Joe Lansdale - Waltz of Shadows

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go. When do we do it?”

“I’m going to take Poot out for a short walk,” Virgil said. “And while I do, you folks sign the papers sanctioning me as your attorney. Then Hank, you and me leave.”

As Virgil drove I listened to the car heater blow and watched the countryside race by. It was the same basic countryside I’d known most of my life. Land razed of a lot of its natural foliage by idiots with chainsaws and a bad game plan, but the same country. The sun still rose above it and sunk hard enough in the West to bring the moon up in the East. Yin and Yang. But I was reminded somehow of that old book and film Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Everything looked the same, but wasn’t. It was as if alien beings had taken over the world I knew overnight. Leaving in its place one where law and order did not exist; was nothing more than an illusion. Where the alien-occupied husks of human beings had an agenda I could never have expected. It was like the whole world was against my family and me, wanting to pull us in and steal our humanity and make us like them.

“You packing?” Virgil asked.

It took me a moment to realize what that meant. I hadn’t seen a gangster movie in a while. “Yeah,” I said.

“Put it in the glove box. I don’t want any mistakes.”

Poot had crawled over onto my lap, and I moved him and took the automatic out of my waistband and put it in the glove box. “Where are we going?” I asked. “This isn’t back to town.”

“Captain Paranoid,” Virgil said. “You think I’m double crossing you?”

“I think damn near anyone but my family could be double crossing me.”

“That hurts.”

“As I said yesterday, my social skills are not presently at their peak.”

“We’re going out country, Hank. We’re not doing this in town where we can be recognized. What Price is doing isn’t exactly sanctioned by the Police Department.”

“I was beginning to think anything could be sanctioned by the Police Department.”

“Actually,” Virgil said, looking at his watch, “they do it right, anything can. Don’t pet the dog, okay? He’s on duty.”

· · ·

We came to the edge of a little community where there was an abandoned airport. The airport had been for small planes. Out on one of the three tiny, grassy runways was an old prop plane tilted on its side so that a warped and cracked wing supported it.

Beyond all this was deep woods.

Parked near the airplane was a sleek, black Plymouth. The shadow of the plane fell over the Plymouth. We drove through the open gate. A man got out of the Plymouth and stood beside it, hands folded together in front of his crotch.

“He could kill us and no one would be the wiser,” I said.

“Yes they would,” Virgil said. “My partner knows about this. I’m not a fool, Hank. I made copies of the videos too. I made color photocopies of the photo album. I got a few other snakes in the hole, too.”

We pulled up in front of the Plymouth and got out of the Cadillac and stood beside it. Poot stayed inside. The heat from the car fled away from us and the chill morning air embraced us. The man standing beside the Plymouth looked at us. He was handsome and trim and well dressed in a gray three piece suit. He wore a dark grey tie with thin red stripes and had on shiny shoes the color of fish scales. His dark hair looked as if the wind wouldn’t bother it. I had seen his photograph in the newspaper many times. It was our local publicity hog and Chief of Police, Mr. Price.

We walked over and Virgil said, “Que paso?”

“Fuck you,” Price said. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Virgil said. “I stopped to buy a lottery ticket. You know my friend here, Mr. Small,” Virgil said.

“Let me check you,” Price said.

Virgil lifted his arms and moved close to Price and Price frisked him.

I took my turn.

“Okay,” Price said. “Feed me the bullshit.”

“I need to get something out of the car,” Virgil said.

Price reached inside his jacket and took out a shiny blue. 38 Special and cocked back the hammer for dramatic effect. It was a good drama. The click of that hammer sounded as loud as the breaking of a bone. “Go right ahead,” Price said. “Do it polite.”

Virgil grinned at him and went to the Caddy and opened the door and let Poot out. Poot sat down beside the car and waited on Virgil. Virgil got what he wanted out of the car and came back with it and Poot came with him and got between me and Virgil and sat down.

Price nodded at the dog. “That your son?”

“Nephew,” Virgil said.

Virgil gave Price the stuff. Price put the cassettes on the hood of the Plymouth. He looked at the copy of the photo album very slowly. He managed to hold the. 38 in one hand while he did it. His face had about as much expression as the front of his Plymouth.

Price put the photo album copy on the Plymouth next to the cassettes. “That’s it? Pictures of dead people? That’s supposed to make me tremble?”

“You know a lot of those people, don’t you?” Virgil said.

“I might have recognized a couple.” a coupl Price said.

“Let’s cut the cat-and-mouse crap,” Virgil said, “or we don’t deal directly with you. We go to someone else.”

“So I know a few,” Price said. “I didn’t kill them. But I was a certain kind of guy, you came to me with this shit, talked the way you’re talking, trying to tie me in with this garbage, they’d find you two and that ugly dog out here with holes in your heads.”

“We get a hangnail, the dog comes down with distemper, that stuff goes out. This stuff and some more.”

Price considered that a moment. He managed the hammer of the. 38, closed and put it away. “What’s some more?”

“That’s our ace in the hole,” Virgil said.

Price looked at me. “You talk for yourself, or just when he’s got his arm up your butt hole.”

“I talk,” I said. “You want to hear me talk? I’ll talk. You fuck with us, we’ll bury you and your career under six-thousand pounds of horseshit.”

“You’re a pornographer, Small,” Price said. “You got murders tied to you. I don’t know you didn’t murder your own nephew. I understand you’re a fucking Satanist.”

“You don’t believe that,” I said.

“Why would I believe you over my sources?” Price said.

“Fat Boy?” I said. “Snake?”

“Snake?” Price said. “I don’t know Snake.”

“I don’t think his Mama named him that,” Virgil said. “Describe him, Hank.”

“I did.”

“Maybe,” Price said.

“Right,” I said. “There’s lots of guys fit that description. East Texas is stuffed with fuckers fit that description.”

“Let that hold,” Virgil said. “Thing is, we need to get rid of these guys, and we need to pin what’s been done on them, because they’re the ones done it, not Hank.”

“Let’s say I’m with you,” Price said, “and I want to nail Fat Boy, this Snake character. How do I do it? I can’t see a way that fits in with the law.”

“You been forcing square pegs in round holes all along,” I said. “Since when’s it got to fit?”

“It’s got to look like it fits,” Price said.

“Think it over,” Virgil said. “I’ll call you tonight. Have a plan.”

“Might take more time than that,” Price said.

“You have a plan,” Virgil said. “One we like. Something clears my man here and his family. His brother Arnold. His nephew’s name. You got to see Fat Boy and Snake go down and don’t come up. You got to call the law dogs off Hank and his family from here on out.”

“You want a lot,” Price said. “Especially when I don’t have to give you anything.”