“What?” Cob said. He had just learned five minutes ago that Chimney had been apprehended, and he was lying on his bed wondering how much longer it would be before they were sitting in the pokey beside him, waiting to be hanged. He wished he’d saved back some of those doughnuts.
“Get up,” Cane ordered. He shoved his hand under Cob’s mattress and felt for the other pistol he’d hidden there, stuck it in the saddlebag that held the money. He glanced over at the books by the chair. As bad as he wanted to find out how Richard III turned out, he was going to have to leave them behind. “Come on, we got to move.” Sticking his head out the door, he looked up and down the carpeted hallway.
“Heck,” Cob said as he rolled off the bed, “we just got back and now you—”
Grabbing Cob by the shirt, Cane shoved him out of the room. They made their way down the back stairs and out the rear service entrance, then started down the alley at a slow trot, but after a hundred yards or so, Cob stopped. “What the hell are you doing?” Cane said, turning back to him.
“I can’t run on this leg,” Cob said.
“Jesus,” Cane said, “you’re not helpin’ matters.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“I know,” Cane said. “Come on.” They walked a few yards, then ducked into a weedy vacant lot heaped with mounds of coal cinders and trash.
“So I reckon they’re lookin’ for us?” Cob asked.
“You reckoned right,” Cane said. “We don’t find a way out of here, we’re in trouble.” They crouched down behind a pile of busted-up bricks, and a few moments later they heard a loud voice telling people about the Jewett the soldiers had captured, and that the other two were close by somewhere. Then someone else called out that he had dibs on the reward, and another hollered back that they’d buy the Blind Owl together.
“Take me to Jasper’s,” Cob said suddenly.
Cane gritted his teeth. Though his brother might be slow, he wasn’t that slow. “Goddamn it, this ain’t no time to be playin’ around.”
“I’m not. We need to get to Jasper’s. He’ll help us.”
Just then, seven or eight men carrying guns and lanterns marched down the alley past the lot. Cane thought for a minute. They had been in some tight spots before, but never one this bad. If only they could get to their horses, they might have a chance, but the stable was on the other side of town, and they would never make it that far without getting caught, not with Cob’s leg slowing them down. “So you know where he lives?” he asked.
“Yeah, he showed me yesterday. It’s not that far. Come on, I can find it from here.”
—
WHEN HE HEARD someone knocking on the back door, Jasper was lying half-asleep on his mother’s couch. In all the time he’d lived here by himself, the only person who had ever visited him was Itchy, and he thought at first that he must be mistaken. But then the taps started again, and he jumped up. A sharp pain shot through his groin. He’d had another one of those evenings when his situation had gotten the best of him, and he had quelled it the best way he knew how, by thrashing his cock against the furniture until he could hardly walk. Holding a candle, he cracked open the kitchen door, and for a moment all he saw was a pistol stuck in his face. “Don’t make a sound,” he heard someone hiss. For a few seconds, he stood frozen, but then he made out Cob standing behind the one with the gun, and he took a step back, allowing them to enter.
Cane shut the door quietly, and motioned for Jasper to move into the next room. As they passed the stinking work gear piled in front of the cookstove—the helmet, measuring stick, truncheon, and rubber boots—he remembered that this was the same man he’d seen in the store the other day looking wistfully at bathroom fixtures. In the dim light from the candle, he glanced around the parlor at the faded embroideries hanging on the walls and the dust-covered saints on the mantel and the little wooden shrine to the Virgin Mary. He recalled something Bloody Bill had said one time, after an old Mennonite woman hid him under her hoop skirts and saved him from certain death, about how salvation is sometimes found in the strangest places.
“Howdy, Jasper,” Cob finally said, smiling a little sheepishly.
“Hey, Junior.”
