"No problem."
Gail asked, "Where did you do it? How many times? How did you get away with it?"
"We're old pros from high school days." Keith changed the subject and said, "Her husband is generally suspicious, and specifically pissed off at me for coming back here. He came out here last week, and we had some words. But he doesn't really know anything. He did give me a week to get out of town, and that time ends on Friday, but I won't be gone by then. He may come around again, and I'll ask for a few days' extension, because that's less complicated than killing him, which I promised not to do."
They seemed stunned by that remark, and Keith looked at them. "This is serious business. Not a game. He's borderline psychotic. You watch yourselves. The offer of the gun stands."
They stayed silent awhile, then Jeffrey said, "Hey, this is heavy stuff. Mind if I smoke?"
"Go right ahead." Jeffrey took a pouch and papers out of his shirt pocket and rolled one. He lit it with a match and offered it to Keith, who declined, then to Gail, who also declined. He shrugged, sat back, and smoked.
Gail asked, "Do you think Annie is safe?"
"I think so. But I'm getting these vibrations, if I can use that old word, and these vibrations tell me that people have picked up on something, sort of like they're intercepting these signals that go between this farm and Williams Street." Keith smiled. "Blow that smoke away, Jeffrey. I'm sounding like you."
Gail said, "No, I understand. I mean, even we figured something was up. Who else, besides Baxter?"
"Oh, just people. Pastors, and somebody's sister, and nice elderly ladies. I'm probably paranoid, but I'm concerned that Baxter's going to get onto something concrete. I have to ask you guys not to say or do anything that could arouse suspicion. Lay low yourselves until the weekend. Okay?"
"Done."
"If the plan falls apart, I may need you."
"We're here."
"I appreciate it. Hey, Jeffrey, who would have thought we'd be having dinner together again?"
Jeffrey took a toke and looked at him. "Time has healed a lot of those wounds, Keith. I'm glad we lived long enough to get smart."
Gail said, "If this is a prelude to male bonding, I'll go out on the porch."
Jeffrey said to Keith, "She feels threatened. That's why you need a woman, Keith, to balance out the dynamics of our interlocking relationships, and... whatever. Hey, where are you two going to go? Can we join you for dinner someplace?"
"Sure. I'll let you know."
Gail said, "We're going to miss you, Keith. We don't have many friends here."
"Maybe you will after you get rid of Police Chief Baxter."
"I don't think so. But perhaps. Will you come back here someday?"
"I'd like to. Depends on what happens with Baxter."
"Yeah," Jeffrey agreed, "I wouldn't advise you to look for a house on Williams Street for a while." He laughed. "Hey, I'd love to see his fucking face when he comes home and finds a fuck-you note on the refrigerator." Jeffrey got the giggles and slapped the table a few times.
Keith stood. "Let's sit on the porch. The maid will clear."
They sat on the porch and watched the sun go down. No one spoke for a long time, then Gail said, "What an amazing thing, Keith."
"What?"
"Love. I mean, through college, and turmoil, and war, and decades, and distance, and everything that life throws at you. If I were sentimental, I'd cry."
Chapter Twenty-two
On Thursday morning, Keith woke up not feeling particularly well and didn't know why. By stages, he remembered the Porters being over for dinner, then recalled breaking out the hard liquor and realized why he had a headache and recalled what they had been celebrating.
He got out of bed and opened the window, feeling the cool air rush in. It looked like another sunny day, a good day for the corn, but they could use one more good rain before the harvest.
He walked down the hall in his underwear toward the bathroom and bumped into Jeffrey, also in his underwear. Jeffrey said, "I'm not well."
"You slept here?"
"No, I came back in my underwear to get the Tupperware containers."
"Where's Gail?"
"She went to get us breakfast. You want to use the bathroom?"
"No, go ahead." Keith got his robe and went down the stairs into the kitchen. He washed his face in the sink, found aspirin in the cupboard and took two, then put on a pot of coffee.
A car pulled around to the back door, and Gail came in, carrying a grocery bag. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay." He sat at the kitchen table, and Gail unpacked a bottle of orange juice and three corn muffins.
She said, "A police car followed me from here all the way to town."
Keith nodded. He said, "Now they know there's a connection between us. You're on the list."
"Hey, I was on the list before you got here." She sat down and poured a glass of juice for each of them.
Keith sipped his juice. He asked, "Did they pull you over?"
"No, I pulled them over. I got out of my car, identified myself as a councilwoman, and told them to fuck off or I'd have their badges."
"You've become very establishment, Gail. You're supposed to scream about your civil rights."
"They wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about. The only thing that scares them is the thought of losing their guns and their badges."
"Yeah, these cops turned bad. They have a bad boss."
She stayed quiet a minute, then asked him, "Were you serious about killing Baxter?"
"No."
She looked at him awhile, then said, "I was scared out there on the highway."
"I know. I'd like to take care of the problem before I leave, but I promised I wouldn't."
"I understand. Can I ask you... have you ever done that? I mean, I guess in Vietnam..."
Keith didn't reply, but he thought about her question. Yes, he'd killed in Vietnam, but that was in combat. In his early years in intelligence work, he'd literally had a license to kill, but before they'd given him his gun and silencer, they'd given him the rules: There were only two absolute times for killing — in combat and in self-defense. But everyone in America had the same right. His license, however, extended into murkier areas, such as a preemptive kill, if you felt threatened. And it got even murkier than that, like the right to kill in order to remove a great evil, whatever that was. Keith thought that Cliff Baxter was a great evil, for instance, but Mr. Baxter's parents and children might not agree. It was sort of a case-by-case thing, and Keith never had to make the decision by himself, and neither did he have to be the gunman if he had a problem with the committee decision. Here in Spencerville, however, far removed from any restraints or advice, he was on his own.
She said, "Have you thought about the fact that you'll never be really safe as long as he's around?"
"I don't think Cliff Baxter's balls travel well. We'll stay away from his turf."
"Did you ever think he might take out his rage on... well, let's say Annie's family?"
"What are you suggesting, Gail? I thought you were a pacifist."
"Jeffrey is a pacifist. If someone threatened my life, or the lives of my family or friends, I'd kill them."
"With what? A carrot?"
"Be serious. Listen, I feel threatened, and I obviously can't go to the police. I'll take that rifle."
"Okay. I'll get it." He stood, but Jeffrey came down the stairs.
Gail said to Keith, "We'll put it in my trunk later."
Jeffrey came into the kitchen. "Put what in the trunk?"
Gail replied, "The Tupperware."
"Right." He sat down, and they had breakfast.
Jeffrey said, "Hell of a party last night. Glad we could finally celebrate the Landry-Prentis engagement announcement."