They drove away and stopped on the way back to Hora's at a favorite spot for their “picnic feasts,” a spot where Chaingang had once buried a kill. It amused him to bring the pregnant woman there.
“Ummm,” she said, a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni not yet swallowed as she spoke, “this is good.” She ate two pieces from the two giant-size pizzas as usual. She was always amazed at the amount of food he would eat, but she said nothing. “Ain't you hungry?” she asked him now. He said nothing. He had eaten only eight slices of pizza and, to his great amazement, he was full. It actually worried him momentarily, until he realized that he had shrunk to that extent.
“Watch,” he told her, and in something so alien and uncharacteristic for him Daniel stood up and, sucking in his gut slightly, pulled the belt in, cinching it in as hard as he could. The pants he'd just bought two months before to replace the ones that had been falling off were already too big, and he pulled the cow-long belt in nearly a foot. He'd already cut a good foot of leather off the belt.
“God! You're gettin’ skinny.” She smiled. This was her idea of clever wit.
He beamed back and nodded. But the only thought going through his mind as he rebuckled the belt was, he would like to say to her, Do you know where you're sitting? And when she said, No, she didn't, he'd tell her she was having a picnic on a grave. And then he'd ask her if she would like to see what was in it. He thought what great pleasure it would bring him when he removed both her and her mound of a gut from his presence. He allowed himself the barking cough of a laugh.
“That's me,” he told her, “skinny.” This was the longest conversation they'd had in months and she wished she could put her arms around him and hug him, but she was afraid if she tried to move she'd puke the pizza up.
“Could we buy a fan?” she asked him.
“I don't see why not,” he told her, again surprising both of them. “After all, we want you to have a healthy kid, eh?” He wondered, idly, what the kid would look like if he took his bowie and sliced her watermelon open, and took it out of the oven a little early.
“Right here,” he rumbled to her and patted her stomach, where his child was being carried. That's where I'll make the cut, he thought. He traced a line across her swollen belly with a steel finger like a knife point. “This is where a baby is."
That's right,” she said. “Feel your son in there."
And he did.
BUCKHEAD
“Ya jes’ fuckin’ with me. Bloated GAWDAMN SHOAT,” he shouted at the agent who yanked him backward and he fell over on the hard floor. “Iffn’ I wasn't tied to this weuns ‘d have us a different story then, tubby.” The standing man kicked him hard and the man tied to the chair spit, started to say something, changed his mind and stared straight up at the ceiling. Fuckin’ faggots.
“You're a real piece of work, aren't ya, Mr. De Witt, or Mr. De Half-Witt—which is it?"
“Yo're a big fuckin’ man now."
“You're an ignorant, redneck, no-account piece of SHIT, boy. You know that."
“Fuckin’ fa—” He grunted in pain as the man kicked the top of his head.
“I hated to do that, Mr. Witless, youuns git gooey kid stuff on my shoe. And what kinda language is that anyway, peckerwood? Cain't YOUUNS talk too good?” He mimicked the man tied to the chair. “Are you a fuckin’ hillwilliam, dummy? Is that YOUUNS problem?"
The man named Wendell De Witt stared up at the ceiling without blinking an eye. He'd put up with horseshit like this all his life. It didn't faze him. He looked over at the agent looming over him. “Iffn’ youuns talk real sweet to me I'll let ya’ suck ma pole later on.” He almost blacked out for a second when the man kicked him again in the top of the head. He kicked with the flat of the foot to leave as little evidence as possible, not that he was particularly worried about it. The tough country bumpkin appeared to have passed out, so he passed smelling salts under the man's nose and he came back with a cough and cursing.
The agent opened the door and said to someone in the hall, “Gimme a hand with this, will ya?” The other agent entered the interrogation room and they lifted the subject up so the chair was upright again.
“Listen up, Mr. De Shitt. I'll be back in a few minutes with a couple friends of that cop you assholes shot. And the four of us will play bridge, okay? And YOU'LL be the fuckin’ bridge, tough guy.” He slammed out of the room.
“You okay?” the second agent asked with genuine concern in his voice.
“Yeah. I'm jes’ fine."
“He loses his temper. I'm sorry about that, man."
“That's no problem."
“You know, Mr. De Witt, if you'd cooperate with us it could make a big difference for you.” He sounded so warm and friendly. “This is the time to work something out, you know?"
“Commere.” De Witt gestured with his head. “Lean over here an’ I'll tell ya somethin'.” As the agent leaned over slightly De Witt hawked up a big goober of bloody phlegm and spat it into the man's face.
“OH FOR CHRIST'S—” The man watching all of this through the one-way got up, his wooden chair scraping on the floor, and walked into an adjoining office, where he picked up a phone, dialing.
“Howard Krug,” the SAC said, picking up his private line.
“No goodski. Sorry."
“You didn't really believe that animal was going to fall apart behind some bad cop/good cop, did you?"
“Nope. So what now? What, uh, you want me to put Joe back in there for a while?"
“Huh uh. Just put ‘m back in lockup and pull James Lee in and see what you can do."
“How long I get with Lee before Buckhead and IAD are in on it?"
“What do you need?"
“Can we keep him overnight?"
“Negative."
“Well?"
“Pull him in and act like you got him nailed. The usual. Keep him till close of business. You know, five-thirty, six o'clock tops. Cut him loose and let him go home for supper to think about it."
“You got it."
“Remember—he won't know they got to John Monroe somehow, so make sure you don't tip it."
“He's gonna know when he goes home tonight."
“Maybe so. But just play it like he doesn't know. Maybe we'll get lucky. Depends what kind of poker player he is."
“Okay. We'll see what happens."
“Call me later at home."
“Will do. I'll let you know."
“Just a couple things. First make sure first thing you do is the bit about the special, hidden cam we got him on in the entranceway. Run that right at the beginning. Don't wait for him to crumple. He'll stonewall. You just gloss over it like you don't care if he denies. Then—"
“Right, he's gonna go, Hey, that's bullshit, or whatever, and I can just say, like, I shrug and say, Hey, you and your attorney will have a copy to study. I mean it's all there where he picks up the money, I mean where YOU pick up the money, and if he goes, BULLSHIT you couldn't have it because I didn't do it, I just shrug as if I expected him to say that and plow right into the next thing."
“Remember, though, somewhere before you cut him loose you're gonna have to say something like, Hell, man I was just kidding. You want to leave it as light as you can. I was just puttin’ you on, Jimmie old boy. I mean, you never know how bent outta shape these guys are gonna get and—just remember you might have to get on the stand behind this."