Chiefs (38 page)

“Jesus Christ. I don’t believe it.” He shook his head. “My wife taking a shotgun to the Klan.”

“Well, it needed doing. You’d have just tried to reason with them.”

He began to laugh, and she joined in. They became hysterical, rolling about the front seat of the car, tears running down their faces. It was some minutes before Billy could speak again.

“So that’s what all the winks and nudges were about at church this morning. That’s what Brooks was so amused about, too, I guess. God, I wish I’d seen it happen. Emmett Spence, for God’s sake.” They both began to laugh again.

Chapter 22.

THE DOG woke Foxy, nuzzling him behind the ear. He jerked upright for a moment, looking sharply about him, then relaxed and lay back on the grass again. A light breeze wafted over the back yard, stirring the pines over Foxy’s head. He stretched luxuriously, feeling pleasant and secure. It was Monday afternoon, and the boy was holding up very well, even seeming to like it once and a while, Foxy thought. It had been quite a weekend, and the boy was good for another day, at least.

Foxy got up, put on his uniform cap, and went back into the house through the kitchen door, whistling a little tune.

Sonny was up, bouncing on his toes, in high spirits. He had already had a couple of snorts; he had never felt so good. He stopped by the station house to make sure Charley Ward was awake and on duty. Charley was on nights for the week.

“Hey, Sonny.”

“How you doin’, sport?”

“You’re looking real sharp tonight. Gonna take in the fair?”

“You better believe it, buddy. You stay on your toes tonight, hear? Don’t go screwing up right now.”

“Listen, Sonny, about tomorrow—you think we’re gonna come out of that grand jury thing okay?”

“Charley, I told you a hundred times, there ain’t a thing to worry about. Emmett Spence’s daddy is on that grand jury, and a couple of his friends. They ain’t never going to do a thing to a white cop for killing a nigger. So you just suck up your guts and hold still for another twenty-four hours, and we’ll be in the clear. It’ll be nothing but smooth sailing.”

“Gee, I sure hope so, Sonny, this whole thing worries me sick.”

Sonny spun around. “
Shut up, godammit!
I’m sick and fucking tired of your whining!” Sonny caught himself and settled down. He’d have to watch his temper. He was as nervous as Charley, but he wasn’t about to show it. He’d blow off a little steam at the fair, and tomorrow he’d be terrific.

On the way he stopped by the hotel and paid the porter ten dollars for another pint of Early Times. Fucking nigger, charging him that price. He’d have to do something about him and his little bootlegging business later on, when things had quieted down a bit.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, where did all
that
come from?” Patricia asked, pointing through the windshield at the bright lights and rides as they approached the fairgrounds in the September dusk. “Did the Kiwanis Club buy all that?”

Billy laughed. “No, no, that’s a traveling carnival. The Kiwanis Club sponsors the fair, and they arrange all the exhibits and award prizes, but they hire a traveling carnival to provide the rides and games. They get a cut of the proceeds, I guess.”

“I was expecting something like an English village fete, I suppose. Just a lot of mince pies and pin the tail on the donkey.”

“Don’t worry, there won’t be any shortage of pies. I’m judging a contest, remember? And, by the way, don’t forget to ask for the recipe.”

“You said you’d never eat my cooking again as long as you live.”

“And I won’t, not as long as we can afford a cook. But the ladies don’t know that, and they’ll be flattered if you ask how they do it.”

“Will there be any livestock?”

“Sure there will, a whole building full. Dammit, why didn’t I think to get you a job judging cattle. You know as much about it as anybody here, and the farmers would have loved it.”

“Maybe I can buy a few head for the farm. We’re going to need a bull.”

They bought tickets at the gate and entered the first of the exhibit buildings, wandering up and down the rows of displays, the pickles and pies, the science exhibits from the school. They shook hands and flattered exhibitors and accepted congratulations on their coming parenthood.

They ran into Hugh Holmes and Dr. Frank Mudter. Dr. Frank wasn’t holding up as well as Mr. Holmes, Billy thought. He looked quite frail. Holmes called Billy aside.

