Joe Lansdale: Cold in July

What he got were two grave diggers, and a hired preacher waiting impatiently beside the cemetery fence in a bright, black Buick with the door open fanning himself with what looked like a church tract, which was probably its best use.

The grave was already dug, most likely the day before, and there was a contraption over the hole that was used to crank the coffin down. One of the grave diggers wore a Hawaiian shirt with red and yellow parrots on it. He and the other man were laughing about something, probably an off-color joke about preachers, and they worked very fast, cranking at the rig, lowering Freddy down. For all they cared the coffin could have been empty.

When they had the coffin in the hole they waved the preacher over, and the preacher stood by the grave and cracked his Bible and started reading. When he finished, he said a few words, and damn few at that, and wrapped it up with an “amen.” The whole thing had all the conviction of a hooker’s lovemaking. The preacher checked his watch and made for the Buick, cranked it, and he was out of there. Probably had a late free lunch somewhere.

I was about to follow suit when an old, blue Ambassador drove up next to the cemetery fence and a big guy got out and stood beside it watching the grave diggers toss dirt on the box. He lit a cigarette, turned and saw me. He looked to be in his late fifties, slightly paunchy, but handsome in a workingman sort of way. He stood there smoking his cigarette and staring at me, then he gave up on the smoke, put a heel to it, and started across the road.

As he neared, I saw that he was older than I first thought. Perhaps his late sixties. But it hadn’t hurt him much. His face had the look of a comfortable, old shoe, and there was something about the way he walked that defied age; weary confidence preceded him like the figurehead of a great ship.

“You’re Dane aren’t you?” he asked as he came to my side of the road.

My pulse quickened. I knew who he was, though he wasn’t the fantasy image I had conjured two days before.

“Yeah, you’re Dane,” he said, answering his own question. “You know me?”

“I’ve got a hunch,” I said.

“I know you. I’ve made a point of it. When I came to town, first thing I did was ask around. People told me what I wanted to know. Said you got your picture in the papers a lot. Good citizen stuff. I went to the newspapers and asked to see their morgue, said I was interested in local history, said I was a writer researching a book. I saw your picture in quite a few issues. Big man here in LaBorde, Dane. And by the way. You take a good picture.”

“It won’t make it any better for you, but I didn’t want to kill your son. I had to.”

“You’re right. I don’t feel any better. Good of you to come out though, so you could see the shit go into the hole. Real nice of you.”

“He broke into my house, for God’s sake. He had a gun. He tried to kill me. I shot him in self-defense.”

“I don’t think that sounds like him. He was my only son.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That tidies it up. I feel better already, you having said you’re sorry. You have a son, don’t you?”

I felt a tingle at the base of my skull, as if some kind of cold borer worm were working itself inside my head.

“Ought to be about four now. I read the birth announcement. Nice name, Jordan. And I like your wife’s name too. I had an aunt named Ann. She got hit by a truck.”

“Russel, listen to me-”

“People around town I’ve talked to say your boy looks a lot like you, that he’s really something. God, wouldn’t it be awful if something happened to him?”

“Is that some kind of threat, you sonofabitch?”

“Not at all. I was just saying it would be awful if something happened to him. It could, you know? Look what happened to my son.”

“Maybe if you’d been a better father, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“You have no idea what kind of father I was.”

“I can imagine. You stay away from my son. My family. Hear me?”

“Don’t shit yourself, Dane. I was just pointing out how horrible it would be if something happened to your little Jordan. Little kids don’t always watch what they do. You have to be very careful with them. They get hurt easy. Killed sometimes.”

“Come near my family, and I’ll kill you.”

He smiled at me and got out a cigarette and lit it. He pushed the pack toward me. “Smoke?” I noticed his hands were exactly like my father’s. Thick and square and powerful. It made me uncomfortable.

“I meant what I said, Russel.”

As I opened my car door and slid behind the wheel, he said, “Have a nice day, sonny boy.”

“I told you to stay away from there,” Price said.

We were in the police assembly room, which served as a kind of lounge, and like everything else about the station, it surprised me. It was cool and clean. The vending machines were well stocked.

Price looked his usual sharp self. Today he wore a gray suit with a maroon shirt and striped tie, and his shoes were as shiny as ever.

“I know,” I said. “But he wouldn’t have left me alone if I’d stayed home. He’s been asking around about me. Even went to the newspaper morgue to read about me, saw pictures so he could identify me.”

Price ran a hand over his face as if trying to reshape it. “Anyone overhear you two?”

“No.”

“Tell me exactly what he said.”

I did.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if the two of you were overheard. No real threat there. He even told you to have a nice day.”

“It’s the way he said it.”

“You got zip. Maybe if someone could testify that the tone of his voice was threatening, you might have something, but not much. Besides, you haven’t got anyone.”

“Can I get protection for my family?”

“Officially he hasn’t done anything.”

“He’s an ex-con.”

“He served his time… Look, I believe he threatened you, I do. But it doesn’t amount to anything officially. I don’t make all the decisions around here either. Even if I wanted to post someone to watch your family I haven’t got a legal reason to do it. If you’re lucky, he’ll go away. He could just be worked up over things. That’s natural. No crime in seeing the man who killed your son. If he wanted to harm you, he could have done that at the cemetery.”

“It isn’t me he wants, it’s my son. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.”

“All right, listen up tight, Mr. Dane. Unofficially, I can give you protection for a couple of days. It might get my ass in a crack, but I’ll do it. It’s possible the chief will pull me off of it if he finds out, but we’ll give it a shot, even if I have to do it myself. I’ll have a car watch your place, and we’ll check with you from time to time.”

“You said a couple of days. That’s all you can do?”

“Two days, Mr. Dane. That’s it.”

“And what if he waits until the third day?”

“He makes a real threat you can prove, we’ll move in on him. I’ll run a check on him in the meantime, and my suggestion to you is to get another gun, sleep light, and hope he leaves town. I think there’s a good chance he will.”

“I don’t find that too goddamn reassuring. You said he was dangerous. You’re punishing me for not listening to you.”

“That’s stupid. He is dangerous. But I can’t do a thing unless he tries something. Innocent until proven guilty, Mr. Dane.”

“When does this protection begin?”

“Tonight. That’s as soon as I can arrange it. I can’t make a big deal out of it. We’re short-manned as it is.”

“In LaBorde?”

“More goes on here than you think, Mr. Dane. A lot more. I want yo u to describe his car. If you’re lucky, he stole it. That would be something to hold him on, and with him being an ex-con, it would be a quick trip back to the pen. Perhaps for good this time.”