
th holidays. He grinned as he reached into his navy pea jackets
deep side pocket.
Whacha got there?
Brandishing a clear, at pint bottle, Ricky switched to hillbilly dia-
lect. Peach brandy, straight offa ol Rocky Top. He unscrewed the
top and handed it to Jack, who sniffed it warily before taking a sip.
Whoa! That shitll setcha free, Jack muttered after hed caught
his breath. Glad we got a chaser. He took a quick gulp of Black
Label. Ill say Rocky Top. With a coupla boulders thrown in.
Its smooth when you get used to it. Its double-run; probly
around 140 proof. Look. He put his thumb over the bottles open
mouth and shook it; the bubbles inside were slow to disappear. See
that bead? Theres this one bootlegger, ol Red Dog, comes right
through th dorms, sellin these for ve bucks. Ol boy I ran into
while Ius up there had an extra one, and I thought youd probly
enjoy a little sip er two. He took a large swallow and handed the
bottle back to Jack, who followed suit.
You sure we aint gonna go blind drinkin this shit?
Hell, yeah. Red Dog dont use no old radiators in that still ahis.
Well, one more an Im done. I still gotta drive, an I can feel it
gettin ahold of me already. And you got a brand new date, so dont
be scarin er ass off before yall have a chance to check each other
out.
Ooh no, Ricky assured him. Its been too long since I had even
a sniff aany decent pussy. An this ol girl dont sound too bad.
Shes not. One athem Long Tall Sally types, and smart. Terry said
that she brought the Zetas up half a grade point when she pledged.
Well, just get outa th way and Ill charm the shit riit outa her ass,
buddy. A smart girlll be a welcome change. Youd think Ida run
across one or two in Atlanta by now, but no such luck. And its a
stone fact that smart girls screw th best.
Maybe youll be able to test that theory, if Terrys folksll stay out
late enough.
So you and her still gettin along all right?
Reckon so. Sometimes I think Im missin sumpm by goin
steady; God knows UGAs full of ne, ne women. But its a full time
job keepin th grades up, and shes just about stopped givin me shit
about not doin th fraternity bit. And th sex parts about as good as I
could expect with anybody else. At Georgia, I mean.
The New York ladys in a different league, huh?
You bet, Jack said. Dont know how many there are out there
like her, but Im glad I found out that there are some, at least. She
cant be the only one. I hope.
Well, that answers my other question before I ask it. Yall aint
thinkin about gettin married any time soon.
Hell no, not as far as Im concerned. Gettin married aint
sumpm Im sure I ever wanta do, but I sure as hell dont want to for
a long time. And I mean a long time.
Thats for damn sure, grunted Ricky. This here sex drives a pis-
ser, aint it? Ever think how much simpler lifed be if yer dick didnt
throb thirty times a day?
How the hell elsere they gonna ll up alla these lil ol houses?
People wouldnt dive into a life sentence like that in their right mind.
They gotta have a little help from a hard-on.
Yeah, and Im livinproof athat. Came within a gnats ass of one
athem little houses. Ricky took another pull off the peach brandy as
he pondered his escape. Within a gnats fuckin ass anever gettin
outa here, with Trisha and her goddam folks on my fuckin back for
life. Tell me I was lookin past th enda my dick.
I aint gonna tell you that, laughed Jack as he reached for the
bottle. I magine it seemed like far enough at th time. How far
dyou reckon youre lookin right now? He drank, handed it back to
Ricky and pulled the Fords gearshift lever down into low. Les get
on over there so you can charm th shit outa th quiz kid.
She wont know what hit er, laughed Ricky.

Jack gave the hot rod its head as Fifth Street turned into Poplar
Drive. The Marshs house, a couple of miles south of town on the
right side of the road, sat well back in a vast front yard, bounded on
both sides by tall pecan trees. The trees had served as yard markers
during countless Sundays of touch football over the years of the
boys growing up. Whaddja say th stringbeans name is? Ricky
asked him.
Maybelle; Maybelle Wright.
Wheres she from?
Some little shithole way on down th road; Baxley, Hazlehurst,
someplace like that.
Ricky grinned as they turned into the driveway. Reckon shed feel
more at home if we took off our shoes?
Suit yourself. Terry says shes quick as a highland moccasin, so I
magine shell handle your usual howdy-do, whatever that might be
these days.
Ricky elbowed Jack as they rolled to a stop behind the red deck lid
of a sports car. Silver script in the lids right bottom corner said
AustinHealey. If thats hers, I guess her daddy owns a good piece of
th shithole, wherever it is.
Damn, said Jack, an Austin-Healey. Be nice to er, buddy, or Ill
have to. I wanta drive that gentleman!
An inch-thick stack of 45s waited their turn to slip down the fat
spindle of Terrys changer as the Charms belted out Hearts of Stone
loud enough for them to hear it on the porch. A dark-skinned bru-
nette close to six feet tall opened the Marshs front door. Hi, she
said, extending her hand. Im Maybelle. Good God, thought Jack,
what a grip; a little on the plain side, but she looks like shes up to
handling pretty much anything, or anyone. Id think twice before I
let that mitt get a grip on my dick. Wonder if she wrestles alligators
down home. pleased to meet you, Maybelle, he said. This is Ricky
Terrell.
Hello, Ricky, she said, as they looked each other up and down.
Youre th ballplayer, riit?
He turned his smile wattage up to full bright. Bingo, Maybelle.
How you doin?
Great. How bout a beer?
Yall come on in th kitchen, Terry said to Jack as she took him
by the hand. Help us get this pizza dough together, OK?
Didja get th anchovies? Jack asked her as he decapped four
Budweisers.
Yes, I did. But nobody wants em but you, so just put em on one
side of one of th pizzass.
Anchovies? I like em just ne, mself, said Maybelle. Mind if we
do a whole one with them little rascals?
Not atall, if you want em; I just thought ol New York Jack us
the only one thatd eat those little hairy things. You really like em?
Oh, yeah. You need to drink beer with anchovy pizza, though,
and luckily, we do have beer. Theyre salty, but not bad!
Well, hell, Ill try a piece myself, said Ricky. Cant be too bad if
theyre salty. Hey. Taking Maybelles arm above the elbow, he pulled
her toward the door to the dining room. Theygn get th dough goin;
comeer nhave a lil taste awhat I brought to th party.
What is it? she asked, planting her feet to prevent his succeeding
any further at pulling her toward the dining room.
Sumpm just this side of spectacular that we can chase with this
here beer; peach brandy, born on a mountaintop in Tennessee. Left it
in my coat outcheer.
Why doncha just bring it on in here, Davy? Somebody else might
want a lil taste, she said, raising her hands above her head and
making quotation marks as she spoke. But no coonskin caps til
were drunk, if ya dont miind.
Ricky looked at her for a second or two, realizing that he was
going to have to give this heifer a little rope. Dialing his smile down
to lower wattage, he rotated his head left to right in a single long-suf-
fering shake, rear-marching into the dining room to retrieve the
unopened twin to the pint bottle from which he and Jack had been
drinking from the pea jackets other pocket. All right, he said, ick-
ing the bottle back and forth in a short arc with a twist of his wrist,
This is sippin whisky for sure. Yall want glasses, or shall we just
pass this little jug from hand to hand?
Daddys got some shot glasses in that cabinet over there; top
shelf, said Terry.
Beers in one hand, brandy in the other, they toasted each other
with the small glasses and drank as Chuck Willis crooned Dont
Deceive Me in the den. That your red car? Ricky asked Maybelle.
I wish. My daddy let me have it while he and my mamare trave-
lin.
Looks fast.
It is, said Terry. She like to scared me to death drivin down
here. She set the brandy down with a thump and tipped her Bud-
weiser up for a long swallow before she spoke. Shit! Peach brandy?
That aint nothin but shine likker! Its hot!
Gotta take it real slow at rst, said Jack. Its OK when you get
used to it.
It is right peachy, said Maybelle. Ice waterd be a better chaser
than beer; anybody else wanta switch?
I dont want any more, said Terry, picking up her beer and
returning to the pizzas-in-progress. Yall go ahead.
Might as well nish these beers, since theyre open, said Ricky.
Glad you like my little holiday treat, Maybelle. Here, Ill top us up.
Yall go on in there and daince er sumpm, said Jack. Ill give
Terry a hand with th anchovies.
The den was large enough so that no furniture had to be moved to
make room for dancing. Maybelle had pulled the 45 spindle off the
turntable. Wanta hear anything special, Davy? Maybelle asked
him, mischievous mahogany eyes accentuating an I-dare-you smile.
You look like a slow daincer to me. How bout Nat King Cole?
Sounds ne to me, Sugar, said Ricky, taking a drink from each
end of his two-sted cocktail.
Maybelle matched his drink as the music started, setting her glass
of brandy on the mantelpiece and turning to him as The Sand and
the Sea poured out of the speakers. Their eyes were level as she
looked at him. Taste how good it is without that beer chaser, she
said, extending her arms.
Lessee, said Ricky, putting his nose to her full plum-tinted lips,
then kissing her as they swayed to Coles baritone. She kissed back to
devastating effect, sucking his tongue inside her mouth and letting it
linger there for a long moment. Ricky responded with a rocky
banana that rose to ll the hollow of her crotch.
She pulled her head back, took a breath and smiled at him. Easy,
Davy. We just met. Waitll we break out thcoonskin caps.
He leaned back from the waist, not breaking eye or pelvic contact,
his hands slipping easily, smoothly from her waist to take a light grip
on the cheeks of her butt as they danced in place. If youre gonna
keep on callin me Davy, you need to remember somethin else in
that Davy Crockett song.
Oh yeah? she said, moving her hands to his cheeks, drawing his
erection into her, smiling at her perception of controlling him.
What?
Ricky returned her smile with an even lazier one. Davy killed
him a bear when he was only three, so he aint gonna lose much sleep
over a beaver more or less. So just toss me the ol coonskin whenever
you take a notion.
She pulled him to her again, kissed him lightly, then broke away.
Buy me a drink, Davy. Let th goddam animal kingdom take care of
itself for awhile. Retrieving her glass, she held it out to him as Jack
and Terry walked in.
Yall havin fun? Terry asked as she saw Ricky gesture toward
Jack with the still-open bottle. Eeeww, quit drinkin that shine. Yall
agonna throw up.
I wouldnt think of disgracin Zetas by lettin awhat fraternity
are you, Davy?
Pi KA.
-by lettin a Tech Pike get me to throw up on th rst date. This is
our rst date, aint it, Davy?
Reckon so, Maybelline.
How fast is that Healey, Maybelle? Jack asked her as they ate
pizza in the den.
I know itll do over a hundred; its got th LeMans kit, she said,
chewing. I got it up that fast a time or two drivin down here, but I
never did get it wide open.
Its a sharp-lookin thing, thats for sure.
Waitll you see it with th top and th windshield down.
Th windshield goes down? Damn! You gotta take me to ride
tomorrow, Maybelline, said Ricky.
Trade ya for a bowl ticket, she said. Where is it yallre playin?
Sugar, said Ricky. But since I got red-shirted, Ill be in th
stands.
Ooh, NYawlins. Take me to th game. Mama and Daddy wont be
back til th tenth; we can drive down in my car. I bet we could have
some fun in th French Quarter, Davy. Whore yall playin?
Pittsburgh.
Yall kicked our butts this year, she said, and we aint been to a
bowl since 49. Th least you can do is take me to the Sugar Bowl.
Youre on, said Ricky, Les drink to it. He raised his glass. To
Tech, th Sugar Bowl and th French Quarter. Beat Pitt.
Yall could go with us, said Maybelle, but th cars not big
enough.
Well, I sure wouldnt trust my car to make it down to New
Orleans and back, said Jack. Yallll just have to tell us about it
when you get back.
Well certainly do that, Ricky said with a laugh. Might even tell
th truth, but itll be a good story anyway.
They necked for a while in front of the televised grotesquerie of
giant elves on a contrasty Kinescope recording of Wrestling From
Hollywood, the comedy intensied by Dick Lanes blow-by-blow
and the ofciating of an obviously inebriated Pappy Boyington.
Ricky, said Jack.
Yo.
Well be back in a little bit. Keep an eye out for Terrys folks, wil-
lya?
Sure.
Hed felt pretty experienced for his age, but hed never been
aroused the way he was by this long drink of water. She kissed him
like she wanted to suck the life out of him, and made no move to
stop him as he pulled the Villager shirt out of her jeans and cupped
one of her own rock-like tits in his hand. Nor did she object when he
squeezed her Maidenforms clasp, letting her tits hang free, never
moving his mouth from hers. Taking a deep breath as he rolled a
nipple between his ngers she groaned, Davy.
Yes, baby.
Night-night. And she was out. There was nothing for him to do
but to but take her upstairs and put her to bed. Well, he thought,
take her upstairs anyway. Straightening her out on the couch, he
braced his feet at its edge and lifted her in a remans carry. Grunting
under her weight, he headed for the stairs and the Marshes guest
bedroom, expecting to hear the Mercury pulling in at any moment.
He paused at the top of the stairs, getting his bearings in the dim
light and hoping his rst guess would be right as he counted the
doors running down the left side of the hall. Not the rst one, on the
left side; that would be Terrys folks, in the corner of the house. The
next door was shut tight; that was obviously Terrys, she and Jack
busily fornicating behind it. The next doorway was narrow; he
looked in and saw a bathroom sink shining in the moonlight. Two to
go; another narrow one, probably a linen closet. He was at the end of
the hall. Reaching inside the door, he ipped the light switch and to
his reief saw Maybelles bag sitting on a cedar chest against the wall.
Bending over the bed, he dropped her on it as gently as he could and
stood up, straightening his aching back.
He turned the bedside lamp on and the overhead light off, paus-
ing to look at the supine Maybelle while he considered his options.
His watch said ten thirty-ve. Without knowing where the Marshes
had gone, he had no idea when they might be back; somewhere, he
knew, between right now and midnight at the latest. Well, he
thought, no gentleman would leave a girl passed out in her clothes,
would he? Ill get them off and see if that wakes her up.
Pulling her jeans down over her ankles, he was surprised at the
contrast of her tan with the bright white of the band of skin that
peeked out under her light blue panties. Removing them, he felt his
erection returning; by the time hed removed her shirt and dangling
bra, there was no turning back. Just a quickie, he thought; Ill chance
it for that long. Rolling her to one side of the bed, he pulled its satin
coverlet, blanket and top sheet down, then rolled her back onto the
sheet. Covering her, he went to the other side of the bed and got
quickly out of his clothes, extracted a Trojan from his wallet, and
before getting into bed went quickly to the bedside lamp and turned
it off. Returning to the window on the opposite wall, he pulled the
venetian blind all the way up, giving him a view of the road from that
end of the house and, he hoped, some warning of the Marshes
return.
Slipping into bed, he turned her head to him and kissed her,
receiving a drowsy moan in response. He put a hand on her crotch
and was rewarded with another moan, this one having, he thought, a
more erotic tone. He unrolled the Trojan over his now-throbbing
erection and returned to fondle Maybelles pussy, which he found
lurking adrool behind its thick black bush. Trisha having spent a lot
of time showing him where her clitoris was and how she liked it mas-
saged, he was able to revive Maybelle rather quickly to the point of a
sleep-fucking response to his stroking. Ricky played patiently with
her, putting his nger inside while continuing the rhythmic rubbing
of her clit. As she awoke further, she moved in time to Ricky. Unable
to wait any longer, Ricky parted her legs, pushing past the girls slick
lips and in and out of her depths. As hed expected, a dozen or so
thrusts was all it took. Maybelle, for her part, had gone back to sleep.
On his way past Terrys door, he tapped on it. Jack.
What?
Its after eleven.
Oh, shit. We went to sleep. Are they here?
No sign of em. Better hurry, though.
OK. See ya downstairs.
He was down in a few minutes. Wheres Maybelle?
Out like a light. Les scoot fore th old folks get back.

They were back at the Dog House before midnight, having a
nightcap in the back room. Don let certain of his friends hang
around after closing, and was pleased to sample Rickys peach
brandy. While he was in the kitchen, Jack said, So Maybelle letcha
have a little. How was it?
Rickys head dropped, rebounding when his chin hit his chest.
What?
How was that ole gal? Look like she miit break your back if she
got excited.
Ricky rotated his head in a large arc, rst left, then right, in the
manner of pre-game stretches. You know what they saythe worst I
ever had was wunnerful. She us pretty well out of it.
No doubt, the way she gargled th peach brandy. The shit does
grow on ya, dont it?
It do, Ricky agreed, nodding solemnly.
Well, youll have a time down in Nyawlins, thats for sure. Wish
it was me; shes a sexy bitch, and sos her car.
Whachoo gure thass gonna cost me? I aint got a pot to piss in,
or a window to throw it out of.
You got th tickets, doncha?
He leaned back, caught himself as he almost fell backward as he
held up four ngers. Spoza be pretty good seats.
Are your folks goin?
Nope. They not that innerstd since Im not dressin out.
Well, hell, sell two. Hey, maybe we could auction em off.
Oh no; they kick my ass off th team if I sell em. They tol us at
when we got em.
But relatives can use em, cant they? Ricky nodded, failing to
catch his head before it found his chest again.
Well, just tell whoever wins em that they have to be your uncle
or somethin.
Cant trust em to do that. Techd pull my scholarship if ey
caught em.
What if we auctioned em off down at the warehouse? Any of
those guysd say theyre your uncle.
Where?
Moses place. Hell, he might buy em himself.
Udju ask im?
Shitcheah! Soon as we get up in th mornin. Waitll he hears what
you need th money for.
Yeah, hes a spot, awriit. This being Rickys nal pronounce-
ment before lurching to his feet and heading for the Dog Houses
back door at a dead run.
Jack waited a decent interval before joining Ricky outside, by
which time he had moved from what Jack, fresh from French 101,
thought the Frogs would call his endroit de vomi to a seat on the
curb, arms clasped around his knees for a headrest. Jack sat down
beside him, an arm around his shoulder. How you doin, bubba?
OK, Ricky grunted, spitting ecks of undigested pizza on the
pavement.
Want a drinka water?
Notchet. They sat for a minute or two, saying nothing. You
know the hell of it
Whats that?
The hell of it is, Ricky said, that I wish I could take Trisha to
NYawlins.
Yall still in touch, huh?
Yeah, every now an then. She came up to Taylor a coupla times.
An now shes at Scott, which yougn throw a rock an hit from Tech.
Hm. Sounds like you put what she did behind you.
Whaddya mean?
I mean itd still be botherin me, if I was you, that she got my ass
in hot water when she didnt have to.
Ah, shit, she us scared tdeath an mad as hell, at Preston, for
sure, and probly at me, too, even though we were always real careful.
She feels really bad about how she handled it, an I quit bein mad at
her a long time ago. But her folksre dead set against her havin any-
thing to do with either one of us, which means all we can do is sneak
around like we been doin in Atlanta.
You still love er, doncha? Jack asked him.
Yeah, I do, buddy; got a great way of showin it, dont I?
Jack acted like he hadnt noticed the tears running down Rickys
cheeks. Cmon, man; lets get on out to Moses and sack out fore I
get too sleepy ta drive.

They were throwing Terrys brothers football around the follow-
ing afternoon, while the girls, who had slept late, were still getting
themselves ready for a ride around town. The boys were pleased to
have the time to themselves to just throw, catch and kick, movement
that might take their minds off the effects of what Jack, fresh from
his toe-in-the-water with le Franais, would remember as la nuit de
leau-de-vie ne de pche.
In the house, Jolene Marsh readied toast, scrambled eggs and
orange juice for the girls, as Fred, reminded of his own much-earlier
breakfast by the occasional sulfurous burp, gloomily anticipated a
weekend of television without football. Amahl and the Night-Fuck-
ing-Visitors indeed, he thought; and no chance of getting romantic
with Jolene this morning, not with Terry home and a fresh hair-do,
even if theres still a little whiff of pussy oatin around here from last
night. Boy, would I love a shot at that big ol Maybelle; Ill be thinkin
about you, honey; the closest thing to sex for me todays gonna be
beatin my meat in the fallout shelter before I head out to the store
Jyou sleep all right? asked Terry as she and Maybelle decided
which of each others clothes theyd wear.
Just ne; oof, grunted Maybelle as she closed her jeans top snap.
Think I got a little last night, but I mighta dreamed it.
Maybelle! Terry said with a mischievous smile. Aint no way
youre gonna get laidn sleep through it. Come on. Whatchoo doin
lettin Ricky in your pants on th rst date?
Hey, Missy! You didnt have enougha that peach brandy to make
any difference. That shit knocked me out; last thing I remember was
neckin with im downstairs, but this mornin my pussy felt like itd
had sumpm in it. Hate not rememberin a good time, though.
Well, just be sure you dont count on Ricky for too much. Hes
cute, a lot of fun and a jock and everything, but hegn be trouble. If
theres anybody within a hundred miles of here thats hornier than
Jack, its Ricky. Hell do whatever he has to do, tell you whatever you
want to hear, to get in your pants.
Oh hell, honey, if thats all he wants, well get along ne. Anyway,
Im bettin hes been there already.
Well you be careful, and I dont mean just makin him use pro-
tection. Hes got a way of gettin under a girls skin. That girl Trisha
that I told you about when we were drivin down here? He was
snakin her before he could get a learners license, and her durn near
two years older than him. Then when her regular boyfriend got her
pregnant and wouldnt do right about it, she almost got away with
namin Ricky th father cause shed been screwin him, too, all along.
He got suspended and kicked off th football team.
Howd he end up playin for Tech, then?
Transferred up to Taylor Academy in Chattanooga. He couldve
stayed in Bisque, really; the real father nally owned up to it, but the
school people had been so shitty about throwin Ricky off th team
that Jack quit too, and neither one of emd go back and play.
Jack! I didnt even know he played ball.
He doesnt any more. Like to tore the whole town up, losin both
of em off th team. Woulda been the rst decent season th Bearsd
had in a long time, and both of em woulda probly been All-State
their last two years. Ricky did anyway, up there in Tennessee.
But Jack just stayed here, and didnt play?
Yep. They wanted him at Taylor too, but he wouldnt go.
Why not, for Gods sake?
Wanted to stay here andhows he say it? Build ight time. This
guy, his moms boyfriend, taught him to y, and doin that was more
important than football to im. And once hed quit, he wadnt about
to ask Bisque High ttake im back.
Thats th durndest thing I ever heard of, said Maybelle. He was
a star; I just cant understand why hed throw all that away, just to get
back at th stupid school people.
Well, said Terry, you dont know Jack. Once he makes up is
mind, thats it.
Honey, nothin personal, but Ill take th jock. Warts nall.
OK, honey, but try to remember, wartsre catchin.
Jack was putting the football back in the garage as the girls
stepped through the kitchen door and down the four steps to join
them, Maybelle in the lead. The red of her London Fog windbreaker
very nearly matched that of the car. Hey, Davy, she said, her smile
alternately conspiratorial and accusing, as he stood, arms akimbo,
on the far side of the car, its top already stowed under a snap-down
cover.
Mornin, Maybelline. Ready to roll?
Ready as Ill ever be, you scamp. Feedin me that shine.
Please. Peach Brandy. You said you liiked it last night.
Yeah, I guess I did, she said, opening the drivers door. Gimme
a hand with this so-called windscreen, an les get it down to th racin
po-sition. Following her lead, he took hold of a knurled black wheel
at the base of the windshield and turned it, his other hand on the
windshield frame. Thats it, she said as the supports slid down and
hit their stops. Now jus screw it down tiit. She looked over at him
from under a still-lowered brow. You know how ta do that, don-
cha?
Yes, maam.
I thought so, she said as she slipped into the bucket seat and
swung her legs under the wheel. It occurred to me this mornin,
when I gured out you took me upstairs and screwed me while I was
passed out.
You think Id do that? Ricky said as he slid into the passengers
seat. You really think Id do that?
Sure. But its OK. Try to catch me awake toniit, though.
Be glad to, but arent the old folks gonna be here toniit?
They are. Dont you liike a little challenge, Davy-boy? She
turned the ignition key, producing a series of thumps behind his
back.
Whats that?
Jus th fuel pump, sugar. Its electric. Guess were gonna follow
them, huh? They rolled onto the road under a high overcast sky, the
black hot rods ared fenders and boxy cockpit a stark contrast to the
slippery scarlet roadster. Their lightly-mufed exhausts swept back-
ward in a booming syncopated wake over the suburban blacktop.
The rst leg of Jacks guided tour would be the south end of a
stretch of arrow-straight macadam well known to Hamm Countys
habitual speeders, Speckle Bird Road. Do we have to do this? asked
Terry. That damn Maybelle aint gonna let up, yknow.
Were not racin, baby; just givin th cars a little exercise. Im not
gonna try to outrun er. I just wanta see exactly what that lil ol
limey cars got. Once theyd turned right on the nameless graded
dirt road that crossed Poplar a couple of miles south of the Marshs,
they were just minutes away. Turning right again at the rst pave-
ment, he stopped, rolled down his window and beckoned to May-
belle to pull up beside them. Its dead-straight for a mile and a half,
he said to the two grinning faces. Pull up and take th right lane. If
we get any oncomin trafc, Ill move over. Ready when you are.
He was rolling his window closed as Maybelle, instead of pulling
into the right lane and waiting as Jack had expected, dropped the
roadsters clutch and moved out at full throttle, taking a lead of sev-
eral car-lengths before he realized what shed done. Goddam sneaky
bitch, he grunted, ooring his accelerator and giving chase out of a
small blue cloud of wheelspin. Weighing about the same as the road-
ster, but putting an extra seventy-ve or eighty horsepower on the
ground, the old coupe quickly closed the gap, pulling even with
Maybelle as Jack slapped his shift lever down into high gear at just
under seventy-ve. The cars ran neck-and-neck for a very few sec-
onds before the roadsters red side began sliding away at a slowly but
steadily increasing rate.
Maybelle glanced at her speedometer; its needle would touch its
hundred mark in seconds. Reaching forward to a dash-mounted tog-
gle switch, she ipped it. Whats that? asked Ricky.
Overdrive, Maybelle said with a broad smile. The car surged for-
ward, the needle moving through a hundred and ve, then a hun-
dred ten.
Jack! Terry shouted. Watch that car! An old Packard had
pulled out onto the road, its massive grille quickly growing larger as
the Ford approached.
Got it, Jack replied. The roadster had pulled far enough ahead
for him to pull in behind without lifting his foot. The needle of the
Stewart-Warner speedometer strapped atop the cars steering col-
umn reached for 120 as the wheels high-frequency vibration worked
its way up to his shoulders. Seeing the straightaway coming to an
end, he backed off in anticipation of Maybelles doing the same. She
didnt. The roadster swept through the gentle left turn in the road,
still running what looked to Jack like a hundred or better. God-
damiteydayum!, he said, look at that!
They caught up with Maybelle and Ricky at the dead-end inter-
section with Lee Street Extension, the red car idling in the shadow of
the stop sign. Tell em to follow us, Jack said as he pulled up on
their left. Terry wiggled a beckoning nger as Jack turned right, pass-
ing an airplane hangar on the left and turning left into the road that
led into Bisques municipal airport. They parked the cars at the side
of the ofce building. Getting out, Jack walked quickly around the
back of the Ford, opening Terrys door as a speed-ushed Maybelle
smiled up at them. How much? he asked her.
122, she said, before we ran outa road. Its good for 125 any-
way.
I wouldnt doubt it a bit. How bout a Coke before we move on?
I could use one. That run dried me out; on topa shine-drinkin,
she said, shooting a playful elbow into Rickys ribs. This where your
plane is?
Wish I had a plane. The ones that I get to yre at my uncles
strip, further outa town a ways. Well make that th last stop on th
tour.
Ricky drove the Ford out of the airport after Jacks wheedling
pried Maybelle out of the roadsters pilot seat. You can drive it, since
you put me on to that niice piecea road, she said, but be careful.
Done deal; wanta take a look at th park? He knew that appear-
ances at the park and the Dog House would maximize the Austin-
Healeys exposure to jealous male Bisquites. Driving con brio
through a series of neighborhoods and through the Hamm County
Hospital parking lot, Jack had them at the park entrance in minutes.
Love the four-speed, he said. This is one handlin scoundrel.
Approaching the tennis courts, Jack saw Preston Rogers car parked
next to the fence. Preston was in the far court, volleying with a girl
Jack didnt recognize. Speakin of scoundrels, he said as he gave
them the nger, theres th guy that got Ricky thrown off the Bisque
football team.
Howd he do that? Maybelle asked, craning to get a better look.
Knocked his girlfriend up and got her to blame Ricky. Terry
didnt tell you?
Nope. Anyway, they couldnt just throw im off without provin
it.
Didnt have to, Jack said as he shot a return wave to the golfers
on the clubhouse porch. He admitted it.
Maybelle sat up straight. They were both screwin her?
Well, Ricky and th girl were next-door neighbors. And shes a
year older. I guess she just thought it was th neighborly thing to do.
Hm. How longd this go on?
Quite awhile; three years anyway.
That little fucker, she said with a tight smile and a shake of her
head.
When he saw to whom Jacks nger was extended, Ricky repeated
the gesture, adding a jaunty ip of the wrist. Dyou ever see Trisha
anymore? Terry asked him.
Not for quite awhile. You?
Back during th summer, but not to talk to. Idnt she goin to
Agnes Scott?
Habmp heard that. Makes sense, though, since she went to
Decatur. Guess Ill see er sometime over th holiday; hard to miss
somebody when they live next door.
Jyou and Maybelle have fun last night?
Sure did. Jyou an Jack?
Its not th same thing, and you know it. Jack and Ire serious.
Oh. Well, Ign be pretty serious when I put mmind to it.
She probly didnt tell you, but Maybelles serious with somebody
at Georgia.
Zat right?
Thats right. And she loves im. Hes from Claxton, too; hes real
niice. Not wild like Maybelle.
Wild? Maybelline?
You know damn riit well she is, Ricky. Itd be a shame if you got
her pregnant.
Sure would. Thats why I wont be doin it, he said, grinning as
he shifted into second for the climb up past the golf courses eighth.
They all wave at the foursome on the green, leaving the men to stare
after them as they began to speculate on where that goddam traitor-
ous Jack Mason gets cars and girls like that.
- 457 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 0
Standing as We Sing
Standing as we sing, without the book, the song we know and
love so well
The Reverend Osborne Abercrombie
1045 Friday 13 January 1956:
The late morning sun angled sharply through the cafes windows,
spraying a shadow alphabet of rainbow neon shadows across the
tables and oor. Pap Redding, seated at his usual table, glanced up
with a smile when he heard the throb of the Vincents engine. Moses
parked on the sidewalk, just on the other side of the glass from him.
He walked through the hotel lobby into the caf, gloves in one hand,
unbuckling his helmet strap with the other.
Mornin, Mose.
Hey, Pap. Nice Day, huh?
Not bad, as long as I dont think about whats going to happen to
my sinuses after this January thaws over.
Another good reason, Moses said as he sat down opposite the
older man, to live life one day at a time.
Good advice, said Pap, smiling up at Reba says she put a cup in
front of Moses and topped them both up with coffee, particularly
for a man of my age.
You look like a pretty solid citizen to me this mornin; must be
sumpm about sharin your birthday with Cupid.
Well, today Im feelin a little more like St. Valentine, however th
hell old hed be by now, Pap said after a sip of hot coffee. Thats
probably just because its Friday the thirteenth; of course I know you
set no store in such superstitions.
No, I dont, but I am mindful of this birthday. Its why I wanted
to have coffee with you this mornin.
What is this for you, anyway? Moses asked him.
Seventy-eight; eight years beyond my biblical allotment. And
time for us to talk about gettin me out of the beer business.
Moses took a long drink of coffee before he answered. You want
to execute the buyout agreement?
I think its time, Pap said. Part of a general simplication of my
affairs. Youll probably feel like doin the same thing when youre my
age.
Better let me get there rst, Moses said, smiling.
I wish you well on that; and I want to thank you for the wonder-
ful job youve done makin that business grow. Pretty much tripled
our volume in seven years.
Seven years at the ides of March, said Moses. The date boded a
lot better for us than it did for Julius Caesar.
Frankly, I wasnt sure at rst; gettin into any new venture
involves some degree of risk, but I gured wed do all right, consider-
ing how you turned the movie house around. I sure as hell didnt
count on anything close to what youve done for us. Pap looked lev-
elly across the table at Moses, an unasked question lurking behind
his eyes. Youre either just a natural businessman, or theres a hell of
a lot more to the theatre business than I ever imagined.
Standing as We Sing 459
Well Pap, I guess were alike in at least one way; were both hard
workers.
True, but thats not it, Pap thought, but he decided to leave it at
that. Would closing me out on March fteenth be convenient for
you? Not that Im in any particular hurry, but havin exactly seven
years of successful partnership with you sort of appeals to me.
Oh, sure. All we needs an audit, and that shouldnt take more
than two, three weeks at the outside.
Good. In this world of sloppiness and imperfection, itll be nice
to look back on something as nice and neat as thiss been.
Thanks, Pap; that goes double for me.
Its my hope, of course, that all youve done for Jackll help to
make his life sumpm that well look back on with way more pride
than we have in how much beer we sold, Pap said. I love my kids,
but I think this grandson of minell live a life thatll make any of
theirs pale by comparison, and I have you to thank for that. The old
man extended his hand; Moses shook it, and was happy that the state
of his health, if his grip was any indication, was pretty damn good.
1015 Thursday 22 March 1956:
As Serena and the Reverend Osborne Abercrombie sat drinking cof-
fee in the Bisque Caf, Oz, as shed come to call him, glanced up and
over her shoulder into the lobby, then back at Serena with a look so
disconcerted it struck her as hilarious. It reminded her of the rst
time shed unzipped his pants. She sensed someone approaching
them as the look metamorphosed into one of forced good will. His
chair scraped bumpily across the tile oor as he stood up, the good
will congealing into a Sunday smile. His Good morning, Reverend,
squawked out an octave higher than normal.
Good morning to you, Reverend, a rich baritone over her shoul-
der responded, its source moving into view on her left side. She
turned, looking above the mens clasped hands to the underside of
the prominent, freshly-shaved jawline of a very tall man.
Serena Mason, the Reverend Sheppard Peters, said Oz, still
higher than usual. Mrs. Masons the hotel manager.
Really, said the Reverend, turning the notable shit-eatin grin
her way as he took her proffered hand. The eyes conrmed the strik-
ing shade of blue of the giant pair on the poster. Its certainly a plea-
sure to meet our hostah, hostess. Your people have made us feel
very much at home here in the hotel.
Im certainly glad to know that, said Serena, returning his smile.
Wont you sit down, Reverend?
Yes, Oz said, his voice moving back toward its normal pitch,
please do.
Well, just for a moment. The voices timbre, polished from long
use, retained no more than a trace of southern accent. Brother
Pulaskill be picking me up soon, but that coffee looks mighty good.
And heres yours, right on cue, said Serena as Reba approached
the table with a coffee pot and fresh cup.
Oh, thank you so much, with no warning, the baritone lasso
had looped out and snagged a beaming Reba.
Youre so welcome, she said, retiring demurely to the kitchen to
savor her blessing and adjust her undergarments.
Is everything on schedule for tomorrow, Reverend? asked Aber-
crombie.
Seems to be; Im blessed with not only a good staff, but with
cooperation from the good people of Bisque such as weve rarely
seen before. I have you and your fellow clergy to thank for that.
Well, the Councils determined to give you everything you need
to help you bring our people before the Lord. Youve set yourself an
ambitious goal; saving ten thousand souls will take everything weve
got.
It wont be easy, said Sheppard, the set of his jaw tightening the
skin over his high cheekbones to a pink sheen. It never is. As he
raised his cup to drink, Serena noticed the way his hand dwarfed it,
making it look like one from a childs play set. That hands no
stranger to hard work, she thought. His left hand rested momen-
tarily on the edge of the table within inches of Ozs right hand, and
she was struck by the involuntary response that this juxtaposition of
physical strength and weakness raised in her. Good thing therell be
no soul-savin shootout between these two, she thought.
Moses, Jack and Serena sat at the Bisque Caf table nearest the door
to the hotel. So whats the story on this revival? Jack asked, stirring
sugar into his coffee. Thats some big-ass sign out there on the high-
way.
Its not the only one, either, said Moses. Theres six of emone
on every road into and outta here.
Damn. Pretty fancy for a few days worth of preachin. Why all the
noise?
Ozd probably say that its a joyful noise, said Serena, if you
caught him at the right moment.
Whens it start?
This time next week. Friday night. For ten days, through Easter.
Wherere they doing itthe auditorium?
Yes. For an agnostic, honey, youre awfully curious about this.
Dont tell me youre thinking of going.
No, Im just curious about how it works. And what somebody
that looks as goofy as that guy on the sign could possibly have to say
thats any different from what the Bisque parsons put out, seein as
how they all work off the same script.
Well, thats a question I cant answer for you. This whole revival
things always seemed a little strange to me, even when its just one
church doing it. According to Oz, the idea of a citywide revival going
on over two weekends, instead of one, was sold to Bisque church
leaders by that goofy guy on the billboard. His names Sheppard
Peters.
Oz bein the Reverend Abercrombie?
Serenas color rose a little. Oh. Yes. I guess youve never heard me
refer to him that way. I just cant call him Osborne with a straight
face.
Well, theres never enough laughter in the world, Moses dead-
panned.
Anyway, she said with a steely glance at him, He says that Peters
is a really powerful speaker. His presentation back in December just
bowled the council members over. He said theyd save 10,000 souls
in a ten-day revival.
Thats a bunch of souls, opined Moses, There arent 30,000
people in the county, most of whom will tell you right quick that
their soulsre already saved, and have been for years. Maybe hes
throwin in livestock.
Theyre saying that people from the other counties around here
will come. she said. They have success stories all up and down the
eastern seaboard, and from cities a lot bigger than Bisque, like Char-
lotte and Jacksonville.
Well, Bisque could do with a metaphysical emetic, not that I
think this is it; maybe all those hot sweaty bodies jammed up
togetherll produce the desired effect. Fear and fat both spread better
in a liquid state.
Jack suppressed a laugh reex to ask, Whats this council youre
talking about, anyway?
The Bisque Council of Churches, said Rni. Most of the pastors
of Bisque churches belong to it. They started it a couple of years ago.
What do they do?
Beyond congratulating each other and setting up these revivals,
Im not sure.
Its beyond me, said Jack, why people buy into this shell game.
As one of the ultimate minority, i.e. one of the few wholl say at-out
that the God things nothing but a human-conceived, worn-out
shuck, I wanta know what the hell sense it makes to try to live ratio-
nally in a society thats governed by a fairy tale? A circle-jerk whose
dialogue is I bleeve it, dont you? Uh-huh, uh-huh. I havent heard
much about the afterlife that makes it sound as good as a nice long
nap when youre done living.
Jack! Thats awful! Serena objected. You cant believe that this
lifes all there is.
Dont see why not. Whose word do we have to the contrary?
Well, Im not the person to tell you what you need to hear about
that. Why dont you
Miz Mason, Jerry McClain called from the door to the hotel.
Yes, Jerry-
Telephone for you. Its your dad.
Yall excuse me a minute. Hes probably just checking to see if
youre here, Jack.
Well, say hey for me, and tell him Ill be by to see im tomor-
row.
As she disappeared around the corner, Jack turned his gaze to
Moses, saying in a low voice, Hows he doing, anyway? Mom seems
to think hes faded a lot in the last year.
Well, hes 78; you cant expect him to go ten rounds before break-
fast. But he seems pretty much himself to me; we just went through
the process of me buyin him out of the beer business, and from what
I could see he hasnt lost his eye for business details.
Pretty old, though. I guess Id better be checkin in with him a lit-
tle more often. Id hate for him to be dying and say to himself, That
fuckin kid was never around.
Being the only grandchild has its disadvantages, said Moses.
Maybe one of these days Cordeliall slip up and present Buster with
an heir and youll be off the hook.
But then thered be the question of who it was that shed collabo-
rated with. Anyway, theres about as much chance of that as there is
of you and me bein in the front row of this goddam revival on open-
ing night. Can you believe that they still do this crap every year? And
now with some bunch of people from out of town? Is life that friggin
dull around here?
Sure it is. For most everbody in Bisque, anyway. Its a little matter
of imagination.
Well, thats sumpm youve never been short on, said Jack. But
youre still here. I know why you stayed in the rst place, but you and
Mom havent seen much of each other for a long time now. Seri-
ously; you havin any fun these days?
Not as much as Id like, ol buddy. Theres always yin, of course,
but you cant stay airborne forever, and Bisques still Bisque when
you land. And runnin whores in Augusta aint that excitin anymore.
Once you left for school, a lot of air just bled outta this little burg.
For me, anyway. Guess Id be better off if things like this revival did
rev me up.
Jack laughed. Ive got a life-size picture of that. Well, at least you
bought Pap out in time to cash in on the new business from the
Savannah River plant. Has that started to amount to anything yet?
Weve done pretty well, with all the construction people that live
on th Georgia side of the state line; the crews stay thirsty, and thats
been very good for business. But its really hypod the housing mar-
ket. Ive had a couple of good offers on my place. Now that theyve
had the ofcial opening and constructions easin off, I wouldnt be
surprised if business dropped off a little.
So whats next? Ever think about stock car racing? Busters had
good luck with his Hornet, but Im sure hed be a lot better off if he
had the advantage of your brainsand your money. You know Pap
wont touch it.
Yeah, I could get interested in that, but Ill pass on bein in busi-
ness with Buster. Im in good health, and I want to stay that way.
Jack laughed. Yeah, I guess that would be courtin cardiac arrest.
Remember when those goddam little Hudson Jets came out and he
strapped up the axle on a demonstrator so he could drive it around
with a back wheel off?
Thats Buster in a nutshell. No trouble gettin noticed, but hand-
lin bein noticed aint what he does best.
Yeah. Makes you wonder if he didnt marry Cordelia just to get
noticed.
Dammit, son! Whend you get so smart? I better be watchin
what I say to you, or youll be analyzin me.
Hey, boss, said Jack with a grin. I been doin that for years.
Serena reappeared as Moses digested that remark. Jack, she said,
sitting down. Pap thought you were going to come see him today.
He sounded kind of disappointed. You know how he is. Hed never
say so, but he has a way of letting you know how he feels.
Yes, maam, I do. Do you guess that he gures Ill be over there
before sundown?
Well, I
Just kiddin; Ill drop in on the ole boy. Soon as I check in with
Terry.
Yes, youd better do that, Serena said. She doesnt particularly
care for being second in line with you.
Yeah. Trouble is, neither does Terrell. Im just too much in
demand, Jack sighed, sliding his chair back. Catch you two later.
Want to have dinner here, or go out somewhere?
Can we just leave it open? I might just catch a sandwich with Ter-
rell, if thats OK with you.
I guess so. Its not like youre leaving tomorrow.
Awright, den. See yall in a lil bit.

