Ace Atkins - Infamous

“Just having some fun, baby face,” he said. “Honey pie.”

Luther sat across from Kathryn, where he could lean over the table and discuss details of his big trip to Oklahoma City yesterday. Flossie Mae sat across from George, and Geraline was at the head of the table. The table was under a big oak in the center of an old courtyard, with banana plants growing wild under leaking pipes and white Christmas lights crisscrossed overhead like in an old Mexico plaza.

“The hat,” George said, touching the sombrero’s brim and throwing down another tequila. “Good disguise.”

Kathryn noticed Luther had bought a new suit, pin-striped and rumpled and about two sizes too big. He’d also bought a tie and maybe even shaved a couple days back. She guessed for when he’d met with the new attorney.

“Lawyer said the government mulled over your offer,” he said.

“Huh?” George asked, turning to Kathryn and winking again. He poured out a shot of tequila for Luther, but Luther shook him off, saying he just didn’t have the stomach for no alcohol. Luther looked wrung-out, sick, and exhausted from his journey back to San Antonio. At the head of the table, his daughter, wearing a crisp white dress, her hair in pink ribbons, clutched a huge menu in her tiny fists.

George finished off his drink and lit a cigarette, singing along with the mariachi.

“I hear it’s no dice,” Luther said.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Ole Mr. Mathers-that being the attorney I hired-says he’ll try again when they get before the judge.”

“But the G won’t make the trade?”

“He says they got you cornered.”

“Horseshit.”

“Huh?” George said, stopping singing for a moment.

“I said horseshit ,” Kathryn said, leaning into George’s ear. “The government won’t trade you out for Ma.”

“Who says the G ain’t smart?” George laughed and laughed, slapping his knee. “You know, ’cause your ma isn’t worth the trade. Har.”

He smiled over at Geraline, and the little girl grinned back, George popping a half-dollar off his thumb into her waiting hand. She passed it on to the guitar player, the band starting into another sappy song about touching a woman’s heart with love.

“Did anyone see you?” Kathryn asked.

“Who?”

“The G, Luther. The G!”

“No, ma’am. I traveled with great stealth.”

“How much money you got left?”

“Ma’am?”

“The five hundred I staked you.”

“Well, there was some traveling expenses, and I paid Mr. Mathers a bit.”

“How much?”

“A hunnard.”

“You spent four hundred dollars?”

“There was traveling expenses.”

“Oh, hell,” she said. “How much will you need to go back?”

“Least three hunnard, ma’am.”

“Shit,” George said, turning the sombrero down across his eyes. He gripped his big gorilla fingers around Kathryn’s upper arm so tight her hand started to tingle. “That’s him.”

“What?”

“The god-dang Federal Ace. Jones.”

Kathryn looked over to the opening in the wrought-iron fence and saw a short, squat man in a pearl-colored cowboy hat. She watched the man’s face as he spoke to an old woman at the crook of his arm, and Kathryn shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

“The hell you say.”

“That man doesn’t look a thing like Jones. He’s got a mustache.”

“He’s got a pearl gray Stetson, too. Boots. He’s a tough little fireplug, just like I read in True Detective .”

“Goddamn, George,” she said. “Did you forget you’re in Texas?” George frowned, removing the big sombrero and tossing it to the center of the table. “I’m hungry.”

They ordered pretty much all the menu, the money petering out again, Kathryn knowing they’d have to head back to Coleman this week, not having dug up enough money when she and George were reunited. She also really missed Chingy, and thought maybe George wouldn’t get so sore this time if Chingy would be good and not drop any more doodles in his wingtips.

“I sure like being y’all’s agent up in Oklahoma City,” Luther said, licking his lips, studying the menu, the first time Kathryn noticed This son of a bitch is faking , pretty sure he couldn’t read a word. “I can report to you any matters of the court.”

“The G didn’t see you?”

Luther placed the menu on the table and tucked a napkin into his soiled collar. “No, ma’am. I’m positive of it.”

“Mr. Mathers think he can free my family?”

“Mr. Mathers has been practicing law a long time.”

“How long?”

“Nearly fifty-five years.”

“How old is this son of a bitch?”

Luther looked up at the open sky from the courtyard and thought for a moment. “Figure he’s got to be close to eighty.”

“Could you at least have hired someone who won’t die on us?”

“He shore is a tough ole dog,” Luther said. “He couldn’t believe when he read that your family was flown in a real airplane. He said, ‘Hot damn, that’s somethin’.’ I mean, he was real taken with it an’ all.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“What?” George asked. Three Mexican waiters brought out platters and platters of tacos, enchiladas, refried beans, and guacamole. Cold beer for Kathryn, who ran the iced Shiner Bock across her forehead.

“Luther hired Methuselah to represent Ma.”

“Good at cha,” George said.

“Can you head back in the morning?” Kathryn asked.

“I ’spec so,” Luther said.

They all ate for a while, Flossie Mae for once showing a goddamn smile while she filled her gullet. George picked at his plate of tacos and finished off the entire bottle of tequila, Kathryn having to pin his arm to the chair so he didn’t get up and dance with the band. “That’s so beautiful,” George said, listening to them play under that old oak lit with Christmas lights. “It’s breaking my heart.”

“It might if you knew Spanish,” Kathryn said. “George, we gotta get outta Texas.”

“What have I been sayin’?”

“The heat’s too much.”

“Like I said.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“The World’s Fair,” Geraline said, speaking up loud and strong from the head of the table, a fork pointed right at George and Kathryn. “The G’ll never find you.”

“Hell of an idea, kid,” George said. “Hell of an idea.”

Kathryn nodded.

“Goody,” Geraline said, going back to eating her enchiladas.

“Oh, no,” Kathryn said. “We split ways here.”

Geraline shrugged and dug into her beans. The child thought for a moment, as she chewed, and said, “Newspaper says they’re looking for a man and a woman traveling together. A ‘rough-and-tumble couple,’ is what it read. Woman with brown hair and a ‘wicked jaw.’ Man is an expert machine gunner.”

George grinned and nodded. “Damn right.”

“What’s it to you?” Kathryn asked.

“Nobody said anything about a family,” Geraline said, playing with a loose ribbon. “I bet I could pass as your daughter.”

Kathryn looked to George, red-eyed and shiftless. George shrugged.

“We could stay a couple nights with your dear grandma and then take 66 over to Chicago,” he said.

Luther looked to Flossie Mae and Flossie Mae back to Luther, before staring down at her plate of beans and not saying a word. Luther scraped all the food on his plate into one mess of tortilla, chicken, and beans, and stuffed in a big mouthful, saying, “I shore hate to break up the family.”

Kathryn blew cigarette smoke up high into the air. “You’ll be paid.”

“Well,” Luther said, chewing and then taking a tremendous swallow, “I s’pose if it’ll help out you good people, we could part company for a bit.”