back, screaming “You cover from outside.” So Bub stands guard and doesn’t see or know what’s going on in the little office, but that there’s a terrible commotion.
It sounds again, and Bub flinches in fear. He doesn’t like the sound a bit. He knows it’s a gunshot and he hopes Jimmy is shooting into the air or the ground to scare them but from the utter terror of the screaming he’s begun to catch on to the idea that Jimmy is actually shooting people. Why would he do that? Why would Jimmy shoot anyone? If you ever saw Jimmy run with a football, escape tacklers, move sideways, break into the open and pump away in long, graceful strides to the roar of a crowd, you’d never, ever think such a boy could shoot people.
Bub begins to cry. He doesn’t like this at all. It scares him sick. He is supposed to be on a bus with Jimmy on his way back to Blue Eye. Jimmy is going to live with Edie and work in a sawmill in Nunley for Mike Logan. Mr. Earl had said! Mr. Earl said it would happen! Why hadn’t it happened? Why wasn’t he on the bus?
Someone comes at Bub, some big Negro man, and has Bub down against the counter, holding his arms in. He hits Bub a hard blow in the mouth and the world bangs out of focus. Why? Why did he hit Bub? Bub launches forward with his shoulder and the man slips down. Bub points the gun at him.
“Why?” he says.
Jimmy is next to him.
“Do it,” he commands. “Do it!”
But the Negro man arises from the floor and comes at him and the gun goes off. He hasn’t wanted it to. He doesn’t mean to! It isn’t his idea! It isn’t his fault! It’s the nigger’s fault!
“Hoooieee, that’s the boy,” screams Jimmy, engorged with delight. “Come on, let’s git out.” Jimmy, pulling a big bag with him, leads him out. He stops once, turns, and screams, “Run, y’all!” and fires his gun five fast times over the heads of the people cowering behind the registers. They fall backwards over themselves to get away, screaming.
Suddenly it’s bright. They’re outside on a deserted Midland Boulevard, though Bub has the impression of people hiding behind parked cars and in shop doorways. He sort of likes this, all of a sudden. It’s exciting. He feels important.
“Come on, Bub, let’s am-scray the fuck outta here!”
Jimmy is pulling him across the street when a black and white police car, its siren wailing, appears far down the street and drives straight at them so fast it seems to go from small to big in but a second.
Bub is so scared. They’re going to be hit. But very calmly, Jimmy takes careful aim and starts shooting.
He fires fast and Bub watches as his bullets hit and splatter the windshield of the police car, which veers suddenly to the left and slams into a parked car. The noise is terrific! Broken glass flies everywhere.
“Bull’s-eye!” shouts Jimmy with a hoot. “Come on, Bub, we gotta git outta here. It’s going to get hot!”
They roared along the street, then cut down an alley, spun left through Colored Town and watched as the Negroes fled. Sirens rose behind them.
“I kilt a man,” said Bub.
“You didn’t kill nobody,” said Jimmy. “Swear to God. You gave that old boy the thrill of his life. He’ll be telling his grandchildren about it for years to come.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, goddammit. I didn’t put no real bullets in the guns. Those folks just lay down because they
Bub just swallowed. He wasn’t sure he believed Jimmy. He remembered stuff pouring out of the boy that fell out of the office. He hadn’t seen nothing on the black man he’d shot, but it was so jangled it was all mixed in his mind. He did know the police car had crashed and that its windshield had broken.
“Here we are,” said Jimmy. “You got any money? I’m flat busted.”
He pulled into a giant chrome and glass structure that had a Buck Rogers look to it, where a fleet of cars was already parked at oblique angles to the central building.
Bub read the sign, his lips forming each syllable: Tastee-Freez.
“Heard this place has the finest damned burgers in the world. Let’s see what they got.”
“Uh, Jimmy, y-y-y-y—”
“Spit it out, boy.”
“—y-you think this is a very good idea? I mean, won’t the polices be looking for this car?”
“Well now, they ain’t never going to think we’d stop for no burgers now, would they?”
And indeed a couple of black-and-whites, their sirens zinging, their flashers flashing, rushed on by.
“See, what I’m doing is something new,” Jimmy explained. “It’s called
“A cat?” said Bub. He didn’t get it.
“Yeah. A cool cat is your slick customer. He don’t sweat nor git excited. He’s always got a laugh on his face. And he a rebel. He rebels against things, ’cause he knows things is fucked against him. But he always stays cool. Nothing gets him hot.”
Bub contemplated this novel idea. Suddenly a carhop appeared.
“What’s the ruckus, honey gal?” Jimmy asked her.
“Some old boys robbed the IGA,” she said. “They done killed some people and a nigger too.”
“Oh, you just wait,” said Jimmy, giving Bub a big wink, “bet that changes real soon and you find out nobody’s been shot for real.”
“I don’t know,” said the girl.
“What’s your best burger here?”
“We got all kinds. They sell a lot of the Bacon Supreme. You got your bacon and your cheese and your lettuce and tomato. They got to hold it together with toothpicks. They put a little flag on it. It’s really cute.”
“Sound good to you, Bub?”
Bub nodded. He
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “two of them Bacon Su-premes, two orders of the fries, and you got a good milk shake? I mean, now, made out of
“Yes sir. Best shakes in the town.”
“You bring us two. Chocolate.”
“Strawberry,” said Bub.
“One choc, one straw,” said the girl.
Jimmy sat back. He lit another Lucky, inhaled deeply, then looked at his watch. He seemed like a man without a worry in his mind.
“You just re-lax now,” he crooned. “It’s all going to be all right. It’s going to be cool. We are the coolest cats around.”
The girl brought the hamburgers and it was the best hamburger Bub had ever had. In Blue Eye, a place named Check’s Check-Out offered hamburgers, but they was greasy wads of overcooked beef on a tough little bun, nothing like this. Heaven: the meat was so damn tender, the cheese tangy, but that bacon really made the thing sing. Who’d ever think of putting a piece of bacon on a burger?
“Damn,” Bub said, “ain’t that a damn burger?”
“That’s a king burger,” said Jimmy. “The king of all burgers. Okay, now, you just come with me.” He got out of the car, taking the bag that said IGA with him ever so casually, and just began to amble along, easy as can be.
“By now, they got our car ID’d,” he said. “We wouldn’t get two damn blocks with it. So we’ll git another car right where I got the last one. See, this is working out just fine.”
They turned off the main road and walked a block or two into a nice little area with small houses neatly kept. The summer heat was lighter because of the heavy green trees that closed everything off. It felt enchanted. Water