Standing on the Terrells stoop, he glanced over at the McNeils,
but saw no one. A smiling Melinda Terrell opened the door. Hi,
Jack. Come in.
Hi, Miz Terrell. Howre you doin?
Just ne, thank you, Jackie she said. Go this way; Rickys in the
back. She waved him through the living room, toward the kitchen
door.
Thank you maam. Whattdya do, put im to work?
Just burnin hamburgers. Youre gonna stay and help us eat em, I
hope.
Suits me. Lemme get on out there fo he gets em all well done.
Ricky was in the back yard, shufing blackened meat around the
grill as Jack walked out on the porch to yell at him. Easy on that
meat, son!
You jus let me worry about th meat, bwy, Ricky said over his
shoulder, an tell me whachu brung to th party.
Its out in th car, iiced down. Seriously, leave me a couple with
some blood inem.
Heathen bastard. God dont wawnchoo eatin no blood.
Thats not what she told me. She said itd make my steeter pick
out.
Well, if ya want any at raw damn onion on at raw damn meat,
and I know ya do, better get in there an sliice some; I aint gettin
near it.
They sat in the den, working off TV tray tables full of burgers,
chips, pickles, potato salad and see-through long-neck bottles of
Miller High Life. Richard Terrell, arriving late, greeted his fellow din-
ers as he sat a tray down beside his Barcalounger. Sorry to make it at
the eleventh hour. Had an agent to let go, and he was one of the few
in recent memory that didnt agree that hed had enough of the
insurance business.
I suppose you mean Lon Bradley, said Melinda.
None other. Now Ive got a nice big open debit to deal with until
I get somebody, but even thatll be a relief. He shook his head vio-
lently from side to side while intoning Bluh-bluh-bluh-bluh-bluh-
bluh-bluh. That done, he said Hows it going, Jackie boy?
Great, Mr. T. Sounds like thingsre ne with you, too.
Terrell laughed, hard, the whoops subsiding in a wheeze. You
could always crack me up, Jackie. Hows school?
Not bad; just strokin along, UGA-style; booze, broads and
uhhoh yeah, books.
Thats not what I hear down at the caf. Reba says youve been
deans list for three quarters runnin.
Just a rumor I planted to reassure th home front. Im hangin on
for dear life, just like most everybody else.
Donchoo bullshit a bullshitter, son.
Richard!!
What? Oh, sorry, honey. My brains still in the ofce. Well, con-
gratulations anyway, ol sport. Youll be back here runnin th place
before we know it.
Thanks, but I doubt a B.A. in historys gonna qualify me for run-
nin a whole lot.
Speaking of runnin, Rickys got some news, too. Seems the
coaches thought he had a pretty good spring practice.
Yeah, we were talkin about it while he was burnin these burgers.
Good thing I taught im everything I knew fo I hung it up.
Yeah, you guys woulda made Coach Dodd a great pair of receiv-
ers. Guess its up to Ricky to make Bisque famous on the gridiron,
and for you to do it the way that suits you. I know you will, too.
Maybe Ill come work for you and get rich, Ricky said with a
grin.
Terrell gulped theatrically and said in a loud whisper, Bite your
tongue; Ill pretend I didnt hear that. He turned to look at the boys.
This business has been good to me, but Ida never come near it if
Ida gotten my degree, and I sure as hell dont ever want to see either
one of your asses collectin a debit.
Richard!!

The evening was cool for late March, but clear; they sat under a
rising new moon on folding chairs, jackets zipped, a few feet from
the edge of Moses pond. Theyd brought out Moses Transoceanic,
hoping its battery would hold out for the entire two hours of Gene
Nobles Randys Record Corner on WLAC. It sat on the ground
between them next to a now-half-full cooler of Carling Black Label.
Whachall doin tomorrow? Ricky asked as he punched a hole in a
fresh can.
Nothin special, far as I know; watch TV somewhere, I guess.
Gotta run my car by Bos to get my tailpipe xed.
Reeazoyal-Creeazown-Heeazair-Dreeazessin! declaimed Gene,
rolling easily from his pomade pitch into one more spin of Heart-
break Hotel.
Ricky stood up to pull his jeans out of his crack. What th hells
he sayin?
Hes talkin that zz-talk. Puts at eazz between th syllables. Hes
sellin fuckin Royal Crown to th boogies.
Royal Crown Cola?
No, man. Hair shit. Royal Crown Hair Dressin.
Oh. Like Silky Straight.
You means Silky Skrate, bwy. Buchoo knows what th boss nigga
use.
What dat, bwy?
White Rose, White Rose, White RooosePetroleum Jelleee,
Jack crooned, mimicking the radio commercial. If youll jus try
White Rose, den you will buy White Rose
Goddam! Pass th goosegrease an call me Slick. They got some
damn hair, dont they?
Sho do. If it was me, Id shave my damn head, like Otha used to,
an be done wid it.
Ricky opped back down in his chair. So Terry didnt line up a
buncha shit to keep you busy?
Shes only gonna keep me busys I wanta be kept, Jack said as he
looked out over the moonlit water. Said shed see if anybody was
partyin anywhere tomorrow niit. We could get some lunch and
come on back here and sh awhile after I drop my car off; Bo cant
start on it til after noon.
Fishin sounds damn good. Just sittin out heres great, after bein
in Atlanta for so long. Id do it without bait.
And without women, grunted Jack.
You miit not say that squick if you wadnt gettin steady pussy,
observed Ricky.
Jack chuckled. Maybe. But theres this about steady pussy.
Sumpm happens after awhile where it starts to seem almost like a
job. Major, major difference from situations like that one with you
and Maybelle last year; just pure mutual lust; quick, violent couplin.
Hey, how dya liike at? Quick, violent couplin. We could just call it
QVC from now on.
Thats about all it was with ol Maybelline, all right; QVC all th
way, laughed Ricky.
At least you had that big weekend in Nyawlins.
Yessirree.
And never got with er ass again.
I toleya about that, didnt I? Not a fuckin sniff. She started tur-
nin off on th drive back; wouldnt even drive my ass back to Atlanta.
And a bus ride outa Claxton aino way twind up a weekend.
Jack shifted in his chair, beer atulence whooshing silently down-
wind. Terry said she was back in Clarence from Claxtons lap like
nothingd ever happened, which, as far as heus concerned, hadnt.
The reason she wadnt with im over Christmas was his folks took
im someplace with them. Told im she was at Terrys th whole time.
Some little bitch; er, big bitch. But it us money well spent.
Reglar little sexual Swiss Army knife; couldnt get enough while we
us down there. I gotta thank Mose again for buyin my tickets, and
then not even showin up. My invisible uncle. Thats a buddy for ya.
Yeah, hes a piecea work. Nobody understands like ol Mose.
Still gettin a lotta ight time?
You bet. Matter of fact, I chalked up a pretty big number coupla
weeks ago. 300 hours.
Damn! Congratulations, son!
And now that theyve got th big plane, I can start serious work
on an instrument ticket.
You yin that big ol biplane? Im impressed. You made a damn
good decision stayin here, buddy. I know you took a lotta shit for
not goin back on th team.
Not from anybody I gave a shit about. I enjoyed havin the time
free, to tell th truth.
Goddamn, I know thats so! Its gonna be a bitch for me from
now on, keepin my grades up durin th season. Im probly gonna be
wishin I could walk away from playin ball before its over.
It wont be easy, but youll do it. At least you wont be gettin
pounded like th QBs will, or have ta call th plays.
Yeah, but you know what? Ricky said, leaning back in his chair.
If I was a QB, I wouldnt give a shit. With football, theres QBs and
theres everybody else.
Well, youre done red-shirtin, anyway.
Yeah, and my 40-yard times down under 4.7. I think I can beat
that by th end of spring practice.
You might get a chance yet; just keep that arm in shape.
Nah, theyve made their decision about me. Only way Id get
another shot would be for three or four quarterbacks to break a leg.
Best thing for me to do is try ta get playin time at anker. At least
theyll call my name when I catch th ball, an they got a coupla end-
arounds in th playbook.
And Trisha in th stands to cheer you on.
Yeah, hope so. I hate us bein next door to each other th way well
be over this vacation, and her folks actin like such asses, tellin er
she cant see me. They still wont speak to my folks, and its been
three years.
What a mess. Just be glad shes goin to Scott. They cant keep
very close tabs on er from a hundred miles away.
Yeah, but you know she acts like they can. When were together, I
mean. There still aint no sex; she says she just dont feel riit about it
yet.
Mmm-mm-mm. Thats too bad, buddy. Well, I guess youll just
have to make some other arrangements until she gets over whatever
kinda mo-jo it is that they laid on her. Not seein anybody else, is
she?
Not as far as I know, and I think I would know it. And you know
what? I really aint that interested in other arrangements, at least not
til I get tdrinkin.
And speakin a that, Jack said, are you ready, Hezzie? punctur-
ing cans as he spoke.
Bring it on, hotshot. An Ill tellya sumpm else.
What dat, bwy?
Dont much matter who it is, soon as were done screwin I wish
theyd turn into you an a six-pack. Waves of laughter rolled across
the pond and back into their laps.
Now Ill tell you sumpm, Jack said after hed caught his breath.
It dont look to me like it gets any easier as you get older. Just look at
how it is with Mose and my mom.
What? They havin trouble?
Oh, I Guess not, less you call how they been carryin on for th
last ten years trouble. He wants er to divorce my dad and marry
him, at least he used to, and she wont, but she gets mad as all hell at
him when he gets after other women. But she wont break up with
im; they just go on, ne one day and bullshit th next, from one year
to th next, with her always talkin about movin back to New York.
Damndest thing I ever saw.
Yeah. Well, lookaheanh, buddy; I dowanna be getttin inta any
kinda shit you don feel liike gettin into, but ain nobody can make
too much sense outa what people do to each other in th name alove.
Yo mama an Mose, ehbidy knows how they been, you know,
tgether all this time, an anybidy wid a licka sense respects em, and
their feelins for each other. Both of em smarter than niiny-niine
pcenta th people in Bisque, an peoplea pretty much quit tryin ta
shove em inta them lilol Bisque pigeonholes.
Its a shame, aint it? Jack said, getting up out of his chair and
stretching his arms above his head. All th time we spend just tryin
tstay straight with women? I aint heard much from Terry lately but
What the hell dyou think youre doin, not pledgin a fraternity?
Jyou think I came up here to Athens just tkeep my nose in a buncha
books? Th Greek systems th heart of partyin at Georgia, and thats
all there is to it. Shes some piecea work herself; gave me what shed
probably call an ultimatum, even though she sucked my dick rst,
while we us drivin down here yesterday. Guess what it was.
Join a frat, or I will.
Jack guffawed mirthlessly. Bingo! Bing-fuckin-go! She was dip-
lomatic about it, of course, which I guess you hafta be with cum in
your throat, but yeah, thats about it. Ive been hopin youd see what
it means to me, and so forth, and if we just dont have that much in
common anymore, and so forth. Puttin a gun ta my head liike at,
after I told er bfore we ever went up there that Id never do it.
Pledge! this, an Pledge! that. Smost childish fuckin thing I ever
saw.
Well, holdin onta pussys no reason ta do anything, said Ricky,
crushing his empty Black Label can and dropping it on the grass.
It boils down to this, buddy; I need my privacy, and she just cant
see that.
So how is apartment livin up there, anyway?
OK; its a garage apartment, and I got the garage too. Owners
this widow lady, Miz Stevens; lives in th big house with er aunt; out
Baxter Street a ways. Even got a sleeper sofa in th livin room, if you
ever gitcher ass over ta see me.
Ill be there, buddy. So ya got th academic part under control?.
Yeah, pretty much. Wish ole Rebad keep er mouth shut about
th deans list bullshit. Im workin my ass off, but it could just as easy
be th deans shit list next quarter. Im gointo summer school, just for
insurance. Hey! You got a job or anything goin for th summer? You
could come up an stay with me, and well troll for new, nasty wim-
min.
I preeshate it, buddy, but Im thinkin Ill take a course rtwo
myself this summer. See if I can get this sitchashun with Trisha
straightened out.
Youre serious.
Yeah, I am. How many times do I hafta tellya? I love Trisha. Have
since sixth grade. Caint stop jus cause Id liike to. Her folks hate me,
an tryin to make her hate me. They just miit do it, too, if I dont
hang in there. Hell, he said, as a tear rolled down each cheek. They
will do it. But shes gotta tell me its over before I believe it.
Well, if thats what its gonna take. Remember ol Jim Reynolds
from your Sunday school class? Gave up a shot at th majors for one
with Miz Bateman. Seemed pretty happy about it back then. Wonder
if he still feels that way.
Oh, man, Ricky slapped his leg. Sunday school. That was some
feelin, gettin th Word from ol Jim Reynolds, wadnt it? Made it easy
to believe, comin from the guy who beat Billy Bruton in a footrace
from center eld to home plate.
Oh, yeah. Didnt mean that much to us then, did it? An now
Brutons led th National League in stolen bases for th last three
years.
Thatus some feelin in there, wadnt it? Th whole Sunday school
thing, I mean. Hokey as hell, but there was a safeness about it. Every-
body feelin goodn safe, there in Gods house. Ricky shook his head
slowly, as if he was trying to clear it, while two more large tears
caught the moonlight as they dripped, glimmering, off his chin.
Hey! Jack said, reaching over to clap Ricky on the shoulder. Its
comin to me. We doin it all for pussy, same as Reynolds did. An
that ain gonna change no tiime soon. We oughta jus go ahead an
admit it an start our own church, th Church a th Big Pussy. Aaw-
wlll ese little pussies, he wailed to the crescent moon, they aawwlll
in th image a th Biiig Pussy! He began to sing to the tune of Heart-
break Hotel:
Evabidy need dat pussy,
It make-a yo peter swell,
Gotta be gettin it it all th time
Don care how ba-hada it smell, Ricky joined in to complete the
verse, and they swung condently into the inevitable chorus:
Cause it make us so hawny, baby
It make us so hawny
It make us so hawny we could die
Awriit now, hold it a minnit, said Jack. After a pause, he sang:
Pussy don keep all that good
Be needin it fresh evry day
Big slimy, slick-lipped pussy baitin
Th hook to make us play
Cause it make us so hawny, baby
It make us so hawny
It make us so hawny we could die
They applauded each other lavishly before cracking the last two
Black Labels. Not bad for a coupla drunks; that long-haired fuckerd
looove ta have them lyrics, said Ricky.
Damn riit he would. Gotta share th credit wid Mose, though.
How come?
Last time I was home we us talkin about different stuff, inclu-
din women, an he said sumpm bout pussy bein perishable, an it
stuck wid me. Sumpm liike this: Domesticated menuhgenerally
discover too late that sexs a very perishable commodity, unless dis-
pensed by a rare and inspired donor. Its societys addictive dry-y,
nailing the horny sh, consigning him to the aquarium, and reduc-
ing him to subsistence.
Thass pretty good, said Ricky, shifting from one foot to the
other in pre-stagger, Pussy an sh kinda go together.
He us jus tryin ttell me twatch my ass wid Terry, so I dont get
stuck liike you almost did.
Now that is a very good buddy indeed. Wish my daddyd tole me
that.
Well, ta be fair, I think talkin bout shit liike ats a little easier for
buddies than it is for daddies, said Jack. Cmon, buddy, les grab
some shuteye. Gathering up chairs and dead soldiers, they carried
the load up the hill to the house.
- 477 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 1
Kamerad
1950 Saturday 24 March 1956:
Mr. K.
Yes?
Could you get someone to sit here for just a couple of minutes? I
rilly need to go to the bathroom.
He looked at his watch; 7:50. The feature would start at 8:05, and
most of the audience was already seated or at the candy counter. Go
ahead, Evvie; Ill take it.
He slipped into the box ofce chair; Evvie-borne scents of bubble
gum and toilet water remained. He was smiling to himself at the
absurdity of the name as three men approached. The rst of them, a
tall, smiling dark-haired man in his thirties, pushed a ve-dollar bill
across the counter. Good evening, he said. Three, please.
Good evening, said Moses, holding the ticket dispensers key
down for three adult tickets. As he pushed the change back over the
counter, his smiling glance at the trio froze on the face of the last
man, who stared back at him. It was Dieter Brck. Older, thinner
and silver-haired at the fringes, but unquestionably Brck. A long
moment later, they entered the lobby. Moses quick look back
through the box ofce door followed them past the candy counter
and through the theatres left aisle entrance.
Thanks, Mr. K, said Evvie, squeezing past Moses into the box
ofce.
Sure, he responded absently, still looking at the left aisle door.

Excuse me, please, said the tall thin man.
Yes sir. Popcorn?
No. Thank you. The man who was in the box ofce a few min-
utes agois he the manager?
Mr. K? Hes the owner.
Oh. Is he still here?
Hes upstairs.
Upstairs?
In the ofce. Did you want to see him?
Yes, just for a minute.
Ill go up and tell him, said the girl. Does he know you?
No. I wanted to ask him about renting the theatre. Im with the
revival team; Jehovahs Tabernacle.
OK. Just a minute.
He says come on up, she said, hurrying past him to the candy
counter.
Moses was just inside the ofce door. He caught Brck by his fore-
arm, pulling him into the room, simultaneously reaching behind
him to close the door. He looked into the mans light blue eyes, smil-
ing. Dieter. Vas tun sie hier?
He mirrored Moses smile. To save your soul, Peter. They
embraced, laughing.
Shit, I need it. You took ten years off my life.
And you mine. Now that we know, I must get back to the others.
When will you be alone here?
Kamerad 479
Come back at midnight. Everyonell be gone by 11:30. You gotta
car?
Yes.
What kind?
Studebaker. 53. A green coupe.
Park on the other side of the street. Ill watch for you through the
box ofce.

They sat together on the ofce sofa, a bottle of Cognac between
them, lling in the twenty-year gap in their friendship. My cover
name is Paul Pulaski, he said. Im Jehovahs Tabernacles music
man.
And Im Moses Kubielski. I went to ground right after Pearl Har-
bor, and sat out the war in Baltimore. Two skis, he laughed. When I
heard that youd been assigned to Barbarossa in 41, I thought youd
probably died on the eastern front, said Moses.
Staying alive was very much a day-to-day thing. The Russians
captured my unit near Kursk in September of 43. I never spent a day
in a prison camp. They were NKVD troops, 70
th
Army. They took
me to a rear area, where I was interrogated. Ernst Wollweber, whod
been a German Communist since the twenties, was attached to the
unit. I wasted no time in convincing him that I was worth saving. He
convinced the commander to take me in. We were one of the rst
units into Berlin in 45.
And youre still on the payroll.
Yes. First as an NKVD informant, then as an agent of its succes-
sor, the KGB. I was attached to the Stasi, the East German intelli-
gence service, for a while in the fties.
And you trust me with that information.
Why lie? Youd never believe it. And now my question to you; for
whom are you working?
Myself.
And does that mean that you sell movie tickets, or something
else?
It means movie tickets. And beer.
Beer?
Beer. Im a distributor. Wholesaler.
He laughed, slapping his knees. You! A village burgher! Thats
priceless! How long have you been here?
Itll soon be ten years. And Im not not just any burgher. This is
Hamm County, ya know. Im a Hamm-burgher!
Brck laughed. Id give a lot to be you. If I had a lot. You must tell
me the whole story. But tell me this rst; are you aware of the Savan-
nah River Project?
Sure, Moses deadpanned. Big government operation, just
across the river from Augusta, in South Carolina. Scuttlebutt says its
a uranium plant, like Oak Ridge. Been under construction for quite
awhile. A couple of people from around here work construction jobs
up there. FBI was around a couple of years ago, doing security checks
on em.
Oh, yes, its big, he said with a smile. Damn near the size of Los
Angeles. Itll produce the majority of the United States plutonium
and tritium when its running at 100%.
For A-bombs.
Theyre H-bombs now. Hydrogen bombs. Weapons that are
based on nuclear fusion, instead of the a-bombs nuclear ssion.
They build them out of tritium and deuteriumheavy hydrogenand
plutonium 239. The rst reactor went critical last year. Theyve been
shipping plutonium for several months.
And thats why youre here.
Yes. Since our own successful test of a thermonuclear device last
year, its become a top priority to get an agent network in place. My
assignment could easily eclipse all other KGB initiatives.
Kamerad 481
Youre obviously askin for a boatloada trouble, considering what
happened to the Rosenbergs after Los Alamos. Any more of your
people here?
No. But there will be, from time to time.
No doubt, said Moses. The Tabernacle, huh? Thats funny. And
youre the music man.
Minister of Music. You never knew of my musical side.
Well, there was all that singing in the Berlin bars, but I never
thought of you as a musician.
I am. Somewhat. Loyola, remember? I took a minor in music.
Yes, of course. New Orleans.
Yes. So it wasnt hard to get into the Tabernacles routine. Id
heard all the songs, time and again.
Howd you get the job?
My predecessor went away. Came into some money.
Well, most everyone has his price, hm? When did you sign on
with these birds?
Almost six months ago. Joined them in Fairburn, a little town
west of Atlanta. Id seen a writeup on them in the Atlanta paper dur-
ing the operations research phase.
So when does the show start?
Wednesday. Guess well be cutting into your business.
Maybe the movies. But Im sure to sell more beer.
The blond man laughed again. How the hell did you nd this
place?
My car broke down on my way to Cuba, and I had to wait on a
new radiator. This theater was for sale, and I bought it. Always loved
the movies.
And what else?
A woman. A beauty. And, believe it or not, her son.
Ah, yes. Are you married?
No. She wouldnt. Obsessed with her artshes a scupltress. Now
were beyond thinking of it. But shes my dearest friendandhow
does it go?severest critic.
But youve obviously made this place your home.
Until now, said Moses, his gaze leveled at the blond man.
Yes. It would be foolish to assume that youd feel otherwise, but
youre in no danger, believe me. I only wish I was in your shoes.
What can I do to convince you that my being heres no threat to
you?
Nothing. This is no ones fault, Dieter; I cant believe I havent
seen it coming. Even after ten years, Im still an outsider here. From
what you say, the goddam Savannah River things too big, and too
close. AEC and FBI agents are in and outa here all the time, and God
knows wholl be here next week. Whether youd showed up here or
not, theyll get around to looking at me. And if they look back
beyond Baltimore, they wont like what theyll nd. Aside from bein
glad to see you, Im lucky that you showed up. Otherwise, I mightve
just sat here, fat, dumb and happy, and let the past catch up with
me.
Brck smiled. Peter. Moses. This has been a shock, an unbeliev-
able shock, to us both. This is too incredible; its like a dream.
Yes, said Moses, It is. We gotta make sure that it doesnt turn
into a nightmare.