Through the open window came more yelling, then a car horn beeping, and the echo of a gunshot. Cane wiped some sweat from his brow. It suddenly occurred to him that there was no way he and Cob could make it out of town tonight, not together anyway. There had to be another solution, another way to save them both. “Sit down,” he told Jasper. Cane watched the man limp toward the couch, figured he must have a bad rupture from the looks of that bulge in his pants. “My brother keeps talkin’ about you, says you’re his friend. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Jasper said, looking nervously at the pistol Cane still had pointed at him. “I’d like to think so anyway.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I know who you are. I saw your pictures on a poster over at the jail this morning.”
“Heck, why didn’t ye say nothing?” said Cob. “We was measurin’ them ol’ shithouses all day.”
“I don’t know,” Jasper said, shrugging his thin shoulder blades. “I guess I didn’t want to scare you off.”
“Have ye told anyone about us?” Cane asked.
“No, no, I swear. I wouldn’t do that.”
Sensing that perhaps the man could be trusted after all, Cane sat down in a chair, laid his pistol on top of one of the saddlebags. “All that commotion you’re hearin’ out there, that’s people huntin’ us,” he told Jasper.
“Yeah, they done caught Chimney,” Cob added.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Now they’ll hang him and he won’t ever get a chance to sit at the heavenly table. Well, shoot, I don’t reckon we will, either, for that matter. Yes, sir, I sure would’ve liked to seen it.”
“The what?” Jasper said.
“The heavenly table. Like I told Miss Eula, it’s where you—”
“Hold up,” Cane interrupted. Once again, just by making some offhand remark, Cob had given him an idea, and though it certainly wasn’t perfect, it was better than nothing. “You know a place called Nipgen?” he said.
Jasper nodded. He and Itchy had rented a horse and buggy on several occasions and spent the day riding around the county talking to strangers and pretending they were looking for land to buy. “Yeah, out west of town. I been through there once.” From what he could remember, they’d stopped at a little store there and bought some baloney heels and crackers from a man who wore an eyeshade.
Cane bent down and opened one of the saddlebags, started pulling money out. He counted for several minutes, then put a tall stack of bills next to one of the Bibles lying on the table in front of the sofa. “What I need is a big favor, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it, but I need to know tonight.”
“A favor?” Jasper said, trying not to look at the money. “What is it?”
“There’s a man and his wife got a farm three or four mile past there, and they—”
“The Fiddlers!” Cob said excitedly. “They’re the—”
Cane held his hand up to signal his brother to be quiet. “They know Cob, and he knows them. Ellsworth and Eula Fiddler.” He nodded at the money. “There’s fifteen thousand dollars there. You get my brother to their house safe and half of it’s yours. That’s seventy-five hundred. What do ye think?”
Jasper’s head was reeling. Why, there was more money there than he’d ever seen. He didn’t know much, but he had the feeling that if he refused the offer, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Not only that, no one, not even Itchy, had ever put this much trust in him before. But then he heard some more footsteps running down the street, saw the shadow of a lantern passing through a yard three doors down. What would happen if he got caught aiding a bank robber? And a murderer, though he still couldn’t picture Cob ever hurting anyone. Would they hang him, too? No, maybe he better not get involved. Then he looked over at Cob, sitting beside him on his mother’s couch, t
he same couch he had damn near beat his peter off on just two hours ago. But what kind of man turned his back on his friend? Let’s face it, he thought, he couldn’t save Meade; it didn’t matter how many corrupt citizens he pretended to slay in front of his mirror. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, it had never been a clean town. And there would never be any speeches made about him in Cone Park. Christ, who was he fooling? No matter what he did, people around here would always call him Shit Scooper. But still, maybe he could save someone, save his friend. “I’ll try my best,” he said.
It took him a minute, but all of the sudden, Cob sensed that something was about to happen that had never happened before. “Hold on now,” he said to Cane. “You mean you ain’t goin’ with us?”
“No, we’re gonna have to split up for a while,” Cane tried to explain. “Even if we could get to the horses, with your leg like it is, it’d be—”
“But we ain’t never been apart before. Never.”
