“What happened? Did he shoot you?” She trotted to Scratch, her heels clicking repetitively like bongo drums. She helped him to the couch, her hands on his waist and back, his resting on her shoulders.
“No,” Scratch shook his head. “I chased him all the way to the park. My knees gave out on me. Don't worry, Lilly. I'll find him. He was aiming for you. At first, I thought it was me. But chasing him, thinking about it, I realized he was gunnin' for you.”
“I don't know, Scratch,” She eased him on to the couch and sat beside him. “Maybe we should let it go.”
“I'm not going to do that,” Scratch said.
Lilly sighed. “I think its best you do… at-at least for now. So, uh, why don't we go home – you go to your place, and I'll go to mine. I'm awful tired, Scratch. I need a bath and to – you know – relax in my own… space. Oh, don't look that way. Please.”
“No, no. I should be around to protect you in case he tries again. I'll go with you…”
“No, Scratch!”
He stared at her.
“Hey,” Lilly rubbed his hand. “I'll be OK. That guy is more than likely hiding out somewhere and won't try again. Ever.”
“I don't know about that,” Scratch said. “He had a look of determination on his face. Why would anyone want to kill you, Lilly?”
“I don't know, Scratch,” Lilly said. She ran a hand through her hair. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm dog tired.”
Scratch nodded. “Yeah. Sure. We can talk tomorrow. Where? Your home? Hammock's office?”
“No, not my home. Nor Horace's office. That's been closed. Sheriff's orders. How about Jesse Fulton's diner. Out by Newberry.”
“On route 10?”
“Yes,” Lilly stood. She was in a hurry to leave. Her steps quickened to the front door. She turned the knob, and said: “Is 11am OK? I'm going to sleep in. Hope you don't mind? Me leaving?” Lilly flashed a smile.
“No. I don't mind. You need me to drop you off..?”
“I have my car.” She stepped out and, just before she closed the door, she said: “I'll see you tomorrow.”
Will you? Scratch asked himself. He looked at the coffee table. The hatbox was gone. He realized Lilly had taken it. “Son of a bitch!”
10
Scratch was tired. He sat in his '48 Dodge for a half hour or so, tried to get himself motivated to drive. First he had to decide where to go. He wanted to go home, to his bed. Fix something to eat. Then he would be fresh in the morning to meet Lilly.
“Ah, who am I kidding?” he asked himself under his breath. “She won't show up tomorrow.”
He turned the key in the ignition and the engine started up. The moon was so bright. So yellow. It was like a spotlight. Scratch wished it was all darkness so he could hide. He looked up, watched the stars and that bright moon dance around each other.
He decided to go to the Primrose first. It was on his way to Mrs Howard's house, where he rented the basement.
“No sleep tonight,” he said and put the car in drive.
Suddenly, a man ran across the road and slammed into the car. He didn't fall down or scream. Anyway, the car didn't hit him very hard. He just stood there, both hands on the hood. Scratch realized it was the short, light-skinned black man who had shot at Lilly and him. They locked eyes and Scratch rose from the car seat, but a flash of flames caught his eyes.
In the distance, a car radio could be heard playing Why Do Fools Fall in Love?
Scratch turned to look, as did the young man. A burning cross appeared about six houses down. That house belonged to a young Mexican family, that much Scratch knew. The young man had come running from that direction. Uh-oh, Scratch thought. The Klan saw him.
Torches were coming toward them. Voices were hurling all kinds of racial slurs and insults. The young man took off in a sprint. Instinctively, Scratch sped off. He almost collided with a familiar car – a red Plymouth Fury. Why Do Fools Fall in Love? was at its loudest. The Fury skidded to the left and barely missed a fire hydrant. The Dodge skidded to the right, knocking over a public trashcan. The driver hung his head out the window. The young blond-haired man had a malicious upturned smile on his thin face. Scratch had seen him driving off from the drugstore the day before. In the passenger and backseat were two women. Scratch couldn't make out who they were, nor did he have time. The torches were getting closer. Scratch hit the gas and the Dodge sped off again.
“Why am I running?” Scratch said out loud. “They're not after me.” He pulled the car over and parked by Nesbit's hardware store.
About 10 men in white robes and pointed hoods, carrying torches, ran past Hammock's house. The embers from the flames surged and left a trail of remnants as the white robes dashed past the Dodge. The man led them by three paces, but that was dwindling with Klansman hot on his heels.
They all whooped and hollered at the young man. He tripped, fell on his side, and quickly hopped to his feet. He removed the pistol from his belt, pointed it at the white sheets. Too frightened to pull the trigger, he dropped the gun and sprinted toward the park.
“You can't run, nigger!” a gravelly voiced man called out.
“The moon is bright tonight, nigger!” A high-pitched voice called. “You can't hide now, shine!”
“You're gonna wish your mama never had you, boy!”
The Fury sped off, tires squealing.
“Shit,” Scratch said. Suddenly, he had a case of the “I cares” and guilt was settling in.
He put the car in drive and tapped the
