Lights pinned us against the night and doors slammed and I looked toward the road. I could make out that it was two pickups, and I could see four men getting out of them with baseball bats. They went around in front of the trucks, which they had parked across the road facing us, and stood framed in the lights.
One of them nervously, or perhaps eagerly, tapped his bat against the side of his shoe. He called out, “What’er you fucks doing out here?”
“Paying our respects to Uncle Harvey,” Jim Bob said.
“This time of night?” the voice asked.
“It’s the time of night we get the most sentimental,” Jim Bob said. “What about you boys, you out here for a little batting practice?”
“You might say that,” the voice said.
“That’s kind of what I figured,” Jim Bob said. “Don’t reckon you boys would listen to reason?”
“Sort of doubt it,” the voice said.
“Yeah, well, remember, I gave you your chance.”
One of the men laughed, then they all came toward us and started through the gate.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Simple,” Russel whispered to me, “first asshole within range, you see if you can crease his head with that shovel.”
“It could kill him,” I said.
“Let’s hope so,” Russel said. “Those bats won’t do us much good, I can promise you that.”
“Is there any good reason for this?” Jim Bob asked. “I mean, what have we done to you boys?”
“Not a thing,” the speaker said, and then he rushed Jim Bob with the bat.
Jim Bob was standing slightly in front of us, and he dropped the flashlight and turned in the direction of the grave, I thought to take the blow on his back, but he kept going down and he spun and his leg shot out and caught the first man on the ankle and knocked his feet out from under him and the man hit the ground and the bat went up and fell down heavy end first and struck him between the eyes and the man yelled.
Jim Bob was on his feet then, and the second man was nearly on him and the bat was coming down. Jim Bob went straight to the man and ducked under the bat and the bat waved uselessly over Jim Bob’s shoulder and Jim Bob grabbed the man’s throat with one hand and uppercut him in the balls with the other, then he twisted his hip into him, slipped an arm around his waist, bent, and sent the man flying. Jim Bob didn’t even lose his hat.
Russel stepped forward and faked a shovel blow to the third man’s head and the man brought the bat up to block and Russel dropped the shovel low and hit him in the kneecap. The man barked and went down.
The last man made a run for the trucks. He was nearly in the middle of the road when the Red Bitch came barreling down on him and the lights came on, then the Bitch braked, but the car still hit him and sent him over the hood. He rolled up against the windshield and flipped over on the driver’s side. He tried to stand, I guess, because the door came open, and at the same instant the inside light framed Ann, the door made impact with the man hard enough to make my testicles pull up.
The men from the pickups were down and I hadn’t done anything but hold a shovel.
The man Jim Bob had thrown was trying to get up, so I looped my shovel over casually, not putting much force behind it, and let it come down on his head. It made a nice, comforting ring on contact.
“See you’re still messing with that Jap stuff,” Russel said to Jim Bob.
“Korean. Hapkido. Hey, Dane, that wife of yours. She ain’t got a sister at home, does she?”
23
I went around and threatened the others with my shovel and told them to lie down with their hands out in front of them, which they did. The one Russel hit in the kneecap was yelling his leg was broken, and the one Jim Bob swept the feet out from under was complaining of his ankle. You would have figured they thought we were the Red Cross.
The one I hit with the shovel wasn’t saying anything. He was out cold. And so was the one Ann popped with the Caddy door. She was standing outside the car now, leaning on the open door, looking over the roof at us. She waved at me and I waved back. It was all very pleasant.
“Sorry we had to whip the shit out of you,” Jim Bob said to the moaners on the ground, “but we didn’t have much choice. We’re gonna leave now, but first, just to clear up a little mystery, just what are you fellas doing here?”
Neither answered.
Jim Bob went over and kicked the man with the kneecap injury in the hurt leg and the man howled like a wolf. “Now let me rephrase that in exactly the same goddamn way. What you doing here?”
“A man hired us to come out here and see if anyone was messing in the graveyard,” Kneecap Injury said. “He said if there was someone, we should beat them up good. He paid us.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Tall, good-looking guy. Like a cigarette or clothes commercial or something,” Knee Injury said. “Had on a suit. Not the kind you get at J. C. Penney’s.”
“Where’d this fella find you boys?” Jim Bob asked.
“A ‘tonk outside of town called the Wagon Wheel,” Knee Injury said. “Come on man, give me some peace. I’m hurting.”
Jim Bob walked around him and kicked him in the other leg, then walked over and kicked the other guy in his good ankle. “That’ll help balance the pain. Next time you come to fuck with me, sweeties, you better bring your daddies. You goddamn boys ain’t worth a fuck.”
They lay on the ground and moaned.
“Tell you now,” Jim Bob said, “we’re gonna be going, and I’d like y’all to lay right where you are, else I’m gonna feed those ball bats to you. Got me?”
A couple of nods.
“Y’all have a nice night,” Jim Bob said, “and since this rain is sort of clearing up, if you’ll watch right over there, when that cloud cover clears, you ought to be able to see the Big Dipper.”
