Dirty White Boys

“I opened it myself.”

Out of deference to Lamar, not even O’Dell had dipped inside. Lamar reached in and touched handguns, many of them.

“Turn on the goddamned light,” he said.

The light came out.

Lamar examined the wares and at last discovered what it was he wanted.

Yes, the man was a pistol shooter all right, and Lamar quickly seized what would be his prize. It was a45 automatic with an extremely long slide and barrel, maybe eight inches. It had fancy sights mounted low to the slide. He looked to see that it was a Colt all right, but someone had added a new inscription under the Colt name that said clark custom guns, new iberia, la.

“A bull's-eye gun?” asked Lamar.

“Go to hell,” said the old man, crumpled on the floor, face swollen.

“I do believe I will, yes sir,” said Lamar, 'but it is a bull's-eye gun, ain't it?”

“Bill was state pistol champ, standing bull, rapid fire, three years in a row back in the seventies,” said the woman.

“It'd be a treat to see him shoot one day,” said Lamar, 'but that ain't gonna happen.”

Then he reached inside the safe and came out with some thing else: It was a big Colt .357 Magnum revolver with a four-inch barrel called a Python. He handed it to Richard.

“Here,” he said.

“You're a man now.” Then he turned to the old lady.

“I bet you know how to cook real good. How'd you' like to who mp up a real country breakfast? Eggs, bacon, juice, the works. I am hungry as hell and so are my friends, grandma.”

“Don't help him a bit,” said the old man.

“You are going to kill us,” said the old lady.

“Yes ma'am, I probably will have to, not on account of not liking you but because that's the way things is. But could we eat first?”

“I suppose so,” said the old woman.

“You're a fool, Mary,” said the old man.

“Now Bill,” said Lamar, 'Mary's just trying to be a good neighbor.”

CHAPTER 6

Must be some kind of trash, Bud thought, amazed at the speed with which he raced through his betrayals. It was so easy. It grew to be a habit, second nature. He could call Jen and bluff his way through a desolate little communication, subconsciously calculated to stay uncommunicative because the less he talked the less likely he'd screw up. Then he'd call Holly, and be so sweet and kind and decent, just that simple, that fast. Made him sick. But he could not stop doing it.

He was in the pay phone outside Jim's Diner in Ratliff City on Oklahoma 76, about halfway between Duncan and 1-35 south to Dallas. Wasn't much here: the diner, a Sunoco, a Laundromat, and a convenience store. The diner was known for chili, but it was too early for chili: about ten in the morning, and they'd been on the road since six, part of a larger sweeping movement aimed at trying to intercept intercept what? The inmates? Those boys hadn't been seen or heard from since the discovery of the truck with the body in it thirty-six hours ago.

The phone rang twice, then Jen picked it up.

“Hi, how are you? Thanks for the uniforms.”

Jen, a slave always to her many jobs, had driven up to the Chickasha facility with five fresh uniforms in a plastic bag, plus underwear and socks, as Bud was running low off his first supply.

“Well,” she said, 'that's fine. We're all right here. So how are^ owl Her voice was so Jen: far away, distant, with an undercurrent of some distress but nothing you could put your finger on.

“Fine. You know, it's beginning to get damn dreary, and nobody's got no idea in hell where these boys are. They're going to call off the roadblocks and roving patrols sometime soon, maybe as soon as tomorrow.

It's pointless.”

“It's terrible what they did to that poor vending service man,” Jen said.

“Yes, it is, isn't it? They're bad boys. How are the kids?”

“Russ got his college board scores. They were so high.

We should be proud of him.”

“He takes after you. How's Jeff doing?”

“Oh, he's fine. He had a game last night, but it was close and he didn't get in. But he was in a good mood afterward.

The boys went out for pizza and he went along.”

“I should be there. This damn job. I'll be there next year.”

“Oh, Bud?”

“What is it?” he said, glancing at his watch.

“Were you over near the Fort on Friday?”

Little signal of distress. Friday, yes. He'd been with Holly. In a motel room for a couple of hours. Place was called the Wigwam, a little down from the number four gate to Fort Sill, catering mainly to visiting military families. It was run by a retired city cop who let Bud have the room for free around midday.

Bud was surprised at how hard this hit him. He had never had any trouble before. He looked up and saw poor Ted sitting at the counter over an untouched plate of eggs and a half-gone Coke, talking to the waitress.

“No, no, can't say that I was,” he lied, trying to force some innocence into his voice and feeling himself fail miserably.

“Marge Sawyer swears she saw you pulling out of some parking lot. She honked, and you didn't see her. I only mention it because she wanted me to ask you if you knew that part of town, by the base, if you could recommend a ' good motel, something a little less expensive than the Holiday Inn, but in town, not at the airport. Her sister is—”

“No, Jen, wasn't me,” he barked.

“I don't know nothing about that part of town,” he said, feeling the lies awkward in his mouth.

“Look, I've got to get back on the road. Call you tonight if possible.”

“Sure.”

Bud hung up, feeling he had done badly and furious at himself for it; it was a bright morning, and he was surprised to find how hard he was breathing. Who the hell was Marge Sawyer? What had she seen? He'd been in uniform that day, too, so there could be no mistaking. Damn!

It had been a foolish thing to do. Best to cut back for a while or something.. ..

He dropped another quarter and dialed the number. She picked up right away.

“Oh, Bud, it's been so long since you called. You said you'd call last night.”

Now this always irritated Bud and in his present mood it struck a bad note. Sometimes just the managing of It got to be so damned troublesome that he needed a night off. There was always so much to remember: why he was late, what had happened, what route he'd taken home, all the things that go into running a deception. And sometimes it just wore him down.

“I couldn't get any time away from Ted. They got us running all over the damn place. I've only got a second.”

“Well, how are you?” Holly wanted to know.

“Well, it's a hell of a lot more boring than just patrolling, I'll tell you that. But I think they're going to pull back after a while. This road stuff ain't panning out.”

“Bud, you sound so irritated.”

“I'm just tired. Holly.”

“I miss you.”

“Sweetie, I miss you too.”