Arlen said, “Bug, have you been telling people we shot Floyd?”
Junebug held a beer can on his knee looking up at Arlen. “Man, are you crazy?” A scowl on his face.
“And that diver was up on the ladder the whole while?”
“Jesus Christ, Arlen, it wasn’t me told anybody, you fuckin moron, it was you. I’m behind the bar looking right at you when you told Bob Hoon and one of his boys. They’d just delivered a load of crank.”
Arlen said, “You gonna stick to that story?”
“It’s the truth. Ask Bob Hoon.”
Arlen turned his head to Jim Rein.
Jim Rein put his hands around to his back and brought out a U.S. Army Colt .45 from under his shirt hanging out.
Arlen said, “Bust him.”
Junebug tried to sit up saying, “Hey, come on—”
And bam, Jim Rein shot him.
A dog started barking and scratching at a door.
Arlen held his eyes on Junebug slumped back against the plaid sofa, his eyes open.
Eugene had his eyes hooked on Jim Rein.
Jim Rein said, “He ought to be dead. I shot him through the heart.”
Arlen said, “You heard him lie to my face?” He looked up. “That dog don’t quit I’m gonna shoot it.”
That got Eugene up. He went to the kitchen door the barking was coming from, telling Arlen, “I got it, I’ll take care of the dog,” went through the door and closed it again.
Jim Rein said, “He’s more worried about that dog than hisself.”
Arlen said, “Eugene didn’t do nothing. Put your gun away.”
Eugene came back in the room, his shoulders sagging, hesitant, saying to Arlen, “Don’t look at me like that. You either, Fish. You know I’ll keep it right here.”
“I was thinking of something else,” Arlen said. “That money you made off the homos?”
“Made, but didn’t get none.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. The lawyer spent it or hid it someplace. I checked every bank in Jackson, wasn’t one had an account in my name. I went back to see the lawyer and asked him where my money was. He kept saying I didn’t have none. So I went and got a gun and shot him. Like Fish done Junebug, through the heart.”
“Whyn’t you make him tell where it was?”
“I lost my temper. I know, I should’ve caused him some pain first, but I lost my goddamn temper.”
“I’m gonna ask you a question,” Arlen said, “while Fish stands there with his pistol waiting on the answer. Did you get hold of the money—what was it, two hundred thousand?”
“Around there.”
“And hid it yourself?”
“Who from if it was mine?”
“You owed me a third.”
“Yeah, for getting me that fuckin lawyer.”
“And the pitchers.”
“Man, if I had that money I’d have paid you first thing, and you know it.”
Arlen made him wait till finally he said, “I believe you, Ace.”
They had a discussion about Junebug, what to do with him. Arlen said to leave him where he was at. Eugene said, “Arlen, this is where I live.” Where he’d been staying since his release from Delta Correctional, it was home. His dog had to have a place to stay and she was used to living here.
Jim Rein said, “What’s her name?”
“Rose.”
“Yeah? That’s a pretty name.”
“She’s a bitch, but I love her.”
It meant one of them would have to take Junebug in his car someplace and dump him. Arlen picked Jim Rein. First they had to find Junebug’s keys so they could bring the Cadillac in the garage and put Junebug in it. The next step was to carry him out there. They went to pick him up and saw another problem, the blood on the sofa, all over the back cushion, and the bullet hole in it. Jim Rein telling them it was why he used the .45, it was a stopper. You get hit with it you weren’t going nowhere. They began to discuss what to do with the sofa. Arlen said, “Well, it ain’t mine,” and told Eugene to put it in his truck and get rid of it. Dump it in the river. Arlen decided that’s where Junebug should go, dump him in the river, too, downstream, or state cops’d be all over them by tomorrow. The next decision to be made, what to do with the Cadillac. Eugene said, “Shit, we don’t want to dump it, it’s a good car. How ‘bout he left it here when he disappeared?”
Arlen thought about it and said no. “Fish’ll take it over to Arkansas and sell it to a nigger.”
Once they had Junebug in the garage—Arlen inside watching that TV show—Eugene said to Jim Rein, “Fish, you know Wesley?”
