Bubba’s heart pounded with fear and excitement.
“It’s really that simple?” chuckled Cobb. “I wish I’d known. But what if they ask him for ID?”
“No one ever carded Manchile, and my Bubba’s even nicer-looking. Clothes are what count.” She smiled and drew a tape measure out of her purse. “Geegee’s going to go shopping for you at Brooks Soul Brothers, Bubba.”
Sure enough, when Geegee came to pick up Luther, she had a pink oxford-cloth shirt and an expensive wool suit for Bubba, along with black leather sneakers, striped socks, new bikini sports underwear, and an understated imipolex tie. They were the first new clothes he’d ever had. He threw off his old rags, bathed in the horse trough, and put on the beautiful suit. It was dark gray with small black checks and some faint purple squiggles.
“He looks eighteen,” said Cobb admiringly. “He does.” He stepped behind Bubba and tied his tie. Cisco took out her brush and arranged Bubba’s hair, and then put just the right amount of makeup on his eyes.
“You beautiful doll, you.” She gave his cheek a long, fierce kiss. “Put on your new scarf and gloves and overcoat, Bubba.” Her voice sounded funny.
Bubba put on his gold foilfoam overcoat. All of a sudden tears were running down Mamma’s cheeks.
“You get going, Bubba, before I break down completely. Walk out to Fifth Street and turn left to get downtown: La Mirage is at Second Street and Muhammad Ali Boulevard. I’ll—” Cisco covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
Bubba felt tears leaking from his eyes, too. This had never happened before. He looked at Cobb. “You two are staying here?”
Cobb shook his head. “It’s time to scatter. The Pig wants you more than anything, but he wants me and Cisco, too. With the rumor out, it could start coming down real soon. To give you a better chance, Cisc and I’ll lay down a trail leading north to Indianapolis. From there I’ll cut for Florida, and she’ll head for New York. Here, take this.” Cobb plucked at his imipolex skin and peeled off a rectangular patch. “I figured out how to grow ID. It’s got a hundred thousand dollars in credit.”
Bubba looked at the card. They were standing on the icy gravel outside the stables now. Dusk was falling fast. The sky was black and orange. Bubba’s new ID read: Buford Cisco Anderson, Birthdate 1/26/10. That meant Bubba was twenty-one. In a week, he really would be twenty-one, for a day. “How old are you, Cobb?”
“First time I was born was March 22, 1950. You could say I’m eighty. God knows I feel it. At a year a day, you’ll see what I mean come . . . uh . . . April 16. If you make it that far. Are you planning to preach about the Thang?”
Bubba wiped his face with his overcoat’s bright, leathery sleeve. His head was full of fresh Know. “No. I want to have dozens of children, hundreds of grandchildren, and thousands of great-grandchildren. God willing, there’ll be a million of us by June. Then we’ll restart the Thang for real!”
Cobb nodded as if he already knew this, but Cisco looked a little surprised. “That many of you, Bubba? Is that such a good idea, to cover the whole planet with hungry teenage boys?”
“Keep it bouncing,” said Cobb. “When the boppers come down they’ll find ways to turn off the gibberlin, and to father some girls.”
“I’ll miss you, Mamma,” said Bubba, trying to give Cisco a hug.
She pushed him away a bit more sharply than seemed necessary. “Just GO. Let’s not stand here talking all night till the Gimmie comes.” She gave Bubba a final pat on the cheek. “You’re a fine boy. Whatever happens, I’m proud to be your mother.”
Bubba took a few steps, stopped, and looked back at Cobb and Cisco.
“Will you two be all right?”
Cobb made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t worry about us, squirt. We race-traitors are a rough bunch. As soon as Cis and I get the hayloft cleaned out, we’ll steal a car and split. No prob. Beat it. Free Cousin Willy if you get a chance.”
It was full dark now, with not much traffic on the streets. Bubba found Fifth Street and started walking downtown. The shoes took some getting used to, especially with the ice. Bubba could see into lots of houses, all lit up and with families having dinner. His stomach rumbled for food. He passed some half-empty bar-and-grills, but they didn’t look right. Up ahead, just to the left of the sunset’s faint gray ghost, the sky was bright with big-city lights. Bubba put his head down and walked faster.
Finally he came to a big cross-street with lots of cars. He was very cold, especially his eyes and nose. A harsh wind blew grit up and down the dirty sidewalks. Nobody except Bubba was walking. But right here, at the corner of Fifth and Broadway, there was a big lit-up store with men standing inside. Bubba found the door and went in to get warm.
One of the men came over to Bubba. His waist was wide, and he had a red face. He looked a little like Cobb, but not much.
“Hi there,” said the man, sticking out his hand. “I’m Cuss Buckenham. Can I hep you in any way?”
Bubba knew how to shake hands. “I’m Buford Anderson,” he said, doing it. “It’s cold and windy and dark out there.” Cisco had taught him to talk about the weather whenever he was unsure.
“You need your daddy to get you a car,” said Cuss Buckenham. There were several shiny new cars inside the store with them. Bubba deduced that this man sold cars.
“My daddy drove a Doozy,” said Bubba. Mamma had told him about Manchile’s Doozy several times. “But he’s dead. Do you sell Doozies, Mr. Buckenham?”
Cuss Buckenham threw back his head and laughed in a stagy, friendly way. “Do ah sell Doozies? Does a frog eat flies?”
“I don’t know,” said Bubba, fumbling in his pockets. “But I can buy a car right now with my card, can’t I? I’m twenty-one and my uncle gave me lots of money.”
The car dealer stopped laughing and took Bubba’s card. He looked up at Bubba, looked back at the card, and looked up again. “I got a fine new Doozy right over here, Buford.” Buckenham pointed to a deeply lustrous gold sports car in the corner.
“Thanks, Mr. Buckenham. And call me Bubba.”
“Sure thing, Bubba, but you gotta call me Cuss. That there Doozy’s one of the last 2031s in stock, loaded, and I can let you have it at a gooood price. Go on over and take a look, while I just run this card and see what kind of authorization we can git.”
Bubba opened the car door and got inside. Right away, he Knew how to drive. It was like remembering something he’d forgotten about. The car looked good. The speedometer went up to 200 mph. The seats were real leather and the dash was faced in wood.
After a few minutes, Cuss Buckenham came over and squatted beside the car to look in at Bubba. “Your credit’s copacetic, Mr. Anderson. How do you like her?”
“I’ll take it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the papers were all signed and the Doozy had been rolled out into the store’s lot. Buckenham waved good-bye, and Bubba turned right on Broadway.
Fourth Street, Third Street, Second Street, try a left. Main Street, Chestnut Street, Muhammad Ali Boulevard. Big old building on the corner there, take a right. Big sign: La Mirage Health Club. Three-deck garage just beside it, pull in. Lock it and pocket. Done.
Bubba walked up the steps of La Mirage. It was Saturday night, and the place was jumping. There were knots of well-groomed men and women inside, black and white, old and young, some dressed for evening and some in sports togs. The doorman took an impression of Bubba’s card, and the young meatbop was in.