Authors: Joe R. Lansdale
“And in return,” Russel said, “they gave him immunity.”
“Uh huh,” Jim Bob said, “and they went him one better. They
didn’t announce it, but it seems logical to ole Jim Bob here that since the
dead Freddy ain’t the right Freddy, they had plans for the right Freddy all
along. They tucked him underground. That was probably part of the deal all the
time. Freddy agreed to sing for a new identity, and the FBI went for it, and
when he was through with the concert, they pretended to let him free for a
time, when he was in fact hidden. So the Dixie Mafia is running around looking
for him so they can skin the hide off his balls, and not too long after, this
asshole breaks into your house, you shoot him—”
“And when I ask Price if he knows him, he says yes on the
spot and sticks him with Freddy’s name,” I said.
“Bet he did know him,” Jim Bob said. “Knew enough about him
to think he could get away with it. Saw what the feds were needing, and maybe
Price saw a promotion out of it, a feather in his cap somehow. He called the
FBI, told them what had happened and what he had done, and the big boys went
for it. If they’d hated his idea, he’d have called you back and said it was all
a mistake. The fella killed wasn’t Freddy Russel after all. He just thought it
was cause they looked a little alike, and—”
“None of this would have happened,” I said.
“That’s the size of it,” Jim Bob said. “Price has been
trying to cover his and the feds’ tracks ever since.”
“I’m beginning to understand how my wife died like she did,”
Russel said. “She was lying to me about Freddy. He was trouble all along.”
“Like his old man,” Ann said, and if you could sharpen words
and throw them, hers would have gouged out the back of Russel’s head about a
foot.
Russel looked at her and there was no sarcasm in his voice
when he said, “Just like him.”
“You know where Freddy is, don’t you Jim Bob?” I said.
“Yep,” Jim Bob said. “A lot of what I’m telling you was
guesswork at first. Just me looking at a thing and putting it in line with my
experience and coming out with what seemed likely. But I’ve verified it all,
and found out some more since, and I do know where he is.”
Russel got out a cigarette and lit it. I noticed his hands
were trembling slightly. Your own flesh and blood can do that to you.
“If you know,” Russel said too casually, “then the Dixie
Mafia can find out too, can’t they?”
“Maybe,” Jim Bob said, “But they got to have the right
connections. And I think if it was that easy for the witnesses to be found,
there wouldn’t be any relocation program. The FBI folks may not be Einsteins,
but they ain’t as dumb as the news people want you to think. And they’re pretty
damn loyal—least to one another. They might tell someone they trust something
they shouldn’t, but most of them wouldn’t give a thug the time of day. And if
things start looking bad for their witnesses, the people they’ve relocated,
they usually move them. That’s not to say they hang out with the people they
move night and day. They don’t. They get them set, let them go, and give them a
number to call if they have problems. They’re pretty much on their own after
that. But that’s because the FBI has pretty good faith in its relocation
programs. Once in a while there’s a hole somewhere and a bug gets in the
batter, but not much. They hide a lot of folks when you get right down to it,
and most of those folks stay hidden.”
“What kind of connections do you have?” I asked.
“Ben,” Jim Bob said, “you remember Calvin Hedges?”
“Arrested me for drinking a couple of times over in Smith
County. Kept me overnight and let me loose. Hell, I was just a kid then. He
still alive? He must be eighty years old.”
“Eighty-five,” Jim Bob said. “Claims his pecker still gets
hard as a screwdriver. He isn’t sheriff anymore, but his boy Calvin, Junior,
works for the FBI, and old Calvin owed me a couple of big favors. I called in
one of them.
“I had him phone his boy and have the boy call me. Took a
couple of days to arrange it on account of Junior was out of pocket, but he did
call and said he’d do me the favor.”
“Pretty agreeable, wasn’t he?” I said.
“Like I said, his old man owed me a couple of favors, and
the boy wanted to help pay them off. One of the favors the old man owed me had
to do with Junior his ownself, and Junior knew it. He also knows I’m one of the
good guys, and he was willing, after a line of bullshit, and me putting it on
him pretty hard about how he and his old man owed it to me, to tell me what I
wanted.”