The sun had been up less than half an hour when he pulled open
the F3Fs dew-covered canopy. He hadnt slept that much; he and
Dieter Brck had talked all night. He woke Gene Debs from a sound
sleep to stand by while he started the engine. The only way I can start
making sense out of this, he thought, is to go bore a few holes in the
sky. Hed logged three hundred and twenty hours in the F3F since
they bought it, and much of that time, thanks to Gene Debs, was
spent getting to know what it could do aerobatically. Flying at what
Kamerad 483
Gene Debs called the outside of the envelope, using as near 100%
of its capabilities as possible, had become Moses preferred way of
depressurizing.
He left the engine at takeoff power, trimming the aircraft for max-
imum rate of climb and spinning the landing gear crank the thirty-
two turns necessary to pull the birds wheels into its belly. He ret-
rimmed as he cranked, countering the noses tendency to rise as the
wheels drag was eliminated. The clean airframe let him ease the
throttle back slightly and maintain his rate of climb. He turned
slowly, right to left and back again, looking for other aircraft above,
below and on either side of the planes raised nose, which blocked
direct forward vision in climb attitude. Looking into the rapidly
brightening morning sky, he basked in the roar that washed over the
cockpit from the engines nine aming exhaust ports, feeling what a
thousand horsepower could do to erase the frustrations of life on the
ground. He looked with satisfaction from one set of dove-gray
wingtips to the other, and between them at the owing green and
red-brown checkerboard of Hamm County.
Level at ten thousand feet, he brought the throttle back slightly as
his airspeed touched 210. He rolled left into a ninety-degree bank,
pulling back hard on the stick as the wings went perpendicular to the
ground, countering the noses dropping down as the wings lift was
neutralized with steady pressure on the right rudder pedal. In sec-
onds he rolled back level, the aircraft picking up speed as it lost alti-
tude. For a little over half an hour, he rolled and looped the stubby
ghter over miles of rural Georgia, his mind focused tightly on the
maneuver he was performing, and shifting quickly to the next, and
the next, and the next.
As he rolled off the runway and taxied back to the F3Fs parking
spot near the house, Moses felt as though hed cleared a large enough
space in his mind to come to terms with the implications of Dieter
Brcks reentry into his life. Now, instead of cotton and pimiento
peppers, neutrons in untold trillions would surge from the bowels of
this land of Creeks, farmers and slavers, he thought as the engines
noise disappeared and he sat in the cockpits deep silence. All of a
sudden, Ive got more water in the boat than I can bail. So I need a
bigger fuckin bucket
- 485 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 2
HipDeep in Sheep-Dip
0905 Monday 26 March 1956:
Moses sat in the wagon, halfway up the block north of the hotel on
Lee, looking at the green Studebakers projectile silhouette. The
stores wouldnt open for another hour, and trafc was still thin.
Dieter would be out sooner or later. It turned out to be sooner, and
as hed hoped, alone. He walked to the car, backed it out into Main
street and headed west. Moses had already gotten the wagon moving
down Lee, just catching the trafc light and pulling behind the car
behind the Studebaker. The car between them went straight when
Dieter turned right. It would, Moses knew, be only a matter of time
before Dieter made him in the mirror. When he did, he pulled over
to let the wagon go by, then pulled out behind it.
They drove around the block, then South on Lee, past pool halls,
cafes and stores that got progressively less seedy the closer that they
got to Main. Turning left on Main, they drove several blocks east;
Moses eased the wagon off the road and stopped it in front of the
Bethel Baptist Church. He got out, opened the Studebakers door
and slid in beside Brck. How much time have ya got?
I should get over to the auditorium before long, Bruck said as he
pulled out onto the road again. My rst rehearsals this afternoon,
and I need to unpack some stuff before the choir members start
showing up.
I know you gotta stay on schedule, Moses said, looking out at
the colorful sprinkling of owers on the graves in the cemetary slid-
ing by on his side of the car, but Ive been thinking about something
since we talked the other night.
The blond man glanced sharply at him. Whats that?
How would you like to walk away from the KGBjust disappear,
with no trace whatever, and start a new life?
His face took on the weariest of smiles. If you knew how impossi-
ble what you just said would be to do, my friend, youd never have
said it. Lets dont spend the little time we have together talking
about something so ridiculous. The only way Ill leave the service
will be as a corpse.
Id be surprised if you felt any different without hearing my
idea, said Moses, and after you do, we wont speak of it again if you
choose not to. But in the name of our friendship, assume for the
moment that you could walk away. Would you?
He said nothing until hed turned off the road and headed the car
back toward Bisque. Yes, he said, sad eyes focused on the increasing
ow of trafc into town. In the name of our friendship, yes, I
would, of course. But unless youre proposing that I change sides,
you have no idea of just how impossible it would be. Theyd nd me.
Sooner or later, theyd nd me.
Changing sides is no answer, said Moses as Pulaski stopped the
car in front of the church. Youd just have a new master. I need more
time to tell you what Ive got in mind, but Ill tell you this before you
go. Wed both leave here, soon, and, as far as the world could deter-
mine, wed be dead.
You cant be serious.
Oh yes. Im deadly serious. I know youve got to go now, so heres
what I propose. We need to have some justication for being
HipDeep in Sheep-Dip 487
together. I thought that it could be motorcycles. Know anything
about them?
A little, said Pulaski, but I havent ridden in a long time. A
friend of mine down in New Orleans had an Indian; a Scout. I bor-
rowed it from him now and then.
Perfect. How about if I meet you at the caf in the morning? Ill
ride over on one of my bikes, a Vincent. Ill park it where you can see
it when you come down to the lobby. You can ask somebody whose it
is, and were off.
OK, he said, looking out at the trafc. A Vincent? Whats it look
like?
A black vee-twin with gold pinstriping. British. Fast as stink.
Anyone who likes bikesd notice it right away. Well talk about it, and
Ill invite you out to look at my little collection.
Collection? How many do you have?
Just four. Well ride them later; I cant think of a better way to
justify getting friendly in a hurry. Bike nuts do that.
What else do you have?
An Indian 4-cylinder, Moses said, opening the door. A Sun-
beam shaft-drive and a new single-cylinder BMW. A two-fty. You
might like to start out with it.
OK. We can talk about this, I guess. Meantime, Ive got a revival
to get off the ground.
Good. Ill see you at the caf about eight tomorrow. Got a warm
jacket?
0750 Tuesday 27 March 1956:
Excuse me, Miss
My names Reba, Mr.
Pulaski. Paul Pulaski.
Aw, yeah, she said, her eyes lighting up. Such a ne-lookin boy,
she thought. Looks like that feller that played Ashley Wilkes. Youre
with th rvivl folks.
Yes, he said, smiling. Hope to see you there this Friday.
Oh yes sir. I wouldnt miss it.
Good, good. He gestured toward the window. I wanted to ask
you; do you know whose motorcycle that is?
Law, yeah; its Mosesuh, Mr. Kubleskys. Thats him sittin right
over yonder.
He looked in the direction that shed inclined her head. Oh, yes!
The movie man; I met him on Saturday. I must ask him about the
motorcycle; Ive never seen one like it.
Reba moved to let him pass. I dunno what yall men see in im
thangs; they skeer me tdeath. Hes got twor three of em, she said,
disapproving with a small shake of her head.
Yes, well, I think you either have the disease or you dont, he
said, smiling as he moved past her. Thank you so much, Reba. He
approached Moses, who was reading yesterdays Bugle. Good morn-
ing, sir.
Moses looked up at him. Good morning.
You may remember our conversation of the other evening, at the
theater. Im Paul Pulaski. Jehovahs Tabernacle.
Oh yes, of course. Howre you this morning? Please sit down.
Very well, thanks, he said as he pulled a chair away from the
table, and very curious about your motorcycle. I dont think Ive
ever seen one like it before.
Well, you dont see em every day, at least not around here. Its a
Vincent. Are you a rider, Mr. Pulaski?
Yes, but not for a year or two. We travel so much.
Would you like to have a look at her?
Oh yes. Very much.
Moses paid his check and beckoned to Pulaski. They walked to the
Vincent, parked on the sidewalk out of earshot of the cafs few
patrons. Lets look her over for a couple of minutes, said Moses,
while you get really excited about the bike. Then Ill offer you a ride,
and well shoot out to my place.
I wont have to fake it, said Pulaski as he looked at the Black
Shadows massive v-twin engine, its twin-drum front brakes and alu-
minum alloy fenders. This is one beautiful machine.
Yeah, I think youll enjoy the ride. The back wheels got hydraulic
suspension, same as the front, and that saddles got a spot for both of
us.
You said something about offering me a ride, I believe.
That I did. Shall we go? Moses slung his leg over the bike and
reached down to ip the kickstart lever out to the kicking position.
He opened the gas tanks tap and briey touched both carburetors
priming buttons. One kick with the ignition switched off; the engine
answered the second kick with a bass burble, quickly changing to a
roar as he blipped the throttle. He motioned to Pulaski to get aboard;
his passengers feet secure on their footrests, Moses bumped the bike
over the curb, checking trafc and moving onto the street, the Vin-
cent exhausts impatient staccato boom rattling the cafs plate glass.
Turning right on Lee Street, they picked up speed at a rate that
amazed Pulaski, the lawns of stately houses merging into a green
river roaring past his ears. He looked over Moses shoulder at the
bikes alarm-clock-sized speedometer in time to see its needle pass
eighty. He chose to put the chattering of his teeth down to the chill
blast of morning air that was bringing tears to his eyes.
They turned off the road soon, Pulaskis amazement carrying over
to his rst look at Moses house and grounds. As they drew to a stop
on the driveway and the engines beat subsided, he spoke. Incredi-
ble. Absolutely incredible. How can you possibly think of leaving this
behind?
Oh, itll be in good hands, said Moses. Come on in and warm
up; Ill give ya the nickel tour later. They entered the house through
the garage. Coffees ready; had any grits lately?
They ate and talked about the essentials of disappearing. What
we do, said Moses as he relled their cups, is convince everyone
that we died accidentally, with no bodies to conrm it.
Neat trick, said Pulaski. What do you propose?
A plane crashat sea.
Trust you for a spectaular solution. Im listening.
Theoretically, its simple. We y my plane out to deep water in
the Atlantic, rendezvous with a boat, ditch the plane, climb in the
boat and set course for Savannah while the plane blows up. Pick up
the Inland Waterway to Miami, then cross to Cuba.
I see. Whos handling the boat?
Ive got someone in mind. A qualied skipper. One of four peo-
ple wholl know that Pulaski and Kubielski arent dead. Shed be
going with us.
She?
She. He told Pulaski about Linda, Jack and the F3F.
So. When would we do this?
As soon as we can. Itll take a few weeks to get it set up.
How do we make a living in Cuba?
Wont be necessary. Were retiring.
This is surreal. How can you conceive of doing all this? There
cant be that much money in movies and beer.
Believe me, moneys not an issue. We can do this, Dieter. Im just
so damn happy that now I can repay you for what you did for me. If
you hadnt gotten me out of that Heinkel, I wouldnt be here at all. So
please trust me on the details. Ill tell you about them as I get them in
place.
It seems that the point on which I must most seriously trust you,
Peter, is on just that; on what youre telling me isnt an issue. You
seem to have, or have access to, quite a lot of money. And Ive
learned that the more money a situation involves, the greater the
number of people there are involved in the situation. I dont see how
you can expect me to make a move that amounts to stepping off a
cliff with a set of wings that my friend assures me will turn me into a
bird, but wont tell me who made them, what they cost, or why he
thinks theyll work.
Well, Ive already told you that therell be two others that know
we arent dead. No schemes perfect, but this one involves my ass to
the same degree that it does yours, the single difference bein that Im
footin th bill. The moneys mine, and Im very happy to share it
with you. Im going to anyway, whether you decide to join me in this
operation or not. But for the moment, please just keep an open
mind.
Fair enough. I hope that you understand how much the idea
appeals to me, but this would an incredible undertaking, just on the
face of it. I need to know that there are no surprises that you havent
told me about.
OK. When this revivals over, well talk about what else you need
from me to make your decision.
Done. Lets have a look at those bikes.
1945 Friday 30 March 1956 (Good Friday):
I resisted the attempt of a local lady, one of the many volunteer
workers recruited for this sort of thing, and her Arent-we-having-
fun-doing-the-Lords-work look, to seat me right down front. My
adult-sized rump joined those of hundreds of male Bisquites, young
and old, prodded into place for the most part by their females,
squeezed into the auditoriums student-sized seats, awaiting the
arrival of the apostle. I sat in the auditoriums last row, set for an
immediate getaway in case events brought up my gorge. Curiousity
continues to force me into situations that I ought to leave alone. The
station brass, knowing that Ill probe for soft tissue, would never
send me into a spot like this on assignment. So here I sit, self-
assigned, wondering who snuck out the death-dealing fart, as Moses
new pal, the Polack, steps out, stage left, for the kickoff.
Good evening, and thanks for coming. Were all so grateful to
God to be here with you tonight. I wonder if any of you might know
this little song? Moving to center stage, dragging the mike cord
behind him, he unleashed a pretty fair tenor as selected members of
the Bisque High band struck up the tune:
Send a great revival to my soul
Let the Holy Spirit come and take control
And send a great revival to my soul!
Sing it with me!
Primed to get on with the hysteria, the sweaty congregation
picked up the tune with vigor; and two beats into it, in prances
theres no other word for itSheppard Peters, stage right, a spotlight
intensifyng the sky-blue of what I must say was a nicely-tted Palm
Beach suit.
Let the Holy Spirit come and take control
And send a great revival to my soul!
Thrusting his right hand over his head, head bowed, Peters posed
for a dramatic ve-second delay. Then the fun began: Come to me
all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give ye rest. Thats
his promise to us. It comes to us, across the centuries and across the
seas, as shining and strong today as when he shared it with the multi-
tudes by the Sea of Galilee. Welcome. Welcome to this revival, and to
life everlasting. I am Brother Sheppard Peters. Im blessed to lead
Jehovahs Tabernacle. Youve just seen our Minister of Music, Brother
Paul Pulaski, whose life story is one of triumph over incredible chal-
lenges, and Im sure that some of you have noticed the presence of
Brother Ted Bell among you during the past few weeks. Ted is what
we call the Tabernacles advance man; hes the rst to arrive at our
revival locations, and is our liaison with host groups such as the
Bisque Council of Churches. But theres much more to Teds story as
well, and youll hear more about this amazing man of God as the
revival progresses. But, on the eve of the anniversary of the triumph
of our Lord over the grave, let us raise a prayer of thanks to God for
sending his Son to lead us to our individual victories over the night-
mare of eternal damnationof death without salvation.
Peters has the gift of all really good oratorseven though I know
the trick, its easy to catch myself feeling that hes talking directly to
me, telling me the old, old story for the rst time, reminding me how
much I dont want to die, how all of us poor bastards have sinned
and fallen short of the glory of God, Romans 3:23, how I cant earn
my way to heaven and dont really deserve to go, but since God is so
good, I get to go anyway, Romans 6:23, but that the soul who sins
shall die, Ezekiel 18:4, and I must confess my sins, for God so loved
the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes
in Him should not perish, but have eternal life, John 3:16, and that if
Ill just say to him Lord Jesus, I know Im a sinner and I dont deserve
eternal life. But I believe You died and rose from the grave to make a
place in heaven just for me. Come into my life, Lord Jesus, forgive
my sins, and save me. Take control of my life;, I trust my salvation to
You alone.
What a deal, huh? Everybody, as far as I could tell, went for it on
the spot. It caught them off guard, I guess, because orthodox Bisque
soul-saving awaited the invitation hymn, a wheezy Just As I Am or
the like, after the parson had carried on for half an hour, or, on a
good day, considerably more.
Well, if that was all, could we just sing the damn song and get our
soggy Heaven-bound butts the hell out of this sweatbox? Back in 54
the station, in a rare burst of enlightened capitalism that involved
actually spending some money, sent me to Atlanta for a crash course
in salesmanship. Out of the two days of that secular revival of back-
slidden bullshitters, One thing stayed with me: dont sell past the
close. When theyve said yes, in other words, shut up and show em
where to sign. It looked like that was what old Sky-blue was about to
do. Which tells you how much I know about soul-saving writ large.
Sheppard Peters had a great deal left to do tonight. Now that they
were yet once again gathered into the ock, the woollies were to be
congratulated on coming quietly. Not like the miscreants who would
now stand before them on the stages slick-varnished yellow pine.
He stood center stage, gazing out over the multitude, bible at the
ready, and waited for silence. Reading from the Gospel of Mark; So
they came to the other side of the lake, into the country of the Gera-
senes. As he stepped ashore, a man possessed by an unclean spirit
came up to him from among the tombs where he had his dwelling.
He could no longer be controlled; even chains were useless; he had
often been fettered and chained up, but he had snapped the chains
and broken the fetters. No one was strong enough to master him.
And so, unceasingly, day and night, he would cry aloud among the
tombs and on the hill-sides and cut himself with stones. When he
saw Jesus in the distance, he ran and ung himself down before him,
shouting loudly, What do you want with me, Jesus, son of the Most
High God? In Gods name do not torment me. (For Jesus was already
saying to him, Out, unclean spirit, come out of this man!) Jesus
asked him, What is your name? My name is Legion, he said, there
are so many of us. And he begged hard that Jesus would not send
them out of the country. Now there happened to be a large herd of
pigs feeding on the hill-side, and the spirits begged him, Send us
among the pigs and let us go into them. He gave them leave; and the
unclean spirits came out and went into the pigs; and the herd, of
about two thousand, rushed over the edge into the lake and were
drowned.
Before I knew the Lord, he said, my name was Lustrum
Grainger. I grew up in Harlan County, Kentucky, coal country, and I
was able to throw anything, my friends, farther and harder than any-
one else in that little town. Fuhbawl, baseball, discusGod gave me
that incredible gift, and it took me to collegeIm sure most of you
know Farmun University, the Baptist school just a ways up the road
in South Carolinaand out of it, so fast it seemed like the blink of an
eye. Theres a good man here tonight that did everything that he
could to keep me at Farmun, but when a couple of scouts from pro-
fessional baseball showed up, it wouldve taken the Heavenly Host
and the Lord himself to make me stay. Like the Gadarene swine, I
had begun my personal stampede into the lakethe lake of re.
My rst stop was a Class D farm team, probably a lot like the one
that I understand you had here until just a few years agothe Bisque
BulletsI wont say where it wasbut I will say that I had some grow-
ing up to do when I got there, and I did it as fast as I could. I didnt
know much about women and girlsI didnt have any sistersand
what women in a small town will do when theres a ballplayer
involved would no doubt surprise you; some of the things they did
certainly surprised me. I was only a boy myself. My managerIll just
call him Raytried to keep me out of trouble, but it was hard for him
because half the time he was in some kind of trouble of his own. In a
small town, not nearly the size that Bisque is today, with very little
money, there wasnt much to do but play ball and get in trouble.
Like I said, I was young, and feeling much farther away from
home than I ever did at Farmun. As excited at I was to be on the
eld, I was sick with loneliness the rest of the time. Some of you
whove been in situations like that probably know what it was that I
did to try to lose that awful feeling, dont you? I see some heads nod-
ding out there, and youre right. I learned what whiskey could give
me in the way of a little dose of courage. Id watched my teammates,
none of em much older than me, pass the Mason jar around the
locker room after games, and it seemed like they were having such a
good time gettin likkered up that it didnt take me long to join in.
I hated it at rst; most of youve probably never drunk moon-
shine whiskey, but thats all there was in that little dry county in the
backwoods. Ill tell you what it tasted like to me when I rst tried it.
Can you imagine gasoline and Seven-Up together? Thats what it
tasted like to me, but you know what? After it got down in my stom-
ach, I didnt care. No. I did not care what it tasted like, because it
made me feel so free and easy that it couldve been straight gasoline.
It put me on top of the world for awhile, and even though it made
my head hurt in the morning, it ran that old being-by-myself demon
off for hours at a time. I liked it. I mean I really liked it. A lot.
Well, he said, A baby-faced pitcher on a four-day rotation had
lots of time on his hands back then. I guess they still do. As I said, I
could throw real hard, and with pretty fair control, and I went fteen
and two that season, half-drunk most of the time. I was a big part of
the clubs winning the pennant that year, and pretty soon I never had
to buy a drink orand Im ashamed to say itlook for females that
fancied being with a ballplayer. And I thought I was on top of the
world. So I rode that hoss, as they say, and I rode it hardhard
enough so that, for my third season, I was sent to Triple-A. Again,
Im not sayin whereany fan could look it up, I guess, but it doesnt
matter. What does matter is that, by then, I was on a real short fuse.
Triple-As right next to the big leagues, and big-leaguers who fall off
the pace get sent down there all the time, either to get their stuff back
or to get off the bus for good. They started hitting me my rst time
on the mound, and they never stopped. Id gotten as far as I could go
on a fast ball that wasnt all that fast to these batters, and my other
stuffcurve, slider, change-upwasnt much. Id just made it up as I
went along, because I could winup to thenjust by smokin a fast
one by em.
By then, Id gotten used to a better grade of liquor, and was
drinking more of it than ever. And the girls were better looking than
ever, more ready than ever to give their all for a night with a ball-
player. But those Triple-A batters kept on knocking me out of the
box, and I drank even more and the girls thinned out. To make a
long story short, I was sent down, way downto Class B, so the
Clubthe major league team where I thought Id be in 1942could
see if they could get me straightened out. But they didnt get the
chance. My draft board back there in Harlan County took me off
their hands. In as much time as it takes to tell it, I was through basic
training and behind the wheel of an Army truckthey called it a six-
by-six, the motor drivin all six wheelsin Fort Ord, California.
By now Id drink the best part of a fth of something a day when-
ever I could get itand I could usually get it. But I was still playing
baseballone thing about the army, wartime or not, therell always be
sportsso I stopped by Special Services one day, and the next day I
was pitching for the post team. We played military teams from up
and down the Pacic coast, and even though there was a sprinkling
of ex-pros like me scattered through the league, I could get most of
those guys out on the worst day I ever had. So I had friends, sort of,
in high places, like the Post Commander, the Major who managed
Special Services and the team manager, a Captain who was also the
Prostesant chaplain and known, inevitably, as Charlie.
None of that impressed the Staff Sergeant who ran the motor
pool at all, because I was still on his roster as a driver until a slot in
Special Services opened up. A private, more or less coming and
going as I pleased, was the way I guess he saw me. And like some of
the other liferscareer soldiersId seen, he was there because it was
the absolute best he could do, and he was proudway too proudof
the job he had. One ne Monday morning after muster, I was sitting
in the motor pool with a head as big as a basketball. The Sergeant
walked into the room, saw me sitting there and started in on me in
the way only Sergeants can do. Ill spare you the language, because it
was barracks blasphemy of the worst kind. But he wouldnt let it go
at that. He walked over to where I was sitting, leaning against the
wall on the two back legs of a chair, kicked it from under me, and
kicked me as I hit the oor.
Well, things just sort of went black. I woke up in the stockade to
nd that I was charged with manslaughter. The court-martial found
me guilty, and sentenced me to ten years at hard labor in the military
prison at Leavenworth, out on wasteland of the Kansas prairie, and a
dishonorable discharge. I hope that none of you have ever been in
prison, or ever go, because its hell on earth, and doubly so when the
guards remind you many times a day that youre alive while better
men die in battle in your place. But it led me to the gates of Heaven.
Id been there for a little over a year, trying every day to stop seeing
the face of the man Id killed.
Yes, and I see the face of a girl whose life I changed forever, whose
life will never be what it couldve been, because I spewed new life
into her before she was ready for it to be there. And then I turned
my back on her, and on all of Bisque.
One morning I woke up before sunrise. I thought Id heard my
cellmate call my name, except it was my rst name. You only hear
your last name in prison, so I thought Id just been dreaming. Then I
heard it again. Lustrum.
Who is it? I said.
Ill never forget what I heard then if I live a thousand years. I am
Alpha and Omega, the voice said. It was the sweetest, and yet the
strongest, voice Id ever heard. And all of a sudden, there was light all
around me, and I felt like I was oating. I am the Lord your God.
Where are you, Lord? Speak to ME now. Oh, please speak to me
now.
He paused. I hadnt had a drink in over a year, yet the walls spun
slowly around me, the way they did sometimes late at night. I was
still within the connes of a prison cell, but yet I knew that I was
alone with the Creator. All that I could say was, Yes, Lord?
And he answered me. You bear a heavy cross, but not in my
name. Put Satan behind you and it shall be lifted from you.
I dont know, how, Lord, I said. Id never felt so alone.
As alone as I feel right now? Has anybody felt as alone as I do right
now?
Say it and it shall be, said the Lord. And thats what I did. I emp-
tied my heart of all of the hate and the hurt that had been there for so
long. And from that day, my lifes been his, to do with as he sees t.
And the Lord smiled upon me.
Im sayin it, Lord. Im sayin it now. Smile on me Lord, and take
this pain away.
Soon after the war was over, I was paroled. I went back to Far-
mun, a place I thought Id never see again, thanks to Brother Ted
Bell, whod been my coach there. By the time he found me, through
my folks, hed been made Athletic Director. At rst they wouldnt tell
him where I was, they were so ashamed, but he prevailed and worked
his own miracle with the War Department. I had to have a job to be
paroled, so I returned to my old school, where Id once been some-
thing of a hero, as someone far different. I went to work for the col-
leges custodial department. Thats right. The game-winner of 38
was the oor-sweeper of 46. And very happy to be there, too.
Ill sweep oors, Lord, or whatever else youd have me do. Give me
the work thatll give me peace.
And Brother Ted worked another miracle for me; after Id been
back for a few months, he got me readmitted to Farmun. Id given
him my witness while I was still in prison, and he promised me that
hed do everything he could to convince the administration to take
me back. Hed said to me the day I walked out of Leavenworth, Lus-
trum, the Lord has plans for you boy, but you must meet im half-
way. I hope that youre ready to do that.
Im ready, Lord. Show me your plan for my life.
Yes, I am, Coach, which was what I still called him back then.
And if its his will that the school takes me back, I want to be a divin-
ity student. So when things worked out for me to be readmitted,
thats what I became. I wont tell you that it was easy; I wasnt the
worlds best student when Id been there before, and studying still
didnt come naturally to me. I was up nights stoking furnaces to
make up for the time I spent in class, but it was a glorious time in my
life. Id already made the decision to preach the gospel, and was
preaching a guest sermon now and then around Greenville. Right
after Christmas in 1949 I got the chance to preach regularly on Sun-
day nights at a little country church outside Spartanburg, and on a
bright day in June of 1951, Dr. Brooks, Farmuns president, handed
me my sheepskin. I was thirty-three years old.
And then I had a decision to make. What kind of a preacher was I
going to be? If I was going to be more than a lay preacher, Id need to
go to Seminary. That meant another three years of study, and I
looked to the Lord for a sign, because I knew I couldnt get through
that much more school without a lot of help. I went on preaching on
Sunday nights, and working at Farmun, until God gave me what I
asked for.
It was a Saturday in the middle of October. Brother Ted had
driven me into Greenville to buy some groceries, and we were on our
way back to Farmun when we saw a bus parked in front of the court-
house. Painted on its side, in aming red letters a foot high, was
Apostles of Redemption. Several people, one a deputy sheriff, stood at
the buss open door. One of them was shouting at the deputy, waving
his arms wildly above his head. Just then another deputy came out of
the sheriff s ofce and walked over to the group. He said something
to the rst deputy, and they took the man, still shouting, by the arms
to take him inside. Then tried to break away, and the rst deputy put
him in a hammerlock and walked him, standing on his toes, inside
the ofce. We better nd out whats goin on, said Brother Ted, and
he drove around the block so we could park in the lot beside the
courthouse.
We went inside the ofce, stopping at the desk just inside the
door. Whats going on, Larry? Brother Ted said to the deputy
behind the desk. The man whod been doing the waving now sat qui-
etly on a bench across from the desk, one hand covering the side of
his face.
Aw, this buncha nutsre tryin to get their boss outa jail, the dep-
uty said, and theyre about ta all get locked up.
Who is this boss? Brother Ted asked him.
The deputy snickered. Calls hisself Joshua of Nazareth. Theys a
fraud warrant out for him from up in Tennessee.
Could we see him?
Gee, the deputy said, I dawno. Lemme ask th sheriff.
Wait, Brother Ted said. Sheriff Curtiss in his ofce? Just let me
go in for a minute.
Well, Sheriff Curtis was one of Brother Teds many good friends
around the county, and he let us go back into the jail where the man
was. And we were by no means prepared for what we saw. I remem-
bered a picture Id seen of John Brown, the abolitionist from back
before the Civil War. This man Joshua looked like that picture come
to life. Wild-eyed, wild-haired and raging at everything in sight.
Good day, sir, said Brother Ted.
It is not a good day, sir, said Joshua. It is a disastrous day.
You are, it seems, a man of God, said Brother Ted. Is there any-
thing to this charge thats put you here?
I am Gods servant, sir, he said. Are you?
Yes, Brother Ted told him. Yes, we are.
Then, in his name, help us. We are, as you can see, in dire need.
What can we do? Brother Ted asked him. Has bail been set for
you?
No, and I doubt that any will be, he said, and for the rst time
the inferno behind his eyes became less furious. They apparently
intend to take me back to Cleveland. My concern is twofold; rst for
my people, and second for the commitment that we have made to
the good people of the Second Baptist Church of Columbia. Our
revival must begin there next Friday.
You havent told us, Brother Ted reminded him, Why you were
arrested.
The landowner on whose lot our Tabernacle was erected, Joshua
said, broke faith with us. After shaking hands on the agreement to
rent the lot for a twenty percent share of the revivals love offering,
he produced a document that set forth a rent of fteen hundred dol-
lars.
But surely you hadnt signed it, said Brother Ted.
No. But my Mr. Quarles, my associate, appears to have done so.
He has an unfortunate way with business details. In any case, I cast
six hundred and ten dollars, the amount of our actual agreement, on
the ground before the brigand and we put Cleveland behind us.
Well, Brother Ted asked him again, What can we do?
Whatever you can to help my people get to Columbia, Joshua
said, his eyes blazing again. At least they can begin preparations for
the revival. If they are here for much longer, I fear that some attach-
ment will be placed on our property. You appear to possess the qual-
ity of leadership. Please help me convince Mr. Quarles to get our
caravan on the road to Columbia once again.
Well, thats exactly what he did. Mr. Quarles turned out to be the
excitable man with the freshly bruised head. A quick and urgent dis-
cussion with him put the Apostles of Redemption back on the road
to Columbia, with an additional passenger; Lustrum Grainger. As we
walked out of the court house, Brother Ted said to me, Lustrum, I
feel that you oughta go with these people. Ill see about the situation
in Cleveland, but unless I miss my guess old Joshua in there wont
make it to Columbia in time to start the revival, and it looks to me
like theyll be needin a preacher. Ill explain your absence to the folks
here. Just go, son; I have a feelin thats the Lords will.
I did preach that revival in Columbia, and to this day its a regu-
lar engagement that the Tabernacle is honored to perform. Many
things have changed since then; I was anointed with the new name of
Sheppard Peters, the Reverend Joshua now lives in retirement in
Nazareth, Pennsylvania, and Brother Ted retired early from Farmun
to become a key man in our organization. All of which brings us to
this place at this time, to consider not where Ive been, not the stam-
pede into the lake of re, but where we all, in our hearts, want so
deeply to go; into the presence of our Heavenly Father
And now Ill go with you, Sheppard Petersto Columbia, or to the
ends of the earth, to spread the good news about what Jesus helped
you do for me tonight.
The show went on from there to a fairly predictable nish, with
renewed promises of peace in the valley in exchange for letting
the Holy Spirit come and take control, and sending a great revival to
our souls. I headed for the door as the aisles lled with people
headed the other way toward redemption, as delivered by Peters and
company. Among those shufing toward salvation that I recognized
was Jack Masons pal, Terrell, having a serious conversation with
himself.
1410 Saturday 31 March 1956:
The overcast afternoons gray light leaked stingily through the bar-
room windows. Hey, Webster, Moses said as the ap-apping of
swinging doors subsided.
Hey yourself, said Webster, squinting in the early dimness.
Did you make good on your threat?
Threat?
The revival. You went?
Oh. Did I ever.
Funny, you dont look saved. Howd it go?
See it to believe it, Webster said, nodding thanks to Ribeye as he
picked the cold Red Cap off the bar. A guilt Guignol and old-time
medicine show rolled into one. Ol Peters laid em in the aisles. You
shoulda been there; it needed someone of the Jewish persuasion.
Youd do well to keep in mind that not absolutely all Jews are
masochists. They probably wouldntve let me outa there til I con-
verted.
Spossible. Lotsa emotion bottled up in there last night. They
mighta worked up a little Christ-killer scenario for you.
Ah, emotion. Thought with no basis in fact. Essential for love,
sex and art, and a pain in the ass damn near anyplace else.
You really wanta reconcile pussy-xation and martyrdom today?
We shoulda gotten an earlier start.
Ah, hell, Ribeye interjected, You know how them preachers are.
They dont think theyve done their job til they got you rollin
around in th aisles, scared shitless about goin to hell or sumpm. I
ever tell you the one about th preacher that us nishin up a ser-
mon, and looked out over the congregation and said Whos ready to
go to Heaven? Everybody thats ready, raise their hands. Well, hands
started goin up all over the room. Pretty soon everybodys hand was
up, except for this one ol snaggle-tooth boy, riit in th middle of the
third row. He just sat there in is Sunday overhalls with his hair
slicked down, lookin back up at th preacher. Well, th preacher
couldnt stand that, so he pointed a nger down at im. You, sir; you
habmt raised your hand. Dont you want to go to heaven? Well, th
old boy looked up at him and said, Sho do; I reckon everbody wants
to go to heaven. Well, then, the preacher said, why aint you raisin
your hand? and the old boy looked up at him and said, Oh, I
thought you us gettin up a load today.
Looks like its gonna be a longer week than most around here,
said Moses, grinning ruefully at the joke as he shook his head. God
save us from the newly-saved. They jump you, fresh from th spiri-
tual retread, when ya least expect it.
Webster laughed. Well, when you consider that mosta these good
folks are pretty damn ill-informed about anything that takes place
moren a hundred miles from here
Yep, Moses grinned as he waggled his empty Red Cap in the air
at Ribeye in request for renewal. With a horizon like that, sumpm
like eternal life could look pretty plausible, couldnt it?
Um-hm, long as its backed up with good theatre. That music
man whipped a pretty decent choir together outa Baptists, Method-
ists, Presbyterians et cetera. Reba was sayin you gave im a ride on
that widowmaker of yours the other day.
Yeah; he walked up to me at the caf and asked me about it.
Turns out hes had a bike or two, so I ran im out to th house to show
off my little collection.
A bible-thumpin biker. Quite a combination.
Yeah, hes a pretty decent guy. And damn glad to be over here.
No doubt. Thats some story he tells. Stowin away not once, but
twice, to get here from Latvia, wherever that is, Webster said, stiing
a belch.
He told you that? asked Moses.
He told everybody that. At the revival.
Oh. Well, youre right, its quite a story, and theres got to be a lot
more to it. Too bad we cant sit im down in here and hear the uncut
version.
Yeah, preachers and bar rooms dont mix, at least in Bisque. Even
though hes not exactly a preacher.
Close enough. Maybe Ill get im out to the house after the soul-
savins subsided. Howd you like that?
Sure. Never had a bad time at Rancho Notorious.
In the meantime, you can get some pagan relief down at your
favorite salon of th silver screen.
Oh, yeah? Whats playin?
A 1942 revival, brought back by unpopular demandWhite
Cargo.
A single word parted Lee Websters lips. Tondelayo.
Yes, my boy, TondelayoHedy Lamarr with th deepest tan youll
ever see on a white girl. You remember.
Who could forget? The whites of her eyesand teeth. Seems like
theyre glowin in the dark. And that whip work; she even makes a
human being outa Walter Pidgeon. How longs it gonna run?
Right through the weekend. Dont you read your own commer-
cial copy?
Tondelayo make time stand still.
Oughta take some of th revival chill off, anyway. Give th non-
believers and fence-straddlers a little sumpm to take their minds off
all the new-found sanctication.
Yes, indeed, said Webster, hard to tolerate much sanctication
in th presence of a hard-on.
- 507 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 3
Go Down, Moses
0935 Monday 2 April 1956:
Guess its revival hangover, Moses thought as he walked into an
almost-deserted Bisque Caf. Hed driven downtown with the win-
dows down, the damp morning sweeping gently over his face, having
left the Hamm County Beverage Company anchored in a most
unnatural Monday morning calm. The mood here appeared to be
the same. Even Rebas perpetual perkiness was somehow attenuated,
as though she were projecting it through gauze. Like lm of a past-
her-prime actress shot through scrim, but for emotional effect
instead of softening the striations of survival. She, like the rest of his
fellow Bisquites whom hed seen so far this morning, seemed to be
moving around smoothly, quietly at about three-quarter speed.
Good mornin, Mose, she said as she lled his cup.
Mornin, Reba. Not much trafc today.
No. Habm been much atall. Guess a lot of people are keepin to
themselves this mornin, digestin what th revivals meant to em.
Dont guess Id mind doin that myself, if it us so that I could.
Yeah, I imagine so. Taking a good look at yourself s a strenuous
thing to do. Any sign of the revivaleers this mornin?
Theyre gone, she said, unable to keep a plaintive note out of the
words. Theyus checked out by eight. Brother Ted said theyd be
leavin as soon as their meetin with th Council was over.
Thats a hard-working bunch. Did he say where they were going
next?
Florence. First meetins Friday week.
All the way across South Carolina, said Moses. Well, they wont
be forgotten around here for quite awhile, or Ill miss my guess.
No, sir, Reba said, glancing across the street at the church.
Thats for sure. Well, lemme see whats goin on in th back. You
waitin on anybody?
Nope. Just thought Id stop in for coffee and see whous around.
Well, if youre gonna be here for a little while, Id preeshate it if
youd keep an eye on things for me for just a coupla minutes.
Sure.
Hed asked Dieter to plan on pointing the green Studebakers bul-
let nose back to Bisque after the Tabernacles next engagement. That,
he gured, would give him time to work out a rationale for the soon-
to-be ex-Minister of Musics becoming a Bisquite. He hadnt gone
much beyond the idea that his post-revival popularity and ecclesias-
tical cover would let him say something on the order of I felt called
to return. His visits to the towns churches would then be likely to
produce some kind of job offer, Bisque being Bisque, making his pre-
departure sojourn as uneventful as possible. The details underlying
that master view, however, were still to be worked out. Hed start
with their already-established mutual love for motorcycles and work
things out from there. Another immediate question is when, and
how much, of this new development Dieter will gures necessary to
share with his KGB masters, in the interest of forestalling an
untimely eld inspection. At that point, Jack broke in on his cogi-
tation. Good morning, sir.
Go Down, Moses 509
Startled, Moses looked up at him. Hey, shitbird. Thought youd
be on the road by now. Then, as he focused on the boys face, he
asked You all right?
Yeah, but I didnt get much sleep. Stayed up most of th night
talkinor listeninto Ricky.
What now?
Im glad youre sittin down. He called me after the revival closed
last night. Hes joinin up with em.
Moses swung his head up to look at the ceiling in resignation. All
he said was Mmnh, mmnh, mmnh, mmnh, mmnh.
And that aint all.
Moses looked over at him morosely. What more could there be?
Diana and Doloresre goin too.
Moses, who had bowed his head slightly, now raised it to look
once again at Jack. Let me ask you one thing.
What?
Are they takin that fuckin car with em?
Jack looked at him for a split second before breaking up; in
another they were both laughing maniacally. Reba looked around
the kitchen doorway in time to see the two of them convulsed, Jacks
head on the table and Moses holding on to its edges as though he
were trying to keep it from ying away. She started to say something,
thought better of it, and withdrew, shaking her head.
1205 Monday 2 April 1956:
Barry Edwards sat alone at a table in the Elks Club bar as Moses
walked in, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He stood,
portly and immaculate in gray seersucker slacks, short-sleeve Gant
oxford cloth shirt and blue-red-yellow Paisley tie, waving a hand. He
extended it as Moses reached the table. Mr. Kubielski. he said with
a broad smile. Thanks for accepting my invitation.
I was too intrigued not to, Moses said as they shook hands.
Well, Mr. Edwards; its been a while.
Yes it has. I still remember the day that Bruce Goode brought you
here for lunch not long after you moved here.
About ten years ago, said Moses. Habmnt set foot in here since.
Not much has changed, near as I can tell.
No, not much; I guess thats the way most of us prefer it. You
havent changed much, either; wish I could say the same. A congres-
sional campaigns no way to lose weight.
No, I guess not. Nor keep your hair, either, Moses thought as he
looked at Edwards widening expanse of scalp.
How bout some lunch? Asked Edwards, beckoning to a waiter
as he pushed his chair back.
Hows it goin, anyway? Moses asked as they sat down in the din-
ing room.
Uphill, as you might guess. I bit off a hell of a chunk, switching to
the Republican party and taking on somebody with a statewide iden-
tity. Secretary of State may not be a glamorous job, but old Clarks
used it to make a lot of friends. And one of ems a friend of yours.
Whos that?
Pap Redding. Shall we order?
I remember that the special was good the last time I was here,
said Moses, looking up at the waiter. Whatever it is, Ill go with it
again.
Make it two, Edwards said, returning to his subject. Theres a
handful of people in the Tenth District whose opinionsre greatly
respected. Paps one of those people. So are you. People tell me that
he respects your opinion above anyone elses.
Well, Im fortunate to have him as a friend and business partner,
but Ive learned a great deal more from him than hes ever likely to
learn from me.
Based on what Ive heard, Id say you were a very modest man. I
certainly admire that. But you managed to see that I got my ass
kicked in a couple of commission campaigns. And based on what I
Go Down, Moses 511
know about the way you do business, Id guess that your politics
werent exactly in what we might call the mainstream around here.
Im not sure that I follow you, said Moses.
I mean, said Edwards, putting a nigra into a management job.
Thats not politics. You used the word yourself; its management.
Ralph Williams is a hell of an asset to my business, and if he werent
hed still be loading trucks.
I understand that; anybody who runs a business should. But as I
said, it doesnt exactly reect mainstream thought in the Tenth Dis-
trict, or Georgia in general for that matter. But thingsre changing,
and thats why I wanted to talk to you, one on one, without any cam-
paign staff looking over my shoulder.
Go on.
What I came here to do today, Edwards said, his gaze one of
gravitas, is to invite you to join us.
Moses smiled. By us, you mean the Republicans.
Yes, I do. The Democratsve had it their way in the South for far
too long. Its time for a change, and Im asking you to join with us to
bring that change about.
You mentioned Pap Redding a minute ago. I assume your invita-
tion extends to him, too.
Of course. If you think hed consider it.
Of course. And you think that he might, if I asked him to.
I think that its probably the only way that he would, Edwards
said, goosing the gravitas to a maximum.
So youre running for Congress, Moses said, poker-faced, to
change things. What things jyou have in mind?
He watched Edwards heavy features relax several percent as he
shifted into campaign mode. Georgias grown fast since the warI
mean World War Twobuts its going to grow even faster in the years
ahead. Its the largest state east of the Mississippi, and it needs lead-
ers with vision to link its Confederate past with its manifest destiny
as a leading state of the union. Reveilles been sounded; it was the
Supreme Courts decision in Brown versus Board of Education. As
long as our lawmakers insist, as they did when they adopted the new
state ag this February, on reghting the War Between the States
every chance they get, the rest of the countrys gonna go on lookin at
Georgia and its people as Gods-Little-fuckin-Acre come to life.
Georgia needs new leadership, in Washington, in Atlanta, all over the
damn state; people wholl think more of the future than of the past.
Segregations the past; one-crop cotton farmings the past; new
industries, nuclear energythat big-ass monster over there, the
Savannah River Projectare the future. And Georgias future can best
be served by the Republican party.
Even if you and I agree on alla that, said Moses, Gettin Georgia
people to vote for the party of Lincolns gonna take some doin. Id
say theyd be a lot more likely to object to the Democrats way of
doin things by votin for a states rights candidate, the way they did
across the river in 48 for Thurmond.
You bring up an interesting point, Edwards said, pausing as the
waiter set bowls of vegetable soup in front of them. Strom sure as
hell didnt think hed win the presidency in 48; his objective was to
be recognized as the leader of the countrys states rights movement.
And he succeeded, at least to the point of being elected to the Senate
by write-in votes. And hes very likely to be reelected this year. But
even though he went against the national party in 48, hes still a
Democrat.
Thats my point, said Moses. All that happened right across the
Savannah River. What makes you think Georgia votersll tolerate a
Republican?
Theyll not only tolerate Republicans, theyll do it for the same
reason that they tolerated Strom boltin the party in 48. Theyll do it
because the Democrats in Washingtonre taking away their rights.
And if they dont do it in this election, theyll do it in the next, or the
one after that.
Youre willing to wait that process out?
Go Down, Moses 513
Strom was, said Edwards. And Ill tell you something else.
Whats that?
Hell be a Republican, himself, before its over.
Thatll be the day, said Moses, popping the last crispy-soft bite
of pan-fried catsh into his mouth.
In the meantime, were building the Republican Party of Geor-
gia, and wed like your help, Edwards persisted. What can I do to
make that happen?
Convince me that you mean it. Not that I know how you can. I
wouldnt even mention it to Pap otherwise.
I knew youd be a tough customer when I called you. But if I can
convince you, then Ill know Im on the right track. Maybe I oughta
start with a question; what do you get out of being part of the status
quo?
If you assume that I want something out of being part of the sta-
tus quo, said Moses, then my answer would have to be not a
whole lot. Im no politician, or any kinda kingmaker, either. Nailing
Edwards with a steel gaze the man hadnt seen before, he asked him,
You wanta know why I backed Browne in the commission elec-
tions?
Edwards did what he could to keep his eyebrows from climbing
up his commodious forehead as he returned the gaze. Yeah, he
said, his voice dropping an octave, I do.
I just didnt like you, or the crowd you run with, all that much.
Edwards forcible exhalation produced a gentle apping of cheeks.
Well, thats straight enough. And honestly, youve never been
exactly my cup of tea either, so I dont guess it should surprise me.
We dont have all that much in common.
Weve got Bisque in common, Moses said, one corner of his
mouth twitching upward. I think we just handle livin here in dif-
ferent ways.
Edwards regarded the twitch with a seconds-long blank look.
Then laughter kicked in, a gentle shaking in his chest that worked its
way into his shoulders, oscillating his head side-to-side in a short
arc. Slapping the white tablecloth, he went on laughing as he waved a
hand for the check, then looked back at Moses. Les have coffee in
the barIrish coffee, OK?
Its a little hot, to me, for Irish coffee, Moses said as they stepped
up to the bar. How about a Stinger instead?
Whats that? asked Edwards.
Brandy and white crme de menthe, shaken. This time of day,
they should probably be on the rocks.
Make it two, George, Edwards said to the waiting bartender.
They carried the drinks to the same table in the corner that theyd
left earlier.
Thats pretty good, Edwards said after his rst sip. He quickly
took another, then said, I hear tell youre quite a pilot.
I better be, said Moses, taking the abrupt change of course in
stride. Gene Debsn I bought us a fairly hot bird last year. Itll be my
ass if I ever let it get aheada me.
You had a pretty good instructor, of course.
None better.
Think hed take me on as a student?
It was Moses eyebrows turn to climb toward his scalp. Hard to
say. Gene Debs business is crop dustin, yknow.
If he would, Edwards said, gravitas returning momentarily,
how dyou think Id do?
Even harder to say. But I hear tell you were a pretty good ball-
player a while back. Where was that, anyway?
Georgia, then Chicago, til my knees gave out.
Well, Id guess that you probably have the reexes and coordina-
tion to y. It takes a lot of time, though; I mean you couldnt just y
once or twice a month and make any progress.
I wouldnt expect so; I couldnt do it during this campaign, or if
Im in Congress. But if Im not in Congress, Im gonna want some-
thing to take my mind off th fact that Imnot there.
Go Down, Moses 515
Ever thought about motorcycles? A bikell give you a lot of the
same kind of exhilaration, with a lot less demand on your timeand
your money.
Edwards grimace was slight but unmistakable. No. Doesnt have
the same appeal to me at all. Besides, the townd be scandalized. To
say nothin of my wife.
Oh, well, Moses grin was openly derisive, If its appearances
youre worried about
I hafta be concerned about appearances, Edwards interrupted,
signaling George for another round of drinks as he did. No offense,
but thats probably the main thing that puts people off about you,
Moseyou mind if we make it Mose and Barry? You just dont seem
to give a shit what people think.
I dont care, Barry, Moses said, straight-faced. About people
who think that they should, or can, change the way I choose to live.
Fuck em.
I honestly dont understand how you can say that. You mustve
known what living in a town like this is like, particularly for busi-
nessmen, when you decided to live here. Certain thingsre expected
of all of us.
Well, as far as Ive been able to determine, most of history
involves unmet expectations. Not many people around here
expected that youd turn Republican, did they?
Edwards, exasperated, shook his head. Its not the same thing,
and I think you know it. Making certain kinds of changess OK,
because they have the potential of making things better for lots of
people. Others arent OK, because
Because they just make things better for a few? asked Moses.
Yes. Like your motorcycles. They
Actually, I was thinkin about the industry youre a part of. Where
management and stockholders live high on the hog, and the lint-
heads skin by at a dollar an hour.
Hopkins Mills pays an average of a dollar sixty-ve, objected
Edwards, draining his glass.
If you can keep them comin to work for that, more power to
you, said Moses, catching Georges eye and circling a nger above
his head. But youre in deep water when you tell me that I should let
the opinions of people like you affect how I live.
Oh, no, thats not what I mean at all, Edwards backpedaled. Im
just saying that, long term
Long term, observed Moses, were all dead; and you and I are
better than halfway there. Have you had much fun, Barry?
Edwards looked at him for a long moment. Fun? he said nally,
the word coming out as a bitter chuckle as George set fresh drinks in
front of them. Fun? he said again as the Negro withdrew. You
come from the place that I do, funs the last damn thing you think
about. His words stretched out as his below-the-Fall-Line dialect
surfaced. You know what you thank about rst? He drank half of
the fresh drink in one gulp. Survivin. Survivin, and puttin as much
distance as possible between yosef and a South Georgia mules aiess.
I ran away fromthat sitchashun as fast as I could, carryin a fuhbawl,
straight outa high school, runnin as hard as I possibly could, rst
fuh one coach, then fuh nother. Coach Thomas, Coach Butts, Coach
Halaseach one of em helped me get a little farther away from ever
havin tlook that mule in th aiess again. Cost me my knees, but fuck
it. Im an All-American, even if it was second team, an I cant ebm
remember what a mules aiess looks liike.
Its quite a ways, said Moses, from there to here, sure enough.
Dont sound like much fun to me, though.
Funs for kids, if theyre lucky. You ever hear that scripture,
When I became a man, I put away chiildish things?
Seems to me I have. But if you put fun in the category of childish
things, you make a serious mistake. Could it be that, since Consoli-
dated bought yall out, youve conceded what a bore life in this little
burg really is, and that succeedin somewhere besides the mill culture
Go Down, Moses 517
you married intod be fun? What the hells the good of life if theres
no fun in it?
My candidacys got nothin to with fun, said Edwards as he set
his empty glass on the table, fuh me fun, if thats whatcha wanta call
it, sin watchin my kids growin up, makin sure they have evythang
they need, and bein a granddad one day. You got any chillun?
That hasnt been my good fortune, at least not yet.
Best get about it, boy; you aint gettin any younger. Ginnymy
wiifesaid her friendss givin long odds you an Paps daughterd get
married, back when yall bought Harvey Fulford out.
Hope they didnt get too many takers, said Moses. Miz Mason
and Ire just friends. I think a whole lot of her boy, too. Wouldntve
minded bein his daddy, not one little bit.
No, I reckon not; hes a smart young man. Set out to be a helluva
ballplayer, too. That bidness with th Terrell kid
Was very unfortunate for th Bisque Bears and their fans, Moses
interrupted, but otherwise of very little consequence to th fate of th
world. Im sorry th kids had to live through it, and that th adults
involved handled it th way they did, but Tech signed Terrell outa
Taylor just the way they wouldve outa Bisque. And it was a real
growin-up experience for Jack.
You pissin on my laig n callin it rain? Fuck Tech, grated
Edwards, his fury sudden and intense. And fuck Taylor, fer that mat-
ter. Atsa pretty damn hifalutin school for a fuckin insurance agents
kid. Buncha Chattanooga pantywaists. That kid oughta be at Geor-
gia. And would be, if heda kept is dick in is pants.
Theres plentya blame to spread around, far as thats concerned,
Moses observed. Anyway, hes all set to tear em up this year.
No doubt, said Edwards, but he shoulda tore em up for th
Bears. This towns had one chance in th last twenny years twin a
state championship, an we went from that tnuthin overniit, thanks
tsome faist movin on th part of people around Terrell tget im up
air tTaylor sgoddam faist.
Had to be there in time for spring practice, smiled Moses.
An now I hear hes doin a little preachin on thside. Well, han-
gin out with Jack Mason, hell probly get some more hifalutin ideas
waay more than a kid from aroun heres got enny bidness with.
Hifalutin? You fucking peckerwood. You better be glad he didnt
go to Taylor himself, and take half the team with im. And by the
way, that kid would kick your fat ass pretty handily, in any kinda
ght you can imagine.
More bullshit. You start lisnin ta people like you and that
Mammy a his, ya miit forget about who th fuck calls th shots in this
here town.
This is, said Moses, a piss-poor way to get into Paps good
graces. To say nothing of mine. He stood up. Thanks for lunch,
Edwards.
Where the hell dyou think youre goin, Jew-boy? said Edwards,
sneering up at him. This shit aint settled yet.
Believe me, its settled. Be seein ya.
Moses was a few steps away when he heard Edwards stand up. By
the time hed turned around, the candidate for Congress had gained
a good head of steam and was lumbering in his direction, his head
sunk between his shoulders. Moses head-faked to the left, then stuck
out his left foot. Edwards went down in a heap, the breath knocked
out of him. He rolled over on his back, unable yet to gasp for breath.
Just stay there til Im gone, said Moses. Ive never killed any-
body, but a sorry sonofabitch like you could screw up my record.
Shifting on his stool, one eye out for Jack, Moses reected on the
uniqueness of this Friday afternoon at Ribeyes. Although the legal
drinking age in Georgia was eighteen, today would be the rst time
that he and Jack had drunk together in public. He hoped, not at all
logically, that they wouldnt have a lot of company this rst time. He
was still hoping when Jack burst through the swinging doors in ten-
Go Down, Moses 519
nis whites, which Moses had never seen him in before. Hey, beer
man, he said, grinning broadly and sliding onto the stool on Moses
right.
Hey yourself, Jack Kramer. Didnt know you did that. And so
natty.
Shit. Terry got these for me. I woulda changed, but I ran outa
time. Think well get outa here alive?
Long as we leave early; otherwise wed better see Ribeye about a
coupla pistols. Whatll ya have?
One athosell be ne. Been here long?
Nah. Glad I got here before you did, anyway. Never can tell when
one pissant linthead or anotherll have enough to drink to get up on
his hind legs, temporary though the condition may be.
Yeah. Theres only one letter between pissant n puissant.
And only one between en passant and en pissant, for that matter.
Touch. And its been way too long since we broke out the chess-
board. But enough about this pussy outt.
Done. Whaddya hear from Ricky?
Called this morning. Hes headed back to Atlanta.
Damn. Short career in th ministry. Whatd he do, sober up?
Guess so. But leavin wasnt his idea. Ol Shep run im off.
Moses eyebrows elevated slightly. That right?
Mm-hmm. Said he didnt believe Ricky had th callin, and gave
im bus fare back to school.
Well, the guy aint all bad then. Bus fare. I take it, then, that th
twins do have th callin.
Well, they certainly have sumpm. And I magine its a damn sight
more persuasive than th fuckin callin
Shit, bawey. I cant teach you nothin.

