He said, "Listen to me," his voice quiet, serious. "I don't care how many people you saw get killed and you didn't do nothing. You understand? Nobody saw what happened here. These two hardcores must've got so worked up, so intense reenacting, they came out here with live ammo to do it right."
"And happened to kill each other," Dennis said.
"Why's that hard to believe? Same as Fish and Eugene, but for a higher cause than a dead dog. That's the point to make. They met a few times and never got along, having opposite views of the war. They'd trade insults, put down each other's heroes, Arlen saying General Grant was a drunk and a speed freak, Jerry saying Stonewall Jackson sucked dick, and they come to face each other as a matter of honor. That's it, deciding the honorable thing was fight a duel, same as they would back in those days. What I'm leading up to, what we have to get ready for tomorrow or the next day, is all the press and TV's gonna be here from all over for the story. First Annual Tunica Civil War Muster turns into shootout. The first and I bet the last. You understand.what I'm saying? They gonna ask us questions once the CIB's done asking, looking for the motive. I could say, well, I wasn't close to Germano Mularoni but I know he hated Southerners, along with all other races. Southerners, 'cause he watched videotapes over and over of that Civil War show was on TV and came to hate what the Confederacy stood for. He hated them still flying the flag and all that shit about heritage. Now take Arlen Novis, you have a diehard Rebel-type former convict who used to be a sheriff's deputy and packed a gun. They look Germano up and find there was a time he also packed and set off high explosives, too. They gonna say, but wasn't this Germano's first reenactment? Yes, it was, and you know why he never did one before? He thought reenactments were pussy, they didn't use loaded guns." He said to Dennis, "And that's right off the top of my head. We get into it I'll work all the motive shit into a routine."
He paused, frowning a little.
"But if nobody finds these two? I mean in the next couple of days. I don't want them turning to bones."
Dennis, caught up in it, said, "What's wrong with that?"
Robert said to Hector, "Listen to my man Dennis."
It encouraged him and he said, "You were gonna put them in the bread truck and they disappear." He wasn't trying to help, he was getting it clear in his mind. "What's the difference?"
"Jerry," Robert said, "changes the situation. No, I need to have them found soon, by tomorrow. And for a good reason."
"The missus," Hector said.
"You got it," Robert said. "Anne won't stand for Jerry being missing, have to wait. How long? She don't have the patience for that, she'd blow it, start talking." He looked at Dennis and said, "You understand?"
No, he didn't, and shook his head.
"The man has to be seen dead so she can collect on him, the house, the bank accounts, the insurance…" He looked at Hector again. "Somebody's gonna have to make the anonymous phone call to the Tunica sheriff. You and Tonto Rey go on with Groove in the bread truck. Make the call in Memphis and hang around there, Beale Street, man, and let me know where you are. I'll tell you when you can come back here. Hey shit, we're in business. It just hit me. Go on, before Groove leaves on you."
Dennis was watching Walter, down there at the edge of the trees. He said, "What about Walter?" nodding toward him as Robert turned.
"What? You think the man wants to look at a homicide conviction? Walter knows how to put on a face better than I do even."
"What's he doing?"
"Waiting to be called."
Dennis said, "You gonna tell Anne?"
"A widow lady, and she doesn't even know it."
It was the word, as Robert said it, that made Dennis think of Loretta. She didn't know either. He heard Robert talking about Anne, heard the words as he saw Loretta in the tent, saw her holding up her skirt and saw her outside in the chair and stayed with that one, Loretta's face composed. He saw her look up as he walked toward her and heard:
"You listening to me?"
"You said you have to keep Anne from celebrating too soon, like throwing a party."
"And I said I only have one worry."
"Yeah…?”
"And it ain't Annabanana."
Dennis said, "Me?"
"You're here, you're in it same as I am. We not just witnesses, we conspired, we aided, we abetted. If that's true we could be facing prison. In Mississippi. I know you don't want that."
Dennis shook his head, no.
"Then why am I worried about you?"
26
NEWTONHOON SAT IN HIS TRAILER with a jelly glass of bourbon watching the news: that little TV girl with the two last names in the woods showing where James Rein and Eugene Dean had shot each other, saying both men were from Tunica but nothing about Rose.
There she was now in the glade saying this was where Arlen Novis, former Tunica County sheriff's deputy, and Detroit realtor Germano Mularoni staged their duel, calling them reenactors in a senseless confrontation of views that resulted in each man's death. Oh, is that right? No mention of Walter. No mention of the smoke or the two greasers-Newton thinking of the one he'd asked that time where the nigger was and the one said he'd gone to fuck your wife. It had set him off, sure, even knowing it wasn't true. One, Myrna wasn't ever home, she played bingo every night of her life. And two, not even a smoke'd want to fuck her, Myrna going four hundred pounds on the hoof. Try and find the wet spot on her.
Now he was watching a helicopter view of the glades, the woods, the levee road and over to the reenactment site, the tents struck and gone, nothing to see but the barn with the muster sign still on it and empty land.
So much for believing what they tell you on the news. Hell, he'd seen the whole thing.
Phoned Walter yesterday and today and got his answering voice both times, Walter saying he was away from his desk but to leave a message. Both times Newton couldn't think of how to say what he wanted. Let Walter know he saw him shoot Arlen and it was gonna cost him. He didn't think he should leave that as a message, he needed to tell Walter to his face. He called Walter's office in Corinth and was told he was at Southern Living in Tunica. Newton said no he wasn't. They said yes he was, if he'd gone someplace else he'd have let them know.
Last night Newton had gone over to the Tishomingo, see if the smoke was still around, and there was the diver putting on his show. He had a good crowd, too, since he'd been on TV and people wanted to see him dive. Newton had nothing personal against the diver-else he'd set up in the trees with a deer rifle and pick him off the ladder. What Arlen should've done. He went inside the hotel to the reception desk and asked, the way Walter would say it, what room the colored fella was in. The girl desk clerk asked him who he was referring to. Newton said, "The jigaboo." He said, "Jesus, how many you got staying here?" The girl asked him what was the guest's name, so she could see was he registered. That was the trouble, shit, he couldn't think of it. Newton went out to the parking lot and roamed up and down the aisles for twenty minutes looking for the black car, came back to the front of the hotel and there it was. He might've known. The big-shot coon had it in valet parking.
Newton saw what he'd have to do: sit in his pickup with sweet rolls and Pepsis and watch the car. Mr. Negro leaves to drive back north, pull up next to him on the highway and give him a load of double-ought buckshot. After that he'd have time to find Walter and make his deal.
Annabanana wasn't buying the news accounts of what happened, but wouldn't ask Robert directly how he'd made it look the way it did. She'd say things like "Four different guys shoot each other at the same time, almost in the same place, and the cops don't have a problem with that?"