“Freddy’s location,” I said.
“Wasn’t that easy. He wasn’t gonna put his neck in the noose
that far. But he works in the records department and he gave me an access code
to the central FBI computer. That’s kind of like a gal giving you the key to
her apartment. I got another code or two from him and… Well, to make this a
little easier on you folks, a computer, if you know what you’re doing, is a
sneaky booger. There’ve been fifteen-year-old kids that knew how to use them
and managed to break codes as tough as the Department of Defense. It takes time
to do something like that, but you can damn sure do it. You got to first get
some of them low-level access computers to give you what you need, and you use
them to move up to the superusers. And if you’re real good like me, and you can
get the codes you need without having to hunt for them, you can save yourself a
lot of time and wiggle in there like a snake, and get what you want with less
chance of getting caught with your drawers down. Them computers are something.
You take one of them dudes and a modem and you can damn near do anything but
walk the dog with ’em.”
“You know how to do all that?” Russel said. “You know about
computers? Where’d you learn that?”
Jim Bob looked hurt. “A manual, you jackass. Hell, I’m smart
as a whip. You know that. And I got sense enough to know you got to keep up
with the times. Just because man was born with his butt hanging out didn’t mean
he had to stay that way. He made clothes out of a bear’s hide, then cotton,
then that synthetic shit. Same way with computers. That’s how things are now.
You don’t keep up, it’s like some gal using the rhythm method instead of the
pill. It don’t make sense.”
“Or,” Ann said, “it’s kind of like a man depending on a
woman for birth control instead of caring enough to do something about it
himself.”
“All right,” Jim Bob said. “You got your lick in. That too.
And besides, you can get these little games to go with computers, and they’re
neater’n hell. They got this one with this monkey that climbs a ladder and
throws coconuts, and there’s all sorts of traps and pitfalls for the monkey,
and it’s a challenge, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s some others I
been wanting to try, but they don’t just give those dudes away, you know.”
“Guess this is what you meant when you told Russel Radio
Shack, huh?” I said.
“Yeah. And by the way, you just bought yourself a computer
and modem for your business, I don’t need one. I got a big system at home.”
“I don’t want to buy a computer, and you said your fee
didn’t count expenses.”
“I consider this an exception,” Jim Bob said.
I started to argue with him but decided it wasn’t worth it.
Jim Bob was like a force of nature. If you were going to deal with him, you had
to accept the consequences. The hard part would be dealing with Ann later. I
hoped I could convince her my business needed a computer. I refused to look at
her; things would be bad enough with her after they left.
“All right,” I said. “I roll over. Tell us what you found
out for Christsakes, and just get on with it.”
“Bottom line,” Jim Bob said, “is he’s in Houston, using the
name Fred Miller. The question now is, do we want to take this thing any
further.” Jim Bob turned to Russel. “He’s your son, Ben, and it’s your choice.
If you want to find him, we’ll do it. If not, we’ll just let it go, find out what
Dane wants to know and the rest of it is so much wind.”
“He doesn’t sound like what I had in mind,” Russel said.
“He’s your son and you’ve come this far,” Jim Bob said, “and
now that he’s away from that Dixie Mafia bunch, maybe things could be different.
I don’t think he’s gonna be singing no hymns or nothing, but he might turn out
all right. He might not even have been into anything real bad, just found out
some real bad things. Maybe he squealed cause it was getting on his conscience…
On the other hand, things could turn out a lot worse than you can imagine.”
Russel looked at me. “If you still have a mind to finance me
so you can find out what you want to know too, then I’m for going on.”
“Can’t turn back now,” I said. “I’ve got to know.”
“See it through no matter what it costs you, huh?” Ann said.
I looked at her. “Sorry, but yeah.”
She shook her head but didn’t say anything.
“All right then,” Jim Bob said, “we do it. Tomorrow night,
late, we leave this chickenshit town. I got me a promise to keep tomorrow, and
I won’t be free till late.”