Did jall have a nice cocktail hour? Serena asked him, running
her hand inside his shirt and up and down his back in lazy swipes.
Hed locked the gate to eliminate drop-in company. It was a lotta
fun. He showed up dressed like Don Budge.
My god. In th Bisque Lunch Room? You must love the boy if
youd see him through that.
Well, yeah, I do, now that you mention it. You and Herr Doktor
put a pretty good human together.
I can do nothing less than agreeup to a point. But with respect
to who he is now, we had a major partner.
If you mean me
No. I mean Philip Marlowe. Of course I mean you. If it bothers
you, we can change the subject. Pass th Crosse & Blackwell. She
milked his dick like the extension of an outsize udder, complete with
the little twist at the end.
He lay back on the bed. She leaned over him on her left elbow,
loosening his belt and the button at the top of his pants. Ooh, baby,
look at that, she breathed as clear liquid drooled from his dick. Cir-
cling it just below the head with her thumb and forenger, she
caught the stream as it poured down the sides. She brought the snug
surcingle of her ngers rst up over the head, then down to the base,
spreading the slickness over the thick cylinders full length. It always
surprises me how much of that stuff you put out. She kissed the tip,
pulling back momentarily to look at it, a wiry translucent thread
connecting it to her lips. Returning, she teased the top of the glans
with scores of little tongue-tip licks, making the veins swell under the
skin so they felt like strands of steel cable. Moses groaned. Just stay
where you are, baby, she told him. This is gonna take a while.
She lay alongside him, face on his chest, one leg between his.
Theyd dozed briey, having exhausted each other as thoroughly as
they had ever done. Dusk had slipped into dark as early spring crick-
ets scraped in time to their breathing. The thought that this could be
their last time sent a shudder through him. You cold? she asked.
A little. Dont think I turned up the thermostat when we came
in.
Go Down, Moses 521
Well, you can be a single-minded sonofabitch sometimes. Thank
God.
This from the mouth of one who gives up everything for art.
Youve never thought that was much of a deal, have you?
No. But it wasnt my deal. It was yours. Howre you feelin about
it these days, anyway?
Same as I did the day Jack and I left Los Alamos. Hurtin but
determined.
That could be a Kitty Wells song.
Yeah, but its mine. Im starting to feel like this centurys Camille
Claudel, sans Rodin.
From what you told me about how that story ended, Id say
youre lucky. Did she have any children?
No.
Well, there you go. As determined as you are to leave some big
footprints in the art world, youll never create anything as ne as
Jack.
Youre right. And I know that you think Im a selsh, ambitious
bitch to have raised him the way I have.
No. You did what you had to do. That much I know. I wasnt real
happy about the place that left in your life for me, but I came to grips
with that quite a while back.
I know. I wish youd think about going back to New York with
me. Maybe be my business manager
He cut her off. New Yorks the past for me, sweetie. Ive told you
that often enough. Ill come see you now and then, of course.
You better.
Where do you think Jackll go when he nishes school?
Id hope New York, too, or somewhere up east, but he hasnt said
much one way or the other. I sure dont want him coming back here
for any length of time. Not to be cheek-by-jowl with that misbegot-
ten asshole of God across the river. Call it the instrument of Arma-
geddon or the secular equivalent, you can bet the Redsve already got
it targeted, for sure. His grandfatherd give im the moon to sign on
as his understudy, of course, and screw the end of the world.
No, hed never be satised here, Armageddon or no Armaged-
don.
She snuggled close to him, pulling the covers up around them.
Bisques not the place to come for satisfaction, let alone happiness. I
guess thats the lot of small towns, at least the ones I know about.
Instead of happiness, the town skypilotsll be happy to pursue joy
with you, as long as you let them dene it. Even then, youll do a lot
more pursuing than youll do catching.
And howd your little skypilot handle the pursuit of joy?
About like youd expect. Made im talk dirty while I jacked im
off; havent seen much of im lately.
You are an evil bitch. Makin me buttfuck you on th rst date.
That was no date, she laughed. Anyway, you better not stop
buttfuckin me.
Well, you found out what a hard time I have seein past the end
of my dick as soon as you introduced the concept to my unschooled
libido.
Well, she said, if its any consolation, some people would call
that a fairly long way. Youre a quick study, young man, and Ill miss
you when Im gone.
Whens that gonna be, dyou think?
October rst at the latest. Already signed a lease; 153 East 57
th
St., apartment 5B.
Moses smiled as his eyebrows went up. Nice neighborhood.
Thats a little quicker than Id thought.
To quote Snuffy Smith, Times a-wastin.
Theres some truth in that. Well, be thinkin about what you
want for a goin-away present.
Ill tell you right now, she said.
What?
You in New York for New Years, and about a week thereafter.
Go Down, Moses 523
He reached out to cup the back of her head in his hand, turning
her face so that they were eye to eye. Done deal, he said.
- 525 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 4
Cuba Libre
My Sunday woman bring the Daily News
By Monday woman buy me stockin and shoes
Bed not let my good gal catch you heanh
Ain no tellin what po lil Lucy Mae do
She left one Christmas day
Comin back that afternoon
Next time I seen er boy
It wa da nineteen a June
Bed not let my good gal catch you heanh
Ain no
Tellin
What po lil Lucy Mae do
Freddie Lee Sims,
Lucy Mae Blues
Hiya, Kid, said Moses, waving Jack through the front door. Cmon
in. Hope I didnt wake you up too early.
Nah. Not if I get breakfast out of th deal, anyway.
Gritsll be ready in a couple of minutes, and the bacons done.
Want some eggs?
Maybe, but lets have the grits rst. Might just ll up on them,
Jack said, grinning.
Whats so funny?
Nothing. I was just remembering the rst time you saw grits, in
the cafe. You werent too excited about eatin em that day, and now
youre xin em yourself.
Hell, I had no idea what I was missin. You know, its a pretty
damn ne world when a nickels wortha food can make you feel so
good. Lets sit out back while they nish cookin; grab some coffee on
your way.
They sat on the terrace, looking down the slope of dewy, fresh cut
lawn to the pond. I appreciate you comin out early on your rst
day home, Buddy, because I need to tell you about some stuff, and
this way we wont be interrupted. Nobodys business but ours, and
itll take a little time. Ive been sittin on it for quite awhile, but now I
need to tell you about it.
Jack shifted in his chair to look squarely at Moses. Sounds
important.
Yes, it does, Flx, perched on the driveway lamp post just behind
them, agreed.
It is. And not that easy to tell. Youll want to ask me some ques-
tions, so let me just start and well see how it goes. Ill move along as
fast as I can, but it wont make much sense if you dont have some
background. Lets start with New York. I told you about wantin to
get out of there, and joinin the Navy as a way to get out.
Yeah.
And how I ended up in Cuba.
Yeah. What was that place? Getmore?
Gitmo. Guantnamo Bay. Way the hell out on the east end of
the island. The hottest, buggiest place Id ever been. Ive told you
Cuba Libre 527
about that part, and Ive told you about going back to New York after
my hitch was up, but I left some things out.
Like what?
Like lettin what happened to me down there sour me on the
whole idea of being an American.
What happened to you? What was it?
I fell in love. With somebodys wife, unfortunately. And even
more unfortunately, she was the wife of the guy that I worked for, a
Chief Petty Ofcer by the name of Tanner. Ldia. A beautiful woman,
Cuban, whod made an awful mistake marryin this guy. But it
wouldntve made any difference; I couldntve stayed away from her if
shed been married to the CO.
And she felt the same way?
Yes. We were as much in love as two people that young could be.
She was twenty-three, twelve years younger than Tanner. I was
twenty, and not as grown up as I thought I was. He was a big, red-
headed, loudmouthed boozer, and she was miserable with him. But
we woulda fallen in love whether shed been with im or not.
What did she look like?
Oh, she was small, ve-two, very slim, and dark. Deep blue eyes.
Very Spanish; Basque, actually. High cheekbones. Her familys been
in Cuba for a long time. Sometimes Id see a Basque woman in
Spain, just a few years later, that would have me livin the thing all
over again. But Im gettin ahead of myself.
Another thing I havent told youmy name then was Wessel.
Peter Wessel. Ive told you I went to collegeNew York University,
where my father taught philosophy, to please him and my mom.
They met while he was in Ireland, at University College in Dublin.
She was Jewish-Irish, and even more determined than he was to get
me educated. Trouble was, my heart wasnt in it. Lifell put you in a
slot if you let it; remember that if you forget everything else that I tell
you. The slot life, and my folks, had in mind for me was denitely
not the one that I had in mind for myself. Id started boxing in
Golden Gloves matches when I was fourteen, and my heart was de-
nitely in that. Id won some ghtstwelveby the time I was eighteen,
and I had it in my mind to turn pro when I was twenty-one. I never
told my folks that, but my grades were going to hell because I was
spending too much time in the gym. Ridgewood Grove, way the hell
over in Queens. Id spar whenever I could, picking up pointers on
style, plus a little spare change. I was a middleweight thenjust under
the 160-pound weight limit, and I was starting to make some friends
and get some attention when all the class-skippin caught up with
me.
Theydve just notied most students by mail, but since my dad
was on the faculty they let him know immediately that Id been
thrown out. Anyone in that position wouldve been embarrassed,
but with Papa it was a complete tragedy. He was waitin for me when
I got home that night, with no idea that Id been given th gate. Ill
never forget the sadness in his face. He was sitting in the living room,
a stack of papers beside him, when I walked through the front door.
He just looked at me, saying nothing, with that incredible sadness in
his face. Hello, Papa, I said to him. Whats wrong?
As of today, Peter, he said after looking at me over the top of his
glasses for what seemed like ve minutes, you are no longer a stu-
dent at New York University.
What? I said.
It cant be that much of a surprise. You were warned repeatedly
that you were in danger of being terminated. And now its happened.
The question is, what will you do now?
As you might imagine, I had no answer to that question. After a
couple weeks that were miserable for all of us, I decided to ride over
to Staten Island and back on the ferry. It was Friday afternoon, the
day after Thanksgiving. I saw a buncha sailors standin at the rail,
kiddin around and lookin like they were havin a lot of fun. I got to
talkin to em; their ship, a cruiser, had just come back from the Car-
ibbean. The more I heard, the more I thought that the Navy might be
Cuba Libre 529
a good idea for me. Three weeks later, I was in boot camp at Great
Lakes, Michigan.
After boot camp, I went to Aviation Machinist school. When I
nished, I got orders to Gitmo, in June of 1929. As a Seaman, Sec-
ond-class, Aviation Machinists Mate striker, I was assigned to the
aviation maintenance department, down on th salt ats at Hicacal
Beach. There wasnt much down there; a pier, machine shop, bar-
racks and married quarters, and a seaplane ramp. I went right to
work on the line; it was hot work, but we had a lot of off-duty time,
and booze was cheap. I got to know the guys in the shop, and made
some friends. All non-rated, like me; Seamen, Seaman Apprentices.
The rated guys, petty ofcers, stayed pretty much to themselves.
Gitmo was a big base, and we could play baseball and sh and get
just as drunk for less money on base than you could outside the gate.
The only difference was gettin laid. Sometimes wed go on liberty off
base, and ride the bus to a couple of the towns that were close by,
checkin out the women and drinkin Cuba Libresrum and Coke
with lime. Cubas a beautiful place, but none of us spoke Spanish,
and there wasnt much goin on.
I rst met Ldia at an all-hands party the Saturday after Thanks-
giving. She was with Chief Tanner, of course. There werent that
many wives around; most of them stayed in the States. The only rea-
son she was there was that Tanner had married her while being sta-
tioned at Gitmo. So she and a couple of the other wives were sitting
at a table with the wife of Captain Harris, the station CO, looking
very bored while their husbands either played baseball or stood
around shootin the shit with each other and gettin drunk. She sat
quietly, makin the best of it, her tan skin lookin so good against the
white of her dress.
I had seen her a few times before, and knew who she was. You
dont just see a woman like Ldia and go on your way without nding
out who she is. But this was the rst time Id seen her close-up, and
in a situation where I could make up some reason to speak to her. I
knew I had to; I might not get another chance for months.
Whatd you do?
We were watchin the baseball game. I waited until Tanners team
was in the eld. He was pitchin, so he couldnt keep an eye on her the
way he did when he was waitin to bat, or even while he was on base.
Then I dragged my pal Douglas over to the wives table with me.
Please excuse us, ladies, I said.
Yes, what is it? said Mrs. Harris. They all looked up at us in mild
amazement, her most of all. A COs wife naturally wouldnt expect to
be approached by enlisted men, particularly seamen. Not unless
theyd been mustered for some work detail.
This wont take a minute, maam, I said, Im Seaman Wessel,
and this is Seaman Douglas. He and I are tryin to learn a little Span-
ish, so we can represent the Navy and our country the best way we
can when were on liberty. He and I disagree on the way somethin
should be said, and we were told that Mrs. Tanner is Cuban. We
wanted to ask her whos right.
Well, I imagine she could tell you, she said, glad to see that we
were there on a diplomatic mission. Would you mind settling these
sailors question for them, Ldia?
Not at all, she said. She had this lovely, musical soprano voice;
she looked up at us with her dark blue eyes, smilin. What do you
want to say? I was sure that she saw right through my little smoke-
screen.
Thank you maam, I said, when you order in a cantina, should
you say Da me so-and-so, por favor or De me?
She laughed, showin perfect, small white teeth. De me is the
right way to say it, but most people say Da me. I dont know why.
You might also want to try Tragame so-and-so. Just for a change. It
means Bring me.
I see, I said, Tragame. Thank you maam. Grcias.
De nada, Seamanwill you say your name again for me?
Cuba Libre 531
Wessel, maam. I said. Its German.
Yes, well, thank you for helping them, Ldia, Mrs. Harris said.
That was her way of sayin that this little conversation was over. Its
good to see you men taking such initiative in meeting our Cuban
hosts.
Yes, maam, I said, tryin not to look at Ldia, but doin it any-
way. Thank you very much. And that was it. She was lookin at me,
too, and the thing between us started right there.
When did you see her again?
Not for a couple of weeks. Even though she and Tanner lived
aboard the station, it was a hell of a big place. You didnt just bump
into people outside your unit that much every day. If she hadnt been
as interested in me as I was in herwhich, of course, I didnt know at
the timewe probably wouldnt have ever gotten together. Anyway, I
was walkin out of the Base Exchange one day and I heard her voice
behind me. I turned around at the bottom of the steps; she was sayin
goodbye to another woman, who was headin the other way. So I
spoke to her, just as she turned to walk down.
Good mornin, Mrs. Tanner.
Oh. Hello, she said. How are you, Seaman? She was wearin
one of those peasant blouses, and a full skirt; she looked even
younger than when Id seen her at the beach. Those incredibly dark
blue eyes; the small mouth with perfect lips, her arms that lovely tan,
a little very ne black hair on the forearms. She put her two shoppin
bags down and put out her hand.
Wessel, I said. I shook her hand, wantin to kiss it.
Yes. I remember. Howre you doing with your Spanish?
OK, I guess; havent been outside the gate since I saw you last.
Where do you usually go when youre on liberty?
Oh, different places. Mostly San Antonio.
Its nice there. My family lives in Baracoa, up on the north
coast.
Ive never been there.
Its really lovely. I dont go as often as Id like to; my husband
doesnt like leaving the base that much. Sometimes I get so lonesome
for my family, I just go by myself.
Maybe Ill see you there sometime.
Maybe so, she said. She looked up at me for a few seconds, sayin
nothin. Id better get going, she said. Are you headed back to the
hangar?
Not for awhile. I had the duty last night.
Oh. Well, can I drop you off someplace?
Instead of sayin what I wanted to say, I said No, thanks. I was
just headin back to the barracks. Let me help you with your bags.
I picked up her two bags; we walked across the street to where
her car, an old Model T 2-door, was parked. She opened the drivers-
side door and pushed the back of the seat forward for me to drop the
bags in. Thanks, she said. We stood there by the car, the door open,
not wantin it to be over. Dont forget about Baracoa. Youll like it.
I wont, I said. Will you be goin there anytime soon?
She looked up at me, again in that very still, quiet way. Yes, she
said. Yes, I will.
No sense draggin it out. We became lovers, and the longer we
were together the surer it was that sumpm bad had to happen. We
thought wed be safe in ndio, but we found out theres no keepin a
love affair secret.
So her husbandTanner?found out.
Yes, he did. We didnt know that he had until I was arrested, over
a year later. February the third, 1931. The barracks Master-at-Arms
woke me up early one mornin. There were two guys in Shore Patrol
gear with him. They put me under arrest and in the brig. The charge
was larceny. It didnt take me long to gure out that Tanner was
behind it. He got a guy from the shop, Rogers, a Third Class Petty
Ofcer, to say that he thought Id stolen his money, over three hun-
dred dollars, from him. Theyd found it that afternoon, taped under
the bottom of my locker.
Cuba Libre 533
And they believed im.
You bet they did. And the charge was serious enough that I
stayed in th brig until they set up my court-martial. About six
weeks. You cant imagine what its like to be locked up like that until
it happens to ya. It was like I wasnt human any more. And the brig
was run by the Marines. Bastards. I still dont want to be in the same
room with one. Glad Ziggys outa there. Anyway, they told me that I
was gettin a special court-martial, which is one step below a general
court-martial and one above a summary. The regulations said that
they had to give me a real lawyer as my defense counsel, and it was
my good luck to get a guy that not only knew what he was doin, but
gave a shit. Lieutenant Charles Davis.
He didnt have to spend much time with me to be convinced that
I wasnt guilty. He asked me if I could think of anybody whod want
to get me in such serious trouble. I could only think of one person:
Tanner. I told him about Ldia and me, and while he didnt congrat-
ulate me on my morals, he was real happy to have the circumstances
to use in the trial testimony.
The day of the court-martial nally came. I was scared shitless.
Davis had told me that I could get as much as ve years hard labor if
they found me guilty. That was enough, but the whole process is so
deadly serious that it puts the fear of God into you. A Captain, a
Commander and what looked like the oldest Chief Petty Ofcer in
the Navy sittin as the court. Not Davis, though. Once he found out,
which he did, that Tanner knew about Ldia and me, he put a defense
together that the prosecution couldnt shake. He called Tanner as a
witness. A character witness, for me! There wasnt much that he
could say except good things; my work was good, Id never missed
duty, and so forth. He had old Rogers scared that the whole plan to
get me was goin to come out, so his testimony against me wasnt too
believable.
When Davis made his closin argument, he told the court that
there was no real evidence against me, and that the entire question of
the evidence, of its discovery, and Rogers reason for suspectin me
were suggestive of a plot to exact revenge on me for sumpm Id
done. I think Tanner and Rogers thought that the other one was
goin to break and admit that thered been a plot, but Davis was
smart enough to avoid goin too far into that part of it. That way,
since the court didnt press him to probe further, Ldias and my
affair didnt come out. At least, not in court. They found me not
guilty in about an hour. Enough people knew the truth, though, that
it was impossible for us to see each other again. Within a month, I
was transferred to the Naval Station in Jacksonville, Florida, and n-
ished my hitch there.
What happened to Ldia?
She left Tanner. She wrote me a letter that reached me a couple of
months after I got to Jacksonville, tellin me that three days after
shed moved back to Baracoa, Tanner, who had moved into the
Chiefs quarters in the barracks, was found dead in his bunk. Hed
slit his own throat.
My God.
Yeah. It was one of those things that, lookin back on it, you
could see might be comin, but it was a hell of a shock, to both of us.
And we both felt guilty about it. It really made it impossible for us to
get together again, at least for a long time. We fell completely out of
touch durin the war. You remember when I rst came to Bisque? I
was on my way to Cuba, after all that time, to nd her again.
But you stayed.
Yes, I did. And you know why.
Mom.
Yes sir. Your mother pole-axed me. Nothin I ever felt for any
woman, Ldia included, compares to what I felt for your mother. But
were jumpin ahead again. By the time my enlistment was up in
1933, I was sick of the Navy and, fool that I was, of the country too. I
was bitter about bein court-martialed, about bein transferred from
Gitmo even after Id been found not guilty, and from what Id seen of
Cuba Libre 535
the effect U.S. businesses like United Fruit had had on the lives of the
Cuban people, in Baracoa and, as far as I knew, all over Cuba. I was
back at my parents place by June, and there didnt seem to be any
more there for me then than when Id left four years before. By Sep-
tember, I was on a ship to Germany.
No kidding.
Nope. Since my father was still a citizen of Germany when I was
born in New York, I had dual citizenship. My fathers brother lived in
Berlin, and he agreed to let me live with him and his family. He
owned a large tailor shop, and he thought that he might nd a job
for me through some of his customers. Sounded pretty good to me
at the time.
I guess it did.
So I had a lot to get used to in a hurry. Like the language. I grew
up hearin my parents speak German, and I spoke it with them as a
child, but the important thing for me to be was American, and so as
soon as I went to rst grade I used it very little. My uncles family
helped me out, and in a couple of months, workin in the shop, I was
comfortable again in a German-speakin world. And Berlin was a
pretty hot town; I was gettin to know how to get around, and havin
a pretty good time forgettin Ldia.
One day my uncle called me over to meet someone, who was just
nishin up with a tting. He was in the Luftwaffe, the German air
force; a CaptainHauptmannnamed von Durant. I understand
that you know something about aircraft, he said, after we were intro-
duced.
Yes; I was an aviation mechanic in the Navy, I said.
The United States Navy.
Yes.
But your uncle tells me that you are a citizen of the Reich.
Yes.
The Luftwaffe needs pilots; many pilots. We need people who
love the Fatherland and whod like to y for it. Would that interest
you?
Yes, I said. it would.
Turns out that this Hauptmann von Durant, said Moses, was
an aide to General Milch, the head of the new civil airline, Lufthansa.
I didnt know a lot about it at the time, but the National Socialists
the Naziswere in the process of takin Germany over. Adolf Hitler
had been named Chancellor, and would soon get rid of von Hinden-
burg, the President, namin himself Fehrer. Everyone in Germany
was pretty pissed over th Treaty of Versailles, that was signed to end
World War I. The Nazis had played on the anger to get into power.
The country had been pretty much bled dry by th war, and then th
treaty, and Hitler had promised to make Germany a world power
again.
To make good on that, he needed a war machine. Since the treaty
limited German rearmament to a very small force, they were begin-
nin to rebuild secretly. Part of that rebuildin was the air force, the
Black Luftwaffe. It was buried inside Lufthansa. Thats where I went
to work, on the books as a mechanic. But I was really a student pilot.
I went into a ground school class with about fteen other guys at
Werneuchen, a base just outside Berlin. About halfway into ground
school, we started yin, as new members of Lufthansas Aero Club. I
loved it from the rst time my butt hit the seat of that little HE 18,
the two-seater Heinkel biplane that they used as a trainer. We soloed
in the 18, and then learned some basic maneuverin and aerobatics in
the HE 21, a more powerful version of the 18. I may not have been
th best, but I turned out to be a pretty damn good pilot.
A couple of months later, we took a long train ride into Russia, to
the secret Luftwaffe trainin base at Lipetsk, in the Caucasus. We ew
th HE 45 there, as much as th weather would let us durin the winter
and spring of 1933. When we werent yin, there was always more
ground school, and nights ridin around half-drunk on the squad-
Cuba Libre 537
rons motorcycle/sidecar outts. Ive loved sidecars ever since,
because you can ride em, drunk or sober, in any kind of weather. In
May, we got three new Heinkel 51s, and we spent our last few weeks
at Lipetsk transitionin to them, includin gunnery ights. Theyd be
the same aircraft that wed y later in combat. The 51 was a big,
beautiful single-seater, good for well over 325 kilometers an hour in
a dive. Thats over 200 miles an hour, which was pretty hot stuff for
that time. He paused, getting up from his chair. How bout a grits
break?
They returned to the terrace with bowls of grits and a plate of
bacon, which Moses put on the glass-topped table between them.
We werent back in Werneuchen for long before we were in uni-
form, but it wasnt a German one. In July, they gave us 300 Marks
advance pay and put us on another train, this time to Italy. When we
were across the border, we were issued uniforms of the South
Tyrolean army, and stayed on th train as Italian soldiers until we got
to a town called Asolo. Trucks with Regia Aeronautica stencilled on
th doors met us there, and we rode out of town for about an hour to
what looked like a pretty good-sized aireld. As we rode down a
street that ran along th edge of th hangar area, we saw several Hei-
nkel 51s, all with Italian markins.
When we got out of th trucks, a man in th uniform of an Italian
Air Force colonel, but who spoke to us in German, identied himself
as Oberst Wenckmann, a Luftwaffe colonel. He told us that we were
there to train for combat in th Heinkels, but as Italian Air Force
Ofcers. Those who successfully completed th trainin, he said,
would return to Germany as Luftwaffe Flight Ofcers. Dont think
that didnt excite me; it hadnt been four years since Id been an
American navy swab jockey, gettin kicked in th ass by fuckin
marines.
Wenckmann and his instructors all had own in World War I,
and they put us through th wringer, simulatin war conditions as
closely as possible. We worked at altitude, dogghtin in th mornin,
and down low in th afternoons, stran trenches full of Italian infan-
try with live ammunition. They kept their heads down, wavin bal-
loons on sticks for us to break. That meant gettin really low, to get a
good angle on th balloons, gettin bounced around as th hot air rose
up off th ground. It denitely felt like a real-life experience of what
war in th air was all about, and not everyone could handle it. By th
end of th course thirty-one of us were left, a bunch bein sent back
alive and three dead. If we hadnt realized what a dead-serious busi-
ness wed gotten into when we started, we had no illusions left by th
time we got back to Germany. We were now Luftwaffe ofcers, sworn
to personal loyalty to th Fuhrer, and we were rarin to go, even
though we had no idea where it would be.
How old were you then? Jack asked.
Twenty-six. Along with several others, I was assigned to Group II
of Jagdgeschwader Manfred von Richthofen, based at Juterborg-
Damm, 80 kilometers or so due south of Berlin. We stayed busy trai-
nin throughout 1935, and got a little operational experience when
Germany took back th Rhineland in March of 36. It wasnt much,
but it was welcome after over a year of trainin. It was a clear sign that
Germany would soon be in a real war, somewhere in Europe, in th
very near future. But when war came, it wasnt where any of us
expected.
While I was in th Rhineland, I got a message from my uncle in
Berlin. My mom and dad had been killed in an auto accident out on
Long Island. March 8
th
, 1936. They were cremated, accordin to their
wills, and th ashes were bein held at th undertakers. Thered been
no question of my bein given leave at that point. I didnt get back to
New York til May. My folks didnt have a lot; theyd left me every-
thing, a little over six thousand dollars and their personal effects. I
scattered their ashes into th sea from th fantail of th ship that took
me back to Germany.
In July, our commander told us that we were to be part of a vol-
unteer group that was bein created to support th Spanish National-
Cuba Libre 539
ists, who had revolted against th Spanish government. France and
Russia were sendin volunteers, supplies and weapons to th govern-
ment, and Hitler had decided to join th Italian dictator, Mussolini,
in sendin aid to th Nationalists. It began with th secret movement
of us and our equipment to Spain. We rst went to Berlin, where
they gave us some ratty civilian clothes and 500 Spanish Pesetas each.
We were told that we would be posin as tourists headin for Italy,
takin part in a Nazi civilian program called Kraft durch Freude;
strength through joy. Our mail would be forwarded to us through a
blind address, c/o Max Winkler, Berlin, S.W. 68.
Then, with our uniforms and ight gear stowed in our luggage,
we took a train to Hamburg, where we boarded a ship, th S.S. Usar-
amo. There were large pieces of equipment on deck, lashed down
under tarps. When we got closer to them we realized that they were
our aircraft, disassembled to travel with us. Whatever was goin on in
Spain, th plan seemed to be to get us into it as soon as possible.
- 541 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 5
Tradecraft
Instead of Naples, our ships declared destination, we docked at
Cdiz, on Spains southern Atlantic coast, on August th fth, a
Wednesday. We went from there by truck to an airbase near Seville.
Once you were off th coast, it was hot and humid, a lot like Cuba.
We drove through miles of marshland, with feedin cattle wadin
from one patch of long grass to th next. Th marshes began to run
out as we saw Seville in th distance, th land grassy but much drier,
and still hot.
Ofcers quarters were in one of a bunch of newly built, raw-pine
barracks on th west side of th eld. Legion Kondor was stencilled
in big black letters on th front door. There were already quite a few
Luftwaffe people there.
Our Squadron Leader, Hauptmann Linder, and another ofcer,
Leutnant Brck, briefed us on our mission; escortin Junkers 52 tran-
ports that were bringin General Francos troops from Morocco, due
south across th Mediterranean in North Africa, to Seville. Youve
seen pictures of Ford trimotors; pretty much th same thing, but big-
ger. Republican aircraft were operatin off th coast, and we were
there to make sure that th transports were safe from attack. Th
ight times would be two to three hours, dependin on which aireld
was involved. Our aircraft, th six that came with us, would be ready
to test-y on Sunday. Th rest would arrive durin th followin week.
We were to be ready for full ight operations, with eighteen aircraft,
by 1 September.
Brck, a tall, skinny blond about my age, was from th intelli-
gence service. He summarized th general military situation. Seville
and th surroundin area were secure in Nationalist hands; th Repub-
licans controlled th capital, Madrid, and pretty much everything to
th north and east. After landin in Seville, General Francos troops
would proceed toward Madrid, where they would link up with
Nationalist forces in th northwest for an assault on th capital. After
all th troops were brought from Morocco, our squadron would sup-
port th Nationalist advance to th north.
What was th war about, anyway? asked Jack.
A lot of Spaniards were unhappy about Spains changin from a
monarchy to a republic. Most of those people supported th Nation-
alists. And a lot of others wanted to get rid of th Catholic church in
Spain, and give land that was owned by th church and th aristocrats
back to th common people. Most of those were for th Republic.
There was more to it than that, but thats it in a nutshell.
Ive never learned anything at all about it in school.
Yeah. It really got buried within th bigger picture of World War
II. But it was a three year rehearsal for th main event. And after alls
said and done, I dont see that Spains any better off, even though
Franco did keep them out of th big war. They just killed each other
instead. Anyway, our aircraft were ready on Sunday, and after a nal
preight brien on th local area, we began test-yin. I was sched-
uled for takeoff at 10:00 that morning.
Corporal Schmidt, th mechanic assigned to my aircraft, stood
beside it, waitin to help me get aboard. Hows she feel, corporal? I
asked him, shoutin over th idlin engine. Th maintenance crews
Tradecraft 543
had worked day and night to get six aircraft put together and yable
in three days.
Shes all right, Herr Leutnant, but she doesnt like this Spanish
petrol so much; shell be a little down on power. Youll probably feel
the difference. They say that well have more fuel from the Father-
land in a few days.
Th engine sounded just ne, and seemed responsive enough as I
gunned it to get rollin and taxi into takeoff position, headed east. It
didnt want to take throttle quite as quickly as I was used to. I
released th back pressure on th stick to let th tail come up, gradu-
ally goin to slight forward stick. Thinkin of what Schmidt had said,
I held her on th runway a little longer than usual to build up a little
extra speed. As I released th forward pressure, she broke ground
immediately, takin us to about ve hundred feet in a hurry. As I
rolled into a shallow left turn, th engine coughed. I leveled th wings
and reduced power, droppin th nose. She coughed again, then quit.
I was droppin back through ve hundred feet, nose slightly down to
maintain ight speed, and lookin for an open spot to put her in. At
that altitude, I knew Id never get her back to th eld.
I saw what I was lookin for, a pretty good-sized pasture, off th
nose about thirty degrees to my right. I turned toward it as gently as
I could, tryin to hold onto as much altitude as possible. As I lined up
with th pasture, I could see that I had enough left to make it in a
power-off glide. I touched down less than a minute later, stallin her a
couple of feet off th ground to shorten th landin roll. Then my luck
ran out. My left wheel hit sumpm. It turned out to be a large rock,
which I couldnt see from th planes nose-high landin attitude. Th
impact sent me back into th air, right wing down, just enough to let
th nose drop through. I saw th ground comin up again, this time
over my head. I released th controls and grabbed th cockpit rail
with both hands, bracin for th impact.
Th aircraft hit hard, knockin th wind out of me, but my lap belt
held. Th tail had collapsed, leavin my head inches from th ground.
I hurt all over; I didnt know then, but both th bones in my lower
right leg were broken. As I struggled to release th lap belt, afraid to
imagine how long I had before th aircraft would begin burnin, I felt
myself bein raised up. Can you hear me? someone shouted.
Yes, I said.
Well have you out soon, th voice said. And they did. Th voice
was Leutnant Brcks; he had been returnin from Cdiz with a wor-
kin party, and had seen my approach to th pasture. If there hadnt
been enough of them to lift th aircraft, I wouldve been barbeque. I
lost consciousness as they were pullin me out, but he told me later
that th plane blew up a couple of minutes after theyd gotten me to
their truck.
Well, said Jack, Your luck may have run out on you in the air,
but it held up on the ground. What if Brck hadnt seen you?
Then I guess we wouldnt be sittin here today. Well. They took
me to an army hospital in Seville to set my leg. Both bones broken,
about this far below th knee. They brought me back to th aireld
inrmary th next day in a cast. I was sore all over, and just lay
around for th next couple of days, listenin to th aircraft takin off
and landin and readin Hitlers book, Mein Kampf, which struck me
as bein pretty crazy. One of th staff ofcers left it for me th rst day
I got back.
Wednesday afternoon, Hauptmann Linder came to see me. He
said that he was sendin me back to Germany on th doctors advice.
Youre an excellent aviator, Wessel, he said, and the Fatherland will
have much greater need for your services in the future than it does
today. But your leg must have expert attention for a full recovery,
and that attention can best be given in Germany. The group staff will
have you scheduled on a ight within a day or two.
I wasnt happy. Th gas that went into my aircraft, and several
others, had been dirtier than anyone knew. Fortunately, we only lost
one aircraftmine. Fuel line clogged completely shut. Goin back to
Germany without yin a single mission depressed me, and I was
Tradecraft 545
also concerned about my leg. That evenin, Leutnant Brck walked
in. Excuse me, Wessel, he said. I dont want to interrupt your din-
ner.
You can interrupt whatever you like, I said. I wouldnt be here
except for you. Thank you for givin me the opportunity to thank
you before they ship me out.
Yes, I heard. And youre welcome; youd have done the same for
me. I also heard that youre going to Berlin.
Yes. They say my legs in too many pieces to be xed here.
Well, youll be back in one piece before you know it. Listen,
would you mind if we spoke English? I like to knock off the rough
edges whenever I can.
Sure, go ahead. I enjoy it, too. You know that I grew up in th
States.
Yes. Hauptmann Linder told me. Born there, he said. Wheres
home?
New York. Know where that is?
Yes. The Bronx is up and the Batterys down.
So youve been to th States?
Yes. I went to school there. Loyola, in New Orleans.
An odd place for a German to choose.
Well, I guess it wouldve been, except that I already lived there.
My father worked for Deutschesbank. He ran the New Orleans
ofce.
So you came back to Germany after school.
Yes. My family left soon after the U.S. stock market crash in 1929.
They allowed me to stay to nish work on my degree, and I came
back the next year.
Now Im hearin a little New Orleans. When you say yee-ah for
year.
He laughed. Yes. Once my family was gone, my English got
much more colloquial. Well, I should go and get packed. Ill look for-
ward to more English on the trip back.
Th trip back?
Yes. Im going back to Germany. Meant to tell you when I rst
came in. Were on the same ight.
Damn. I came all this way, and now Im goin back; without ever
gettin th chance to see anything of th country. How long have you
been here?
Since February. And its unfortunate that you wont have a
chance to see some of Spain. Its very different from Germany and
the States. From what Ive seen, the Spanish people will make it
impossible for their country to succeed as a modern state.
Hows that?
Too individualistic. They seem to be very difcult, if not impos-
sible, to govern. Almost from the rst day that I spent here, I heard a
phrase that sums th individual Spaniard up perfectlyViva Yo.
Viva Yo? Whats it mean?
Literally, Long live me; symbolically, fuck you.
I laughed. Yeah, I can see where we Germans would nd that to
be a frustratin attitude.
By th time we got to Berlin, Dieterthat was his rst nameand I
knew each other pretty well. He was returnin to duty at th head-
quarters of th intelligence serviceth Abwehrand said hed visit me
at th hospital. He came th next week, on th day th doctors gave me
th bad news. I had lost enough bone in my leg that resettin it had
resulted in its bein slightly shorter than th other one. It meant that
Id be medically disqualied as an aviator, besides walkin funny for
th rest of my life.
Well, congratulations to you on your new rank anyway, Herr
Hauptmann, I said, notin th change in his uniform. We must cele-
brate that, anyway.
Yes, we must. And I thought you might like to meet some
friends of mine, Abwehr comrades. We meet sometimes in the
evening at a little cafe, Martas, thats not too far from here.
Tradecraft 547
I could use a little fun for a change, I said. And Im gettin pretty
good on these crutches.
Spoken like a true Kondor! laughed Dieter. Ill pick you up this
Friday at six. Do you have any civilian clothes?
I shall by Friday, I told him. My uncle, the tailor, will see to it.
Martas was a short drive from th hospital in Dieters car, a large
Mercedes, driven by a soldier. I see youve already spent your pay
raise, I said.
I couldnt buy this wagon with my next two raises, he laughed.
This is an Abwehr car. We turned off th Kurfurstendamm and onto
a narrow side street, stoppin in front of Martas. Th sergeant driver
helped me out with my crutches.
I could need a little more help by th time we leave, I said.
Dieter laughed again. Dont worry, we always return heroes of
the Reich in one piece. They walked on either side of me, down the
several steps to the cafe.
Good evening, Herr Hauptmann Brck, said the hostess. Your
friends are already here.
We made our way to a table at th far end of th cafe, where three
men stood up in unison when they saw us approachin. Peter Wes-
sel, Brck said, may I present Franz Kreigmann, Josef Lauer and
Herr Doktor Oberst Lizst.
Kreigmann and Lauer were about th same age as Dieter and me;
th OberstGerman for colonelwas a man a little taller than me, in
his early forties, his hair already goin gray, but obviously very t. He
spoke rst, as th waiter brought glasses for us.
Good evening, Herr Leutnant. Please accept our thanks for your
valiant service in Spain.
Thank you, Herr Oberst. The valor was Hauptmann Brcks; its
because of him that Im here today.
Yes, much valor has been shown in Spain, and there will be
much more. Dieter behaved in the best traditon of the Wehrmacht.
It isnt often that an Abwehr ofcer can be publicly recognized for
heroic behavior. He raised his glass, which like the others had been
lled by the waiter from the bottle of Martells Cognac that sat on the
table. Sieg heil!
We all responded, Sieg heil!
We talked and drank for about an hour, mostly about how th
war was goin. Then Kreigmann and Lauer left, with much hand-
shakin and smilin, leavin Oberst Lizst, Brck and me to ourselves.
As soon as they were gone, Lizst asked Brck to have th car, which
turned out to be his, brought up. He and I sat side by side headin
back to th hospital, with Brck sittin facin us in one of th jump
seats. He wasted no time gettin to th point. Im sure you were sur-
prised, he said, to have met me under these circumstances. Again,
Dieter is responsible. He told me about you and the unfortunate cir-
cumstances that have brought you back to Germany. Youve given
much to the Fatherland, and now I must ask you to consider giving
even more.
He wasnt kiddin. Turns out he was th Abwehrs deputy director.
Brck had told him my story, and he immediately ordered him to
arrange our meetin. He wanted to send me back to th States as a spy.
One of our best agents, operating in New York, he said, has
urgently requested a qualied agent to assist him. He has been very
successful in obtaining information on the Americans war produc-
tion capabilities, particularly the aviation industry. I would like to
send you to help him in this vital mission.
Lizst said that my American passport, uent American English
and aviation experience made me perfect for this job. These quali-
ties, he said, outweighed my total lack of experience in intelligence.
We can teach you tradecraft a hell of a lot faster than we can nd
someone else who knows what you know, he said. I hope I have
convinced you; if not, maybe I should add that an immediate pro-
motion to Hauptmann will be yours if you accept. He explained that
th Abwehr would handle th mechanics of my transfer.
Tradecraft 549
Of course, I accepted on th spot. Where else could I make a more
important contribution to th glory of th Fatherland? And there
might be another quick promotion down th line. Besides, it prom-
ised to be very interestin, and more than a little dangerous. I saw
myself, not yet thirty years old, becomin a much bigger sh in world
politics than Id ever dreamed. By th time we got to th hospital, they
had laid out th early stages of th process of turnin me into a spy. Th
man whom I was to assist, Major Emil Kramer, was part of th
Abwehrs Bremen operation. As soon as I was released from th hos-
pital, Id be transferred there for several weeks of trainin in what th
Oberst had called tradecraft.
I reported to my new boss, Commander Braun, at th Abwehrs
Bremen ofce at 0700 on Monday mornin, November 15. Complete
with my new boots that had th right sole built up to compensate for
my short leg. I had expected a typical old-school naval ofcer; I was,
to say th least, surprised. He was short, fat and wore his uniform like
a storekeeper. He was also one of th best intelligence ofcers in th
Reich. So, Wessel, he said, I see you grew up in a port city. You
should feel at home in Bremen.
Yes, sir, I said. And my father is from Danzig. I always feel better
when I can smell the sea.
That makes two of us, he said, smilin. Do you hear from your
parents often?
No, sir. Theyve passed away.
Oh. Im sorry. Well. My orders are to have you aboard the
steamer Altona on 3 December. Weve no time to lose.
From then until I boarded th ship, I wondered why Commander
Braun gave any thought to how Id like Bremen, because I saw damn
little of it. Th Abwehr, typical of a German organization, was thor-
ough. Its boss, Admiral Canaris, had decreed that Abwehr agents be
ready for anything, and Brauns ofce took him at his word. Th term
tradecraft, I soon realized, covered a lot of ground, and I spent all
day, every day, gettin my arms around it. Codes, microphotography,
invisible inks, agent contact, everything you ever read about spyin.
These guys had it down in black and white, along with instructors
who took it personally when you didnt spit it back to em verbatim.
By th time th Altona weighed anchor, I probably knew as much
about intelligence work as anyone whod never actually done any. Th
ship wasnt th fastest craft in th Hapag-Lloyd registry, so I had a few
days to get it all settled down in my head. I also had time to catch up
on my leg exercises, which hurt like hell, and it helped a lot to do
them out on th Altonas boat deck, snifn th sea air while my eyes
watered. I was determined to get my leg back, at least as much as I
possibly could, before startin to work.
My cover story was that I had been injured in a car accident in
Berlin while workin for Lufthansa, and had come back to New York
lookin for work. I was to be th ofce manager for th Kramer Com-
pany, an export consulting rm which I had been told would be
doublin its staff when I reported for work. It was just old Emil and
me, on th second oor of a big brownstone up on Riverside Drive.
He worked there and lived there, and so did I; it was a big place, quite
suitable for accommodatin th occasional overnight guest. Emil
understood; he wasnt that old.
Emil had th guts of a cat burglar. He had hit on th idea of posin
as an investor in companies that produced war materiel, and had
managed to join th American Ordnance Association. Th AOA was a
sort of semi-ofcial organization that all th munitions makers
belonged to, and members had pretty easy entree to plant sites and
most any other classied areas that they wanted to visit. Kramer had
passed himself off, by mail, as a heavy-duty investor in AOA member
companies, and apparently got in just on th strength of that. Typical
of him; ask and ye shall receive. When you dont, just keep on askin.
He had two things above all: persistence and balls. He was an Ameri-
can citizen, a U.S. Army veteran, who had worked in place as a Ger-
man spy in New York City since World War I. Not as part of any of
Tradecraft 551
th rings that had come before or after him; just himself. Hed been a
lone wolf all those years, until he got so busy he needed a leg man.
Emil was tall, thin and bald; and so intense it was hard for me to
imagine him goin to sleep. His eyes were so dark you could say they
were black, set close together over a long bony nose. You can learn a
lot from me, he told me in our rst meetin, with his usual modesty.
Just dont try to learn it too fast. Do exactly as I say, and well get
along. One dayand soonthe United States and Germany will be at
war again. What I, and now you, do will help to insure a victory for
the Reich, and make the outcome of the next war very different from
the last.
That to me, of course, was bullshit. I was too ill-informed then to
realize how right he could have been. Like most people, I didnt take
Hitler too seriously. He was such an ugly little bastard; he reminded
me of Charlie Chaplins little tramp whod found his voice while on a
weeks drunk. He appealed to th worst in people, and to th anger
over th way th way th World Warand there had then been only
onehad ended. I thought he was just another politician; another of
th breed whod like to be king, but counted on oratory and th other
rituals of kissin th publics butt to get there. He fooled me, though,
just as he did almost everybody else. He was th furthest thing from
Chaplin; he was more of an Al Capone, who used his gang to become
th duly-elected boss of a nation. They were kickin a lot more butt
than they kissed, and th majority of Germans were eatin it up.
For me, bein an undercover agent was th most excitin thing Id
ever done. I was an ofcer in th intelligence service of a buddin
world power, and th fact that Id taken a personal oath of allegiance
to Hitler was just part of th required window dressin. I fully
expected to take another oath to his successor when th time came.
Thats how dumb you can be at twenty-nine. All I wanted to do was
to enjoy th game, and leave th dreck to th politicians. They could
talk about world war all they wanted, but as far as I was concerned it
was just to keep them in power. Th wars, such as they might be,
would be little wars; like Spain. Just enough to keep th machinery up
to date and th arms makers busy. In th meantime, we in th intelli-
gence community would have a grand old time keepin th players
abilities in balance. Wed steal their secrets, theyd steal ours, and a
good time would be had by all. And thats th way it went for awhile.
Emil and I got very busy and stayed that way, for th four years or
so between my return to New York and th start of World War II. I
was accepted, on his recommendation, into th AOA, and used my
credentials to tour all kinds of plants in war-related industriesth
Brewster and Grumman aircraft facilities, for exampleand Emil did
th same, plus makin some important friends in Washington. He got
to be on very good terms with several of th senators and congress-
men who served on war-related committees, and cultivated th kind
of friendships with a few of them that let him ask them for favors,
which usually were granted. Id made a few of my own, like a young
Italian guy named John Bisceglia, who Ill tell you more about later.
Th AOA, though, was our hole card. In 1939, for example, th
German battle cruiser Graf Spee got into a ght with three smaller
British ships in th Atlantic, off th coast of South America. Th gun-
re was so loud that seals in a rookery off Punta del Este, a nger of
land that juts out into th Atlantic, were so frightened that many of
them leapt over th cliffs to their deaths on th rocks. Th Spee was
beaten up very badly, and put into th port of Montevideo for asylum
and repairs. Th Uruguayan government wouldnt allow them to stay,
so th captain put back to sea and scuttled th ship.
Scuttled? Whats that? Jack asked.
Thats when you sink a ship on purpose. Ships hulls have big
valves, called sea cocks, that lead out to th skin of th ship, and can
be opened to let in sea water. Theyre there to let th crew balance th
ship in case its damaged, but when you open them, and leave them
open, th ship lls up and goes to th bottom. Th Graf Spees captain
scuttled her to keep her from bein taken as a prize by th British.
When Hitler got th news he went nuts, and demanded a blow-by-
Tradecraft 553
blow recount from th Abwehrs Buenos Aires ofce of how one of th
Reichs prized capital ships was defeated by a couple of lightly-armed
British cruisers. They quickly put together a report of what they
knew about th action, which wasnt much, and sent it to Berlin. It
made Hitler even madder. We were advised of th situation through
our radio link, and were able to give th Fuehrer exactly what he
wanted.
Within 48 hours, we dispatched a full report of th action. Th
source? Th AOA. Immediately after th battle, th U.S. War Depart-
ment commissioned th AOA to send a delegation to Montevideo to
investigate th circumstances of both th battle and its aftermath. Th
delegations nal report was made available to interested AOA mem-
bers very soon after they returned. Less than a month after th action,
we were able to put this report, which was sent through our New
York Consulates radio link, into Hitlers hands. For this, and several
other coups of similar stature, th Kramer operation became very
highly regarded within th Reichs intelligence community. So much
so that th Ambassador, through th chief of United States Abwehr
operations in Washington, came to conde in Kramer as th war in
Europe expanded in th Atlantic and throughout Poland, France and
into Russia.
By 1941, I had had plenty of time to realize how wrong I had
been about Hitler and Germany. We had heard far too much about
what was bein done to th Jews, both inside Germany and out, for
me to believe anything but th worst as far as Hitlers ultimate goal
was concerned. It was world domination, pure and simple, right out
of that crazy little book of his that I had read in Spain. And in Hit-
lers world, there would be no Jews. Absolutely no one outside my
family knew that my mother was Jewish. Had it been known, Id
have been sent back to Germany and put in a concentration camp.
Or killed, like millions of others. It was simple; Id picked th wrong
side in what was already bein called th Second World War. What I
didnt know was what I was goin to do about it.
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s
c h a p t e r 2 6
Next Stop Baltimore
In June, Bremen ordered Kramer to call on Dr. Thomsen, th
Charg dAffaires at th embassy in Washington. Since Germany and
th U.S. recall of their ambassadors in 1938, he had been in charge of
th embassy. It turned out that Viereck, th embassys intelligence
chief, had seen reports of our contacts with th Irish Republican
Army in New York. Th IRA, as its called, is a secret organization
thats dedicated to runnin th British out of Northern Ireland. They
hated th British then, and they still do today.
Kramer had rst contacted their leader, Sean Russell, while he
was in New York in 1940 to see what they might be able to do for us.
Russell told him that they could do a lot, sabotage and assassinations
and so on, as long as th money was right. To drive home his point,
he said that they had men who would undertake th assassination of
Winston Churchill and members of his cabinet, which would be sui-
cide for th assassins. This didnt interest Kramer at all, since his style
was to work as inconspicuously as possible from th inside, but he
duly reported it to Bremen, and one way or another it got back to th
embassy.
By then, after th failure of th Luftwaffes bombin to pave th
way, Hitler had given up on invadin England. He had decided
instead to invade Russia, and did so on June twenty-second. Viereck
saw th IRAs suicide assassins as a way to deal a catastrophic blow to
th British war effort without an invasion. He worked through th
Charg to have Bremen order Kramer to th meetin. He met with Dr.
Thomsen, and Viereck, who sat quietly while Dr. Thomsen asked
Kramer to investigate th likelihood of th IRAs success in assassina-
tin Churchill. Over Kramers strong objections, th Charg
instructed him that if he was convinced that th IRA could bring it
off, he was to negotiate th price and terms. This instruction, he
stressed, came directly from Berlin. He meant that it came from Hit-
ler himself. One of his staff had presented th opportunity to him,
Thomsen said, and he was most enthusiastic at th thought of elimi-
natin Churchill, th inspiration for Englands determined resistance
to Nazi Germany. This absolutely oored Kramer, but now he had
no alternative but to get on with it.
After Russell died in one of our u-boats on th way to Ireland,
Kramer met with th New York IRA leaders, and was told that
Churchill would die within sixty days of th delivery to them of ve
million dollars in cash. They guaranteed th success of th mission,
sayin that th money would be returned if Churchill lived past this
deadline, but that they would still carry out th assassination. It came
to light after th war that what theyd planned to do was to go after
Churchill durin his August meetin with Roosevelt at Placentia Bay
in Newfoundland, usin an IRA-connected crewman from either th
USS Augusta or HMS Prince of Wales, th ships that would bring
them there, as th assassin. As ordered, Kramer reported th terms to
th Charg, but suggested that three million be paid in advance, and
two million on th missions successful completion. Th Charg
agreed. If th IRA accepted these terms, Kramer was to come to th
embassy to pick up th money for delivery to him.
Next Stop Baltimore 557
They went along with th deal. When Kramer advised th Charg
of his acceptance, he was told to be at th embassy at noon on July
3rd, a Saturday. He was to bring two large suitcases, into which th
money would go. Th strategy was for him to appear to be stoppin
by th embassy at th end of a routine trip to Washington, and gettin
out of town in time to miss th congestion of th July 4th holiday. He
was to do everything as usual, takin th train from New York and
back, usin taxis to and from th railway stations, not showin th FBI
surveillance teams anything at all out of th ordinary.
Kramer wasnt happy at what his role in this undertakin had
turned out to be. He told me, over and over, that he should have
never contacted Russell in the rst place, but, havin done so, should
neverve reported th contact to Bremen. It was a vast error in judg-
ment, Wessel, he said. We are not the Gestapo. If this madness suc-
ceeds, well make Churchill a martyr. If it fails, we open ourselves to
exposure and massive retribution directed by Churchill himself.
These people, all of them, are maniacs. Hitler. Thomsen. Viereck.
Theres no real difference among them. Theyve no interest in the
welfare of the German people. This is hubris; pure, simple, and out
of control. And the Irish madman whos volunteered for this could
just as easily shoot Roosevelt, intentionally or not. The IRA offered
that dealtheyd kill both of thembut the price was too highten
million.
He was miserable at havin set this business in motion; it was
murder, and it would harden th British will to prevail against us
even more than th bombin of their cities had done. Churchill was
like God to th English people. Added to th growin awareness of th
persecution and massacre of Jews, doin this would set much of th
world permanently against th Reich, at a time when its resources
were bein stretched to th limit by th invasion of Russia. Th charade
of hirin th IRA to do it would immediately be seen through, and th
allies security forces would run down every suspect with a ven-
geance. This would certainly include our operation.
Emil was convinced that his natural German compulsion to
report our activities in detail had signed th death warrant for Ger-
man intelligence in th U.S. He was inconsolable; he showed no
interest in th work that we had goin on. He literally began to fall
apart before my eyes, as I tried to do both his work and mine. As th
day for th embassy visit grew closer, he spent more and more time in
bed. I nally talked him into havin a doctor come in to examine
him. Th verdict wasnt good news; th doctor diagnosed his condi-
tion as advanced heart disease. Th Churchill plot, apparently, had
just brought it to a head. He put Emil into th hospital on th spot.
That meant that Id have to take his place in Washington; before th
ambulance arrived, he called th embassy, and got Dr. Thomsens
approval for th substitution. While he avoided sayin anything about
it, I think he knew that hed also have to send me to th IRA with th
money.
I left for Washington th Monday before th pickup day, and
checked into th Statler Hotel, where Kramer always stayed. Since I
didnt know any of th people with whom he did business, hed
arranged a few busy work appointments for me, callin on th
ofces of consular and embassy commercial attaches and on Senator
Reynolds of North Carolina, with whom hed managed to become
friends. I found myself wishin that Id be able to do more of this part
of th job, even though it looked like circumstances would make that
unlikely. Things in Europe and th Pacic were movin fast, and th
people I saw that week were pretty well convinced that th U.S. would
be drawn into th war before much longer. At that time, though,
nobody but Japans top politicians and military ofcers knew then
would happen at Pearl Harbor in December. Th diplomats of th
Axis countriesGermany, Japan and Italyand their staffs would, of
course, be leavin Washington as soon as war was declared. And U.S.
security forces, particularly th FBI, would start takin much more
notice of people like Emil and me, operatin illegally on behalf of th
Axis.
I had started thinkin about what all this would mean to me
durin th trip. As an American citizen, I had th option of simply tur-
nin my back on th Abwehr, leavin town and ndin a new job. If I
chose to do that, however, and th Axis countries won th war, Id be
high on th list of traitors to th Reich who would be hunted down
and executed. And th idea of returnin to Germany didnt interest
me at all; th more that I had learned about how Hitler and th Nazis
had changed things, th more that I knew that I wanted no part of
that. Sittin there in th Statler, I began to realize what a tight spot I
was in. Playin around in th spy game put me into th middle of a
real mess. Now, what would happen in th next few days would seri-
ously affect th rest of my life.
Until that day, Id never imagined that Emils vision of Germany
and th U.S., my two home countries, bein at war again would ever
come true. I hadnt realized how deep th anger of th German people
ran, against th outcome of th last war, against th Jews, against th
idea of bein seen by th world as a defeated people. I nally realized,
lookin back on everything that had happened since I came back to
th States, how deeply Hitlerd tapped into this anger. It was frighte-
nin to think about, and it was frightenin for me to think about bein
one of th nation of people that Hitler could drive into doin what I
now knew was bein done, all over Europe. But I kept thinkin about
it, over and over, th way you do when youve cut yourself shavin, but
cant help goin back over th same spot, like you could undo th cut.
Meantime, I had a date with three million bucks. Id bought two
three-suiter leather bags in New York, and gave em a once-over with
some steel wool to take th new look away. Along with what Id need
for th trip, Id shoved enough old clothes, towels and stuff in them
to ll them up. I looked at them, stacked one on top of th other in a
corner of th room, too big to t in th closet, and tried to imagine
em full of money. I was in an incredible situation, and it was all I
could do, sittin there alone in a hotel room, to make any kind of
sense out of it atall. I nally gave up. It just didnt make sense to me.
Turnin onto Massachusetts Avenue, my cab pulled up in front of
th embassy a couple of minutes before noon. As th driver dropped
my bags and turned to leave, th front door opened. A tall man about
my age looked at me, then down at my bags, then back at me, with
cool blue eyes. Hauptmann Wessel.
Yes, I said.
Please to follow me.
He took my bags and walked down th long hall, stoppin at an
open door about halfway down on th right. Settin one of th bags
down, he rapped lightly. Your Excellency, he said to th white-haired
man seated at th large desk on th far side of th room. Hauptmann
Wessel is here.
It was Dr. Thomsen, the Charg de Affaires. Thank you, Johann,
he said, gettin up and walkin towards us. Please handle the Haupt-
manns luggage. Smilin as he extended his hand to me, he said, I am
Hans Thomsen, Hauptmann. Thank you for assisting in this mis-
sion.
It is my pleasure, Herr Doktor, I said.
Herr Kramers condition has not improved?
No, sir. His situation, according to the doctor, is very serious.
Will he be able to meet with the Irish?
I dont think so. I think it would kill him, I said.
Then you must take his place. It is appropriate that a hero of the
Kondor Legion should do so. This mission must not fail.
I understand.
Johann will be here soon with your bags. Were fortunate to have
had the cash available for this opportunity. Another operation for
which it was procured was canceled. Please make certain that you
create no unnecessary suspicion in your handling of the bags. They
will be quite heavy, but you will always handle them yourself. You
appear to be strong enough to make them appear to be of normal
weight.
I see no problem with that, Herr Doktor, I said. With luck, the
opposition will take no notice of me.
Let us hope so. If you are followed, you must evade anyone who
attempts to follow you when you reach New York.
I shall. Johann returned with the bags, which as expected were
very heavy. A cab had already been hailed for me, and I took my
leave, wavin off the drivers assistance with the bags and puttin
them into the back seat beside me. It was a damn tight t.
As we pulled out into th street, my mind raced. Th more I
thought about it, th more I understood th amazin opportunity that
had opened up for me. A hero of th Reich, for th most part because
th Reich needed heroes at that momentwho th fuck, I asked
myself, wants to be a hero of this Reich, anyway? One of th bags sat
beside me, its buckles at my elbow. I unbuckled th bags straps and
slipped its latch. I eased th top half up a couple of inches and looked
inside. And there it was; more money than Id ever hoped to see.
Checkin th drivers eyes in th rear view mirror, I slipped one of th
nearest bundles out and closed th case. Holdin th bundle between
my knees, I pulled a bill out for a close look. It was a genuine, not-
too-new, United States hundred-dollar bill. I made my decision right
then; I became a millionaire, three times over, in th gray velvet back
seat of a 1939 DeSoto.
If I wasnt bein followed, either by U.S. or German security peo-
ple, I could solve my own problems, and save Churchills life, by just
disappearin with these two big bags of cash. But should I try to go
underground in New York, or take my two bags full of new future in
another direction? As these thoughts ew around inside my head, we
kept movin toward Union Station. Before I knew it, we were there. I
made th decision on th spot. I paid th cabbie, walked directly
through th station to th other side to catch another cab. For better
or worse, th money was mine, and Churchill was out of danger, at
least from this operation.
I walked out to look for another cab. My idea was to go to
another Washington hotel until I could work out a plan to keep out
of sight. I didnt know who, or how many, theyd send after me, but I
knew theyd be there, and soon. Th rst thing I saw outside th sta-
tion entrance was a bus. Th sign on th front said Baltimore.
Sumpm told me to get aboard. I slid th bags as close as possible to
th buss baggage compartment, stood there while th driver put them
in, and got on th bus. Th driver collected th $3.50 fare from me and
my fellow passengers, took his seat, and we were off. We pulled up in
front of th Graham, which th driver had recommended at my
request for a good downtown hotel, a little over an hour later.
I registered usin a Pennsylvania drivers license, which I had got-
ten through a source that Kramer didnt know about, that identied
me as Moses Kubielski of Upper Darby. I had also gotten a copy of th
late Kubielskis birth certicate, and usin those documents applied
for and was issued a Social Security card in that name. I kept th
license and Social Security card back to back between a couple of
photos in my wallet. As things developed, I was to be Moses Kubiel-
ski for quite some time. I had gotten a little less nervous about th
bags weight, cautionin th bellman to be careful with my book
samples. Th Graham was obviously used by a lot of salesmen, and
he seemed to handle their weight as though it wasnt anything out of
th ordinary, bringin them up on a cart. I tipped im four dollars,
which he appeared to think was about right.
I hadnt eaten since breakfast, so I called room service and
ordered a hamburger and a beer. It was four oclock. By four oclock
tomorrow theyd be lookin for me, and I could only hope that they
wouldnt be lookin right under their noses. I had a lot of thinkin to
do in a hurry, beginnin with ndin a place for th money. I felt
pretty certain that I could put it a Swiss bank and have it kept secret,
but I wasnt sure. Then I needed to be somewhere that they wouldnt
think to look for me for awhile. From what wed been hearin, th U.S.
and Germany would be at war within a year; as soon as that hap-
pened, theyd have a lot less interest in ndin me or th money, and a
lot less people around to do it. So those were th things I had to do
immediately; hide th money and drop out of sight. Part of th drop-
pin out of sight would be changin my appearance, but I couldnt do
that until I got out of th hotel.
I found a listin for a Swiss bank, Credit Suisse, in th yellow
pages. Id need to get there as early as possible on Monday. Until
then, Id lie low and try to put th rest of th pieces of this puzzle that
Id made for myself together. And Id have time to regret th spot in
which Id put Emil. I felt pretty bad about that at rst, his bein so
sick, but th old guy was a dedicated Nazi and totally professional,
and he wouldnt have lost a minute in doin what he had to do in th
event that Id somehow become expendable. Hed ght his war, for
th Reich, and now Id ght mine, for me. And I felt good about stop-
pin th Churchill assassination attempt before it got started. I also
felt sure that th U.S. and th Allies would defeat Germany, so I was
fairly condent that I could pull this off and stay alive.
It seemed to me that my best chance to go unnoticed would be to
stay in a large city, even if th embassy, or Emil, led a missin persons
report. My experience in Berlin and New York was that ordinary
people, doin ordinary things, became faceless in a big city. With a
new name, some change in my appearance and some kind of every-
day job, I thought I could fade into th background and be pretty
damn hard to nd. Since I was already in Baltimore, I gured Id stay
there until I saw any reason to move.
I slept late on Sunday, had room service bring up a New York
Times, orange juice, coffee and an omelet with whole wheat toast,
and sent my clothes out to be cleaned. There hadnt been room in th
bags for anything but th money and my shavin gear, so Id also be
goin shoppin for clothes as soon as I parked th money. I ate break-
fast, turned th radio on for some music, and looked through th
Times for anything about my disappearance. Nothin. It was, of
course, both too soon and not newsworthy anyway, as long as three
million dollars wasnt part of th story. And th Germans would cer-
tainly keep that part to themselves. So I had a pretty restful day
under th circumstances, readin th Times and listenin to th Sena-
tors-White Sox game on th radio. I smiled to myself every time I
thought about what day it was. Independence Day.
Th Credit Suisse ofce was, I found, just six blocks from th
hotel. I called em at nine oclock Monday mornin and made an
appointment with th manager, Mr. Leclaire, for two that afternoon.
I told th woman who took th call that I would be makin a substan-
tial deposit, and that I would want th transaction kept completely
condential. I called th front desk for a porter and a cart, and th
bags and I took a very short cab ride to th corner of Booker and Jer-
ome Streets, a block down and across th street from th bank. I stood
on th corner until th cab was out of sight. Then, for th last time, I
picked up my load of cash and took it to its nal destination.
Depositin th cash was th simplest thing in th world. We went
into a windowless room with a large, waist-high table in its center.
While two men counted th money, Leclaire explained th banks
obligations to its depositors under both Swiss and U.S. laws. He said
that th bank and all its employees were required by Swiss law to pro-
tect depositors identities from any and all inquiries, and that this
requirement was within th connes of U.S. bankin laws that gov-
erned foreign banks operations. Th cash amount was veried to be
two million, nine hundred eighty thousand dollars, reectin th
twenty thousand that I took out for immediate expenses. I decided
against havin th account be identied only by number, because Id
always have to make withdrawals in person. Th account would be
Moses Kubielskis.
Havin founded th Republic of Me, I walked out of th bank with
two large empty leather bags, a deposit slip, and a checkbook. A
quick cab ride back to th hotel to drop off th bags, and I was back
on th street to do some clothes shoppin. I had decided to look for as
invisible a job as possible, and I needed duds to match. I was already
likin th idea of workin, but not for a livin. At least not in th usual
sense of th word; Id be workin to live like everyone else, but in a
very unusual sense of th word. Anyway, I wouldnt need suits and
ties for th kind of job Id be lookin for. Th yellow pages had a listin
for a mens store, Fitzpatricks, just down th block from th hotel. It
was a little fancier than necessary, but they had what I needed; I
picked out slacks, shirts, a couple of sweaters, a sports jacket, an
overcoat, socks, underwear and two pairs of shoes. I was back at th
hotel by ve.
Th next order of business was a place to live. I wanted to get out
of th hotel as soon as possible. I bought a Baltimore Sun and looked
in th classied ads for apartments. I wanted to live someplace in th
city, so I could walk to work, or ride th bus. I didnt want to buy a
car yet. Even though I had a new name, I didnt want to show up on a
list of new automobile registrations. I found a few listins that
sounded suitable, and th next mornin, wearin new clothes and my
old shoes, I set out on my rst reconnaissance of Baltimore. I picked
up a street map at th rst newsstand that I came across, and took it
into a cafe across th street. I looked it over while I had breakfast, and
got myself oriented. Then I ranked th apartment listins based on
that knowledge, and I had at least a rough idea of where to go rst.
It took me a couple of days to nd what I wanted; besides bein in
a decent part of downtown Baltimore, it had to be comfortable
enough for me to live there indenitely. If war came, as I felt sure
that it would, housin anywhere near Washington would become
scarce overnight, and I wanted to lock myself into as long a lease as
possible. I intended to fade into th workaday world of th city, and to
stay there as long as necessary. I really had no idea how long, or how
intense, th search for me would be, but I had to assume th worst.
Th overnight disappearance of a trusted Abwehr ofcer and three
million dollars wouldnt be shrugged off and forgotten, even if that
ofcer hadnt been part of what would have been th assassination of
th century. Theyd be lookin for me, that was for sure; how long and
how hard theyd look was th question.
Th place that I picked was in a four-story buildin on North
Charles Street, in th kind of quiet workin-class neighborhood that I
was lookin for, a couple of miles north of downtown. Th apartment
was on th northeast corner of th third oor; it had two bedrooms, a
livin room, bath and kitchen. Th rent was seventy-ve dollars a
month. Th buildins superintendent told me that th standard lease
term was one year. I asked him if I could get a lower rent for a longer
lease; after a little negotiation, and my agreement to pay three
months rent in advance, I signed a two-year lease for sixty-eight-fty
a month, with an option to renew for th same period at a rent
increase of no more than ten percent. Since th apartment was
vacant, I could move in immediately.
I had told Foster, th superintendent, that I was recently divorced,
and that I had come to Baltimore to start a new life, havin sold a
parcel of land that had been left to me by my father to provide th
funds to do so. Id be needin some new furniture, since Id agreed
that my former home in Philadelphia, along with its contents, would
go to my wife as a part of th settlement. I asked im if he could rec-
ommend a furniture store that sold reasonably-priced lines, since I
needed to stretch my money as far as possible while I looked for
work. He gave me th names of two nearby stores, where I found
what I needed. I wished that I couldve spent more time pickin out
things, since this was th rst furniture Id bought in my life, but that
wasnt possible. What I had to do was move as fast as I possibly
could, and by takin what I could get from these stores stock, I was
able to move in on Saturday, just a week after Id hit town.
I settled into apartment 312 on 1769 North Charles, near th
intersection with West Lanvale, and took th next few days to get
acquainted with th neighborhood. And it was a real neighborhood,
with drug, dime and grocery stores, a couple of restaurants, a movie,
a barber shop, newsstand, library, doctors and dentists within a few
blocks, a few apartment buildins and lots of houses on either end
and up and down th side streets. Downtown Baltimore was due
south, just a short distance away. I could look for a job downtown
without needin more than a bus ride to get there.
I didnt go out of my way to talk with a lot of people at rst; Id
decided to let my hair and beard grow as a little bit of a disguise. Th
less conversation between me and my new neighbors durin that pro-
cess, I thought, th better. In th three weeks or so that it took for th
beard to look presentable, I spent a lot a lot of time settin up th
apartment and monitorin th newspapers and radio for any mention
of my disappearance. I never heard or saw anything about it; th
more I thought about it, th more I could imagine how it made sense.
Since I lived at Emils, there was no one wonderin about a vacant
apartment or back rent. And neither he, th embassy nor th IRA had
anything to gain by havin anything at all point to th Churchill plot.
Theyd obviously been able to keep a lid on th situation, and now
they could come after me without th handicap of any news people
gummin up th works. I just had to hope that th search wouldnt be
thorough enough, or last long enough. But three million bucks is a
lot of money. Talk about frustration; there I wasone day with very
little, th next day with th means to do anything I wanted to. But for
those ve months until Pearl Harbor, all I could do was hide.
As it turned out, I never had to leave th neighborhood for work.
I had gone to th movieth Strand Theatrea couple of times. Th
third time I went, a HELP WANTED sign was out front. I asked th
woman in th box ofce what kind of help was wanted, and she asked
me to come inside while she called th manager. I stood in th lobby,
lookin at comin attractions posters for westerns and womens dra-
mas, listenin to th popcorn poppin and snifn its aroma as it
mixed with a dozen different candy smells. Th manager was just a
little older than I was, a little shorter, and twenty pounds heavier. He
had th tiredest grayish-blue eyes that Id ever seen, set under a bushy
set of eyebrows. His name was Mark. Ever work in a theater before?
he asked me.
No, I said. Whaddaya need done?
Well, I need someone wholl be willing to help out everywhere at
rst. Box ofce, tickets, usherif youre willing to do that for awhile,
you can learn the projection system in your spare time and become a
full-time projectionist. Thats a union job; starts at three-fty an
hour.
And thats what I did. A far cry from helpin Hitler take over the
world, but it was perfect. Hell, I wouldve paid them to work there.
The shifts were ten to ve or ve to twelve, changin every two weeks.
And the longer I did it, the better I liked it. After two months I
moved into the projection room, and joined th union, The Interna-
tional Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, Moving Picture Tech-
nicians, Artists and Allied Crafts of the United States. IATSE, or
Yotsy, for short. And Im still a member in good standin.
I was out for an early lunch one day that fall when I had the late
shift, and decided to walk over to the library on St. Paul. I wanted to
see what they had in the way of maps of Russia. The German inva-
sion was into its third month. They had taken Kiev, and it looked like
theyd be in Moscow soon. If they made it, Russia would soon
become part of the Reich, which made them a much stronger poten-
tial adversary of the Allies. Strong enough to invade the United States
some day. I wanted to get a clearer picture of the distances theyd
have to cover in th process of gettin there.
Th library was white-trimmed red brick with a scatterin of dark
blue ones, like several others in th neighborhood. A one-story buil-
din, it looked like a private home, just a little larger. A thirtyish
woman stood at th counter; she offered a faint smile as I
approached. Slender, almost thin, a little above medium height, just-
grayin dark brown hair done up in a bun. May I help you? she
asked. Large, solemn, tired eyes, dark blue, set wide in a pale oval
face, examined me with mild interest through tortoise-shell glasses
as I rested my hands on th desk. A small brown mole sat over her
right cheekbone. We seemed to be th only two people there.
Id like to see a map of Russia, I said. As large a scale as possible.
Following the war news?
Right.
Come this way, she said as she moved from behind the counter,
walkin down the corridor to my left. Maps are in the reference
room. As she walked in front of me, I saw that her shoes were at-
heeled loafers. She was taller than I thought, maybe ve-ten. There
are several atlases here, she said. This ones the largest. She pulled a
book that was probably two feet long down from a shelf. Last Sun-
days paper had a map of the front. Ill get it for you. I took the book
from her and set it on the nearest table. I was still lookin for the map
of Russia when she returned with the Sunday Suns rst section, the
left edge clamped in one of those thin wooden poles that lets it hang
in a rack. Shed folded it open to the map of Russia, showin the Ger-
man and Russian positions as of September second. As she bent over
the table to put it down, a faint, but denite, whiff of alcohol hit me.
Thanks, I said. Thisll help a lot.
Youre quite welcome. Ill be at the desk if you need anything else.
Half an hour of tryin to put myself in the shoes of the Russian
front generals, rst on one side, then the other, was as much as I
could stand. I put the atlas back on the shelf and walked back past
the front counter. Thanks a lot, I said to the librarian, who was
lookin down at sumpm behind it.
I startled her. She looked up at me, her eyes wide. Oh. Youre
welcome. Come see us again.
I walked over to the desk, extending my hand as I did. I will. My
names Moses. Moses Kubielski.
Id surprised her, and she took a few seconds to grasp it. Oh.
Hello. Im Mrs. Green. But no ring on the wedding nger.
Well, Mrs. Green, I said, Looks like it may be a short war, but I
wanta keep up with it as long as it lasts. Ill see ya in a day or two.
Dont guess ya like movies all that much, or Idve seen ya at th
Strand by now. I work there.
Oh. No. I do like movies. I just dont have the time to go very
often. The Strand. What do you do there?
Projectionist.
Hm. That must be interesting.
Wait til youve done it for awhile. Guess most jobs are a little
borin, though. Thats why they call em jobs, I guess.
She laughed; the smile that followed the laugh was real. I guess
so, she said.
I took a theatre pass out of my wallet and put it on th counter.
Come over and see a movie sometime. The rst ones on me.
She looked at it, then at me. She picked it up and looked at it,
then put it down on her side of the counter. Thank you. Could I
bring my daughter?
Sure, I said, pullin out another pass and discountin her desir-
ability as I did. How old is she?
Fourteen. She loves the movies. You may have seen her there; tall
and dark, with her fathers high cheekbones.
Could be. Want another pass for him?
She smiled that thin half-smile again. No. Thanks. We havent
seen him for quite some time now. Are the passes good on week-
ends?
Yes. Sure. Anytime.
Well, if my daughter hasnt made plans with her friends, Id like
to come this Friday evening. Im off this Saturday, and itd be a nice
way to relax and start the weekend.
Thatll be just ne. How Green Was My Valley will still be runnin.
Walter Pidgeon and Maureen OHara. Youll like it, Im sure. Ill still
be workin the ve to twelve shift. Ask the girl at the box ofce to call
me up in the projection room, and Ill come down for a minute. Id
like to meet your daughter.
They came for the seven oclock show, and I went down to meet
em. Linda was nearly as tall as her mother, even at fourteen. Her
hair was several shades of red lighter as a young girl; maybe she has it
darkened now, I dont know. Sarahd let her hair down out of th
workday bun; it reached down just below her shoulders, not showin
the gray nearly as much as it did when it was put up. Hi, Mr. Kubiel-
ski, she said.
Hi. And please call me Moses. Mose would be even better.
Well, Mose, this is my daughter, Linda.
Hi, Linda. Welcome to the Strand.
Hi, Mose, she said with a bright smile. Looks like a good movie;
thanks for getting us in.
Youre welcome; glad that you could come.
We were talking on the way down, Sarah said. and we thought
wed invite you to either lunch or dinner tomorrow, depending on
what shift youre working. Would you be free to join us?
Freer than usual, as it happens; this is my weekend off, too.
Well, things moved along smartly after that dinner. We became
lovers, and I had my rst experience of bein involved with a woman
who was smarter than me. About a lot of things, anyway. But most of
all, literature. She was a librarian, of course, but that by itself cant
describe how much she knew, and loved, books in general and
American writers in particular. Id never read much beyond what my
folks, and school, shoved down my throat. Sarah helped me to
understand what fun readin could be, rst with Mark Twain, then
Hemingway, then Faulkner. Faulkner really helped me start to
understand people here in Bisque.
Jack smiled. No wonder youve always talked so much about
im.
Yeah, I guess Ive bored your ass off about im all these years.
Well, maybe at rst, but not for long. You made me curious
about what he had to say that grabbed a guy like you so hard. Readin
hims what rst got me interested in writing.
It was Moses turn to grin. Wonder what hedve had to say about
this town. Well, anyway, th big problem with Sarah was that she was
an alcoholic. Youd have to live with one to know what hell that can
be. Th more we were together, th less she bothered to hide th way
she was from me. And, like a lot of people, it took me too long to
realize that she was one of th ones who wouldnt accept help; didnt
want it. Th more I came to realize it, th more worried I got about
what it was doin to Linda. Youve met her, so you know shes no
dummy. Turns out shed always been a whiz in school. Just a really
bright kid who loved to learn stuff. Shed been drawin and paintin
pencil, ink, watercolorssince she was six or seven. It was th
damnedest thingas much as I learned from Sarah, I enjoyed sittin
and talkin with Linda even more. It was like talkin to a grown per-
son who could still dream.
By th time she was sixteen, in 1943, she was a sophomore in high
school, doin better than ever, but it was in spite of Sarahs inuence,
or th lack of it. It was almost like she resented th kids success. I
called her on it all th time, and our relationship evaporated in a
series of scraps about all sorts of shit, but mostly about Linda. Pretty
soon it just got to be too much. Shed actually try to kick my ass
when shed get a snootful, and to make sure I didnt hurt her, or get
hurt myself, I stopped seein her.
I kept up with Linda, though. I even talked with a couple of her
teachers about her potential, even though they were hesitant about
talkin about a student with a non-family member. I was persistent,
though, and pointed out th fact that th Greens had come to Balti-
more from Cedar Rapids, Iowa (Sarah always called it Cedar-fuck-
ing-Rapids), there was no immediate family nearby to help out at
critical times. What I wanted to do, I told them, was to make sure
that Linda had th opportunity to go to college without anything,
nancial or otherwise, gettin in th way. One of th teachers, Mrs.
Roberts, understood Lindas situation well enough to get into an
informal partnership with me to keep me informed about Lindas
progress and what she needed to carry on.
I set up a trust fund for her that would be large enough to send
her to any college that she might want to attend. Mrs. Roberts agreed
to be th trustee. As it turned out, Linda was accepted by a bunch of
colleges, includin some in th Ivy League, but she decided to go to
Johns Hopkins, right there in town. That didnt seem like such a
great idea to me; I thought, no, I damned well knew that shed let her
concern for her mothers condition keep her in town. But Id put no
strings on th terms of th trust, and Mrs. Roberts assured me that for
her major eld, art history, Johns Hopkins was an excellent choice.
So by June of 1945, my only remainin tie to Baltimore was Linda.
That would naturally diminish pretty quickly as she settled in to th
routine of bein a college student. So, since I could do pretty much
anything I pleased now that there was no Third Reich to worry
about, I started thinkin about what I wanted to do with th rest of
my life. And although she hadnt answered any of th letters that Id
sent her over th years, I couldnt get Ldia off my mind. Wed been
pulled apart so fast by Tanners suicide and my court martial, and I
felt that somehow she must be blamin me, or herself, or both of us
for his death. A lot had happened to me in th years since I left Cuba
in 31. And I had no way of knowin how much had happened in her
life. But th more I thought about it, th more I realized that I needed
to see her again, if only to straighten things out between us. So I
started makin plans to go back to Cuba and nd her.
I thought Id better hang around for a few months longer to
make sure that everything was OK with Linda and her school situa-
tion. I used th time to catch up on what was goin on in Cuba,
applyin for a passport and a visa and mailin off a subscription to
both th English-language paper and El Da, th big daily paper in
Havana. And I started shoppin for a car; gured Id drive to Miami
and ship it over, because I planned to stay there awhile. However my
search for Ldia turned out, I was tired of cold winters, and I gured
Id just take a long holiday, do some shin and then see what I felt
like doin. I found th white Buick in th Suns want ads, and bought it
from th estate of a Mr. Browning, who, accordin to th lawyer with
whom I made th deal, had gotten rich in th printin ink business. It
looked like just th car for a minor-league war proteer to drive
around Cuba. And my Dad always wanted a Buick. Anyway, by th
time I was ready to leave Baltimore it was late in th summer of
1946.
Sounds like a great life to me, said Jack. Sun, fun, seoritas
Yeah, but youll notice that I didnt get there. As much as I was
smitten by your mom, things didnt really have to go they way that
they did. When I got th money, it changed some things in my life,
just th way th chance discovery of gravity and radioactivity changed
some things in humanity. But it didnt change me at th core; other-
wise Id never have bought th Winston or gotten involved in th beer
business. I could just as easily have hung around on one pretext or
another. But that little striver down at th bottom of my soul
wouldnt let me do it. Like most everybody else you know, I feel th
need to hustle for recognition through observable deeds. Jack saw
the little vein above his left eyebrow thrusting out and subsiding, as
it would when he got pissed, in time to his beating heart. Neither
Englandr th USA, goddammit, will ever decorate me for my one
great chance deed, and unfortunately I needed to build a monument
of little deeds to that petty bourgeois part of myself, stackin turds of
commerce one on top of th other.
Well, bourgeois or otherwise, you ole buzzard, said Jack, Im
damn glad you stayed.
Moses exhaled heavily as he looked at his watch. It was almost
eleven. So am I, kid. Anyway, thats th guy who came to Bisque.
And, soup to nuts, youre th only other person who knows th story.
Sorry to spring it on you like this, but sumpms come up that made
it necessary.
Holy shit, Mose. Im not sure I got it all, but its th damnedest
story I ever heard. But it seems like its all way back in th past. Why
would you tell me, or anybody else, about all of this now?
Well, a couple of reasons. One is that I was comin close to th
point where Ida sat on all of this for as long as I couldve anyway.
Ive always been careful about what Ive said to you about how much
watchin you grow ups meant to me, because you have a mom and
dad who love you, and I wasnt about to try to assume some kinda
uncle role in your life. What you are, buddy, is my best friend, and
when th time comes to spill your guts, thats what best friends are
for. I woulda waited awhile, til you were done with school, but like I
said, sumpms come up.
Jacks face turned solemn. What is it?
Paul Pulaski.
Paul Pulaski?
Yep.
Whats he got to do with it?
Hes th guy that saved my life in Spain. Hes Dieter Brck.
Jacks face kept its composure, th eyes tightening slightly. After a
minute or so, he said: Whys he here?
Its a long story, but he came here as an agent of Soviet intelli-
gence; th KGB. He came to recruit agents inside th Savannah River
plant. After thinkin about it for weeks, and doin as much checkin
as Ive been able to, Im convinced that our meetin was a case of
pure coincidence, incredible as it seems. He walked up to th Win-
ston box ofce one Saturday night back in March, right before th
revival. I was sittin there, while Evvie was in th can. We recognized
each other immediately. He came up to th ofce, and we talked for
hours. After he heard my story, he told me that he dreamed of leavin
th KGB, but that he hadnt come up with a way to do it that had even
a fty-fty chance of gettin out alive.
Do you think hes tellin you th truth?
Yes, I do. Hes had more than enough time, since Abercrombie
took him on as sexton, to tip his hand to me if he felt otherwise.
Obviously, Id be a prime agent recruit for him, and th knowledge
that he has about my past is a good basis for blackmail. No, I think
th guys just tryin to put twenty years of th spy business behind
him, and get out for good with a whole skin.
And he wants your help.
Sure. Understand, hes given me no reason to believe that he
knows about my takin our old employer for three million. I think
they kept th lid down tight enough on that so that rank and le
agents in Europe never got th word. And I see no reason to tell him
now. Since I helped to get him hired at First Baptist, hes satised
that Ive got what it takes, in terms of inuence here in Bisque, to
help him disappear successfully.
Do you?
Not if I try to stay here any longer. I believe him when he says he
means me no harm, but hes a professional intelligence agent. His
instinct to survive will always override everything else. If he got
caught, either by his own people or US security, theres no doubt Id
be an immediate bargainin chip. So my solutions to have us both
disappear. Ive been a merchant long enough, anyway.
What? Jacks eyes widened as he spoke.
Thats why I wanted to talk to you about this. If I was gone from
Bisque tomorrow, Id imagine that everybody here would get over it
pretty soon. No disrespect, but that includes your mom. Its just
human nature to move on in life, and thats what people naturally
do. But I didnt think I could leave you to do that on your own. For
one thing, Im not proposin to disappear forever. Moses Kubielskill
be gone, but th guy you knowll still be around, just usin a different
name. For another, I couldnt stand th thought of you thinkin I was
dead. And thats what its gonna come down to. Everyone else in
Bisques gonna to have to be convinced that Paul Pulaski and Ive
been killed.
Jacks green eyes focused rock-steady on him. What do you want
me to do?
Moses grinned. Jesus, kid. I hoped youd say that, but I really
wasnt ready for it. Lemme tell you a little more about what I think
Im gonna do before you get on board