When we got over to the car, I went around and looked at the man Ann whopped with the door. He was groaning and starting to get his hands under him so he could get up. I took hold of the door and jerked it forward again and popped him in the head. This just wasn’t his night. He went out like a light. I was beginning to feel a little savage, though I didn’t have any right. So far, all I had done was pop two guys in the head who were already down and threaten a couple who were injured. I was some tough guy.
“Is everything okay?” Ann asked. “They aren’t going to die or anything are they?”
“You done good,” Jim Bob said to Ann, “and they’re all okay. Fellas over there think their legs are broke, and they might be right, but it’s better than what I’d like to do to them.”
Ann looked down at the man she hit with the car. “Did you see him fly through the air?”
“With the greatest of ease,” Russel said.
Jim Bob took the keys from Ann and went around and opened the trunk and put the shovels and the tools in it. He slid back a part of the trunk bottom, reached inside and took out a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun.
“You’re not gonna finish them, are you?” I asked.
He laughed at me, walked over to one of the pickups and shot the front tires out. He broke open the stock of the shotgun, rolled out two more shells, reloaded, went over to the other truck and did the same.
Turning toward the graveyard, he yelled out to the guys, “They were damn near bald anyway.”
He put the shotgun back in the trunk and we got in the Red Bitch and Jim Bob put the pedal to the metal and we were gone.
· · ·
When we got back to the Holiday Inn we went up to Jim Bob’s room. He took off his shirt, which had been torn somehow in the fight, and started to put on another. Ann said, “Is that a chicken tattooed on your chest?”
“Chicken?” Jim Bob said. “It’s an eagle.”
“It looks like a chicken,” Ann said.
We all leaned forward. It did look like a chicken.
Russel said, “I’ve always thought it looked like a chicken.”
“I was drunk when it was done, but I didn’t ask for no chicken. It’s just faded some is all.”
“It wasn’t faded when I first saw it,” Russel said, “and I thought it looked like a chicken then.”
“To hell with the chicken,” I said. “Price set us up tonight. The description that guy gave was Price. He went in and hired those men to beat us. I just don’t know how he knew we were at the cemetery.”
“He didn’t,” Jim Bob said, snapping the snaps on his shirt. “But he thought it was a good possibility. He’s trying to discourage us. It’s just.
“And how are we going to do that?” I asked.
“For the time being, leave that up to me.”
“So what do we do?” Ann asked.
“You and Dane go home and do what you always do. Normal business. Go to work. Go home. Go to work. Regular shit. And Dane, I’d like you to hire Russel to work at your place. Ben said you owned a, what is it?”
“Frame shop,” I said.
“Yeah, you put him to work so he isn’t a vagrant, and I’ll put him up here at the Inn. Just pay him a token salary and count it out of what you owe me. Keep it cheap, though.”
“I’m not sure I like this,” I said.
“I’m not wild for it either,” Russel said.
“We gonna get this done,” Jim Bob said, “we’re gonna do it my way, or you two can do it yourselves or just forget it. I’m curious and I want to do this for Ben, but I’m gonna call the shots or it ain’t gonna happen. It’s not like I’m making ally big fortune off this.”
“I’m paying you,” I said.
“It ain’t my regular fee. Lot of this is coming out of my pocket, and I can tell you now, if you want to stay in business, you don’t work that way. You don’t buy the frames for your clients, do you, Dane?”
“I'm not asking you to work cheap,” I said. “You settled on a fee—”
“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying money isn’t what’s keeping me in this. But I’m not going to stay at it unless I’m calling the shots. That’s how it is.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll take him on, but let’s don’t drag this out.”
“It takes as long as it takes,” Jim Bob said. “Ben can start working for you in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll get on the next step here. You want to check in and see how things are going, great, give me a call. But this is gonna take some time and I want to be left alone as much as possible.”
“That’s it then?” Ann said.
“For now, Lady,” Jim Bob said. “So let’s say good night, or damn near good day, and go home and sleep. You skipping work today, Dane?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. You look like hell. Tomorrow Ben starts working for you.”
“Nine o’clock,” I said.
Ann and I stood up.
Jim Bob shook our hands. “Just go on about things regular like.”
Russel offered his hand to me, and after a moment, I shook it. Then he offered it to Ann.
She looked at it for a long, hard moment.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
He nodded and put his hand by his side. “I don’t blame you,” he said.
“It wouldn’t matter if you did,” Ann said.
We went out. On the way home it started to rain again. This time very hard. It continued that way throughout the day and most of the night and the morning after.
24
A day’s rest hadn’t helped me much. I was still tired on the morning I started back to work. Depressed too. The idea of having Russel around me all day was not appealing.
To make the situation even more confusing, he reminded me more and more of my father. It wasn’t just the massive hands. He moved like my father and I fancied their voices were much the same.
And perhaps there weren’t that many similarities, and I was merely trying to raise the ghost of my dad and give him substance.
But if that was the case, why couldn’t I have chosen a more suitable host than a goddamn ex-con who threatened my child and nearly beat my brains out?