“The bartender?”
“Yeah, Wesley. You ever talk to him?”
“If I want a drink.”
“Wesley says to me, ‘You want to hear a funny story?’ He says one Arlen told the other night to old Bob Hoon when he was in.”
Jim Rein had Junebug in his arms. He bent over to lay him in the trunk of the Cadillac, then looked at Eugene as he straightened.
“I know what you’re gonna say.”
“I don’t care,” Eugene said. “It don’t make a bit of difference to me.”
Jim Rein said, “Me neither.”
12
VERNICE SAID TO ROBERT ON the phone, “Well, you sure rise and shine early. He’s still sleeping, the last I heard.” Robert asked if she’d have Dennis call him when he got up and Vernice said, “Sure thing.”
Maybe he was awake by now. She went into Dennis’ room to check and looked down at the sweet boy lying on his side, arm under the pillow, the sheet almost to his bare shoulders. She went back to the door and listened, the house quiet except for the faint sound of Charlie in the next room sawing wood. Vernice closed the door and slipped out of her robe going to the bed. She got in behind Dennis and squirmed over to press her body against his bare back. She hoped he’d have to go to the bathroom and would brush his teeth while he was in there, but if he didn’t it was okay. She raised her head enough to nibble at his ear and whisper, “Hi, stranger.”
He stirred and she kissed his neck. Now his hand came around to her hip, like he was checking to see who this was in bed with him.
“It’s just me,” Vernice whispered, almost saying “little me,” hunching her shoulders, Vernice down another four pounds in the past two days. She was pretty sure he was awake now but didn’t want to rush him, appear too anxious. She said, “Dennis?”
He made a sound like “Hmmmm?”
“You think a person can look good but be too thin?”
It took a moment for him to say, “I guess,” sounding more awake now.
“Did you know Jane Fonda had a twenty-five-year battle with bulimia?”
“What’s bulimia?”
“You eat and then throw up on account of low self-esteem. But she got over it. Estranged husband Ted Turner got Jane to believe in herself.”
“I thought it was finding God did it.”
“That was in an old issue.”
He came around enough to look up at her and Vernice gave him a peck on the cheek. She said, “How was the show yesterday?”
“Billy Darwin doesn’t want Charlie calling dives anymore. He said, ‘Get somebody to introduce you, tell the crowd about the splash zone and let it go at that. No more Charlie telling stories from the old dugout.’ He said do a few dives in the afternoon if you feel like it and save—he said, ‘save the daredevil stuff for the show at night.’”
“You want, I’ll introduce you,” Vernice said. “I know I can do that.”
“But then you know what he said, Billy Darwin? There’s a guy standing here—the ones Charlie picked up at the airport, the Mularonis, remember?”
“Anne,” Vernice said. “Charlie thought she was too thin.”
“The guy tells Billy Darwin he wants to be sure I get a few days off from diving so I can take part in the reenactment. Me. I don’t even know the guy. Billy Darwin says, ‘Well, he knows you.’ He tells me the
guy laid a check for fifty grand on the casino cashier. The man’s comped all the way and that includes me. If Mularoni wants me in the reenactment, I’m in the reenactment. I said to him, ‘It doesn’t make sense, I never even heard of the guy.’ Billy Darwin says, ‘It’s up to you. Get in uniform or pack up your show.’ Then he says, ‘It’s not much of a draw anyway.’”
“And you don’t even know this person?”
They heard a toilet flush.
“Nuts,” Vernice said, “Charlie’s up.” She rolled out of the bed, picked up her pongee robe from the floor and put it on. Going to the door she said, “Oh, that colored fella, Robert? He wants you to call him.”
The phone rang in Robert’s suite—all the phones. He put his hand on the one next to the bed and said to Anne, putting her warm-ups back on, “Where’d you tell Jerry you were going?”
“To work out.”
“Weren’t lying, were you?”
“If he ever starts, we’re fucked.”
“No danger, the man likes the way he is.” Robert picked up the phone. “Is this Dennis I’m about to speak to?”
“What’s up?”