Goddamiteydayum!, Flx squawked, what a fuckin story. Ol
MoseerPeters really been over th jumps.
No shit, Jack said as they drove back to town. Now I understand
how he was able to take things around here in stride. To anybody
thats seen what he has, goins-on around this little burg gotta seem
right puny.
And yet, dull as this fuckin place can be, hes stuck around, Flx
noted, his hooded eyes searching the overhanging tree limbs as they
neared the hotel. And you know why.
I guess I do.
I guess I do, Flx mocked, his wings quivering. You know damn
well the only thing thats kept him around here, at least since 1948 or
so, has been his wantin to watch you grow up and get the fuck outa
here. Sure, he and Mom are great friends, but thats all its been since
he got her gured out.
Youre right. Its not her fault that her art drives her the way it
does, and he knows that. But it scares me to think about his life
before he came to Bisque. There wasisthis sinister side of him, and
I never saw it.
Me either, Flx admitted. Thats how good he is.
Hell hafta be good to do what he says hes gonna do. Even after
he gures out exactly how hes gonna do it.
Ill keep an eye on imnd out what I can. He probably wont
pass everything along to you, at least while hes doin it, and it oughta
be damn interesting to watch this happen.
Thats for sure, Jack said. That is for damn sure.
- 579 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 7
Money, Honey
Lanlord rang my front do bell,
I let it ring for a long, long spell,
Went to the window, peeped through th blind,
Axed him to tell me what was on his mind
He said Money, honey, mmmmhm-hm
As Clyde McPhatter & the Drifters struggled to get out of the
Checker Cabs speaker, the stiing air that coursed through its open
windows ran a bit cooler as the car ducked into the Midtown Tunnel.
Hed forgotten how miserable early June in the city could be. To get
his mind off the cab ride from LaGuardia into Manhattan, he
retraced his schedule; tomorrow, meet Johnny Boots at the location
that he had given him in their brief phone call last Friday. The Hotel
Sutcliffe had seen better days, but its eastside location on 14
th
Street
was where Moses wanted to be. His genuine but outdated documents
that identied him as Peter Wessel had rst priority. Hed get on the
phone and start the process of renewing his New York state drivers
license and his U.S. passport as soon as he checked in. Then get hed
get hold of Linda. It had been almost a year since theyd talked, and
he needed an update on her circumstances before he could discuss
his plans, and her possible role in them, with her.
1742 Tuesday 5 June 1956:
The cab stopped with a jerk in front of a faded green canopy on East
9
th
Street, a weathered yellow 247 on its end panel. Amal, in gilt
script, appeared at eye level at the right of the door, embedded in a
thin coat of grime that fogged the restaurants plate glass window.
Above the fat brass tube and rings suspending a sun-faded, once-
burgundy curtain that dropped to the window sill, Moses could see
vignetted images of a couple of men at the front of the restaurant,
one behind the bar and one perched sideways on a barstool. The
door hissed closed behind him; garlic, basil, tomato and cigar smoke
rode on top of a hint of mildew. Except for the bartenders white
apron, the men were identically dressed in white shirts, black ties
and black trousers.
The man on the barstool slid off it as Moses approached. The gla-
cial slide of his shiny cap of graying black hair toward the back of his
head was some two-thirds complete. The corners of his mouth
turned up a millimeter, and parted slightly in an amiable grunt.
Eeey. Ya havin dinneh?
Lookin for Mr. Bisceglia, said Moses, returning the vestigial
grin.
The mans eyes clicked an aperture wider. Oh. He know ya?
Yeah. Hes expectin me.
Wait. He turned, walking toward the shadowy back of the din-
ing room. Daylight streamed through the door that he opened, then
closed behind him. He was back in a couple of minutes, trailed by
the familiar gure of Johnny Boots Bisceglia. The tall, spare gure
of the middleweight ghter he used to be was gone; thick, graying,
well-barbered hair countered bright teeth gleaming in a face the
color of Pecan wood. Petey! he roared in a voice that, like the facial
ssures, had deepened, testimony to increased responsibilities as
Money, Honey 581
authoritative as hashmarks on a top sergeants tunic. He pushed past
the waiter to embrace Moses. Howsa boy?
Not bad, Johnny, said Moses, returning his broad grin. Youre
lookin good.
Yeah, I try to stay in shape. Looks like you do, too. Come on back
inna courtyard. We gotta catch up onna few years.
They sat at a table midway in a single rank of six in the narrow
canyon created by the buildings that surrounded them. Two large
electric fans stood on oor stands at either side of the door, sending
a brisk breeze over the table. A bottle of Valpolicella and a plate of
cold antipasto sat between them. Johnny sat far enough back from
the table to cross his legs, showing one of a pair of the namesake cus-
tom-made ankle-length boots. Thats gotta be ostrich, Moses
thought.
So, howd th war go for you, Petey?
Pretty well, I guess, John. I picked th right side, anyway.
Yeah, you coulda been in a real jam otherwise. Ya dropped outta
sight before Pearl Harbor; not that long after we xed ya up with the
new papers. Where ya been?
I got outta here on the fourth of July, 41. Settled down in Bal-
amer.
Where?
Balamer. Maryland.
Oh. Baltimore. Thats what Im hearin. At rst I thought you was
doin Rhett Butler. What took ya down there?
The need to disappear. Didnt want to hafta argue with my Ger-
man friends about my decision to leave their employment.
Yeah, Johnny said, nodding gravely as he speared a piece of
roasted yellow pepper, added an olive, and ate it. He chewed briey,
then said, I guess they woulda tried to convince ya that yad made
the wrong decision.
Well, you know, there are some outts you just cant quit.
Johnny wiped his mouth with a large white napkin and grinned,
his brown eyes narrowing. Thats what I hear. Well, I was happy to
getcha call. With the war and everythin, you dont know who from
the old days made it and who didnt. Glad you did. Dont get to sit
down across from an old sparrin partner every day.
Yeah. Makes you wonder where wed be if wed made it across the
river to the big time.
Inna ring? Thats a dream we never shared, Petey. Fightins a
suckers game. No worse odds anywhere. I was there because it
gimme a place I could beat the shit outta somebody and not go to
the lockup. That, and learnin I could take a punch, was all Ridge-
wood Grove ever did for me. Just parta growin up. I dint have the
natural talent a ghter needs to make it to the big time. Ya came a lot
closer than me as far as talenttil you picked up the gimp.
Yeah, there was a time when thats all I could think about. Cost
me a college education, among other things.
Well, its way behind us now. What you up to, anyway? You said
you needed some advice.
Yeah. I made a little money during the war, and Im thinkin of
goin back to Cuba. Did I tellya I was stationed there in the Navy
before the war? I liked it. Thought Id see whatcha thought of th idea
of an American livin there, now that Batistas running things. Or is
he?
Johnny laughed, brushing some crumbs off the underside of his
sleeve. El Presidentes our guy; you read the papers, or we wouldnt
be havin this conversation. Since gambling was legalized, Meyer
moved down there a couple years back. The Cuban government and
the Teamsters are bankrollin us, fty-fty. Weve built the Riviera
for $17 millionand the Tropicanall be done soon. The Cleveland
people built the Nacional, and theres plenty more to come. Meyer
says were biggern U.S. Steel. You wanta go down there? Go ahead. I
can get you a 2-year visa now, as a casino employee. You dont have
Money, Honey 583
to be one, of course, well just say you are. Ya can renew it if ya wanna
stay, or who knows whatll be goin on by then? When ya wanna go?
Well, Im in no hurry, but theres nothin holdin me, either. One
other question, though.
What?
That visa. Can you get three?
Hell, I can get a hundred. You takin a lady witya?
Yeah, and a guy that I owe big-time. Saved my life once.
Guess your palsll need new papers. How bout you?
No, thanks, John. I think its time for me to get back to being
Petey.
Got their pictures?
And the other vitals for the guy; Ill get the girls stuff later today.
Moses said, handing him the large manila envelope hed dropped on
a adjacent chair.
I gure 5 Gs each. OK, pal?
Thats ne.
OK. Call me here tomorrow.

