Joe Lansdale - Waltz of Shadows

“How’s that?” Bev asked.

“Instead of making the law do what’s right,” Virgil said. “We’ll make it do what’s wrong.”

“Sounds like some of Arnold’s Zen,” I said.

“Let me translate that to American bullshit tomorrow,” Virgil said. “I might have some answers then. Right now I’m going home to take some aspirins, think on it, and go to bed. Goodnight.”

· · ·

After Virgil left, we found some blankets for Arnold and he took them out to the truck. He said he felt more comfortable sleeping there. But I knew he was just being polite, trying to give me and my family some privacy. I wondered why I ever thought he was an asshole. I was an asshole.

Arnold didn’t go to sleep right away. He came back in and Bev sat up with us in the kitchen a while and listened to us talk, but her mind began to drift. She made her pallet on the floor, and Arnold and I went out on the front porch and sat on the swing.

Arnold said, “That’s a good woman. Smart. Good looking. Foolish enough to marry you.”

“I know,” I said. “She’s tough too. She ought to be in shock.”

“She might be,” Arnold said. “I am. But we’ll pull through. Goddamn Smalls always pull through.”

“Till they’re dead,” I said. “That slows them down.”

“Yeah, that slows us,” Arnold said.

The wind made music in the bottle tree out back. “I hear your tree,” I said.

“Yeah. Kinley liked those things. I wish she’d liked me better. Bubba?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how this will end up?” Arnold said.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll have to kill them.”

When I awoke early morning my arm had gone to sleep from Bev lying on it, but I didn’t move it. I tried to think about something else. I didn’t want to disturb her.

The weather had changed again, and this time it was very cold and the wind had to have died down, because I no longer heard it in the bottle tree. I lay there and watched my breath turn to little puffs of vapor. I began to blow my breath out hard to see how long the puffs stayed white. It wasn’t a job I felt strained my intellect, but it was something to do.

Bev said, “What are you doing, strange peroson?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, but you were blowing on me.”

“I’m sorry. I was playing.”

I heard a car pulling into the drive. I rolled out of bed, scooping my. 38 off the floor. I opened the door a crack and looked out. It was Virgil.

“It’s okay,” I said to Bev.

I pushed the. 38 into my waistband and covered it with my shirt, went out on the porch and watched Virgil get out of the Cadillac. He had a bulky package under his arm.

A little dog with enough hair on it to weave into a couple of arctic sweaters jumped out of the Caddy and sat next to Virgil’s right shoe. Virgil reached down and patted the dog. That pat gave the impression of a tremendous chore. Virgil moved slow and tired. His hair was a mess. With the exception of a light beige jacket, he had on the clothes he had worn last night.

“Sorry I’m so early,” he said.

“All right,” I said. “Come on in. We’ll make some coffee.”

“Put some goddamn dynamite in it,” he said. “I need it.”

The pickup’s door opened and Arnold slipped out of it, causing Virgil and the dog to spin. I had given Arnold the shotgun last night and he was holding it. He looked pretty ominous.

“Damn, boy,” Virgil said to Arnold. “Don’t go sneaking up on me like that.”

“Nobody’s sneaking,” Arnold said.

The dog went over and peed on Virgil’s front tire.

“My partner’s dog,” Virgil said. “Partner screws my wife, his dog pees on my car.”

· · ·

I made coffee and broke out a package of granola bars, and me and Bev and Virgil and Arnold had breakfast. The kids were still sleeping. The little dog laid down by the door with its head on its paws. Bev gave him a piece of bread and he ate it.

“What’s his name?” Bev asked.

“Poot,” Virgil said.

“That’s a mean name for a dog,” Bev said.

“Dog looks like he belongs on the end of a mop handle,” Arnold said.

“He likes to ride,” Virgil said. “He’s got his good points. My partner and him will probably get married some day.”

Virgil tossed the package on the table. “Some clothes. Couple of outfits that belonged to one of my ex-wives. They ought to come close to fitting you Beverly. There’s some stuff in there for you guys too. I didn’t have any kid’s clothes, but I bought a few from Wal-Mart. I think they’ll fit close enough. I got them some slip on tennis shoes too. Couple rounds of underwear.”

“That’s thoughtful,” Bev said.

“You’re back a lot earlier than I expected,” I said to Virgil.

“Time I got home last night I was wide awake,” Virgil said. “I did some serious thinking, came up with some ideas, and this morning I called my partner in on it.”

“Christ,” Arnold said. “Another apple in the basket.”

“Yeah, and a rotten one too, but he’s necessary,” Virgil said. “After I called him, I called the Chief of Police.”

“Goddamn, Virgil,” I said. “You fucking idiot.”

“We got to get out of here now,” Arnold said. “They’ll be on us like a wet T-shirt on titties.”

“Calm down,” Virgil said. “I didn’t tell him where you are. I gave him what background I thought he needed to know. About Doc and all. We’re going to meet with the Chief to talk.”

“No we’re not,” Bev said.

“Just let me lay it out,” Virgil said. “I got to thinking, the cops, they don’t know what we got, right? Remember what I told you about the Chief, Hank?”

“He looks good on paper, but has had some problems,” I said.

“Right,” Virgil said. “I started adding things up. The Chief’s got to know his Fat Boy isn’t a do-gooder, knows he’s padded a case here and there, and there’s been some complaints. But he probably doesn’t know the degree to which Fat Boy will go. Or say he does. Say the bottom line is Price is the kind of guy who’d pistol whip a puppy, but that’s not the image he wants to present. It gets out Fat Boy’s done what he’s done and he works for Price, and isn’t even a cop… Well, it’s enough to make a Chief with political ambitions nervous. And he’s got ambitions. Knowing that, I think we should go see Mr. Price.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It’ll be all right,” Virgil said. “I’ve made some arrangements, and I’ve indicated we have a lot of nasty evidence that points to him indirectly. I’m playing my hand like it’s full of aces.”

“And if he bluffs?” I asked.

“I think I’m the better poker player,” Virgil said. “I expect you to be good too, play your hand close to the vest. Tell him what we have, not what we don’t have. You game?”

“I don’t like it,” Bev said.

“Me either,” Arnold said. “So he believes us? He’s better off fucking us instead of Fat Boy. Fat Boy knows where too many of the bodies are buried, cause he put them there.”

“We get to that point,” Virgil said, “we deal a second hand. That’s why all of you aren’t coming in to talk. Just me and Hank. I’ve brought some official papers that make me your lawyer, Arnold, and something a little better than a paper sack for you, Hank. We’ll back date the stuff. I want to show Hank approached me before all this hit the fan. We’ll lie a little for Arnold. It’s best we cover everyone’s ass. We get tass. We hat done, we’re ready for the next step. Chief Price.”

“I still don’t like it,” Bev said.

“Look at it this way,” Virgil said. “It’s a plan, and not a bad one. And even if it isn’t that good, consider the alternative. Hiding out. Having your names dragged through the mud.”