Robert said to Anne, “It’s Dennis.”
So Dennis would say, “Somebody’s there with you?”
“The maid. She’s getting dressed.”
“Come on—”
“See, what you do, believe everything I say and you won’t have to mind-fuck yourself thinking about it. Listen, I want to introduce you to somebody.”
“His name Mularoni?”
“Hey, how’d you pick up on that?”
“Billy Darwin. I do the reenactment thing or the gig’s over.”
“He didn’t need to put it like that—shit. You were gonna do it, weren’t you? All we wanted, make sure you got some days off. Mr. Mularoni’s the kind of man can make it happen. You understand what I’m saying? I want you to meet him.”
“How about Anne?”
Robert put his hand over the phone and watched Anne sitting on the bed putting on a tennis shoe. He took his hand off the phone and said, “Dennis, you got chops working now I hadn’t noticed. That was cool, that ‘How about Anne?’ Damn.”
“I’m diving at two.”
“You can if you want. But Mr. Billy Darwin agreed you could cut that one.”
“Why?”
“Have time to get the uniform and the gun and shit. We meeting in their suite at one o’clock, have some lunch.”
“What if I’d rather dive?”
“Dennis? Listen to me. You’re hungry. You eat, wait an hour and then you can dive all you want.”
He hung up, Anne looking at him now, ready to leave.
“How’d he know about me?”
Robert was already thinking about it. He said, “Gimme another minute or two.”
Mularoni was introduced to Dennis as Jerry, not Germano. In his fifties, shorter than Dennis with a head of thick dark hair and a beard, a poser with the cigar, the dark sunglasses. He seemed pleasant enough, but also the boss, saying, “Dennis, come here,” put his arm around Dennis’ shoulders and brought him to the balcony, the doors wide open.
“The ladder stands eighty feet high. That correct?”
“Exactly,” Dennis said. “Eight ten-foot sections.”
“But how does anybody know for sure?”
“Some people actually count the rungs.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jerry said, “the skeptics. You know what you could do? Have a couple of the ladders, the ones you put on top, make the rungs six inches apart instead of a foot. From the ground you’d never be able to tell, but now you’re ten feet lower up there.”
“Jerry thought of that last night,” Robert said, “watching the show.”
“But whether you go off from seventy or eighty feet,” Dennis said, “it doesn’t make that much difference.”
“Either one,” Robert said, “you can kill yourself, huh? You want champagne, beer, vodka tonic—what’s your pleasure?”
Dennis said champagne. Robert popped a bottle of Mumm and poured two glasses. Jerry had red wine.
Anne came out of the bedroom in what looked like a beach cover mostly yellow, almost see-through, smiling at Dennis and extending her hand. She said, “I’ve watched you perform twice now, both times with my heart in my mouth. Hi, I’m Anne.”
Sounding like a TV commercial. Charlie was right, she could be a fashion model, the long, streaked hair, the way she moved, sure of herself. She took his hand and kissed the air next to his cheek, giving him a whiff of scent that was the best thing he’d ever smelled. In his life. Up close she could be thirty-five.
For lunch there was cold shrimp, a mixed salad, marinated calamari, fried chicken, Anne saying, “Nothing fancy.” Robert saying, “And a nod to regional chow, the river catfish and the mustard greens.”
Dennis said to Robert aside, each taking a shrimp on a toothpick, “What’s going on?”
“It’s lunchtime,” Robert said. “Don’t you eat lunch?”
“Come on.”
“They’re my friends and you’re my friend.”
Anne got around to asking about high diving and Acapulco, standing close to him with her scent, bikini under the beach cover hanging open, saying it must be harrowing and Dennis telling her the rush was worth it. “Every day,” she said, “living on the edge.” Dennis shrugged. “It’s dive or get a job.” She looked right into his eyes, making him wonder if it was there for him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. He asked if she and Jerry had any children—stupid, trying to think of something to say—and it turned off the look she was giving him. She said, “Jerry and I aren’t into children.”