The cab crawled along the narrow riverside street in Queens.
Djya say 723? the cabby asked Moses.
723-A.
Deres 737. 733. 725. Oops, 721.
Just hold it here. Moses looked along the row of oneand two-
story buildings that backed up on the East River, shading his eyes
against the morning suns reections bouncing off the windows of
Manhattan skyscrapers. OK. Wait while I ask somebody. Stepping
out of the cab, he walked into the closest of the businesses, number
721. A battered counter stood between him and a gray-haired man
of about sixty in a worn shop apron, hunched over a workbench.
Mornin, he said to the mans prole.
Whaddya want? the man asked him without turning from his
work.
Lookin for 723-A.
Next door. Upstairs.
Moses opened a glass-paneled door that led to a narrow staircase.
Reaching its top, he looked down a hall with four doors cut into its
walls. The rst on his right had 723A hand-stenciled on it in yellow
letters. He pushed the button on the door-facing; he gave it a couple
of minutes. Just as he was about to knock on the door, it was opened
by a thin, fortyish man dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and slacks.
The man waited for him to speak. Mr. Weiss?
The man nodded. You here for Mr. Bisceglia?
Yeah. Excuse me for a minute while I pay off my cab.
He rejoined Weiss, who beckoned him through a doorway that led
into a large open space, which held several large buoys in various
stages of overhaul and repair. Weiss motioned him into a chair
beside his desk, which sat in one corner. Mr. B said you were lookin
for some type of fuse.
Thats right. I need ta detonate a charge a couple of hundred feet
underwater.
What kind of charge?
Dynamite. Three, four sticks.
Weiss looked at him quickly over rimless glasses, then looked out
the shops rear door beyond the hoist at the river. You want this to
work the rst time, of course.
Yes. Yes, I do, said Moses.
Whos putting the gadget together?
I am.
Built an underwater piece before?
Yes, Moses said, but its been some time.
Be sure to vent the housing. Water wont hurt anything, but you
dont want a false reading. A hydrostatic fuse is what you want. Pre-
Money, Honey 585
determined depth settings at 25, 50, 75 and 100 meters. Works with
standard blasting caps, which simplies things.
Sounds great. Got em in stock?
Weiss smiled. This isnt a store. Ill order it and send it over to
you. Whats the address?
Ill pick them up here, if you dont mind. Id like three; can you
have them here tomorrow?
The day after. Call me to be sure I have them. He gave Moses a
business card.
OK. What do I owe you?
My fees ve hundred, and the fusesre one-fty each. Nine-fty.
You can pay me when you come back.
OK. Is there a cab stand close by?
Better let me call one for you, Weiss said.