“I wish there was some other way, but I can’t think of one. Look, all you got to do is stay at the Fiddlers and wait on me. I swear, as soon as I can, I’ll come back for ye.”
“Yeah, but…what about…”
“It won’t be for long,” Cane said. “I promise.” Then he reached into the bag for Cob’s pistol. “Here, take this with ye.”
“No,” Cob said. “I don’t want no more to do with them things.”
“But what if the law—”
“No,” Cob repeated.
“All right then,” said Cane, putting the gun back in the money bag. Then he looked at Jasper. “There’s some clothes in that bag and some stuff to dress his leg. Cob will forget, so you’ll have to keep on him about it. And the way I see it, it’d be best to keep him hid here in the house a couple days before you try to move him out there. But don’t try walkin’ it. It’s a long ways.”
“Maybe I could rent a horse and wagon, cover him up with something.”
Cane nodded with approval. “That should work. Just don’t rush it. Wait till things have cooled down a little.”
“We ought to be okay,” Jasper said. “Ain’t nobody ever comes around here.”
Wiping some sweat from his forehead, Cane continued, “Now, when you get there, you give Cob’s half to Mr. Fiddler, and go ahead and explain what happened. No sense lying to him. Tell him I’ll be comin’ as soon as I can. And as far as your share of the money goes, I wouldn’t go spendin’ it all at once. People will start wondering where it came from. You got all that?”
“I think so,” Jasper said.
They all stood up then and Cane stepped over to Cob. He could see his eyes watering up. “Have Jasper buy you a big ol’ ham and a bottle of whiskey for Ellsworth to take with ye. He’ll like that.” He grabbed hold of his brother and hugged him tightly, felt his fear, smelled the lobster on his breath. As close as they’d lived together all their lives, this was the first time he’d ever had his arms around him. Damn, he hated to do this. “Don’t worry,” he said, “everything’s gonna work out fine.” His voice came close to breaking as he remembered the promise he’d made his mother all those years ago. He’d let her down, but maybe this would help right things. And if they were lucky, maybe they’d both get out of this alive. Turning loose of Cob, he picked up his pistol and the saddlebag with the money. He shook Jasper’s hand and started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at him. “Don’t let me come back here and find out ye fucked us over. Understand?”
“I won’t,” Jasper said. “If’n something bad does happen, we’ll go down together. I give you my solemn word as a sanitation inspector.”
71
THEY PULLED THE Ford up to the infirmary door and one of the soldiers ran to get a stretcher. As they unloaded Bovard from the backseat and carried him in, Malone yelled at the nurse to call a doctor. Then he and two privates escorted Chimney over to the brig and took his manacles off, locked him in a cell. “Anything I can get you?” the sergeant said.
“Yeah,” Chimney said, tossing his derby onto the iron bunk. “I want to see my girlfriend.” Back at the Blind Owl, he’d held firm until a second or two before he sensed they were going to fill him full of holes, and then he’d held his hands up high. To look at Matilda one more time, he had decided in the end, would be worth any number of trips to the gallows.
“What?”
“My girlfriend. Her name’s Matilda. She works out at the Whore Barn.”
Malone shook his head. “If I was you, Mr. Jewett, I’d be worried about other things right now.”
“Why should I be worried? I done told ye a dozen fuckin’ times, my name’s Hollis Stubbs. Shit, you should be pinnin’ a medal on me instead of puttin’ me in jail. I saved your buddy’s ass.”
“Bullshit,” Malone said, “you’re Chimney Jewett.” He held up a wanted poster. “I’ll eat my hat if this ain’t you. Now where’s the other two?”
Chimney sat down on the bunk and leaned his back against the brick wall. He had seen Cane out of the corner of his eye as the soldiers were pulling him and the Ford through town like trophies, and he was wondering that himself. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to fantasize that somehow his brother might save him, could almost see him slipping up behind this fucker and putting one through his brainpan. But before he let it go any further, he shook it off. There was no sense in hoping for a fucking miracle; even Bloody Bill would have had a hard time busting someone out of an army base. Still, he’d be goddamned if he was going to admit to anything. He looked over at the sergeant. “Like I said, I want to see my girlfriend.”
