Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“Mr. Sands,” he says, “when you get to my age, like me and my

friends, there’s not much you haven'’t seen. It tends to take a lot to get the old ticker racing.”

A sympathetic smile from Sands. “All pleasures grow stale, don'’t they?”

“Indeed. But in about a month, I'm bringing over a bunch of boys for a visit. We’'ve been looking for a place to blow off some steam without the wives, and we got to talking about Natchez. We used to come over here for a golf tournament they had every year, the local oilmen. Man, after that thing was over, we’d go back to the hotel, and they’d have the girls waiting. There were lines out the doors of some rooms, and local guys charging admission just to watch.”

“That'’s the kind of action you’re looking for?”

“Some of that would be appreciated. With enough to go around, of course.”

“Oh, that’s never a problem here.”

“Not just girls, though. I'm talking about the gambling too.”

“Well, you'’ve seen the boat.”

“And a fine one she is too, as far as she goes.”

Sands cocks one eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Legal gambling’s all right, in its place. But it’s kind of…restrictive, if you get my meaning. It’s like sex in a medical clinic with all the lights on. Takes the zing out of it. Half the fun’s the sneaking around, the mystery of it. That'’s what gets the blood pumping—the forbidden. You with me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“When I was a boy, before I went into the army, I used to work in a gambling joint down in Galveston. Illegal, of course, like all the best places. Man, there was

nothing

they didn't have. I'm talking sport, now. Bare-knuckles boxing, strictly for interested parties. Cockfighting. Shooting contests.

That'’s

the kind of action I'm talking about.”

Sands mulls this over, watching Walt with unblinking eyes. “I see. You ever put money on dogs?”

“Dog racing?”

“Dog

fighting,”

says Sands, his eyes as insinuating as those of a pimp offering a young boy to a tourist.

“Oh, I get you. Twenty, twenty-five years ago we had a good bit of that in my neck of the woods, but the governor got a bug up his ass and the state troopers started cracking down. The Rangers too.

I saw old Red fight in Taos. She was bred out of Arkansas Blackie. Hell of a leg dog. Went for the foreleg every time, but she could really break ’em down. A real champion. That was years ago, though. I’'ve heard they do a lot of hogs-and-dogs-type stuff out at the hunting camps, and I’'ve seen a little of that. But straight fighting? Pit fighting? Not in a while.”

“Well, we have a variety of activities available to players accustomed to more intense games. I'’ll give it a think and see what I come up with. As for ladies, do you have any preference?”

“I gotta tell you, I like those oriental girls. You seem to have a surplus too.”

Sands’s eyes flicker with light.

“When I first got to town, I was thinking about a colored girl, but these young ladies you got remind me of some I spent time with in Korea.”

“Recently?”

“Hell, no. I'm talking 1952–53.”

For the first time, Sands looks truly interested. “You fought there?”

“All along that godforsaken thirty-eighth parallel, with those hookers’ granddaddies launching human-wave attacks every night. Only one out of two of those bastards even had a rifle in his hands when they started, but soon as one man would fall, the unarmed fella would pick up his gun and keep a’comin’.”

“A very effective tactic,” Sands says, “if you can find personnel fanatical enough to carry it out.”

Walt laughs. “That'’s your basic Chink soldier right there. Fanatical. I'’ll bet you couldn'’t find a hundred Americans on the East Coast who would do that.”

“Quite right. If one American dies in Iraq, it’s national news.”

“You look like a man who’s spent some time in uniform.”

Sands shrugs. “When I was young and stupid, I confess. But the real fighting isn’t always done in uniform.”

“I imagine you’re right, there. Anyway, it goes without saying that anybody who can help us out with extracurricular activities would be handsomely compensated.”

Sands dismisses this with a flick of his hand. “I have no worries on that score, Mr. Gilchrist.”

“J.B., please.”

“You know, of course, that the type of action we’re discussing is illegal, both in Mississippi and Louisiana.”

“Ain’t just about everything worth doing illegal? That'’s the way this country works. Pure hypocrisy, from Plymouth Rock on down.”

Sands sniffs and leans forward, subtly signaling that the meeting is over. “Which hotel are you staying at?”

“The Eola.”

“If you’ll call ahead on your next trip, we’ll comp you a suite at our hotel.”

“I appreciate it, but I’'ve got a soft spot for those grand old dames. The downtowns may be dying, but the great hotels soldier on, in the good towns anyway. Course, I don'’t mind putting the boys up in your hotel. We’ll make that part of the deal if it makes things easier.”

“It does simplify issues like transport.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

Walt gets up, not wanting to press, but Sands comes around his desk and says, “Are you interested in any special action during this visit? A test-drive, say?”

“A girl, you mean? Or the blood sport?”

“You seem quite able to manage the ladies on your own. I was thinking of sport.”

“Well, I wouldn'’t be against it. I got three, four more days here. I was planning on getting to know one of those little China girls better. But I'm open to anything. You get something good going, I'm in.”

Sands shakes Walt’s hand and leads him to the door with a smile. “I'm sure we can accommodate you.”

Walt has shaken a lot of hands in his life, and he knows the feel of great strength under restraint. The manager of the

Magnolia Queen

could tear a deck of cards in half.

CHAPTER

43

Kelly and Major McDavitt flew Annie and my mother back from Houston this afternoon, arriving at my house just after seven. My mother insisted on cooking for us. We tried to make Kelly eat, but he privately told me that he wanted to go down to the

Magnolia Queen

and make sure that Sands appeared to be keeping his part of the deal. “I like to know where my enemies are” was how he put it. Kelly expressed visible relief when Dad informed him that Sands’s guard dog had tested negative for rabies, and laughed that he might have to celebrate.

Living in the Texas safe house for a few days had been surprisingly comfortable, my mother claimed. The simple fact of separation had proved to be the ordeal. Though Mom sensed that the crisis that had necessitated their fleeing was not fully resolved, we assured Annie that the bad guys were all taken care of. When she asked why James Ervin and his brother were standing guard on the front porch and in the backyard, I told her that we just needed to play it safe for a couple of days.

“In case the bad guys’ friends are mad, right?” she said.

“Sort of,” I admitted.

My parents left a half hour ago, with James Ervin driving. His brother Elvin stayed behind to await Kelly’s return. Annie took a quick bath, then climbed into bed and called for me to tuck her in.