Sitting at the bar at Reubens restaurant just off 5
th
Avenue on 58
th
Street, he waved to Linda as she walked through the door, and stood
to meet her with a hug and a kiss. A teal blue knit dress sheathed her
lean body. Lightly bloodshot eyes looked into his with the customary
candor. You never give a girl much warning, do you? she said.
Sorry; didnt have much myself. Whaddya say we get a table?
The waiter came and went, and they sat doing general reminis-
cence for a few minutes. So hows life in general, kid? asked Moses.
Its been better, Mose, to tell the truth. Sometimes I wonder what
I should be doing that Im not. Ive been here damn near ten years,
Im still doing the same job, with damn little to show for it. This is no
town to grow old in.
Stiing a grin, he said, Well, youve got a few years left. Youre not
even thirty.
No, but so close to it I can smell it, or smell of it. Why dont you
marry me and take me away from all this?
Jeez, now I know its serious, if you can say that with a straight
face. That is a straight face, isnt it?
None straighter. Youre a neat guy; they shouldve made a few
more like you.
Just as well they didnt, he said with a grin. Whats up? You still
seein the guy that rents you the boat?
Rented me the boat, and for less than youd believe. Ive been off
the Petrel, and Roger Brannon, for nearly six months. Im in a dump
just off Columbus Avenue on West 69
th
.
Im sorry. Wanta talk about it?
What the hell good would it do? Its just my personal edition of
the old New York story. Successful ad man keeps young girl on the
side, promises to divorce Connecticut wife and marry young girl,
years go by and the promises repeated until its forgotten. Successful
ad man nds new girl as young as his now-not-so-young-girl used to
be, and things get sticky. Itd be funny if it werent so pathetic. I just
feel stupid, and since a lot of my work was coming from Rogers
agency, I also lost that when I suggested that he kiss my ass on my
way out.
What you need, my dear, said Moses, is a new boat.
No shit.
He paused to let the waiter deposit two dark draft beers and the
cafs namesake sandwiches. Ever think seriously about movin?
Sure. Ive also thought seriously about jumping off the George
Washington bridge, among other things. I guess Ive just been frozen
since I left that fuckhead. Why do you ask?
Because I need your help. In a big way.
Well, you know youve got that, she said. Does it involve me
moving?
What Im thinking of doin involves leavin behind as few loose
ends as possible. Part of the processd be for you to leave New York,
because people could be nosin around here lookin for me after Ive
Money, Honey 587
gone. Youd be a lot harder to nd in a marina in, say, Miami than
you would be here in the city.
Her blue eyes darkened. Seems like youre always leaving some-
place. Whats the deal?
The deal is this; Id like you to pack your stuff, catch a train down
to Balamer, rent a car, drive back here and throw your stuff in it,
drive back to Balamer and buy a cabin cruiser thats t for offshore
work. Big enough for six people. Then I want you to shake it down,
provision it and pick up a friend of mine and me down South. Take
us on a little cruise, about two weeks worth, Id say. Then drop us,
bring the boat back solo and dock it where you please, since itll be
yours, and forget that any of the above ever happened. Sound OK?
Sounds like I wanta do it. When?
Soon. But I want you to sleep on it, because I need a denite,
non-cancellable commitment.
Hey, she said, bending over the table so her eyes were inches
from his. Id do it without the boat. Just say when.

Using an East 22
nd
Street address provided to him by Johnny
Boots, Moses spent the next few days renewing his identity as Peter
Wessel. Buoyed by Johnnys willingness to provide as complete a
relocation package as hed agreed to do, Moses wasnt about to let
any grass grow under his feet. When he had his new drivers license
and passport in hand, he closed Moses Kubielskis account at the
Canal Street branch ofce of Credit Suisse, receiving a bearer draft in
the amount of $6,520,447.02, and deposited it in a new account for
Peter Wessel at the Bank of Basel three blocks uptown.
- 589 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 8
Friggin in the Riggin
1025 Friday 15 June 1956:
The Annapolis gulls greeted the docks latest human arrivals to a
series of low passes that ended with their determination that no food
would be forthcoming. The largest of the group alighted on the
cabin roof of the sportsherman Striker, moored stern-to, two
berths from the end. There she is, said the broker, a tall, spare for-
tyish man in fresh-pressed khakis and Topsiders. 1953 Chris Craft.
Forty-six foot of offshore shkiller. Flying bridge. Twin 160-horse
Chryslers with less than a hundred hours on em. Dual generators
and bilge pumps, heavy-duty batteries. Holds 210 gallons of gas.
Forward and *aft cabins. Full galley, two heads. Fighting chair. Twin
bait wells. UHF and VHF radios. Radar. Depthnder. Shes a lot of
boat; the owner lives in San Francisco now, and wants to move her.
Shall we go aboard?
By all means, said Linda.
Moses woke much more slowly than usual, coming out of a dream
that had put him back on the Gulf of Mexico, where hed spent anx-
ious hours over the weekend. Hed tested Package Number One suc-
cessfully, but memories of the explosions ferocity had made his rst
night back in Bisque a restless one. The trip in all its detail lay smol-
dering in the forefront of his consciousness.
Waving his thanks from the helm in response to the deckhands
Good shin!, Moses had headed the rented 22-foot Lyman out of
Destin, Floridas harbor, the rising sun already warm on his left
shoulder. Package Number One sat securely inside the outsize tackle
box hed bought in Fort Walton Beach, just across the entrance to
Choctawhatchee Bay. The Gulf of Mexicos 100-fathom curve runs
close to shore at Destin; an hours run due south at thirty knots
would give him depth in excess of two hundred feet, the hydrostatic
fuses setting of seventy meters, that he needed. He had built Pack-
ages Number One, Two and Three within twenty-four hours of his
return from New York, and was gratied to nd that his skills in this
work, acquired long ago, had come back to him so quickly. Each
package consisted of a six-volt dry cell battery, three sticks of dyna-
mite, a blasting cap, one of the three fuses that hed bought in New
York and the necessary connecting wire and sealing compound* to
render the packages essentially waterproof, if not watertight, per
Weisss advice.
Passing from the bay into the Gulf, Moses was relieved to see just a
few small craft, none of which were on a heading near his. He throt-
tled up the boats six-cylinder Grey Marine; at just past nine, the
boats newly-tted fathometer slipped past two hundred feet. Cut-
ting the engine to idle, he opened the new tackle box and removed
the green oblong le box that was Package Number Ones container.
He opened the box and double-checked the soldered joints, one
between the fuses arming switch and a length of rod that extended
through a hole drilled in the boxs end nearest the fuse, the other
securing a wing nut on the outside end. Satised that he could arm
the bomb with a clockwise quarter-turn of the wing nut, he taped
the boxs lid shut with several turns of electrical tape, rst around its
shorter dimension, then around the longer. Returning to the boats
Friggin in the Riggin 591
controls, he moved the throttle to full power and set a course for
Destin, checked the horizon for boat and ship trafc, and seeing
nothing, armed the bomb and cast it over the starboard side, count-
ing off the seconds from the splash. At twenty, the boat having taken
him some two thousand yards from the drop point, he cut the power
and turned south again. Almost as soon as he did, the ocean erupted
in front of him, a geyser of water shooting at least a hundred feet into
the still-cool morning sky. The boat lifted more than a foot as the
concussion wave passed under him. As the water calmed, Moses took
up a westerly heading and moved at ank speed toward the shing
grounds that the deckhand had recommended.
As his feet hit the oor, he thought about the thousands of sh
that hed killed with Package Number One. A high price to pay, he
thought, but unavoidable, given what Ive set out to do. And the
pricell go up next month.
The summer sun was still bright at seven p.m. as Moses nished
his brieng on the successful bomb test. I wonder where their nest
is, said Paul Pulaski.
Whose nest is that? Moses asked after swallowing a bite of ham-
burger.
Herr und Frau Cardinal, pecking around down there by the
water.
Hard to say, said Moses. Therere quite a few of em around.
Dont believe Ive ever seen a Cardinals nest, though.
This is quite a place you fell into. Its a shame to think about leav-
ing.
Well, when theres no real choice, why waste time with regrets?
Cubas not bad, either.
Im sure. Cant imagine your being able to get into a position like
the one you have here, though.
Whaddya mean, position? asked Moses.
I mean, my friend, that youre someone in this town. You have
inuence. People value your opinion about things. Thats an enviable
position in which to be, and it cant have been easy to get there.
Dont you think youll miss it?
Miss it? I guess so, now and then. But to tell you the truth, Im
kinda tired of playing the role of bigwell, mediumsh in a little
pond. I pretty much fell into it, and if you hadnt showed up, Idve
found some other way to fall out of it. Actually, I was thinking about
seeing if I could talk Buster Reddingyou met him?
Dont think so.
Hes the Hudson dealer; races one in these late model stock car
races around the Southeast. Id thought about seein what hed take
to audition me as a driver.
Well! You were getting restless.
And maybe a little old, tooat least to the point that spendin
most of my time sellin beer, and fuckin and drinkin myself silly
with whats left over, holdin my interest like it used to.
I dont want to seem unsympathetic, old friend, but I must tell
you that from my personal perspective, I think that a year or two of
this life would be very nice indeed.
Moses smiled. Actually, it was right nice for a lot longer than that;
but ten years of anythings a pretty good stretch. And from your per-
sonal perspective, Id think you might agree.
It was Brcks turn to smile. And KGB years are dog years. Im
starting to believe that we can pull this off. At least, what Ive seen
you do so far makes me think that we have a chance. Bremen taught
you well. Ill bet none of that bomb material came from anywhere
around Bisque.
Nope. I told you about th fuses, and I took a little ride up to Ten-
nessee for th caps and dynamite.
Still smiling, Brck said Its a shame we never worked together.
Id have enjoyed it.
Whaddya think were doin right now? But weve got most of this
operation in front of us. Lemme take you through the plan, top to
bottom, and you tell me where its weak.
- 593 -
s
c h a p t e r 2 9
Go Fish
1410 Saturday 23 June 1956:
Annapolis Motor Inn, said a bored male voice.
Deposit three dollars and seventy-ve cents for three minutes,
pleeeuz.
Moses fed the phone slot. Room 431, please he said over the
bells last ding.
Hello.
Linda.
Yes.
Mose.
Hi.
Just mailed you a copy of our arrangements for the holiday.
Oh, great. Were all set here.
Good. You should have it by Wednesday. Ill call you Thursday to
see if you have any questions.
OK. Were looking forward to seeing you.
Yeah, us too. Itll be fun. Bye.
Bye.
She would be in Savannah on the Fourth. Weather permitting,
theyd rendezvous two days later.

Jack. The squawk was uncharacteristically hushed.
Hm.
Sorry to wake you, pal. Need to chat with you before I go, and
times awastin.
Jack sat up, of whom had an his eyes. Where you goin this time?
TAD to your Uncle Mose. And I think its about time you went
ahead and thought of im that way. Hes nearer family to you than
some others you got blood ties to.
Reckon youre riit. Whaddya mean, TAD?
Picked that up from your one of yer other uncles. Gene Debs.
Navy lingo for temporary duty.
OK. How temporary you talkin about?
Just to get him where hes goin. I think hell appreciate th help,
comin from a friend ayours. And Im damn sure hes gonna need it.
Whaddya think you can do?
Just shadow im for riit now. He wont see me til its time. Ill
denitely be yin with em when he and Dieter leave here next
month. But I wont have time to check back with you for awhile.
Flx.
Huh.
I have this feelin about you. One I never had before riit now.
Whassat?
That youve been around here a lot longer than youve let on.
Hm. He said it in a way that reminded Jack that birds of prey
could chuckle.
Am I riit?
Yup. Matter of fact, were all there is left.
Left from what?
Left from th human fuckin race, boy. I guess I shoulda tolja.
Yes, said Jack. It woulda been niice. Why doncha tell me now?
Go Fish 595
Well, theres a handful of us left. You could call us spirits, I
reckon. I took up this Goshawk getup so I wouldnt scare you, and
now Ive gotten used to it. But I was a boy like you once, though,
thousands of years, give or take, back up th road.
What happened?
Well hell, we just kept on evolvin, to th point that it didnt seem
to make much difference. Got to where we could see up an down th
line. We nally broke time down, an thought itd make a difference.
But you know what? It didnt.
Well, I dont guess I can really get ahold of that riit now. You go
on, Flx. Th main thing riit nows for them to stay safe. Ill miss ya,
buddy, but youre exactly riit. Its gonna be a full-time job til they get
where theyre goin, whatever all this other shits about.
Knew youd understand, pal. Well, Im gone, then. Keep th rub-
ber side down.
Fly Navy, shitbird.
1205 Wednesday 4 July 1956:
A car-horn staccato jerked Moses head up, letting the sweat that had
been falling harmlessly onto the keg of Carling Black Label that he
was tapping roll into his eyes. Squinting, he saw Roberta Websters
Dodge convertible bounce through the gate, which had been left
open for the party. Look whos here, he called up to Jack and Terry,
who had just brought down some folding chairs from the barn.
Answering the Websters wave with a swipe of his forearm across his
eyes, he got beer owing through the tap before walking up the slope
to greet the new arrivals, who had parked in the big temporary space
along the fence set off by yellow police crime-scene tape that City
Council Chairman David Browne had requisitioned. Hey, folks.
Preeshate yall coming early so you could help us get set up.
What the hellre you talkin about, early? said Webster. You said
high noon!
I did? Youre sure I didnt say Id be high by noon?
Well, were here, whatever it was you said, Mister High Roller, an
I fer one hope yall dont run outa whatever it is that got you high by
noon, said Roberta as she and Webster advanced down the slope
toward him. Hey, sweetie, she said as the three of them collided
and merged in a group hug. Marriage appeared to be agreeing with
them, most visibly with Roberta, whose streaky blond hair parted
around ruddy cheeks that had broadened somewhat since the wed-
ding. You asked us early apurpose, didncha? I know about th two
a yall. But I caint hold it agin ya, cause I know how loveable is
damn ole bawey is. Whatchoo want us ta do faya, honey?
Oh, how bout sittindown here and les swap some bullshit
before th great unwashed show up? This big boxs fulla Red Cap, or
wouldja rather have a draftr sumpm else?
At fresh draftll be ne for me, big boy, she said as they settled
onto the lawn chairs interlaced pastel plastic straps. Nodding toward
the trickle of Atlanta Crackers game announcer Hank Morgans voice
out of the battered Zenith Transoceanic, she asked, Whore they
playin?
Th Chicks, said Webster. Double-header.
I gured no matter how outa control this party may get, said
Moses, Well hold on to a little reality with th Crackers.
Well get some goddam tan sittin out here, said Webster. Glad
you got these funeral tents to duck under. Indicating the nearest
midnight blue tent, which like the others was open on all sides, the
name HARRISON emblazoned in white lettering on the four short
aps that ran around the bottom of its pyramidic outline, he asked,
Whos handlin the barbeque?
Rolliea friend of Ralphs. Smells good, huh? Put that ol pig in
th ground yesterday afternoon. We been sittin here all night with
im, off and on.
Well, you dont look too bad, bein up all niit, said Robbie.
Go Fish 597
Oh, I took a nap around four, and got back up around sunup.
Even shed a little bit; caught a coupla cat for anybody that prefers
em to that ne swine over there.
Hey, said Roberta. Talkinabout catsh. Jyou hear th one about
th woman shoppin for a shin pole?
Umm-um.
A woman goes into a sportin goods store to buy a rod and reel
for her husbands birthday. She dont know which one to get so she
just picks one up and walks over to th counter. This man in sun-
glasses is standin behind th counter. She says, Scuse me. can you
tell me anythang about this here rod and reel? He says, Im com-
pletely blind, maam, but if youll put it on the counter I can tell you
everything you need to know about it from the sound it makes when
you set it down. She didnt believe im, but she set it on the counter
anyway. He says, Atairs a Shakespeare Wonderod, with a President
reel loaded with 10-pound test line. Its a good all around rig, and its
on sale this week for only $10.00. She says, Thats amazin. You can
tell all that just by the sound of it hittin th counter? Ill take it. She
goes topen her pocketbook and money falls out on th oor. She
bends down to pick it up, and passes gas. Shes embarrassed, but
then she realizes theres no way a blind man could tell it was her. The
man rings up the sale and says, Thatll be $16.50, please. The
woman says, Didnt you tell me it was on special for $10.00? How
did you get $16.50? The blind man says Yes maam, th rod and
reels $10.00, but the duck calls $5.00 and the catsh baits a dollar
and a half.
Their hooting trailed off as Moses looked up the hill once more.
Serena had pulled her Hudson Hornet convertible into the driveway,
stopping for the briefest of exchanges with one of the two off-duty
Bisque police ofcers hired for the occasion, then pulling it up in the
carport behind Jacks car. The minons are much in evidence today,
my liege, observed Webster.
Yea, verily, they burgeon thus, said Moses; and more there be
behind yon mullions.
What in th hail re yall talkin about now? grumbled Roberta.
Flipping a casual wave their way, Serena took a large box from the
back seat and headed into the house. Thats some boat, said Web-
ster. Wonder what shed take for it?
Wouldnt hurt to ask er, said Moses. Buster gave her th deal of
a lifetime on it last year, after hed carried it as a demonstrator so
long the bank was callin im about it once a week. She needed a new
car; th wheelsd just about gone square on that damn old wagon of
hers. She said she took it off his hands because she could get more in
th trunk than she could in th old wagon, but that th red paint job
was way too ashy for her. Probably be just about right for you; you
could put R&B Lee on th sides n write it off as a business expense.
Hell, I wouldnt do that; that damn cars a classic in th makin.
With Nash and Hudson mergin, thatll be one of the very few real
Hudson Hornet convertibles ever made. Hell, it could be the last.
At least itd shake you loose from at damn Searsmobile, laughed
Roberta.
Unh-unh, baby. I cant part with er. Im pullin th trunk lid offa
that lil darlin, paintin er pink and parkin er in th back yard for a
planter. Couldja handle a trunkloada pansies every spring?
Howd you get drunk so fast? You know aint no picea shit liike at
goin in my back yard.
Webster laughed himself into a coughing spasm. You know, dar-
lin, he wheezed, sometimes youre just too easy.
Serena walked toward them, gently agitating a large Bloody Mary
in a stemmed glass as she approached on bare feet. Her white sleeve-
less top scooped low in both front and back, extending an inch or so
below the top of mid-thigh length aqua shorts. Hi, sweetie, said
Moses. Hang on a minute; Ill get you a chair.
Webster, anticipating him, was already on his feet. Stay where
you are; youve been up all night. Hey, Rni.
Go Fish 599
Hey, Lee. Dont worry about that chair right now. I just came
down to see if anybodyd like one of these. She raised her glass an
inch or so. Very few people have Moses knack with a Bloody Mary,
and I found a gallon jug of em in the fridge. You made em, didnt
you? she asked as she looked at Moses.
Indeed I did, Madam; primarily with you in mind. Youre here a
little early, or Ida had em in a pitcher.
Theres a lot of stuff that hasnt been put out yet, said Serena.
Terry and Jackre just foolin around up there. You need those two
folded-up school tables in the carport down here somewhere, don-
cha?
Damn sure do. Hey, Jack!
Hes not gonna hear you from here; theyre way up in the back.
Ill go roust em out.
Waydaminit, Rni, said Roberta, getting to her feet. II think IIll
take yup on one athem Bloody Marys.
Well, Webster, said Moses as they watched the women walk back
toward the house, Life appears to be treatin you pretty well.
The chubby broadcaster smiled, pulling a shiny blue bandana
from his hip pocket and swabbing his brow and dewlaps. You could
say that, he conceded. I miss our seminars down at Ribeyes,
though.
Me, too, said Moses, having begun his solitary mourning of
their friendships impending end some time ago. Most of what I
learned about this burg was from them.
Not sure what I learned the most about, said Webster; probably
a dead heat between how to piss off the natives or put th fear of God
into em.
Moses laughed uproariously. God? Moi? Id be the last one in
town to do that!
Yeah, better edit that copy. Lets just say that you showed a lot of
em what their limitations are.
Funny how things turn out, hunh? If Walton hadnt been ready
to turn the Ritz loose, I woulda been headed on down U.S. 1 before I
had the chance to do hardly any enlightenin at all, or to get any
myself.
Well, buddy, wed allve been the worse for that. Lemme tell you
sumpm thats long overdue. Til you showed up, I didnt have a
friend in this friggin town.
And you were denitely my rst. Look whats happened now;
youre an old married gent, and Im still pitchin cards in a hat.
All I can say to that is, some cards, some hat. You know damn
well most people around hered swap lives with you in a heartbeat.
Based on what they know, said Moses with a brief wry grin.
Lets top up these beers and check on th pig. Moses slung an arm
over Websters round shoulders as they walked toward the barbeque
tent, quart-size paper cups sloshing onto the parched grass. Of all th
Bisquites Ill miss, he thought, youll be at the head of the line, ya
friggin gasbag.
Webster lost his footing and stumbled against Moses. Damn, you
do need a caretaker.
Webster laughed. But shed probably say keeper. Oh shit!
Speakin of that, I forgot to tell you. Your old playmate Lindalls get-
tin out of Reidsville next week.
Really? Seems like just yesterday he went in. Got paroled, did
he?
Yep. Hey, there, Webster said to the tall Negro who turned to
face them as they stepped under the tent that covered the barbeque
pit.
Yall ready fo a lil sample? the man asked as he stuck a twin-
tined fork into the pigs hindquarters. He pulled a chunk loose and
put it onto a paper plate.
Thanks, Rollie; looks great, said Moses. They stood at the corner
of the tent, chewing tender pork.
Go Fish 601
Lindall. I hadnt heard. Your grapevines always been better than
mine. Wonder what hell do to keep busy.
You mean aside from shootin youn Lords asses off? I cant
imagine.
Then he is truly certiable.
Bingo!
What I mean is, parolees cant leave the state, can they? So long-
haul truckins not gonna be an option. And that cute little thing he
used to be married tos not around any more, so he had to depend on
somebody around here to give im a job.
Dont know about that, said Webster. Last I heard, his pissant
nephew was drivin one a Jernigans ready-mix concrete trucks.
Maybe hell try to get im on there. What he saw as he looked up
toward the gate made him grin. But here comes somebody who
might shed some light on the situation.
An ofcer waved a steady stream of new arrivals, which included
the Bishop twins Buick, into parking spaces. As the white car slid
into its berth, Moses, already in mental retreat, took a physical step
back as Maxine Jackson and Sadie Lindall alighted from the rear
compartment. Maxine, rst out, turned and took a large box from
Sadie, setting it on the front fender. Oh, shit! he breathed. What
th hell dyou supposes in that box?
As they opened the box, Charlie and Walt Jefferson, two-up on
Charlies Indian Warrior TT, pulled to a stop, interposing themselves
between the tent and the car. One of the twins reached over Maxines
shoulder and pulled a ag, mounted on a stick that appeared to be
something over a foot long, out of the box. They could easily make
out the ags stars and bars, even at a distance of more than a hun-
dred feet. She gave the ag to Walt, who waved it above his head as
Charlie u-turned the bike back up the hill. Thats th new state ag,
said Webster. First time Ive seen one; th Legislature just passed on
it a few weeks back. Looks like theyve got a bunch of em, he said as
more people ran to the car to take ags from the women and give
them drinks in exchange. Moses now saw that they were dressed
identically, in blue short shorts and stars and bars tops of red, white
and blue, both in the shiniest-possible satin. In a very few minutes,
Rancho Notorious was studded by the new ags, which combined
the Confederate battle ag and the Georgia state seal. If thats not
tellin th Supreme Court where to stick Brown vs. Board of Educa-
tion, I dont know what is.
Somehow its nicer when you do it with tits, observed Moses.
The hard-core partiers, including Nelson Lord, the Jefferson
brothers and the ag ladies, had oated a keg of beer out into the
pond, setting up a branch party on the raft. Everyone else was full of
barbecue and gone by a little after four. The heat of the day had eased
off sufciently to allow Moses and Serena to sit at the waters edge in
chaise lounge versions of the pastel-slatted lawn furniture and
observe what Serena insisted on calling the high jinks.
Glad my folks shoved off before they started strip diving, she
said.
They all seemed to have a good time, said Moses. Buster even
mounted two of th new ags on his car.
Seemed to have, Serena agreed. Im amazed Cordelia didnt
stay for th strip diving contest. By the way.
What?
How many of those ag bimbosve you screwed, if you dont
mind my asking?
Realizing that Serena was drunker than he thought, Moses pursed
his lips in mock thought before answering. Not many.
Well, well, she said. What a lot we have to celebrate on this
Independence Day. A nice new state ag, the bomb plants all n-
ished and my lovers left a town slut or two unsullied. Happy fuckin
fourth, sailor.
And the same to you, madam. Whats this about th bomb plant?
Go Fish 603
Sheriff Wahoo had an indiscreet moment this afternoon while
Little Evvie went pee-pee. Said they were nally nished over there.
Jyou ever do her?
What?
She said it again, as she might have to a child, a word at a time.
Did-you-ever-do-Evvie?
He blew out his cheeks. Hell, no. Shes an employee. Or was, any-
way. What th hell does Wahoo know about th bomb plant?
Apparently the Feds brief the local lawmen now and then. And
apparently he thinks it impresses me to know it.
What a guy. All that knowledge and a Purple Heart too.
He can big-deal it all he wants, she said, as long as his people
and the police do their job and help us get outa here if the Russians
decide theyre gonna bomb the goddamn thing. Im not interested in
a Purple Heart of my own.
If they do decide to bomb the joint, said Moses, we probably
wont get enough notice to make any difference. And theyll use
enough planes to make sure they get the job done. Thats a big damn
area theyll have to cover, and I expect Bisqued be likely to get some
of the overow.
Wahoo said theyve had as many as forty thousand people work-
ing there.
Heus just full of information, wadnt he? If any of these security
spooks thatre hauntin the area got wind of that big mouth, wed like
as not have us a new Sheriff overnight.
Ill be back in a minute, she said, struggling a bit to get to her
feet.
Sit still, said Moses. Ill top you up.
You stay where you are, she said, and keep score. By the time
Moses had concluded that at least some of the strip divers, having
stayed in the water and moved to the far side of the raft, had become
strip fuckers, she was back, with sandwiches and the Bloody Mary
jug, which was seriously depleted. She had also changed into a pair
of jeans.
Just when I was countin on lookin at those ne legs of yours, he
said, reaching for a sandwich.
I was countin on something more than that, she said. Remem-
ber the time when we talked about having sex at a picnic?
Yes. Yes I do. Those your trick jeans?
Right you are. Dont see why a bunch of ag bimbos should have
all the fun. At least well be doin it on dry land.
We got to the eld just after ve. The heat of the day still hung on.
Mose had almost nished preighting the airplane when Mom and I
pulled up to the hangar. He looked at us around the F3Fs big round
cowl and waved, ashing a eeting conspirators smile. Paul,
already sitting in the front seat squinting at a chart, twisted his head
around quickly, and, recognizing us, icked a quick wave too.
Got everything? I asked as we walked up to him. It seemed like
the only thing left to say.
All set, he responded briskly, just as though shing was all he
had on his mind. I looked along the length of the airplane, loving as
always its curious combination of sleekness and bulk, its fragile
struts and barrel-like fuselage, the scarlet tail and bright yellow
wings. The old warrior ready for its last mission.
Pulling on his ight jacket, Mose joined us at the port wingtip.
His gray eyes skipped from mine to Moms. Wish you were going
with us.
Now that would be a ne kettle of sh, Mom said. They looked
steadily at each other for a heartbeat; then Mose grabbed us both in a
erce hug.
See you Monday, he said, letting us go and immediately turning
to put his foot on the cockpit step. Grab the re bottle for me,
Jack?
Go Fish 605
Switch on? I shouted, glad for the chance to shout down my
sadness. Switch on, Mose echoed. The big Cyclones starter
ground, turning it over slowly for a couple of turns before it cleared
its throat and caught, quickly settling down to its familiar loping, at
bass. After a couple of minutes of earth-shaking idle, Mose gave me
the thumbs-out signal. I scurried around behind the wing to pull
the wheel chocks. Dropping them, I stood there with Mom as Mose,
with a wave, taxied out of Bisque forever. In a way, I felt like hell that
I couldnt tell her what was going to happen, but in another way I
didnt. If she wanted him, shed had plenty of time to do something
about it.
Mose ran the engine up at the end of the strip. The tattered wind-
sock showed a steady 10-knot wind, just south of east, as they taxied
onto the runway. The morning shook as he throttled up, bringing
the big engine quickly to takeoff power. The tail came up right away,
and with a nal wave from the open cockpit as the F3F broke
ground, Mose was gone. We watched the plane shrink, the landing
gear creeping into the fuselage as Mose held his heading. There was
something feathery in the wings shadow that ran ahead of them.
Then I remembered; Flxs on board.
Turning to go, we saw GD standing on the porch, watching the
takeoff and, no doubt, giving Mose a grade for it. Hey, he said,
reluctantly shifting his attention from the aircrafts climbout.
Didnt expect to see you people out here this af noon. Want
sumpm to drink?
We sat on the porch, drinking and feeling the absence of Mose.
Wish that was us takin at old bird cross-country, GD said to me.
We oughta run it down to Pensacola next time youre home.
Suits me, I said, Ill call you when I know.
Ive been thinkin about upgradin the engine, he said. You
know, that 2-stage blower version that they run in the T-28s. One of
my old shipmates down there says itll bolt right up.
I dont know; how do you think the airframe would handle it?
Hell! If Al Williams could put Gs on that Gulfhawk the way he
did, I dont think another 25-30 knots of cruise is gonna strain any-
thing.
Jack, we need to get back, Mom said. It was the rst thing shed
said since we sat down.
OK.
GD picked up the glasses as we stood to leave. Well, maybe old
Cueballl bring us back some sh. Be careful, Bub. Dont let that
Rocket 88 get out from under ye.