He wanted to ask what Jerry did for a living—Jerry on the balcony now with a plate of calamari. But Robert came over with a vodka tonic for Anne, saying to Dennis, “You might want to thank Jerry for getting you off to play war.”
Anne said, “I’m going as a camp follower,” looking right at him again, “but no hoopskirts.”
“A quadroon,” Robert said, “so I won’t be the only darky.”
Dennis watched Robert give her a look, part smile, part something else going on between them.
“What’s Jerry gonna be?”
“A Yankee,” Robert said, “who gets his ass whipped. Remember I told you, Forrest put the skeer in the Yankees, chased ’em all the way back to Memphis?”
Dennis had his next question ready and asked it. “What kind of business is Jerry in?”
Anne said, “Land development.”
Robert said, “Big projects, all over the Midwest. And you know what kind? Manufactured home communities.” Robert waited, looking at Dennis like he was giving him time to decide on the next question, how to put it.
“Jerry knows Kirkbride?”
“Knows of him.”
“But if they’re in the same business—”
“I’m out of this,” Anne said, and walked away.
Dennis watched her go in the bedroom, Robert saying to him, “It’s Jerry’s brother runs the business. Jerry’s made his, he’s semiretired, consults is all.” Robert said, “You gonna ask me a lot of questions now, aren’t you? All right, what’s the name of Kirkbride’s company? Was on the sign in the village he’s doing.”
“I don’t remember.”
“American Dream, Incorporated. Kirkbride makes ’em in Corinth and sells ’em all over the country. Jerry’s brother looked into American Dream as a source. You know, to buy from. One reason or another it didn’t work out. They deal with the same kind of company up by Detroit makes homes you put together.”
“You didn’t mention this to Kirkbride.”
“Why would I? Jerry’s not dealing with him.”
“But they’re in the same business.”
“Jerry’s like Anne, he’s down here to have some fun, not talk business—shit. I’m the one, I told you, looked up Kirkbride, see what he’s like, what else he might be into.”
“Like playing war,” Dennis sai
d, “and now you and Jerry want to get in on it.”
“And Anne. She’s nice, huh?”
“But you don’t want Kirkbride to know anything about you, or what Jerry does.”
Robert said, “There’s no reason for him to. Man, you know there’s always more to what you see going on than meets the eye. Be patient.”
“But why bring me along?”
“You’re my straightman, Dennis. Come on, have some of this lunch.”
They stood around the two room-service tables pushed together picking at the lunch. Dennis made himself say to Jerry, “Hey, thanks for getting me off.”
“You ever reenact before?”
“No, but I can’t wait.”
Robert said, “Don’t overdo it.”
Anne said, “These two haven’t either.”
Jerry said to Anne, “But we know all about the war, Queenie. You don’t know shit.”
“I’m looking forward to the sowbelly,” Robert said. “The hardtack.”
The phone rang.
Jerry stepped over to the counter and picked it up saying to Robert, “We’re getting around that, don’t worry,” and said into the phone, “Yeah? . . . Send him up.” Coming back to the table Jerry said, “Tonto’s here.”
Robert went to the door saying to Dennis, “His real name’s Antonio Rey, but Jerry calls him Tonto, so that’s what it is now.” Robert opened the door and stood waiting, telling Dennis, “He’s part Tonto-Mojave but related to Geronimo going way back to when Geronimo raped his great-great-grandma, in Oklahoma. Tonto’s part Mexican-American, too, from Tucson, Arizona.”
“And part African-American,” Jerry said, “from Niggerville.”
“Be nice,” Robert said, serious, like he was giving Jerry an order. His expression changed then as the guy appeared, Robert grinning now saying, “My man, Tonto.”
Dennis watched them high-five and hug each other, Tonto with dark skin, dark hair to his shoulders coming out of a bandanna he wore pirate-fashion, a man you had to notice and look at.
Jerry and Anne didn’t seem taken with him, though Anne said, “That’s what I’m wearing with my costume, a do-rag,” and Jerry raised his hand to him.
Robert said, “Dennis? Tonto Rey, man.”
Dennis, holding a piece of fried chicken, gave him a nod.
Tishomingo Blues Page 11
