Frenchy had a moment of confusion when he felt he should not be moving, but an immense feeling of freedom and speed hit him. It was his armored vest; the strap had popped and the vest slipped sideways, the sudden shift of its weight taking his control from him. The second strap then broke, and the vest fell in two separate pieces to the floor, but Frenchy was too far gone and felt himself sprawling forward as his feet scrabbled for leverage, but instead slipped further on empty cartridge cases.
It was all so unreal. Time almost stopped. The noise of the Thompson became huge and blocked out all other things. He smelled gun smoke, felt heat, even as he fell. He lurched toward the flash and had an instant of horror as he knew, knew absolutely that he would die, for he would in the next instant fall before the path of the bullets and Carlo would not expect him and that would be that.
Shit! he thought, as he plunged toward his death in the stream of.45s.
Yet somehow he hit the ground untouched, stars shot off in his head, and then someone heavy fell upon him and there were muffled grunts.
'Jesus Christ!' Carlo was saying.
'Y'all okay?' asked Earl.
Earl was among them in the tangle on the floor. He disengaged and got up. 'Y'all okay? You fine?'
'Gosh darn it!' said Carlo.
'Short, you hit?'
'Ah, no, I?What happened?'
'I almost killed you is what happened,' said Carlo, his voice aquiver with trembling. 'You fell into my line of fire, I couldn't stop, I?'
'It's okay, it's okay,' said Earl. 'Just get ahold of yourselves.'
'What the heck happened to you? Why were you way out there?'
'The vest broke and I fell forward and my feet slipped on some shells.'
'You are a lucky little son of a gun, Short. Mr. Earl, he grabbed the gun maybe a tenth of a second before it would have cut you up. He went through me and he grabbed the gun!'
'Jesus,' said Frenchy. A wave of fear hit him.
'Okay, you fellows all right?' said Earl.
'Jesus,' said Frenchy again, and vomited.
'Well, see, that's what a close shave'll do to you. Come on now, you're both okay, let's get up and get out of here.'
'You saved my?'
'Yeah, yeah, and I saved myself three weeks of paperwork too. Come on, boys, let's get our asses in gear. No need to get crazy about this. Only, Short: next time, check the straps. Do a maintenance check each time you go on a raid. Got that?'
'I never?'
'It's the 'never' that gets you killed, Short.'
But then he winked, and Frenchy felt a little better.
There was no officers' club for Earl and D. A. to go to that night, and since neither man drank anymore, it was perhaps a good thing. But D. A. invited Earl out to dinner, and so they found a bar-b-que joint in Texarkana, near the railway station, and set to have some ribs and fries, and many a cold Coke.
The food was good, the place was dark and coolish, and somebody put some Negro jump blues on the Rockola, and that thing was banging out a bebopping rhythm that took both their minds away from where they were. Afterward, the two men smoked and finished a last Coke, but Earl knew enough to know he was being prepared for something. And he had a surprise of his own he'd been planning to lay on D. A. sooner or later, and this looked to be as good a time as any.
'Well, Earl, you've done a fine job. I'm sure you're the best sergeant the Marine Corps ever turned out. You got them whipped into some kind of shape right fast.'
'Well, sir,' said Earl, 'the boys are coming along all right. Wish we had another two months to train 'em. But they're solid, obedient young men, they work hard, they listen and maybe they'll do okay.'
'Who worries you?'
'Oh, that Short kid, of course. Something in that one I just don't trust. He wants to do so well he may make a bad judgment somewhere along the line. I will say, he learns fast and he's a good pistol hand. But you never can tell about boys until the lead starts flying.'
'I agree with you about Short. Only Yankee in the bunch and he sounds more Southern than any man born down upon the Swanee River.'
'I noticed that too. Don't know where it comes from. Any South in him?'
'Not a lick. He told me he had a gift for soaking up dialects. Maybe he don't even notice that he's doing it.'
'Maybe. I never saw nothing like it in fifteen years in the Marines.'
'Anyhow, I'm asking you because I got some news.'
'Figured you did.'
'Mr. Becker is getting very restless. He's under a lot of pressure with anonymous phone threats and such-like and townspeople wondering when the hell he's going to do something other than go to his office and close the door without talking to nobody. And his wife is followed by Grumley boys everywhere she goes. We got to deal with that. We got to move, and soon. Are we ready?'
'Well, you're never ready. But we are ready on one condition.'
'I think I know what this is, Earl,' said the old man gravely.
'So did my wife. She said it was my nature.'
'She knows you, Earl. And I know you too, even though I first laid eyes on you three weeks or so ago. You're the goddamned hero. How you made it through that war I'll never know.'
'Anyhow, I have to go. The boys have made a connection to me, and they'll be frightened if I ain't there.'
'They'll get over it.'
'Mr. Parker, I have to be there. You know it and I know it. They need a steady hand, and you've got too much to do setting the raids up with Becker and then dealing with the police and the press afterward.'
'Earl, if you get hit, I'd never forgive myself.'
'And if one of those kids got hit while I'se sitting somewhere sucking on a Coca-Cola, I'd never forgive myself.'
'Earl, you are a hard man to be the boss of, I will say that.'
'I know what's right. Plus, no goddamn hillbilly with a shotgun is going to get the best of me.'
'Earl, never underestimate your enemy. You should know that from the war. Owney Maddox was called 'Killer' back in New York. According to the New York District Attorney's Office, he killed over twenty men in his time. Once this shit starts happening, he's going to bring in some mobsters who've pulled triggers before. Don't kid yourself, Earl. These will be tough boys. Get ready for em.
'Then you'll let me go?'
'Shit, Earl, you have to go. That is as clear to me as the nose on my face. But I want you to go home and talk to your wife first. Hear me? You tell her like a man. So she knows. And you tell her you love her and that things will be okay. And you listen to that pup in her belly. Look, here's twenty-five bucks, you take her out to a nice dinner at Fort Smith's finest restaurant.'
'Ain't no fine restaurants in Fort Smith.'
'Then hire a cook.'
'Yes sir.'
'And you meet us Tuesday in Hot Springs.'
'Tuesday?'
'Here it is, Earl. Our first warrant. We hit the Horseshoe at 10:00 P. M. Tuesday night. We're going to start the ball rolling with a big one.'