“What do you think about the grand jury tomorrow?”

“Touch and go, I think. If we’d had some kind of a break, some witness besides Marshall’s statement, something else on Butts and Ward, maybe, we’d be in a better position. What do you hear on the election?”

Holmes smiled. “Your wife’s marksmanship is the best thing that’s happened yet, you know. That’s the stuff legends are made of. That story will stand you in good stead for more than just this election. Makes me wish I’d bought Ginny a shotgun forty years ago.”

“I didn’t buy her that shotgun. She bought it herself. She never even told me about it ‘til it was all over.”

“Just as well. You’d only have stopped her.”

“That’s what she said.”

“You know Hoss Spence isn’t exhibiting any livestock this year? First time since we started the fair. He’s really humiliated over this thing and mad as hell at Emmett.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow. I hope Emmett can’t sit down for a month. I wish Hoss wasn’t on the grand jury, though. He won’t do us any good.”

A little girl came and tugged at Billy’s sleeve. ” ‘Scuse me, Colonel Lee,” she said. “My mama says it’s time for you to judge the pies.”

“Careful,” grinned Holmes. “A wrong step there could cost you the election.”

Billy gathered up Patricia and followed the child to the exhibit of pies. For twenty minutes he wandered among them with a fork, testing, judging, licking his lips, and rolling his eyes. Patricia, at the edge of the crowd that had gathered to watch, could hardly keep from laughing aloud.

Finally, he stood before the crowd with a pie in each hand and addressed them. “Only my political enemies could have put me in this position the night before an election/’ he said, and the crowd laughed with him. “I believe Abraham Lincoln once found himself in this situation when he was running for Congress in Illinois, and I surely do wish I could remember what it was he did about it.” The crowd laughed again. “I’m faced here with the best peach pie I ever tasted and the best sweet-potato pie I ever tasted, and I’m supposed to choose between them. It just isn’t fair.”

Billy looked up and saw Sonny Butts, in civilian clothes, walking through the building toward the midway. He brought his mind back to his task.

“The peach is such a beautiful fruit, and, of course, it’s the symbol of our state, and Meriwether County produces more peaches than any county in America, so I guess a case could be made that a decision against the peach would be downright unpatriotic. That being the case, I hope you can all appreciate what an act of political courage I’m committing when I say I just have to give it to the sweet potato, because any cook who starts out with a sweet potato starts out at a terrible disadvantage. Anybody who can make something as ugly as a sweet potato taste as good as this pie just has to get the blue ribbon.” He kissed the flushed winner on the cheek, presented the ribbons, and fled.

“That was very slick,” Patricia said, when she caught up with him outside the building.

“Never mind that. Did you get the recipe?”

“Both of them,” she laughed, triumphantly holding up two scraps of paper.

“Let’s go look for a bull for you, before the lady who baked the peach pie catches up with me.”

Sonny floated down the midway in a haze of bourbon. He winked at the girls, joked with their boyfriends, rode the rides, and rang the bell with the mallet. He had never felt like this, never, he thought, and he had never felt so horny, either. He had been out of action for more than a week, while his bruises from the encounter with the two girls at the pool were healing, but he was fine now. More than fine.

When he saw the girl he had an instant erection. She stood on a midway stage with two other girls, doing some mild dancing to a record that blared over loudspeakers. The girl was young, clearly not more than eighteen or nineteen, but tall and big breasted, just Sonny’s type. A hawker droned on about the show inside, and male customers started to file into the tent behind the stage, leaving half-dollars with the hawker. A couple of beardless youths were cheerfully turned away. Sonny flashed his badge at the hawker and strolled into the tent.

Almost immediately, a man appeared at his elbow. “Could I have a word with you, Chief?” He nodded toward a flap at the other side of the tent.

Sonny went with the man.

“Listen, Chief, this is our first night, and we want to give the boys a good show, you know? But we don’t want any problems.”

