“Had to do that so I could see it from the first. Figured it out. I was always good figuring stuff like that out. I could have worked here.”
“I’ll be going out now, Smoky.”
“I rubbed my ass around in this seat real good, gave it a real dose of nigger butt, that’s what I did. Don’t tell them which seat. That way someone’s got to sit in it.”
“We’ll keep it between me and you.”
Sunset stood up slowly and walked out of the theater.
Rooster said, “Really think he’s gonna let you take him when that picture’s over? Whatever he’s been drinking, you been drinking some of it too.”
“Why don’t we have you get him a little picnic lunch when you go back in,” Morgan said. “Some chicken and light bread. Maybe some pie.”
“Might not be a bad idea,” Sunset said. “Hillbilly, go over to the cafe, see can you rustle up something already cooked. Tell them the law will pay for it. Have them sign a receipt or something.”
Hillbilly started slogging across the mud.
“Which law is gonna pay for it?” Rooster asked.
“Your town, your bill,” Sunset said.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna go back in there,” Morgan said. “And with a goddamn picnic lunch.”
“Beats a shoot-out,” Sunset said.
“I’ll go back in with you,” Clyde said.
“I don’t want to scare him, make him think I’m going back on my word.”
“Why don’t we show him an extra picture, maybe a cartoon,” Morgan said. “Hell, woman, why don’t you offer him a piece?”
Before Sunset could respond to that, Clyde hit Morgan on the jaw with his fist. Morgan did a kind of hop, twisted, fell face forward into the pile of mule dung, next to the dead mule’s ass.
“He was building up to that,” Clyde said, “and finally he got there.”
“Give him about half a minute,” Sunset said. “Then pull him out so he can breathe.”
“People seen you do that,” Rooster said. “They seen you hit an officer of the law, Clyde.”
“Yeah,” Clyde said. “Think they did. But since I’m kind of an officer of the law, maybe that evens it out.”
Hillbilly came hustling across the mud with a plate covered with a red-and-white-check napkin.
“I had to get this off of a fella’s plate. He didn’t like it none. I didn’t get nothing to drink. It’s just chicken and biscuits.”
“Let me have it,” Sunset said, and started back inside.
“What happened to Morgan there?” Hillbilly asked.
“Fainted,” Clyde said.
When Sunset disappeared into the theater, Rooster said, “I think Morgan has been in that mule shit for a whole minute or two now.”
“Reckon you’re right,” Clyde said.
“We ought to turn him,” Rooster said.
“I’m studying on it.”
Inside, Sunset gave Smoky the chicken and biscuits. He took it and ate, watched the picture. She looked at the movie but couldn’t hear it. Her ears wouldn’t listen. All she could think about was Smoky and the shotgun. She quietly pulled the pistol and laid it in her lap, her hand on it.
When the movie was over Smoky set the plate on the floor in the aisle, stood up and gave Sunset the shotgun.
“It ain’t loaded nohow,” Smoky said. “Was, I’d have shot myself. I just had them shells I used. I shouldn’t have shot the sheriff.”
“Let’s go on out, Smoky.”
“I did get to see me a picture show.”
“You did,” Sunset said.
“Maybe I ought to shut the projector off.”
“That’s all right. Someone else will do it.”
They went up the aisle, and when they got to the door, Smoky paused at the sheriff’s body.
“Happened so fast,” he said. “Brought the gun up and shot him. I didn’t even think about it.”
While they were pausing at the door, Sunset said, “Clyde. Hillbilly. Y’all come and help me.”
With Smoky between Clyde and Hillbilly, they walked him to the police car where Rooster stood, pistol drawn. Morgan was up, sitting on the sidewalk. There was mule shit on his face. Macavee was in the back of the police car, face caked with mud.
Smoky said, “They look like they come out of a minstrel show, their faces all darked up like that.”
“We’re taking Smoky with us,” Sunset said.
“Okay by me,” Rooster said.
Sunset reached inside her shirt, pulled out the slap jack, gave it to Clyde, said, “Okay, Smoky, start moving.”
They plodded through the mud, past the grumbling white crowd and the quietly observing negroes.
“Them peckerwoods just gonna break me out of jail and kill me,” Smoky said.
“You’re not going to this jail,” Sunset said.
They walked him to the truck, sat him in the truck bed with Clyde and his shotgun. Hillbilly drove them out of there with only the slightest grinding of gears.
Hillbilly said, “That was a brave thing you done.”
“Maybe.”
“Where we taking him?”
“Tyler.”
Hillbilly reached over, touched Sunset’s hand. “You are one brave woman,” he said.
It was a good distance to Tyler, and by the time they got Smoky delivered to the jail, it was dark.
Clyde drove on the way back, not liking Hillbilly’s motoring style. When they pulled into the yard, the truck lights shone on the big black-and-white dog standing near the water pump. It darted into the woods.
“Poor thing,” Sunset said. “I’ll put some food out.”
“You’ll have a dog you do,” Clyde said.
“That’s not so bad,” Sunset said.
Hillbilly got out, held out his hand, helped Sunset down.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hillbilly said.
“Good night, Sunset,” Clyde said.
“I’m not much of a law having to depend on a borrowed truck,” she said. “What happens things go wrong at night?”
“Hope they don’t,” Clyde said. “Come on, Hillbilly. Let’s go. I got to get some sleep. And you hold on to her hand too long, it’s likely to come off.”
“See you tomorrow,” Hillbilly said again.
Clyde drove them away.
Sunset noticed the dog lying under a big oak, his head on his paws, looking at her.
“Come on, boy,” she said. “Come on.” But the dog didn’t budge.
She walked toward him slowly, and he still didn’t move. But when she was within ten feet of him, he jumped up and growled, then scampered into the woods.