“That’s it,” Rooster said.
“Damn,” Clyde said.
“Is Smoky still there at the door?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to go find out. Oh, hell. Here comes Phillip Macavee.”
Sunset turned. A short man with a tall black hat and a belly that could have used a wheelbarrow under it was crossing the street, moving through the mud as if doing a high-step march. The crowd was getting braver as well. They moved out from behind cars and stood as if waiting for Macavee to give them the word to follow.
“Who’s Macavee?” Sunset asked.
“Owns a well, thinks cause he’s got money that makes his dick not stink-oh, sorry, miss.”
“That’s all right.”
“Used to drive a pickup truck and gather up garbage. But he got lucky with a well. Been stirring everybody up. He’s the main one says we ought to burn the place down. He’s the one got the grocer worked up. The idea of a nigger hung up or on fire is just the sort of thing that would make him sleep good.”
Just before Macavee reached them, Rooster said, “That nigger is gonna shoot anybody, wish he’d do it now, clip that Macavee one.”
Macavee kept coming until he stood in front of Sunset.
He studied Sunset a moment, said, “Listen here, young lady. You ought to take that badge off. Ought to be home with some children, or some dolls. This ain’t no place for play. Me and some of the boys think we ought to drive a car right up to the front door there, blazing away, and have some others come in the back. If we can’t get close enough to shoot the nigger, we could toss some gasoline, get a fire going. Burn that picture show and that burr head both to the ground.”
Sunset jerked the revolver out of the holster, and with a motion quicker than she’d’ve thought she could muster, fanned the barrel alongside Macavee’s body, over his shoulder, and back behind his jaw toward her.
It was a good blow. There was a meaty noise and Macavee’s head jerked up and his hat leaped away. He seemed to focus on Sunset a second, then fell straight toward her.
Sunset moved just in time to let his face hit the mud. His forehead banged the edge of the board sidewalk.
There was a moment of silence.
Sunset looked at the crowd. There were a lot of open mouths. “Any of them decide they’re coming for me,” she said, “shoot above their heads first. Second time, shoot to wound.”
“Is blowing off a leg considered a wound?” Clyde said.
“I’ll be damned,” Rooster said, looking at Macavee. “Wish to hell I’d thought of that. I just asked him to shut up.”
Morgan flipped Macavee over. His forehead had a strip of blood where he had hit the board sidewalk and his face was coated in mud.
“I didn’t kill him, did I?” Sunset said.
“Nope,” Clyde said. “But he wakes up, you could tell him he’s a waitress on a gambling boat and he’d believe it.”
“I took your advice.”
“You sure did. That’s what Pete used to do.”
The crowd, which had been following Macavee, moved back a step.
Sunset said, “Go on, folks. All Smoky would have to do is point and pull, and about half of you would be in the rest of you folks’ pockets.”
The crowed grumbled, backed up, found places behind cars or where they thought they were out of scattergun range.
Sunset put the revolver back in the holster, turned to Rooster, said, “Well, Smoky needs arresting.”
“We done figured that,” Morgan said. “Sheriff thought so too. But that didn’t work out.”
“Guess I’ll have to go in and get him.”
“You’re kidding us, right?” Morgan said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re here to help,” Clyde said. “You ain’t the one to do no arresting.”
Sunset smiled at him, started around the front of the car, onto the sidewalk.
“Miss,” Rooster said, “you ought not do that.”
“You going in there to get him?” Sunset asked.
“No, I ain’t,” Rooster said.
“Morgan?”
“Ain’t planning on it.”
She looked at Clyde. “I think we’re just about out of law enforcement. So that leaves it to me.”
“And me,” Clyde said.
“I guess I have to chime in on that, too,” Hillbilly said. “But I want someone to note that I said I thought this was a damn bad idea.”
“Noted,” Sunset said.
“I want someone to note it ain’t gonna get killed, so they’ll remember I said it.”
“Got you covered,” Rooster said. “On the note part, and with a gun. But I ain’t getting around in front of that car, and I advise you to step on back this way, ma’am.”
“I’ll do it,” Clyde said.
“No, you won’t,” Sunset said. “Last time I looked, I was the boss. Give me that slap jack.”
She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt and took the slap jack from Clyde and slipped it inside her shirt so that it hung under her bra and under her left arm.
Sunset started walking toward the theater.
“Now’s the time for me to tell you I ain’t much of a shot,” Rooster said.
Sunset paused. “Can any of you hit anything?”
“I couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass with a two-by-four if I was standing behind him,” Hillbilly said.
“I can,” Clyde said.
“Then drape over the hood there, and keep a bead on the door.”
Clyde leaned over the hood and pointed the pistol. “Don’t walk in front of me,” he said. “Sticks his head out, ain’t asking questions. He gets popped. And watch it. You’re about to step in mule shit.”
Gun drawn, Sunset came to the open door and didn’t find Smoky behind it. She stepped over the sheriff’s body. Blood was on the floor and drying and it stuck to her shoes like gum. Nearby, a box of yellow giveaway dishes lay overturned and broken.
She made bloody tracks to the dark entrance, where she could hear movie voices. She stuck her head inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but pretty soon she could see Smoky’s head. He was sitting in an aisle seat, the shotgun propped against his shoulder like a sentry.
Sunset didn’t know how good a shot she was. She might hit him from where she was, but if she missed, well, there would be a blazing gun battle. She figured that happened, she would wind up on the bad end of the program. Already Smoky had one man dead, one man crippled, one mule harvested. A redheaded woman wearing a constable’s badge wouldn’t be much of a reach.
She put her gun away, said, “Smoky.”
Smoky turned his head slowly, like it didn’t matter. She couldn’t see his features, just a black face in shadows and screen flickers.
“My name is Sunset. I’m the constable over at Camp Rapture.”
“That the sawmill place?” Smoky said.