“Sure, sport, I get you. I’m here for the show, myself.”

“Ah, that’s just fine,” the man said, and Sonny suddenly found a wad of folded bills in his hand. “I hope you’ll pass that on to your favorite local charity. I’m sure you have some fine youth organization that could use the help.” He winked slyly at Sonny and left the tent.

Sonny rejoined the crowd. The show began, to the hoots and hollers of the audience. The three girls worked methodically through their dances, teasing, stripping, but not all the way. Each ducked into the wings at the climactic moment, leaving the crowd begging for more. Then the hawker appeared and started a pitch for the “insider’s show,” and most of the men paid another fifty cents to stay.

There was no stage, simply a two-by-four separating men from girls. Now the girls came back and bumped their way close along the fence, just out of reach, naked except for G-strings and pasties. Then they worked in even closer, allowing a feel here and there.

The young girl stopped before Sonny, dancing just for him. She came close and allowed him to get an arm around her waist and his hand under the G-string for a moment before slipping away, grabbing briefly at his crotch. Then the show was over, and after a lot of fruitless calls for an encore the men slowly filed out of the tent. Sonny stayed, unsatisfied, throbbing all over.

He ducked under the two-by-four and walked quickly to the flap where the girls had disappeared. He found himself outside, behind the tent, facing a small trailer. The manager, the man who had given him the money, was quickly beside him.

“Can I help you, Chief?”

“Where’s the girl?” Sonny demanded.

“Well, she’s resting ‘til the next show. Come back for that one. Glad to have you.”

“I think I’d like a little private show, is what I’d like. Where is she?”

“Now look, Chief, the girl’s awful new at this, and besides, she’s married, just been married a couple of months, you know?” He slipped his arm through Sonny’s and began steering him back into the tent. “Listen, I tell you what, come on back around here when we close down for the night, ‘bout twelve, and I’ll introduce you to the little brunette, remember her? You’ll have a real good time, believe me.”

Sonny jerked his arm free and headed for the trailer. “Not later, and not the brunette,” he said. “The tall one, and now.” He opened the trailer door and stepped in. The girl was sitting at a tiny dressing table in a dirty terrycloth bathrobe, eating chocolates from a box.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Sonny purred, walking toward her. “You don’t want to go ruining your figure with all that candy.”

The girl stood up and backed away from him. The robe fell open to reveal a large, beautifully formed breast. She quickly snatched it shut and tied it. The manager was quick into the trailer behind Sonny. “Cherry, this here’s the Delano chief of police, uh, he admired your performance, and—”

“Get him out of here, Jimmy,” the girl said quickly.

“Now, Cherry, you want to be nice to the chief, this being our first night and all.”

“Yeah,” said Sonny, unbuttoning his pants, “be nice to me, Cherry.”

The girl turned and pushed open a window behind her. “Danny!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Danneeee!”

The manager was trying to quiet her and get Sonny out of the trailer when the door was yanked open and a short, heavily muscled young man barged in. He looked at Sonny. “Okay, Hiram, the show’s over, now get your ass out of here.” He grabbed Sonny’s arm and started dragging him toward the door. Sonny whipped out a blackjack and swung wildly at the young man, grazing the bridge of his nose. He tripped and fell down the trailer’s short steps into the sawdust, and Sonny was all over him.

“Hey, Rube!” the man screamed, shielding himself from the blackjack with his arms as best he could.

“Shut up, Danny,” the manager whispered loudly. “The guy’s a cop! He’s the fucking chief of police, for crissakes!”

Billy and Patricia were walking down the midway with Tom Mudter when they saw people running toward the lower end of the fairgrounds. They followed quickly and came to the edge of a crowd of at least fifty people. There was something going on, but they couldn’t see well.

They burst onto the midway, swinging wildly, Sonny using the blackjack, the manager holding back a group of carnival workers who had responded to Danny’s call for help, saying, “Stay out of it, the guy’s a cop, and Danny’s on his own.”