“You fess up to who you really are, and I’ll see what I can do,” Malone replied. Then he walked back to the hospital and had a couple of soldiers pull the car off to the side and unhitch the horses, take them to the stables. After waiting until Bovard was wheeled into the operating room, he sent another private to fetch Captain Fisher. He was standing outside drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee when the man bounded around the corner of the building. Though it was the middle of October and the night air had a nip to it, the captain was dressed in nothing but house slippers and a pair of brown jodhpurs. A set of binoculars hung from a cord around his neck. He glanced over at the car. “So you found Bovard?”
“Yes, sir,” Malone said. “He’s inside gettin’ patched up.”
“What the hell happened?”
After the sergeant related the details of how they came upon the lieutenant mutilated in the back room of the Blind Owl, Fisher said, “A jar of teeth? Did ye bring ’em with ye?”
“No, sir, I didn’t think of that.”
“Shame,” Fisher said. “I would have liked to have seen ’em. Was the bartender a Mex?”
“Uh, no, sir. He was a white man.”
Digging a wad of tobacco out of his pouch, Fisher smiled contentedly. It had become a habit with him, ever since returning to the States, to spend time with the moon on clear nights, partly because its craters and barren plains reminded him of the Mexican landscape, but mostly because it seemed to be the most honest thing he could find to confide in anymore; and tonight he’d had a long talk with that white orb and decided that he would move to the Sierra Madre after his current commission was over with. No matter how much he cursed and ridiculed Mexico, he’d realized over the last few days that he’d never been as happy as he had been there. He’d give his wife the house in Connecticut and his pension. What did it matter? He could live on beans and frijoles and whatever he could kill. “So you think the one you hauled in is one of those Jewetts?”
“Yes, sir. Though he won’t admit. Keeps sayin’ he’s someone else, but he’s the spittin’ image of one of ’em on the poster.”
“Have ye tried to beat it out of him?”
“Sir?”
“The truth. I don’t care how tough he thinks he is, get you a pair of brass knuckles and work him over for a while. He’ll talk.”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“Of course, there’s other ways to make
a man squeal, too. If you don’t like blood, take him over to that goddamn Majestic Theater and make him sit through an hour of that goddamn Lewis Family and their monkey. He’d probably rat out the whole goddamn bunch of them then.”
“Sir?” Malone said. “The Majestic? I’m not sure I’m following.”
“My wife’s in town this week and insisted on going there last night. I’ll tell you what, Sergeant, I’m still not recovered from it. The worst excuse for entertainment I ever saw in my life.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you don’t think this Jewett had anything to do with what happened to Bovard?”
“No, I think the barkeep tried to pull something on him like he did with the lieutenant, but the boy got the jump on him.”
“And no sign of the other two?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, it’s late,” Fisher said. “Maybe we better let someone else figure out how to proceed. From what I’ve read about them in the papers, he’s sure to hang regardless, isn’t he?”
“I expect so.”
Fisher yawned and stretched. “Good work, Sergeant. Good work.”
“Thank you, sir,” Malone said. He waited until the captain left, then went inside the infirmary and sat down in the hallway to wait and see how things turned out with the lieutenant. The man had damn near cried when he heard they might not get to the war for another five or six months, and then this morning, contrary to the rumors that had been circulating, Malone had found out that the 343rd would be shipping out for France sometime in November. Now the poor sonofabitch would never know what war felt like. Then again, maybe he already did; the day or so he spent chained in that maniac’s back room was probably as close to being horrific as anything he would have ever seen at the Front. The sergeant took another sip of the cold coffee, thought about all the men who’d voluntarily shot off their fingers and toes trying to get out of it.