Waltz of Shadows (24 page)

Arnold turned his attention to me, “I figured you were in trouble, so I drove over to your place, only there wasn’t any place. I could see smoke from the road. I parked up a ways, walked along the edge of the creek on your neighbor’s side and took a look. I could see fire trucks and a couple of cop cars and what was left of the house. The firemen might as well have brought along a crate of Jiffy Pop and a book of camp songs.

“Bubba, I thought y’all were done for, so I went back to the truck and started out here but ran out of gas a few miles back. I pushed the truck off the road and hid out in the woods today and slept best I could with it wet as it was, then worked my way over here when it was night. I figured I got here I could rest enough to organize my thoughts, and that’s when Virgil came down to the water with the pan. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I went for him, and you know the rest.”

I caught Arnold up on what happened to my family and what Virgil had told us. I told about what they did to me, and almost did to the kids, but I didn’t quite tell it all. When I didn’t, Bev told him about the rape. She said she wasn’t going to hold anything back. She told it straight and calm, as if it didn’t matter.

When she finished, Arnold said: “All I got to say is what they say in Zen. ‘When someone violates you, you back off, find your center, and make sure that cocksucker has drank his last Coca-Cola.’ ”

“That doesn’t sound like Zen to me,” I said.

“I’m paraphrasing,” Arnold said. “But the essence is, I think the law isn’t the answer here. It’s the law that’s burying us. Inch by goddamn inch.”

“The law is the only way out,” Virgil said.

“No offense, Virgil, but my faith in the law ain’t so big right now,” Arnold said.

“I’m not a purist,” Virgil said. “But there might be a way to make the law work for us.”

“How’s that?” Bev asked.

“Instead of making the law do what’s right,” Virgil said. “We’ll make it do what’s wrong.”

“Sounds like some of Arnold’s Zen,” I said.

“Let me translate that to American bullshit tomorrow,” Virgil said. “I might have some answers then. Right now I’m going home to take some aspirins, think on it, and go to bed. Goodnight.”

   After Virgil left, we found some blankets for Arnold and he took them out to the truck. He said he felt more comfortable sleeping there. But I knew he was just being polite, trying to give me and my family some privacy. I wondered why I ever thought he was an asshole. I was an asshole.

Arnold didn’t go to sleep right away. He came back in and Bev sat up with us in the kitchen a while and listened to us talk, but her mind began to drift. She made her pallet on the floor, and Arnold and I went out on the front porch and sat on the swing.

Arnold said, “That’s a good woman. Smart. Good looking. Foolish enough to marry you.”

“I know,” I said. “She’s tough too. She ought to be in shock.”

“She might be,” Arnold said. “I am. But we’ll pull through. Goddamn Smalls always pull through.”

“Till they’re dead,” I said. “That slows them down.”

“Yeah, that slows us,” Arnold said.

The wind made music in the bottle tree out back. “I hear your tree,” I said.

“Yeah. Kinley liked those things. I wish she’d liked me better. Bubba?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how this will end up?” Arnold said.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll have to kill them.”

   When I awoke early morning my arm had gone to sleep from Bev lying on it, but I didn’t move it. I tried to think about something else. I didn’t want to disturb her.

The weather had changed again, and this time it was very cold and the wind had to have died down, because I no longer heard it in the bottle tree. I lay there and watched my breath turn to little puffs of vapor. I began to blow my breath out hard to see how long the puffs stayed white. It wasn’t a job I felt strained my intellect, but it was something to do.

Bev said, “What are you doing, strange person?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, but you were blowing on me.”

“I’m sorry. I was playing.”

I heard a car pulling into the drive. I rolled out of bed, scooping my .38 off the floor. I opened the door a crack and looked out. It was Virgil.

“It’s okay,” I said to Bev.

I pushed the .38 into my waistband and covered it with my shirt, went out on the porch and watched Virgil get out of the Cadillac. He had a bulky package under his arm.

A little dog with enough hair on it to weave into a couple of arctic sweaters jumped out of the Caddy and sat next to Virgil’s right shoe. Virgil reached down and patted the dog. That pat gave the impression of a tremendous chore. Virgil moved slow and tired. His hair was a mess. With the exception of a light beige jacket, he had on the clothes he had worn last night.

