led him to the Pullman car and as he nursed the wretched pain in his side, Bugsy passed out what could only be an edict, with the full power of his associates back east behind it: You find out who that guy is. You find out where he lives, who he hangs with, what he does. You mark him well. But do not touch him. I will touch him. Touching him, that's for me, do you understand?
Owney nodded.
Virginia said, 'Sugar, you're going to touch him with what now, a howitzer? An atom bomb? A jet?' She threw back her hair, flushed and victorious, and laughed powerfully, a laugh that emerged from a diaphragm as if coated in boiled Alabama sap and grits. 'Honey,' she said, 'you ain't got the guts to face that kind of how-de-do again, let me tell you. Ha! He got you so good! You should have seen the look on your face when he poked you! You poor ol' thing, you done got the white beat off you!'
'Virginia, shut up,' said Bugsy. 'You were the cause of all this.'
'So how was I supposed to know he was Jack Dempsey? Anyhow, you were the idiot that swung on him. Couldn't you see he was a tough guy? He looked tough. He stood tough. He talked tough. And, honey, he sure as hell hit tough!'
'Do you want a doctor, old man?' Owney asked. 'We could delay the train.'
'And let these hicks laugh at me some more? Let some hick sawbones pick at me? No thank you. Owney, you said you ran a smooth town. You said we'd all be safe here, you owned things, things ran great in Owney's town. And this happens. Some ringer. He had to be a pro boxer. I never saw no guy's hands move that fast, and I never got hit so fucking hard in my life. So maybe this ain't such a safe town and maybe you ain't doing such a good job.'
With that he limped bravely up the steps of the Missouri-Pacific and was taken to his Pullman stateroom by a covey of Negro porters.
Virginia followed, but she turned for a last whisper to the befuddled Owney.
'You tell that cowboy to watch out. The goddamn Bugman holds grudges. And tell that sugar boy if he ever comes to L. A. to look me up!'
Shordy, the train pulled out of the station, and Owney hoped that he was forever finished with Benjamin 'Bugsy' Siegel, who had come for a 'vacation and a bath' at the urging of Meyer Lansky and Frank Costello, who were big in New York.
'All right,' he said when the train pulled out, addressing Grumleys present and elsewhere, 'now you know what's going on. Find out who that guy is and find out fast. But don't touch him! Something's going on and I have to know what the fuck it is.'
He was troubled: change was coming, he knew, and to ride it out he had to keep things running smoothly down here. Hot Springs had to be a smooth little empire, where nothing went wrong, where boys from all the mobs could come and have their fun, and mix and get together, without problems from the law. That's what he was selling. That was his product. Everything he had was tied up in that. If he lost that, it meant he lost everything.
'Mr. Maddox, he's long gone,' said Rem Grumley, one of Pap Grumley's sons and the eldest of these Grumleys. 'He just melted so fast into the crowd, we didn't get a fix on him. Who'd have thought a guy would have the balls to paste Bugsy Siegel in the ribs?' 'Find him' was all Owney could think to say.
They drove away from the station in silence. Earl stared glumly into the far distance. His hand hurt a bit. He figured it would be bruised up some in the morning.
'Tell you what,' said D. A. finally, 'I never saw one man hit another so hard. You must have boxed.' 'Some' was all Earl said. 'Pro?' 'No sir.'
'Earl, you're not helping me here. Where? When? How?'
''Thirty-six, '37 and '38. I was the Pacific Fleet Champ, middleweight. Fought a tough Polak for that third championship on a deck of the old battlewagon Arizona 'm Manila Bay.'
'You are so fast, Earl. You have the fastest hands I ever saw, faster even than the Baby Face's. You must have worked that speed bag hard over the years.'
'Burned a few speed bags out, yes sir, I surely did.' 'Earl, you are a piece of work.'
'I'm all right,' he said. 'But I made a mistake, didn't
I?'
'Yes, you did, Earl.' 'I should have let him hit me?' 'Yes, you should have.'
'I think I know that,' said Earl, aware somehow that he had failed. He turned it over in his mind to see what the old man was getting at. 'Do you see why, Earl?'
'Yes sir, I do,' said Earl. 'I let my pride get in the way. I let that little nothing in a railroad station get too big in my head.'
'Yes, you did, Earl.'
'I see now what I should have done. I should have let him hit me. I should have let him smack me to the ground and feel like a big shot. I should have begged him not to hit me no more. Then he'd think I'se scared of him. Then he'd think he owned me. And if it was ever important, and he came at me again, he'd sail in king of the world, and I'd have nailed him to the barn door so bad he wouldn't never git down.'
'That is right, Earl. You are learning. But there's one other thing, Earl. You threw caution to the wind. That was an armed, highly unstable professional criminal, surrounded by his pals, all of them armed. You are unarmed. If you'd have hit him again, you'd probably be a dead man and no jury in Garland County would have convicted your killers, not with Owney's influence on Bugsy's side. So it was a chance not worth taking.'
'I'm not too worried about myself,' Earl said.
'No true hero really is. But the heroics are over, Earl. It's time for teamwork, operating from strength, careful, professional intelligence, preparation, discipline. Discipline, Earl. You can teach these young policemen we have coming in discipline, I know. But you have to also show it, Earl, embody it. Do you understand?'
'Yes sir.'
'It's not a pretty nor a right thing for me to address a hero of the nation in such a way, but I have to tell you the truth.'
'You go ahead and tell me the truth, sir.'
'That's good, Earl. That's a very good start.'
They drove on in silence for a bit.
'Now they know there's a new fellow or two in town,' Earl finally said.
'Yes, Earl, they do.'
'And that would be why we are not heading back to the cabins?'
'That is it, exactly.'
They were driving out Malvern through the Negro section, and now and then the old man eyed the rearview mirror. On the streets, the Negro whorehouses and beer joints were beginning to heat up for a long night's wailing. Mammas hung from the window, smoking, yelling things; on the streets, pimps tried to induce those of either race or any race to come in for a beer or some other kind of action. Now and then a Negro casino, usually smaller and more pitifully turned out than the ones for the white people, could be glimpsed, but mostly it was just black folks, sitting, watching, wondering.
'Tell me, Earl, what was in your room?'
'Some underclothes for a change, some underclothes drying in the tub. Some socks. Two new shirts. A razor, Burma-Shave. A toothbrush, and Colgate's. A pack of cigarettes or two.'
'Any books, documents, anything like that? Anything to identify yourself?'
'No sir.'
'That's good. Can you live with the loss of that stuff?'
'Yes, I can.'
'That's good, because if I don't miss my guess, starting now them boys are going to turn that town upside down looking for the Joe Louis that pole axed their special visitor. I paid for the cabins through next Monday; if we check out today or make a big folderol about packing and leaving in a hurry, that's a dead giveaway as to who we are. It's best now just to fade quietly. They'll check everywhere for boys who've left suddenly, left in a lurch, left without paying up. So if we don't do anything to draw attention to ourselves, we'll keep them in the dark a little longer.'
'Yes sir,' said Earl. 'I guess I'm a little sorry.'