Throttling back to twenty-six inches of manifold pressure, Moses
eased the F3Fs nose down to level ight attitude, retrimming the
controls as the aircraft picked up its normal cruising speed of 180
knots. They were at eight thousand feet, the magnetic compass
steadied up on a heading of 112 degrees, making a beeline for the
Atlantic, for which his preight planning provided an estimated en
route time of 36 minutes. Keying the microphone on the recently-
installed intercom system, he asked Brck, Howre you doing?
Very well, my friend, he responded. How long before we get
our feet wet?
Thirty-ve, forty minutes, said Moses. Got your smoke car-
tridge ready?
Ready and waiting for your signal, Captain; just give me the
word.
Great. We want to pop it before we start our descent. Ill let you
know as soon as I have contact with the boat. He had already tuned
the VHF receiver to the specied frequency. Beginning at ten past
six, Linda would key her microphone for ten seconds, at sixty-sec-
ond intervals, to allow Moses to take a bearing on the Striker with the
planes radio direction nder. Unless something totally unexpected
were to occur, he would be able to make visual contact with the boat,
whose cabin roof was overlaid by a white canvas cover with a black
Go Fish 607
cross painted on it, and ditch the aircraft beside it with no verbal
communication having been necessary. Discreet research in the
Navys Bureau of Aeronautics publications had satised Moses that
he would be able, as a number of Naval Aviators had been, to ditch
the F3F into a reasonably calm sea with little or no difculty.
As soon as Linda had the aircraft in sight, she would cut the boats
power to the minimum necessary to keep the boat headed into the
ocean swells. Moses would y the aircraft carrier-type approach that
Gene Debs had taught him, turning off the downwind leg of his
approach in a constant one-hundred-eighty-degree descending turn
instead of ying an orthodox base leg, using the boat to mark the
end of an imaginary runway in the ocean. Leaving the landing gear
up, he would y the aircraft onto the water at two or three knots
above stall speed, letting the rear third of the fuselage make rst con-
tact with the water, slowing the craft further before its bottom wing,
and immediately after that a half-ton of engine, dropped onto the
surface.
Moses radio x at six oclock showed them two minutes ahead of
their preight-planned six oclock position. He glanced down at the
remote radio detonator, wedged between the right side of his seat
and the skin of the aircraft. He had wrapped it in a metal box quite a
bit larger than the transmitter, the extra airspace in the box produc-
ing a package that would oat. The box lids rubber grommet t
onto the boxs knife edge, and the several layers of two-inch electrical
tape that encased it, guaranteed its watertight survival as he swam
from the plane to the boat. A wire cable secured with more layers of
electrical tape extended from the box to a loop that would be closed
around his wrist by a spring latch. The long blade on his pocket
knife, honed to razor sharpness, would cut through the layers of tape
very quickly as soon as they were on board the boat.
Moses looked at his watch; when the sweep-second hand hit
twelve, it would be six-ten. Glancing at his compass, he conrmed
their heading and continued scanning the blue water for sea trafc.
He took some comfort in seeing nothing, conrming his expectation
of little or no activity in the area that hed chosen. On the other
hand, where the hell was Linda? Three things happened almost
simultaneously; he banked gently to the right, beginning a series of
easy s-turns that would let him see the areas of water that the fuse-
lage and wing were blanking out. As the nose of the aircraft moved
right, he saw a white speck about ve miles ahead. The click and siz-
zle in his earphones sent his gaze immediately inside the cockpit to
the radio magnetic indicator; its needle pointed directly at the grow-
ing white speck. Looks like our ride, dead ahead, he said over the
intercom. We should get another bearing in a few seconds. By the
time we have it, we should be close enough to see the black cross.
Roger, said Brck. Standing by.
He heard the click and sizzle in his earphones again as the needle
pointed solidly in the direction of the boat; the black cross on its roof
stood out as it neared the edge of his port wing. Thats it, he said
over the intercom. Open the canopy and stream the smoke. He
throttled back to begin their descent, checking the sea around them
once again for other craft. Seeing none, he ew another thirty sec-
onds or so on the same heading before banking left to set up the
downwind leg of his approach. He could see wisps of black smoke to
his left, and was relieved to see that the rst smoke grenade had
worked, eliminating the need to re one of the two backups theyd
brought along. As they passed through ve thousand feet, he leveled
his wings on a heading roughly reciprocal to that of the boat. He
pulled back the power a little more to increase their rate of descent,
shooting for an altitude of seven to eight hundred feet by the time
they were abeam the boat. Checking again for other trafc, he asked
Brck, See any other craft down there?
Im pretty sure that I saw one due east of us just as I popped the
smoke, he said. But I lost it over the horizon as soon as you began
to let down.
Any idea what it was?
Go Fish 609
No; looked pretty small, but I couldnt say for sure.
Well, hes at least twenty miles away, said Moses as he snapped
the detonator cable around his right wrist. Well be down and
headed out of here way before he can get within binocular range of
us, even if he saw the smoke as soon as it started streaming.
As his left wingtip passed abeam the boat, Moses opened his can-
opy and banked left, adding a little power back to slow their rate of
descent just a bit. Passing through ve hundred feet, he took it off
again, condent now of touching down very near the boat. Check
your shoulder harness locked, he said over the intercom.
Roger, Brck acknowledged.
The waves were near enough now to estimate their height, which
he put at a couple of feet at most. The boat was just off the planes
nose now; he smiled to himself as he shot a quick glance at the stern.
Striker. Quickly pulling the throttle back to its stop, he eased a little
more back pressure onto the stick, scrubbing off a bit more speed
but making sure the aircraft didnt begin to stall. He wanted to ease it
into the water as gently as he possibly could. Easy, easy, he said to
himself just as he felt the tail kiss the water. The aircraft settled on to
the sea with a whoosh and a very sudden stop. Although he couldnt
see it, Striker was already under way, picking up speed to cover the
scant two hundred feet between them in a hurry.
This a WBQE news ash.This morning, Federal District Court
Judge Whitlow Richards ruled that former Bisque residents Moses
Kubielski and Paul Pulaski were killed when the airplane in which they
were ying last August sixth crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. While the
Judge was not specic with respect to the process of his decision with
regard to the deaths of Messrs. Kubielski and Pulaski, who were bound
for Kitty Hawk for a weekend of shing, expert observers who would not
consent to be identied credited the testimony of commercial sherman
Rodney Bledsoe as crucial to the case. Mr. Bledsoe, of Nags Head,
North Carolina, testied that he had seen the Grumman biplane begin
a smoky descent into the sea, exploding on impact. Mr. Bledsoe also tes-
tied that his boat reached the impact site within a half hour of sighting
the stricken airplane. His crew recovered a few pieces of the wreckage,
but saw no sign of either man. The sea just swallowed em up, Mr.
Bledsoe said.
- 611 -
s
c h a p t e r 3 0
Case Discount
The breeze blew briskly, drier than usual for Miami, even in the win-
ter. Jack pressed the button, and again half a minute later when hed
heard no bell or buzzer inside. Seconds later Linda opened the door.
Hi, Jack, she said, the husky alto bringing everything back to him,
smiling as she extended her hand. Howve you been? Her dark red
hair was cut short now, making the high cheekbones more of her
face than ever. A blue scoop-neck top clung tastefully to the well-
remembered contours of her body.
Recovering, Jack managed to say, Hey, Linda; long time. She
smiled again, glancing back over her shoulder. A tan, slim, long-
haired Peter Wessel, in a white guayabera shirt, stood grinning
behind her. The man who had once been Moses Kubielski had also
acquired a close-clipped moustache and a new nose.
Get in here, shitbird, he said, reaching out to put his arm
around him, hauling him into a hug, which Linda augmented with
an arm around each of them. Sorry to spring my new look on you
this way. Keeping an arm around him, he pulled him into the
houses interior, down a shadowy hall toward the daylight at its end.
This place is no Taj Mahal, but itll do for awhile. Plenty of room,
anyhow. You can stay for awhile, caincha?
As long as it takes, seenyore, Jack said, I wanta hear what the
hell yallve been up to for the last two-three years, besides plastic
surgery, you ol muffucker. I cant believe were here.
Unbelievables the only word that ts, Peter/Moses agreed. They
went through the door into a large courtyard that hosted three six-
foot-plus palmettos. Sit, he said, waving a hand at one of two white
wicker chaises on either side of a glass-topped table. A large metal
pitcher sat on the glass in a pool of condensation, sharing the space
with half a dozen stemmed glasses. Daquiri OK, or something
else?
Daquiri? Fine, Jack said. Itll be my rst.
They sat, Jack and Linda on the green-and-white striped chaises
and Peter in a matching armchair, letting the rst half of their drinks
settle things down. Jack spoke rst. Whend yall get here?
Couple of weeks ago, said Linda. We loaded the boat on Christ-
mas eve, and weighed anchor at sunup. The gunre over in Santa
Clara kept the sky lit up all night.
We werent that much ahead of Lanskys bunchor Batistas
either, for that matter, said Peter, getting up to top off the Daquiris.
By New Years, Castro and company were movin into Havana and
takin over.
It sure happened in a hurry, said Jack, who had to keep remind-
ing himself who this ersatz Latino was. Do you think thingsll get
better down there, or worse?
Hard to say, if you mean better for the Cubans, said Peter. But
it sure as hell wont be better for Gringos any time soon.
Guess not. A revolutions no place for the haves. By the way,
whatd yall do with Dieter? He came back with you, didnt he?
Hes dead, Jack. Almost two years, Peter said, his head dropping
slightly, seeming to rotate on the axis of his eyes as they continued to
look at him.
Case Discount 613
The blood drained out of Jacks face. Dead? What happened?
Got his head blown off in Havana when a bunch of rebels
attacked Batistas palace. Sittin in the back of a cab, on Calle Mon-
serrate, mindin his own friggin business. It was his bad luck to be
sittin there when they blocked trafc and charged the building. The
casino people got us a copy of the police report; fty-caliber slugs hit
Paul and several others when one of the machine guns opened up on
the rebels.
Jesus. When was that?
1957. March 13
th
. A Wednesday; we hadnt even been there a
year.
God. What a shame.
Yeah. Dieterhis new name was Robertwas really enjoying
Havana. Wed gotten a house out in Vedado; we called it
Hawkcienda, for this hawk whose picture Linda shot. He ran a herd
of Cubanitas in and out of there day and night. They loved his pale
blondness, even when hed left the pale part behind. He used to say,
Havana makes up for all of the horseshit, in that piss-elegant way of
swearing that he had, making it seem like he really hadnt said
horseshit at all, but something that youd say at a Ladies Aid lunch.
Well, at least he had a good time while it lasted.
About that hawk, said Jack. You say you shot a picture of it on
th boat?
Yeah; it came out so well that I had had it blown up so we could
hang it in the hall, Linda said. That damn bird was sumpm else; he
ew in and lit right after I picked em up. Just perched out there on
the bow and watched everything that went on. Hed come and go,
but he stayed with us all the way to Havana. Guess that was the only
way hed ever have made it, using the boat has his own personal han-
gar.
Yeah, that crazy bird was a lot of company to us. said Peter.
Dieter got in the habit of talking to him, and damned if he didnt
act like the damn bird was talking back to him. He took off as soon
as we had Cuba in sight, and we never saw him again. So we hung
that picture of him in the house, and it seemed like the right thing to
do for Dieter to take him along when he was cremated.
Guess you could say hes back in the air, said Jack with a
momentary grin. Just livin there mustve been awful, after losin
Dieter like that. But yall really had no alternative to stayin there, at
least for awhile.
Well, there probably were alternatives, but it just seemed easier to
stay. Except for the few weeks when we snuck up here last year to get
this nose job.
It looks good; itd take awhile for anybody who knew you before
to recognize you, which I suppose is the idea.
Just a precaution, once I realized that Id be wantin to come back
here some day. We had a helluva good time down there for those rst
few months. After Dieter bought it, of course, things turned pretty
at. And even with the connection to Lanskys people, a police states
a police state. The longer you stay, the more you see. We were about
ready to get back to the mainland, Castro or not.
I guess so, Jack said. His assumption was that Mosehe couldnt
call him Peter yetand Linda were together, had been together for all
this time, and that Moses knew that he and Linda had been lovers
could you call it that? A kids passion for an older woman, who, as
much as shed seemed to enjoy it, had probably never been all that
excited about itbut he wanted to, had to, hear it from them. He
decided to wait them out, at least for a while. Were you down there
th whole time too, Linda?
Yes, I was, she said with a wry smile. He promised to show me
Cuba, and I held him to it.
Wed neverve pulled it off without Linda, said Peter. Shes
some navigator; met us out there on the high seas like it was nothin.
Nine days later, we were anchored in Havana harbor.
Case Discount 615
I know that it had to be done, but I still hate to think about that
beautiful bird on the bottom, said Jack. Particularly since I never
got to solo it.
Its on the bottom, all right, and in a lot of little pieces; I have a
hard time with that myself, from time to time. But I couldnt think of
another way to wipe Dieter and me clean off the face of the earth,
with no chance of anyone bein able to poke around into what hap-
pened. Not in 100 fathoms of ocean.
No, I certainly couldnt imagine a better way. You guys really
evaporated.
Good description, laughed Peter. Thats what we did, but it
never occurred to me to think of it as evaporation.
And it felt just about as slow as evaporation, running down the
Intracoastal with them laying low in the cabin, said Linda.
Yeah, it got kinda rancid below decks, said Peter, but it was
pretty cheap insurance. Even though Linda had to deal with a few
people askin her how it was to solo sumpm as big as a 46-footer, it
was better than somebody rememberin later on that theyd seen a
coupla guys that looked a lot like the unfortunate crash victims of
July 6. He paused, taking a long pull of his drink. Well, thats the
short take on where weve been, bud, he said. Howve you and
Bisque been doin?
You can ask me that, after servin a ten-year sentence yourself?
Its Bisque, thats all. A little town fulla little people. Ill never forget
what you said that day when we were driving back from Ricks house
the day they kicked him off the team. Most of these fuckin people
are so full of fear that theyve forgotten what theyre afraid of.
Understanding that was really the beginning of my growing up. Oh.
Pap died last year.
Im sorry. It mustve been unexpected.
Yep. Heart attack. Hed just turned eighty. Guess I thought hed
go on forever.
He was as good a man as I ever knew. And I know I said that
about th Bisquites, but lookin back on the few places Ive been, its
pretty much the same anywhere you go. Most people live in fear. And
thanks to the God industry, theyre not just afraid to die; theyre
afraid of whats going to happen to them after they die. Lets just, as
they say, rejoice that were not on that particular ship of fools.
Speakin of fools, Jack said, John Lindalls in th ground.
Moses eyes narrowed. How about that. Somebody shoot im?
Nope. Guess you could say he did it to himself. Remember how
hot people got when the Civil Rights Act got passed?
Whooee. I can still see alla those little Georgia ags that th Slut
Brigade brought to that last party.
Well, the city council was split 3 to 3 on closin the swimming
pool out at th park to the keep the blacks out. They wrangled
around tryin to get your ol pal the chairman to break the tie, and it
got into the paper in one way or another every day. Well, ol Johnny
was maybe three, four weeks outa prison; drivin a ready-mix truck
for Jernigan.
Umm-hm.
Well, he decided to take the job outa the councils hands. He took
a full load of concrete out there after dark, backed up to the fence,
knocked it down and went to the back of th truck to drop the chute,
Jack grinned. He just forgot one thing.
What was that?
To set the brake. Goddamn truck crunched his ass on its way into
th pool.
Bet that got th Klan hoppin.
Got th council hoppin, too. Th damn pool was slap-full acon-
crete by the end of the week. And theres more good news.
Dont know if I can handle any more, Mose chuckled.
Yes you can. Wahoos now the ex-Sheriff of Hamm County; lost
the election last year.
Good God! Howd that happen?
Case Discount 617
What you might expect; too horny for too long. Accordin to th
grapevine, Dr. Clinton opened the door to this supply room at th
hospital, and there was ol Wahoo, takin a ride on a Licensed Practi-
cal Nurse of the Negro persuasion.
Holy shit! Even he should know theres a limit. Or at least to lock
the door.
Jack grinned. Nobodys perfect, least of all Wahoo. I doubt he
thought anybodyd dare to mention it. After all, heus th law. If itd
been an intern or somebody that found em, hedve probably pulled
it off. But Dr. Clinton called the cops and signed a complaint.
Overcondencell do it every time. So whos sheriff?
Guy named Malone. Used to be on the police force. Coulda been
a police dog anve beaten Wahoo.
Sic transit gloria hard-on. Whats he doing now?
Working for th company.
It was Peters turn to grin. Doin what?
One of the things that he does real well. Drivin around.
Beer delivery?
Yep. Seems to be enjoying it. Except for Ralph bein his boss. But
you cant have everything; hes got a wife to support.
Oh? Whos that?
Evvie Summers.
No.
Yes. The ever-pregnant Mrs. McDaniel. She, excuse the expres-
sion, ngered him.
Peter was still grinning. Youve become an evil person, my boy.
Not at all. I just tried my best to think like you. To see the poten-
tial in an unusual situation. Not that Im not taking a little perverse
pleasure in the process.
So you like the beer business?
Not all that much, but Bev and Ralph pretty much run it. Ive
only been on the scene full time since last June. And Ive put out feel-
ers for a buyer.
Peters grin faded slightly. Really. Why would you want to sell a
cash cow like that?
Because I wanta be gone from Bisque. And thanks to you, Ill
clear enough from the sale to do exactly what you did; found the
Republic of Me.
No doubt of that, said Peter, grinning broadly as he rellled
their drinks. Whatd you do last year?
A little under three and a half.
Well, dont take less than ten. And no payout; if youre gonna
leave town, hold them to a cash deal.
Dont worry, said Jack. And Bruce thinks I can get closer to
twelve.
Bruce Goode?
Sure.
Well, its your deal, buddy. Id feel better if Pap was there to give
you a hand. Of course you know Ill do whatever I can to help you.
I know that very well, Mose. Jesus. Peter. Hows longs it gonna
take for you to start bein Peter to me? Thanks.
Is your mom still there?
In Bisque? No. Shes been back in New York for awhile now.
Really.
Yeah, its been almost two years.
Does she like it as well as she thought she would?
Seems to. Her stuff s selling pretty well, and she thinks shes get-
ting a commission from somebodyPhilip Morris, I thinkto do a
big piece for them. Big fee, although that doesnt mean as much to
her as the recognition, particularly since Pap died.
Thats the way to live in New York, said Linda. An independent
income.
Jack looked at her, trying and failing to stop reliving at lightspeed
their every moment together. Not a bad way to live anywhere, he
said.
Hows Ricky doin? asked Peter.
Case Discount 619
Pretty damn well, said Jack. He was drafted by the Colts, so the
next time Ill see him may be on television. Goes by Rick now, by the
way. And still buying the Jesus bit. Ill probably be pesterin his ass
for tickets to a Giants game before long.
Rick was Jacks best friend, growin up in Bisque, Peter said to
Linda. They were my welcomin committee to town, back in 46.
Yeah, we were, said Jack. I can still see th steam blowin outa
that big old white Buick.
Speakin of that, said Peter, What about the Bishop twins?
Jacks grin widened as he looked at Linda. I doubt that hes told
you about the Bishop twins.
Not a thing, said Linda, her eyebrows arching slightly as she
returned the grin.
They were the town psychics.
Bullshit.
No, really. They could see things that would happen in the
future, and back into the past, too. They were sumpm. When this
girl accused Rick of knockin her up, they told him that the baby was
her old boyfriends, who she was still seeing while she and Rick were
together. They told him, and his folks, exactly when and where it
happened, all the details down to what they both were wearing.
Ricks dad got the three families together and confronted Trisha and
Prestonthe old boyfriendwith the details. They folded up on the
spot, and Rick was off the hook.
They were sumpm, all right, said Peter with a wry shake of his
head. They got hold of my old car and started followin me around
town in th damn thing. They got to where theyd just walk up to me
and start telling me stuff about myself that nobody couldve known.
Called me Petey. They made a believer out of me in nothin at.
Scared the shit out of me, with all those FBI and AEC peepers all
over th place.
Ill tell you sumpm else, said Jack. They wanted to screw you,
in the worst way.
Peter glanced at Linda. I dont suppose I should ask how you
happen to know that.
They told usRick and me. We got to be pretty good friends after
they cleared up th Trisha business.
Well, said Peter, by the time DieterPaul, at the timeshowed
up, their screwin around had gotten me about ready to bail outa
Bisque anyway. It was only a matter of time before one or another
Fed tapped into the Bisque grapevine. And not long after that they
woulda been askin me questions that I didnt have the right answers
for.
The twins problem, Jack explained to Linda, was sumpm that
nobody in Bisqued ever heard of. Tourettes syndrome, but with a
twist. They were okay as long as they were togtheryou know, close
by each otherbut if they got separated, theyd go kinda crazy.
Tourettes. That the one where people suddenly start talkin nasty
in public? asked Linda.
Yeah, among other things, said Jack. I guess its a lot better
known now than it was back in the forties. My introduction to it was
during grammar school; one of them got stuck recitin a poem and
out of the blue shouted fuuuck! as loud as she could. From then
on, there wasnt any question that the Bishop twinslater known as
the Boobsie Twins, for their post-puberty developmentwere people
to be reckoned with.
Im afraid to ask, said Peter, but do you know what became of
them?
Oh, yeah. According to Lee Webster, who got it from their aunt
the beautician, theyre livin in New York. Youll love this; theyre
commodity traders.
Commodity traders?
Believe it or not. Appears as how theyd been helpin their daddy
do sumpm they call hedgin, sellin cattle an buyin grain, since they
were thirteen, fourteen. One of the packin company guys got wind
of it an started keepin up with their uncanny success, hired em
Case Discount 621
both right outa Georgia, and they jumped from there to th New
York ofce of one a th big brokerage houses. By th way; I bought
your car from em pretty soon after you left.
What? Peter barked, unable to hide the momentary look of dis-
tress that crossed his face.
I said I bought it. The engine blew up while they were travelin
with the Tabernacle, and their daddy had it towed to the Buick place.
I gave Foster two bills for it, and got Skeeter and Roy to straighten it
out. Drove it down here from Bisque without the rst burp. Roy says
its gotta be makin around 400 horsepower now.
Oh, Jesus.
You wont believe it. Roy ported the head and found some big
Pontiac valves thatd t. Put in a Crane cam, Jahns 10-to-1 pistons,
Edelbrock headers, two Holley 500 cfm carbs, an aluminum y-
wheel, oil cooler and steel main bearing caps. He took a set of new
stock rods and got em heat treated, shot-peened and magnauxed. I
remember you sayin itd do eighty in second gear; itll do ninety-ve
now.
I thought Id seen the last of that white elephant. said Peter.
You have, said Jack. Its blue now. Authentic 1941 Buick Mus-
keteer Blue. And they repainted the engine block red, the stock color
for just that one year. But heres the best part.
What?
Its cool. Air-conditioned, that is. Waitll you see the size of that
compressor. Six vents blowin cold air all over that ole bus.
And a stock hood ornament? Peter asked with raised eyebrows.
Plain old bombsight, Jack laughed. But I still have the custom
one, if you want it.
Sounds like a drugstore cowboys dream, just like it is.
Well, ride em, cowboy. Its yours again.
Wait a minute
Just think of it as th smallest of paybacks. I hope youll enjoy it.
Im sure I will. Thanks, bud. Maybe theyll bury me in it. I cant
help thinkin how big itd have gone over in Havana.
Yeah, with that Gilbert Roland prole, youda slayed em.
They stood abreast on the beach, Lindas arms around their
waists, watching the Atlantics blue-gray color deepen in the setting
sun. Well, sport, said Peter, it might take a day or two to gure
out, but Ill ask the question anyway; whaddya wanta do now?
I dunno exactly, Jack said, feeling Lindas hand creeping south
for a momentary squeeze of his right cheek. Well think of sumpm.
Yeh-baw-ey, said Peter.
We better get going, said Linda. Our reservations for seven.
Reservation? Jack said. For what?
Dinner, said Peter. A thank-you for touting us onto this place.
One of Lindas canasta partners at the Capri referred us to a guy that
lives here.
Bernie. A guy Id seen at the blackjack table often enough that we
developed an acquaintance, she said. I liked the Capri; it was close
to our place, and small. And George Raft was its front man, but he
was only around at night. Bernie was some kind of government
inspector, and I guess he liked gambling on the job in a more
secluded location than the big hotels. Spoke American English. I
mentioned one day that I might be shopping for a place in Miami
Beach, and he told me about Howard. Said he had a place here in
Coconut Grove, and suggested I call him.
Lets take old Musketeer Blue and arrive in style, buddy, said
Peter.
They slid into the Buicks front seat, Jack driving at Peters sugges-
tion. Youre used to this new version, hed said. Id rather get used
to 400 horsepower in broad daylight, cold sober. Reacting to sound
of the engines exhaust, which approximated that of a well-mufed
Peterbilt, with a quick glance at each other, they settled back for the
short ride out Coconut Groves Main Highway. Heard anything
about Ziggy?
Case Discount 623
Oh shit, Ziggy. I sure have. He was at Morehouse College for four
years, you remember, after getting out of the Marines in 54.
Yeah, I kept up with im, after a fashion, through Ralph while he
was in school. He only came home a coupla times that I know about,
durin the time I was still there.
Guess he was too busy with the band.
Band?
Yeah, he started singin with a band pretty soon after he got
there. Just some students whod put a group together. Ziggy was
probably the only guy old enough to hit the low notes of the old R&B
standards they were copycattin. But it turned out he was better than
even he expected. He got hooked up with a voice teacher, and the
band started getting some fairly decent bookings. They were on that
local TV show in Atlanta, Caf TV, a coupla times. Remember?
Theyd do an hour on Saturday afternoons, the rst half gospel and
the second R&B.
Dont guess I ever caught it, said Peter. Whats their name?
The Chimes. Ziggy and the band didnt get on until after youd
gone, anyway. But heres the best part; theyve cut two or three
records on the OKEH label thatve gotten pretty fair radio play.
Damn! I bet Ralphs chest is stuck out a mile.
It is, but itd be stickin out a little farther if Ziggy wadnt quite so
political.
Political? Whaddya mean?
Hes been involved with this SCLC, Southern Christian Leader-
ship Council, or Conference, not sure what the Cs for, but its a
negro civil rights group that this preacher, Martin Luther King,
started in Atlanta after the black woman got locked up over in Mont-
gomery. Kingd been at Morehouse, too, so he had a pretty good-
sized booster group built into the campus. Ziggyd recruited for the
Marines there, so he was pretty well-known even before he started
school. And a decorated Marine made him great window-dressing
for Kings bunch. He became known in the movement, and publicly
for awhile, for a speech that he made right after the Russians invaded
Hungary in 56. The line the newcasts picked up was Wars fuck peo-
ple up. Thats why they have em.
Sure, I remember Ralph talkin about that. Had all Bisque talkin
for about a month. And aside from why he said it, I cant say hes
wrong, said Peter. Sobering, he added, I wish I could see im. And
Ralph. And Webster and all the rest.
And you know theyd feel the same way, said Jack. Just to know
youre alive
Here we are, Linda broke in. As a well-tipped parking attendant
positioned the Buick out front, the trio walked jauntily up the broad
steps and into the foyer of Normans Restaurant. It was 7:05; a voice
behind and to the right of them said Ah. The Wessel party?
Turning, they saw a balding man of about forty-ve, medium height,
in wraparound sunglasses and a powder-blue silk polo shirt, his
hand extended. Jack was closest to him and took it. Hello, he said.
Im Howard Hunt.

As we ate Normans excellent an, it became evident that Hunt
wanted to extend the dinner conversation beyond dinner, and to
restrict that conversation to Pete and himself. The erudite, slickpated
Hunt turned up the charm to make his request, explaining that he
was just starting research on a book about Castros takeover of Cuba.
To his obvious relief, neither Linda nor I objected; I couldnt believe
this opportunity, much sooner than I couldve dreamed, to see if
things between us were the same as before, as was indicated by our
having taken every more-or-less discreet opportunity to touch each
other. Hunt assured us that hed drop Pete off after theyd dissected
his take on three or four decades of Cuban history. The old Buicks
new power got us back to the house in a hurry, and we were in bed
ve minutes later.
Case Discount 625
The time that had passed since our last time in the Petrels after
cabin evaporated. Lindas delight that I had grown up made the
reunion sweeter than Id have dared imagine. We spent a vigorous
half-hour making up, or beginning to make up, for the years that
wed been apart. Wed better get dressed, I said. Hell probably be
back before long.
Dont worry about that, sweetie, she said, stretching luxuriously.
Moseshit, see, I do it tooPeterhe knows all about us. I told him,
in Havana. And I told him that I intended to get you into bed as soon
as I possibly could.
You did? Then-
Oh, honey, you thought that he and I
You mean you didnt?
No. Jesus, even I have to draw the line somewhere. I think we
probably both thought about it, and came to the same conclusion; it
was just too creepy somehow, so we never even discussed it. He
fucked your mother and mine, for Chrissake! Now I was attracted, at
rst, to Dieter, but then hewell, the entire time in Cuba was pretty
much a bust for me, sexwise. I was looking forward to getting with
you in Havana, but of course Castro and company blew that for us.
So, baby, here we are, and no need to wait up for the old boy. Well
see him at breakfast.
Shit, Linda; Im having trouble digestin this as fast as youre
throwin it; hes like a dad to me; I havent seen him in nearly three
years, and Im supposed to just hop out of bed in the morning, say
Hi, Pete, thanks for bringin my lover-that-I-never-told-you-about
back in one piece?
Well, you could say that, sweetie, but actually Im the one who
brought him back. Cmere and gimme some gratitude. From what
Id been able to see so far, the years since wed been together hadnt
been at all hard on her body, and seeing her at thirty-ve in the
warm light of the bedside lamp conrmed the impression. When I
was sixteen, Id imagined her as a hammered copper statue, come to
life. Tonight she was a bowsprit nymph, a slim shining reection of
the sea. Get that oil on top of the chest of drawers, would you,
baby?
What was left of the next morning pretty much took care of itself.
We could see Petethats what Id decided to call himout on the
beach, so we dressed, got coffee from the pot that hed made, and
joined him. A lot had changed in a little over twelve hours, and I felt
pretty good about most of it. A little put off, maybe, about Linda
wanting me to do her butt. She said that she felt she couldnt ask me
to do it before, but now would I please, because she needed it to
complete the act of love. And once I got the hang of it I kinda liked
the way she whispered Fuck me, Daddy! every time I pushed in, and
I got used to the shit aspect. Looking back, I hate to think that I
mightve left her hanging all those times, when she always seemed
pretty well whipped. Live and learn, I guess.
Seeing us, he shouted Mornin, guys. I was glad to see that hed
ditched that fruity white shirt. Standing there on the beach in a swim
suit, he looked a lot more like the old Mose. And there was no ques-
tion that he was happy to see us together. Ya just missed th por-
poise sweepstakes, he said, with a sweeping wave toward the ocean.
We walked down to the water, side by side, splashing calf-deep in the
cool, gray Atlantic. But this time Linda wasnt in the middle; I was.
Pete took the right side, where the water was deepest, while Linda
splashed along on the shore side, ankle deep. Hope you werent
worried about what I thought about you kids bein together, he said.
We just got too pressed for time last night to talk about the old
times. You really put one over on me, shitbird; when Linda told me
about the way you guys carried on in New York, I laughed like a
sonofabitch.
You know, as funny as it sounds now, I was afraid that if I told
you, you might tell me something I didnt want to hear, like what a
bad idea it was for me to be involved with an older woman, or
maybe that you might give Linda the version of that warning that
Case Discount 627
applied to her. All I knew was that seein Linda made visitin Dad a
lot more fun than it used to be.
I thank you, said Linda, and the New York Bureau of Tourism-
giving my butt a vicious pinchthanks you.
Well, you know I mightve done sumpm like that, too, for you
guys own good; wouldnta made me look too smart in hindsight,
would it? And that was his last word on the subject.
Sensing that it was, I asked him, Did you get Mr. Hunt straight-
ened out on Cuba?
He seemed ta be pretty straightened out already, Pete said with a
smile. I dont think I was able ta tell him a thing he didnt already
know. Didnt seem to upset him; he said he was happy just to get the
perspective of another American who had spent some time in Cuba
durin Batistas last days. Mostly, we talked about what Id seen in my
day-to-day contact with Cubans; how strong their support for Cas-
tro appeared to be six, twelve, eighteen months before the march on
Havana.
Did you tell him about Dieter gettin killed?
Sure. Couldnt see any reason not to. Just described him as a
friend wed met in Havana and invited to share our hacienda. He was
real interested in the story, and sympathetic; it was the only thing,
really, that I told im that really piqued his interest.
Of course, Linda interjected, you werent about to tell him
about Ldias daughter.
Hah! Not in a million years. You remember Ldias story, Jack.
Sure, I said. You obviously looked her up.
Yeah; turned out shed married a doctor by the name of Snchez.
They were livin out there in Oriente province, close to where she
grew up. Linda and I paid em a visit; it was quite a reunion. They
seemed pretty happy; his politicsre way over to the left, so I guess it
was natural that their daughter, Clia, would adopt his ideas. She
moved even farther to the left as she grew up, and joined up with
Castro in the Sierra Maestre right after he returned to Cuba. Accor-
din to Ldia, shes now one of a handful of his trusted advisers, right
up there, she told me, proud as she could fuckin be, with Ch and
Ral.
Good God! I said. Ch. Guevara. Ive heard of him, guess
everybody has. But Ral
Rals Castros brother.
Whoa! Good thing you kept that to yourself. You never know
who a guy like Hunt may be talking to next. You could have more
consulting business than the law allows.
Thats right; hes an interestin guy, but Ive had enough of Cuba
til they nish killin each other, if they ever do. And that was pretty
much all he had to say about Cuba for the rest of the three weeks or
so that we were together. Three weeks couldnt make up for three
years, but we managed to put a pretty good dent in the large lump of
loneliness that Id lived with since seeing the old boy off in 56. And
the name is starting to seem pretty natural to me now; it helps, of
course, to remember that its his real name.
Well, boys, Linda said, If you think you can do without me for
an hour or so Ill go gas up the boat and pick you up for lunch. She
looked at me. The one thing this place doesnt have is a dock, so
youll have to swim out when your hear the horn. See ya. Oh. Mind if
I drive the Buick?
As she walked away, Pete put his arm around my shoulder.
Howre you doin, buddy?
Notsa bad, I guess, considerin.
Yeah, Im sorry that business with Hunt came up last night, but
maybe it was just as well. You got some time alone with Linda, and
now you get some with me.
And not a minute too damn soon; Im still workin to keep my
feet under me.
I know; I feel pretty much the same way, although I know a little
more about what youve been doin since Dieter and I took off that
Case Discount 629
day in 56. Anyway ya look at it, its a long time for best friends not to
see each other.
Thats for sure. I habm even had the chance to tell you what a
great funeral you had.
Oh, yeah? Ya know, I never gave much thought to that. I know it
couldntve been any fun, even though you knew I was OK.
Yeah. Mailing me that postcard from Sylvia on your way down
was a nice touch. Youdve been pleased at the turnout; quite a few
people in Bisque that thought a hell of a lot of you, and were damn
sorry you were gone. I dont think Moms over it yet.
Im sorrier about that than I am about anything that had to do
with this, Buddy. I loved her the way I expect Ill never love again,
and Im sorry that you had to bear the frustration of our situation on
top of everything else. I had no right to ask you to do what you did,
but it was the only way I could see to get everybody clear of Bisque.
Maybe if Id been a little bit more of a genius
Well, Ive been thinkin about it since you left, and I havent been
able to come up with another way to get it done. And it had to be
done, didnt it?
Either that, said Pete, or continue the Bisque experience while I
was hearin footsteps and you werewhat?
Not gettin rich, I laughed.
He laughed, too, and tightened his grip on my shoulder. Guess
you could say we both got rich- he raised his hands in front of him
to make the quotation marksby accident. Well, after the last couple
of years, Im ready to explore the process of gettin a little less richon
purpose. Hope you can see your way clear to join me down here
while we gure out what else lifes got in store for us.
Sounds like a damn ne idea. Ill run on back up to Bisque in a
few days and see what I can do about gettin things closed out there.
One things for sure; were gonna need the bikes. Ill get em crated
up and sent down here.
Better not, til we nd a place to keep em. Ill let you know. Im
damn sure ready for some ridin; habm had a bike under me since
my last ride on th Shadow. He paused, then said, Listen; youre still
the only one that knows the whole story. And ya always will be.
Linda thinks that th whole Cuba exercise was just to get Dieter out
of the KGB, and that I did it because he saved my life in Spain, which
of course is true. She didnt need to know any more than that. She
thinks that I became Pete Wessel as part of the operation. So, please,
dont tell her any different, regardless of how things turn out
between th two of you. OK?
Sure its OK. I told you back in Bisque that Id never tell another
soul, and I wasnt makin any mental reservations when I said so. I
gured youd let me know when, or if, anything changed along that
line.
I guess a little of the pique that I felt crept into my voice, and that
Pete picked up on it. Hey, buddy, he said, pulling me around to
face him. I know that. If I hadnt been certain of it, I could never
have trusted you with my life in the rst place. He looked at me for
another long moment, then with a quick shake of his head said, No.
I felt sure you could handle it, but I really didnt have any choice,
because there was no way that Id let you think that I was dead for
even a second. Thats why I did it; simply because I had to.
I gripped both his shoulders and returned his steady gaze, as
steady, that is, as a gaze can be when both parties eyes are full of
tears. I know that, Pete; knowin thats what got me through this.
That, I thought, and a bunch of Flx briengs. Hey, man, youre get-
tin me outa th Bisque morass, along with you guys. But when I saw
Linda
You thought thingsd changed. I dont blame ya. In your shoes,
Ida thought th same thing. You put a woman into any situation, and
all betsre off. Dont get me wrong; as women go, Lindas the absolute
best. But women can get men to do things for em thatre, well, the
only word I can think of right nows irrational. Happens millions of
Case Discount 631
times a day, all over the world. So damn if I can blame you for
thinkin she was leadin me around by my dick. Nice to know it aint
so, idnt it?
Very damn nice, I said, grinning at him.
Were all in this little enterprise together. Lindas quite a bit older
than you are, and quite a bit younger than me. Im not sure how that
factll gure in the long term; its one of a lotta reasons Im sorry
Dieters gone, because I think she was all his, and vice versa. Her
drinkin picked up, and stayed up, for quite awhile after he died. Im
afraid she might go back to it some time when her life gets rocky
again. Looks like she picked up that trait from her Mother, and I told
you what that was like. And sex could be what does it. Here today,
gone someday, unless the folks in question are really special to each
other. Guess well just have to let it play out. If things go well with
yall, thatll be one big thing we wont hafta worry about. If she got
interested in somebody off the street, well, then wed all be takin a
closer look at how many laws we had to break to get where we are.
Just keep that in th backa your head. He blew out his cheeks, shak-
ing his head in mute indication that he wanted to leave the situation
in limbo for the time being. One more thing, though. I need to even
things up with you about sumpm.
In spite of his smile, my stomach plunged toward my shoes.
Whats that?
Remember the day you quit football?
Dont guess Ill ever forget it.
You surprised me that day; more than once, but what Im talkin
abouts when you got outa th car at school.
Oh.
You know what I mean.
Yeah.
Well, Im beatin ya to it this time. I love ya, shitbird. Opening
his arms wide, he took the necessary step toward me to wrap me in
one of his trademark hugs, which I was happier than ever to return,
and not give a shit who saw us, even though I doubt anyone did.
I love you too, Pete. Thats sumpm I havent heard it from my
Dad since I was ve years old.
You know sumpm, buddy? I never heard it from mine. My mom,
sure, all th time, but never from him. I wonder how different things
mightve been if I had.
We drank a lot of rum in various Coconut Grove and South Beach
joints while Pete, as he put it, gathered a market sample. Some-
times hed bring a sample home, sometimes not; meanwhile Linda
and I went at it like sables in heat. The days began late, as a rule; we
spent a lot of time on the water, cruising the local waters in Striker
and looking at used amphibians as possible replacements for the F3F.
Pete said that he thought some island-hopping might help us gather
our thoughts about the future, and we looked at a few ex-military
multisPBYs, UFs and SA-16s. Hed logged some twin-engine time
in Cuba, but not enough to go for a rating. With our own aircraft, of
course, we could log time in a hurry.
Driving to the store to pick up some beer and baby oil one morn-
ing, Id just turned onto the highway when Flx ew in the window.
Howdy, podnuh, he screeched, perching on the back of the seat.
Howdy your own damn self; where you been?
Just fartin around while you get your horns clipped, ol sport.
They gettin short enough to suit you yet?
Yeah, theyre gettin there, I told him, But Ive still got some
work to do. Had a little dry spell to get over.
What he said then made me glad birds cant smirk. Yeah, addin
buttfuckin to your repertoire oughta let you pull even a little
quicker.
I wanted to bat his ass into the back seat, but thought better of it
since I didnt want him going away to sulk, or whatever trans-tempo-
ral birdlike immortal beings do when theyre pissed, right now.
Case Discount 633
Instead I slid him some sarcasm. Guess youre gettin a big fuckin
kick outa watchin.
Oh, not so much; Ive seen buttfuckin by experts; Alexander and
Ptolemy spring immediately to mind, but Pete aint so bad himself.
Hed applaud your generosity with th baby oil.
Id like to see you try it. Thatd be a sight to see, appin your
goddamn wings around tryin to get that stinger of yours inta
sumpm.
My equipment aint the issue here; its yo shaft thats gettin
chapped. You dont need to be fallin inta that thing and lettin it
slam shut on yo ass.
Dont sweat that; Im gettin back to work in a few days.
Back to dear ole Biscue.
Bingo. Gotta get out of th beer business if Im gonna play
around with these two. Shes takin me back on Striker; up the Intra-
coastal as far as the Savannah River, then hang a left upriver to
Augusta.
That oughta be quite a trip. Maybe you can do a little stand-up
butt work while shes drivin.
Why didnt I think of that? I could see it happening, too. Any-
way, couldnt very well turn er down. Said shed heard way too much
about Bisque not to have a look at it for herself, and that there was
no time like the present. What she said was, Ive gotta see the place
that could hold both of you wild-ass motherfuckers for ten years. So
were castin off Friday, and next week Linda gets a load of Bisque,
and vice-a versa.
Well, sex aint all ole Petes inventive about, Flx warbled. Unless I
miss my guess, he and that Hunt character aint seen the last of each
other.
Well, I guess if the guys doin research on a book, he might want
to talk to Pete again.
Flx spread his wings, vibrating them in frustration. You know
damn well theres more to it than that, he squawked. What yankee
fuckers gonna drop what hes doin and start actin like a real-estate
agent for a coupla strangers? I aint buyin it.
Then what the hell is it you are buyin?
Not sure yet. But that sneaky-eyed fucker looks to me like he
could cut your throat and smile at you while he was doin it. Cold,
sneaky eyes. Who knows what hen that damn Cubanve got cooked
up?
Which Cubanre you talkin about?
Lindas friend at the blackjack table in Havana. Hes the only
Cuban I know of in this story, and least so far.
You know what? You are a very damn suspicious bird.
Well see. By the time yall get back down here, Im bettin Pete
and these Cuban interests will be in each others hip pockets. And
heres sumpm else for you to think about, sport. How dyou know
your palsre tellin you everything there is to know about how theyve
gotten to know these guys?
What the hell dyou mean by that? I barked at the bird.
Cant say it any plainer, mboy. Playin around with these two
might be a little more complicated than you think. Be sumpm to
ponder while yall screw up to Bisque and back. And call Rick, he
squawked, wings apping. Bout time he got to see you in over your
fuckin head with a woman. Better check and see if theres a case dis-
count on thatair baby oil, shitbird! As I watched his tailfeathers get
smaller, I wished Dolores and Diana were here.
THE END
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