“Sorry I’m so early,” he said.

“All right,” I said. “Come on in. We’ll make some coffee.”

“Put some goddamn dynamite in it,” he said. “I need it.”

The pickup’s door opened and Arnold slipped out of it, causing Virgil and the dog to spin. I had given Arnold the shotgun last night and he was holding it. He looked pretty ominous.

“Damn, boy,” Virgil said to Arnold. “Don’t go sneaking up on me like that.”

“Nobody’s sneaking,” Arnold said.

The dog went over and peed on Virgil’s front tire.

“My partner’s dog,” Virgil said. “Partner screws my wife, his dog pees on my car.”

   I made coffee and broke out a package of granola bars, and me and Bev and Virgil and Arnold had breakfast. The kids were still sleeping. The little dog laid down by the door with its head on its paws. Bev gave him a piece of bread and he ate it.

“What’s his name?” Bev asked.

“Poot,” Virgil said.

“That’s a mean name for a dog,” Bev said.

“Dog looks like he belongs on the end of a mop handle,” Arnold said.

“He likes to ride,” Virgil said. “He’s got his good points. My partner and him will probably get married some day.”

Virgil tossed the package on the table. “Some clothes. Couple of outfits that belonged to one of my ex-wives. They ought to come close to fitting you Beverly. There’s some stuff in there for you guys too. I didn’t have any kid’s clothes, but I bought a few from Wal-Mart. I think they’ll fit close enough. I got them some slip on tennis shoes too. Couple rounds of underwear.”

“That’s thoughtful,” Bev said.

“You’re back a lot earlier than I expected,” I said to Virgil.

“Time I got home last night I was wide awake,” Virgil said. “I did some serious thinking, came up with some ideas, and this morning I called my partner in on it.”

“Christ,” Arnold said. “Another apple in the basket.”

“Yeah, and a rotten one too, but he’s necessary,” Virgil said. “After I called him, I called the Chief of Police.”

“Goddamn, Virgil,” I said. “You fucking idiot.”

“We got to get out of here now,” Arnold said. “They’ll be on us like a wet T-shirt on titties.”

“Calm down,” Virgil said. “I didn’t tell him where you are. I gave him what background I thought he needed to know. About Doc and all. We’re going to meet with the Chief to talk.”

“No we’re not,” Bev said.

“Just let me lay it out,” Virgil said. “I got to thinking, the cops, they don’t know what we got, right? Remember what I told you about the Chief, Hank?”

“He looks good on paper, but has had some problems,” I said.

“Right,” Virgil said. “I started adding things up. The Chief’s got to know his Fat Boy isn’t a do-gooder, knows he’s padded a case here and there, and there’s been some complaints. But he probably doesn’t know the degree to which Fat Boy will go. Or say he does. Say the bottom line is Price is the kind of guy who’d pistol whip a puppy, but that’s not the image he wants to present. It gets out Fat Boy’s done what he’s done and he works for Price, and isn’t even a cop… Well, it’s enough to make a Chief with political ambitions nervous. And he’s got ambitions. Knowing that, I think we should go see Mr. Price.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It’ll be all right,” Virgil said. “I’ve made some arrangements, and I’ve indicated we have a lot of nasty evidence that points to him indirectly. I’m playing my hand like it’s full of aces.”

“And if he bluffs?” I asked.

“I think I’m the better poker player,” Virgil said. “I expect you to be good too, play your hand close to the vest. Tell him what we have, not what we don’t have. You game?”

“I don’t like it,” Bev said.

“Me either,” Arnold said. “So he believes us? He’s better off fucking us instead of Fat Boy. Fat Boy knows where too many of the bodies are buried, cause he put them there.”

“We get to that point,” Virgil said, “we deal a second hand. That’s why all of you aren’t coming in to talk. Just me and Hank. I’ve brought some official papers that make me your lawyer, Arnold, and something a little better than a paper sack for you, Hank. We’ll back date the stuff. I want to show Hank approached me before all this hit the fan. We’ll lie a little for Arnold. It’s best we cover everyone’s ass. We get tass. We hat done, we’re ready for the next step. Chief Price.”

“I still don’t like it,” Bev said.