The morning was already hot, as usual. The rain had quit only a few hours before and the sun was out now and boiling the wetness off the brick streets like the damp off a beached fish’s scales.
I had to pass in front of the shop before I could make the turn that led to the lot in the rear where I parked and as I passed, I saw Russel standing out front, leaning on the glass door. I had hoped to at least have a little time to get unlocked and get the coffee brewing before I had to deal with him.
I went on around back and parked and opened the shop and went through to the front door and tapped on it. Russel jumped a little, and I unlocked the door and let him in.
“Snuck up on me,” he said.
“I drove by out front and saw you. I thought maybe you saw my car.”
“No, I was woolgathering. Nice place. It looks like you get some business.”
“Yeah. We do all right.”
I led him to the back and told him to take a chair and I put on coffee. When I was finished with that, I turned the thermostat to a cooler level and went over to the cash register and unlocked it. I had the bag of money I’d brought from home, just enough small change and dollars to get us rolling for the day, and I put all that in the register.
“What is it you want me to do?” Russel said.
He had left his chair and was standing at the counter.
“I don’t really know,” I said. “I haven’t thought about it. I guess you can clean up.”
“All right. With what, and how do you want things done?”
I took him to the back and showed him the closet with the broom, mop and dustpan. I showed him the bathroom. “You can get water from here for mopping,” I said. “Somewhere in that closet is a bucket and there’s some soap and all manner of stuff. I’m not even sure what’s in there. We’re not too good at cleaning up, actually.”
“I noticed,” Russel said. “There’s glass and wood and sawdust all over the floor under the work tables.”
“Yeah, well, we’re busy. You just do what you like, but look busy. I don’t want to make James and Valerie feel like I’m playing favorites.”
James and Valerie came in then, and they looked at Russel, then looked at me.
“New employee,” I said. “I’ve hired him for a little while to kind of straighten the place up, since we don’t seem to get around to it.” I hesitated, wondering if I should say Russel’s name. It didn’t seem likely they would remember who it was I was supposed to have shot, and even if they did, it was even more unlikely that they would associate the last names as kin. “This is Ben Russel.”
James shook Russel’s hand and Valerie smiled, which was good as a hug any day. She seemed to like what she saw in Russel, and it was obvious Russel didn’t mind looking at her either.
“Well,” I said, “let’s get to work.”
Russel straightened the closet first, then swept and mopped the joint until it was as shiny as the White House silverware. When he wasn’t working, he talked to Valerie, and they got along just fine. A lot better than James got along with her. It burned James so bad he came up front and leaned on the counter and whispered, “What’s that old guy got that I haven’t got?”
“A hard-on?”
“Funny, boss. You’re a riot. Maybe you should get your own television show.”
After about a week, I got fairly comfortable with Russel. I even praised his work. I wanted to hate him, but I kept finding myself liking him. Now, when I looked at him, I didn’t get the vision of him on my son’s bed clutching the boy’s pajama top in one hand and holding a knife in the other. I couldn’t associate the man that night with the man working for me. I saw a man that reminded me of my father. And that made me uneasy. I’d force myself to remember what he’d done so I could get mad. But the anger wouldn’t last.
I got so content with him, I’d slip and say things about him at home. Nice things. Maybe someth
ing funny he’d’ said or done, and when I did, Ann would look at me as if I were a priest who had just announced the best use for a crucifix was scratching your ass. But I couldn’t help admiring the old guy. He was a character. He had style. Like the way he handled Jack the mailman.
Since our little run in, Jack had been less than friendly. He would deliver the mail by opening the door, giving us all a look that could turn bricks to shit, then toss the mail across the floor hard enough to send it sliding halfway across the shop.
I kept thinking he’d get over it, but finally decided I was going to have to confront him, or call his supervisor. But Russel took it out of my hands.
One Tuesday after Jack had done his trick, Russel came over and said, “So what’s with him?”
I didn’t want to bring up the night of the shooting, but I didn’t see any way out of it. I told Russel everything. It actually felt good to talk about it and get it off my chest. As the days had gone by, the incident, like a lingering chest cold, had built up inside of me again. I was sleeping lousy, snapping at Ann and Jordan, and thinking about the bad things in my life more than the good; it was a relief to let the poison out.
“I see,” Russel said when I finished, and he went back to work.
Wednesday at mail time, Russel was up front, waiting by the door, smoking a cigarette. It didn’t occur to me what he was planning until an instant before it happened. Jack came walking along like clockwork, opened the door, stuck a mail-filled hand in and cocked his wrist in preparation of a toss. But Russel grabbed the hand and bent it back and stepped outside with Jack.
Russel put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, and Jack shrugged sharply, but the arm didn’t go away and suddenly Jack and Russel were moving past the display window and out of sight.
I got nervous and went outside, and at the corner of the building I found Jack’s cap and our mail, and when I went around the corner I found the mail pouch and Jack and Russel. Jack was on the ground and there was a trickle of blood running out of his nose.
“This is against the law,” Jack said, “fucking with the U.S. Mail.”