She landed on her butt and stared up into Albert Bates’s mug.
“If that don’t beat all.”
“I saw it comin’,” Bates said.
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought you saw it coming, too.”
“What do they want?”
“A third.”
“What’s that?”
“Sixty-six thousand.”
“They can go fuck themselves.”
“I agree,” Bates said. “But now they have Mr. Urschel.”
“He’s not with Potatoes?”
“The boy’s got him, but he’s scared of Miller.” Bates shook his head and tossed a butt onto the porch. He ground it up real good with the heel of his shoe.
“The cut’s gonna get a little deeper, too,” Bates said. “Bailey wants George to use Kid Cann’s outfit in Saint Paul for the wash.”
“That lousy Jew? Who in their right mind would trust him?”
“Bailey says he’s honest. He’s usin’ him for his own stash.”
“That’s a hell of a recommendation.”
George busted out of the front door, red-faced and sweating, and not the joking boy from the car ride. He grabbed Kit’s hand and walked her way the hell out from Boss’s house into the parched land where Boss grew his paltry crops. The dry and cracked ground still held the bent and dry stalks of corn blowing slightly in the hot wind. The old windmill twittered and twirled like the hands of a clock wound too tight.
“Listen to me,” George said, pulling her hands together at the wrist. “Listen. I talked him down to ten grand. They drive Urschel back.”
Kit shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She breathed in through her nose and kept on crying, goddamnit. Like some kind of baby.
“Kit.”
“You pussy.”
“Kit.”
“Don’t you dare take it in the ass from that son of a bitch,” she said.
“It’s been decided.”
“Among men?”
“Yes.”
“I think you and your buddies from the Green Lantern Saloon are about as tough as a sewing circle,” she said. She grabbed the back of George’s big neck and pulled him in close to where their noses touched. Both of them were breathing hard from all the talk and excitement and the heat. Far off in the trees, some cicadas clicked and whirred. An old hound came loping out from the barn and lay down at George’s feet, but Kathryn kept on. “I know. I know.”
“What?”
“Kill him.”
“I can’t kill Harvey.”
“Not Harvey,” she said. “Urschel. You go with that dumb yegg like you’re okay with the deal. And when he takes you to Urschel, I want you to take out that.38 and put a hole right in the center of that rich man’s head. I never wanted you to take him back anyway. He can make you and Albert. He’s been to my momma’s house. He’s eaten her chicken, for fuck’s sake.”
George stood there in the heat with his mouth wide open.
Kathryn leaned in and gave him a big kiss on his stubbled mug. She kissed it again and again until his mouth closed and his eyes focused, seeing the sense in what she’d said.
“Do it,” she said. “Go do it now.”
13
Charlie had resigned himself to his own death for some time. He’d pretty much made sense and order of the affair after meeting up with Tom Slick in the wilderness and now being chained again in this blind purgatory; he knew these people were going to punch his ticket real soon. But life had been good and exciting. He’d been a successful man, raised a good family, and after becoming a widower did the sensible thing in marrying Berenice and joining their fortunes. He would not be maudlin about the day or try to conjure up a prayer. When that bullet hit his brain, he’d just be closed for business, and he knew damn well that time would continue. He just wished like hell he could remember what Tom Slick had told him out there in the vast stretches of land after he’d touched his staff to that parched earth and a black pool of oil had formed at his feet. He’d wanted Charlie to get off his knees and follow him up and over that hill, but as Charlie’d tottered and stumbled, Tom’s staff held high, he’d fainted and fallen and dropped in and out of consciousness, looking right into the face of that prize bull with a white face. That’s when Tom Slick changed into the figure of a limping man with silver hair and a bandanna across his face, saying, “Well, hello there, Mr. Urschel. Goin’ someplace?”
The old shack’s door squeaked open, and he was unchained again.
Here we go.
Charlie found his feet, holding on to the posts of a metal bed. He was told to turn around and take the bandages from his eyes. He complied and was led to a crude wooden bench, where he sat down.
He heard a click, and before his blurry eyes appeared the long, sharp blade of a straight razor. He wanted to think of a prayer but just couldn’t think of one that fit the situation.
He took a breath and swallowed, knowing it would be his last.
But instead of feeling the blade across his neck, he saw a mug of hot lather slid onto the table, and he looked up into the mirrored image of a man he didn’t recognize. Sure, he knew the features and eyes, they’d been with him since birth. But the gauntness and salt-and-pepper beard were those of a much older man.
“Shave those whiskers,” the big man said. “You look like a goddamn tramp. Whoa. Don’t turn around. Don’t you dare turn around. You know how this dance is done. We’ll bring you a change of clothes and a hat. It’s a new straw hat, and I’m pretty sure I got the size right.”
Charlie nodded.
He was free. They were taking him back.
He looked into the rust-flecked image of himself and lathered his face in the hot light coming from the west window. The razor was dull and old, and his whiskers took a good bit of pulling and coaxing till they’d be shaved away. Cuts and all, he felt like a hundred-dollar bill.
There was a knock on the door, and Charlie was told to face the wall.
His eyes were retaped, and he took the procedure like a sick man takes the dressing of his wounds. He heard the weathered voice of the old man now tell him that he had a fresh shirt and pants. He’d brought back the shoes he’d worn here.
Charlie didn’t answer. What was he supposed to do? Thank him?
He just nodded and stood there, blind and dumb. The most well-read man of women’s literature in the country.
And then he felt a pair of bony arms wrap his body and pull him tight, and an onion breath in his face told him, “You be careful, Mr. Urschel. Everything’s all right. Yes, sir. God bless you.”
The door opened and closed again.
“They’s gettin’ the automobile ready,” said Potatoes. “Mr. Urschel, how ’bout a smoke for ole time’s sake? I brung you a real good one. I can fetch you some hot coffee, too. It was fresh this mornin’.”
“Son?”
“Yes, Mr. Urschel?”
“You can stick that cigar up your ass,” Urschel said. “Tell that son of a bitch I want to be taken back to my home right now.”
“I’M NOT KILLING CHARLIE URSCHEL AT YOUR FOLKS’ PLACE.”
“Can you think of somewhere better?” Kathryn asked.
“For five grand, the boys will take Urschel back to Oklahoma City like we promised,” George said. “That’s on the level.”
“Fuck no.”
“ Harvey said if we don’t agree to the deal, they’ll just let Urschel out close by where he can lead the law back to the farm,” George said. “They said your dumb stepdaddy lost ’im and they found ’im wandering the road to Damascus nuttier than a squirrel, so they’re claiming they’re owed something.”