“Look at it this way,” Virgil said. “It’s a plan, and not a bad one. And even if it isn’t that good, consider the alternative. Hiding out. Having your names dragged through the mud.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go. When do we do it?”

“I’m going to take Poot out for a short walk,” Virgil said. “And while I do, you folks sign the papers sanctioning me as your attorney. Then Hank, you and me leave.”

   As Virgil drove I listened to the car heater blow and watched the countryside race by. It was the same basic countryside I’d known most of my life. Land razed of a lot of its natural foliage by idiots with chainsaws and a bad game plan, but the same country. The sun still rose above it and sunk hard enough in the West to bring the moon up in the East. Yin and Yang. But I was reminded somehow of that old book and film
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Everything looked the same, but wasn’t. It was as if alien beings had taken over the world I knew overnight. Leaving in its place one where law and order did not exist; was nothing more than an illusion. Where the alien-occupied husks of human beings had an agenda I could never have expected. It was like the whole world was against my family and me, wanting to pull us in and steal our humanity and make us like them.

“You packing?” Virgil asked.

It took me a moment to realize what that meant. I hadn’t seen a gangster movie in a while. “Yeah,” I said.

“Put it in the glove box. I don’t want any mistakes.”

Poot had crawled over onto my lap, and I moved him and took the automatic out of my waistband and put it in the glove box. “Where are we going?” I asked. “This isn’t back to town.”

“Captain Paranoid,” Virgil said. “You think I’m double crossing you?”

“I think damn near anyone but my family could be double crossing me.”

“That hurts.”

“As I said yesterday, my social skills are not presently at their peak.”

“We’re going out country, Hank. We’re not doing this in town where we can be recognized. What Price is doing isn’t exactly sanctioned by the Police Department.”

“I was beginning to think anything could be sanctioned by the Police Department.”

“Actually,” Virgil said, looking at his watch, “they do it right, anything can. Don’t pet the dog, okay? He’s on duty.”

   We came to the edge of a little community where there was an abandoned airport. The airport had been for small planes. Out on one of the three tiny, grassy runways was an old prop plane tilted on its side so that a warped and cracked wing supported it.

Beyond all this was deep woods.

Parked near the airplane was a sleek, black Plymouth. The shadow of the plane fell over the Plymouth. We drove through the open gate. A man got out of the Plymouth and stood beside it, hands folded together in front of his crotch.

“He could kill us and no one would be the wiser,” I said.

“Yes they would,” Virgil said. “My partner knows about this. I’m not a fool, Hank. I made copies of the videos too. I made color photocopies of the photo album. I got a few other snakes in the hole, too.”

We pulled up in front of the Plymouth and got out of the Cadillac and stood beside it. Poot stayed inside. The heat from the car fled away from us and the chill morning air embraced us. The man standing beside the Plymouth looked at us. He was handsome and trim and well dressed in a gray three piece suit. He wore a dark grey tie with thin red stripes and had on shiny shoes the color of fish scales. His dark hair looked as if the wind wouldn’t bother it. I had seen his photograph in the newspaper many times. It was our local publicity hog and Chief of Police, Mr. Price.

We walked over and Virgil said, “Que pasa?”

“Fuck you,” Price said. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Virgil said. “I stopped to buy a lottery ticket. You know my friend here, Mr. Small,” Virgil said.

“Let me check you,” Price said.

Virgil lifted his arms and moved close to Price and Price frisked him.

I took my turn.

“Okay,” Price said. “Feed me the bullshit.”

“I need to get something out of the car,” Virgil said.

Price reached inside his jacket and took out a shiny blue .38 Special and cocked back the hammer for dramatic effect. It was a good drama. The click of that hammer sounded as loud as the breaking of a bone. “Go right ahead,” Price said. “Do it polite.”

Virgil grinned at him and went to the Caddy and opened the door and let Poot out. Poot sat down beside the car and waited on Virgil. Virgil got what he wanted out of the car and came back with it and Poot came with him and got between me and Virgil and sat down.

Price nodded at the dog. “That your son?”

“Nephew,” Virgil said.

Virgil gave Price the stuff. Price put the cassettes on the hood of the Plymouth. He looked at the copy of the photo album very slowly. He managed to hold the .38 in one hand while he did it. His face had about as much expression as the front of his Plymouth.