“What kind of promise?” Russel asked.
Jim Bob grinned. “Well, I promised this sweet little thing
that works at the hotel restaurant that she could have my undivided attention
all day, and I don’t break my promises. Besides, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to
deny her what may be the most rewarding experience of a lifetime.”
“I said it earlier,” Ann said, “and I’ll say it again. You
don’t lack for confidence.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Jim Bob said.
27
I woke up about three in the morning and rolled out of bed
and sat on the edge and thought about the dream I’d had. I couldn’t quite
recall it, no matter how hard I tried, but it had been dark and dreary and very
sad. There were tears on my face. I think maybe I dreamed I died and no one
cared. It didn’t make much sense.
I sat there thinking about it, and Ann rolled over and
touched my back.
“You’ve got to see this thing through?”
“I do,” I said.
“I just have this horrid feeling it’s all going to turn out
so ugly, baby.”
I didn’t tell her I felt exactly the same way. It was like I
was a toy windup soldier pointed in a direction I couldn’t alter. I had no
choice but to go until I wound down. The thought of being driven made me think
of Russel, his dissatisfaction with life, the feeling that there was a hole in
him and his soul was rushing out of it and he didn’t know if he could get it
back. How did that happen? Could it happen to me?
“You’ll be careful?” Ann asked.
I turned back onto the bed and took her in my arms and pulled
her to me and smelled the scent of her so strongly that there were tears in my
eyes.
A man without a soul didn’t have anything to cry about, so I
considered the tears a good sign.
“Please tell me you’ll be careful,” Ann begged.
“I will,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”
Jordan and I love you. We need you.”
I had needed my father, but he had left me. My mother had
left me and I had needed her. I couldn’t remember either of them ever needing
me. I thought of Dad holding me that last time and looking at me and telling me
he loved me.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Make love to me,” Ann said. “Don’t worry about anything.
Just make love to me.”
I kissed her and did just that. When we were finished, I lay
there holding her. She smelled wonderful, an aroma concocted of perfume and
sweat and sex. There in the bad light she looked very young, like the girl I
had fallen in love with so many years ago. Her skin seemed smooth and
untroubled by lines of worry, just the way it had been when she was young and
things were simple and sleep canceled out all pain.
I nuzzled in her hair and felt her warmth and solid-ness,
felt myself filling up again with life and soul and everything that was good.
But I knew it wouldn’t last.
Damn me, I knew it wouldn’t last.
28
When I awoke, I was disoriented. The world had been spun
around and my bed had shrunk during the night. I started to call for Ann when I
realized where I was. On the outskirts of Pasadena, Texas, at Jim Bob’s house
in the spare bedroom. Jim Bob was upstairs and Russel was asleep on the couch
in the living room.
I sat on the side of the bed and scratched my head and
thought about coffee. Last night seemed like a dream, a bad dream. We had left
LaBorde about midnight, and I had fallen asleep in the backseat of the Red
Bitch, awakening as if from a violent mugging.
I remembered sitting up in the seat of the car as we went
over the Ship Channel bridge and seeing the water and ships out there and later
the foundries as we entered Pasadena. There was something grim and alien about
those places with their smokestacks chugging dark, stinking loads to the sky,
and every time I saw those foundries, especially at night when great spurts of
fire shot skyward from tall, narrow pipes to mix with the foul smoke, I was
reminded of Dante’s Hell. I thought it must be dreadful to work at those
foundries, out there in all that heat and smoke and stink, those chemicals and
boilers constantly cocked for disaster.
The thought of all that put me back down in the seat, and I
drifted off to the sound of Jim Bob and Russel talking about old times, their
words losing meaning, becoming a drone, having an effect on me not too unlike a
mother’s cradle song. When next I understood a word, it was Jim Bob tugging my
shoe and calling my name, trying to get me awake.
After that I remembered carrying in my little bag and Jim
Bob’s house being large and lonely and smelling of dust. The room he put me in
was not so large, and it had a little bed and a tiny air conditioner that
strained frantically to put some cool into air that had been dead for days.