Shep chuckled. “The people behind the elected official. That's who.”
“The old man?” Scratch asked.
“George Spiff doesn't like Quincy Adams. I'm not sure what the reasons are but they dislike each other quite a bit. Maybe he's working against him.”
“Was Pita-Paul kicked out of the country?”
“Yeah,” Shep said. “Yeah, he was. Twice. Right before World War II started, and again last year.”
“Why?”
Shep shrugged. “Old man Spiff called the Feds on him. I think it was a drug charge. I can't remember.”
“The kidnapping of Saundra Sommers's baby,” Scratch said. “Five men were involved. One a negro, we know that for sure. We also know Pita-Paul was the man Mrs Sommers described.”
“We don't know that, Scratch!”
“Shep,” Scratch reasoned, “how many six-foot-seven Germans do you know who live in Odarko?”
At that moment, Ralph came racing down the road, the police car fishtailing. He stopped just short of Scratch's shoes.
“Ralph, I told you not to be hot roddin' around with the police car!” Shep screamed.
Ralph stuck his out the window. Blood dripped from a gash on the right side of his forehead. “He's gone!” Ralph screamed back.
“What do you mean he's gone? What the hell happened to you?”
Ralph sputtered, tried to form the words correctly, but his tongue seemed to get in the way. After a time, he finally managed to spit it out. “Felix-the black boy. Somebody hit me from the side and turned Felix loose!”
Shep jumped into the police car and Ralph hit the gas. The car sped off, swerving, kicking up dust behind it.
23
The car ride to Darktown started out nice and easy, Cozy even, with Betty sitting very close to Scratch with his arm around her. No words were spoken. The closer they got to the other side, the stiffer Betty became. Scratch noticed she'd embedded her nails into her knee, going through her stockings, even drawing blood.
“Relax,” he told her. “Everything will be fine.”
Betty flashed an uneasy smile, removed her nails from her knee, and fixed her skirt so no one could see the self-inflicted wound.
They passed through an area of ramshackle houses and makeshift barns that were small grocery and butcher shops. Across from the church was a movie theater. Next to that was the school, a one-room building not much bigger than a shack. Betty took it all in.
They arrived at the lake.
A car was already parked and a man was standing at the dock, taking a piss.
Scratch took the bottle of bennies out his coat pocket and popped the top. He poured the last four into the palm of his hand, threw his head back, and swallowed. He coughed once, his eye became large again, and the black circles under both sockets dipped to his cheekbone. He touched the patch on his right eye and adjusted it.
“Who is that man?” Betty asked.
Scratch patted Betty's knee. “Nobody you need to worry about,” he said.
The moonlight gave Betty a glimpse of Shaw's pock-marked face. Betty sighed. “I don't like the way he looks,” she said.
Scratch chortled. “His mother didn't either,” he opened the car door and stepped out. “That's why she gave him away. Stay in the car. No matter what happens.”
He slammed the door and slowly walked toward Shaw, who was now leaning against his '42 Buick.
“Heyyy,” he greeted Scratch. “You tried to sneak up on me. Niggers is hard to see in the dark.” He chuckled. “If it weren't for the moonlight, y'know…”
“The insults are not funny,” Scratch said.
“Not meant to be, boy,” Shaw said.
“Why blackmail me?” Scratch asked.
“You have a lot to lose, son,” Shaw said. “And you know how old man Spiff feels about you darkies. Hell, he's done everything he could to keep your people down.”
“What about your boss? Every time he catches a criminal, the man's skin is darker than his,” Scratch said. “I'm curious as how you knew about me and Immy.”
Shaw breathed in and breathed out heavily. He said angrily: “You never mind how I know. I just know about you – and your family.”
“I'm glad you have that knowledge about me,” Scratch said. “I think it's only right I let you know I've sent your blackmail notes to Rooster.”
“Bullshit,” Shaw chuckled. “You ain't done that. You didn't know it was me…”
“You didn't bleach that typing paper good enough, Shaw,” Scratch said. “Still had Coleman County plastered on the heading.”
Shaw didn't know to say to that. His bottom lip trembled as his pea brain worked out what to say or do. After a bit, he finally blurted out: “You bring the damn money or what?”
“What!” Dobro said.
He came from behind with a stocking full of rocks. He swung, catching Shaw on the side of his temple. The rocks put a huge dent over his right eyebrow. Shaw staggered slightly then steadied himself upright and planted his feet. Shaw launched a barrage of rights to Dobro's midsection and a left hook knocked him flat on his ass. The stocking came out of Dobro's hand and the rocks tore through the nylon and hit the ground like birdshot.
Scratch turned his .38 upside-down, butt end up, and whacked Shaw on the right side of his head. Shaw squealed and turned quickly towards Scratch. He fell face-first in the dirt. Dobro stood and leaned against Shaw's car. He caught his breath, kept pointing without saying anything.
“You got what we need?” Scratch asked.
Dobro nodded quickly, trying to catch his breath, still pointing.
“We'll put them in Shaw's car. You drive,” Scratch said. “Why do you keep pointing?” Finally Scratch turned to see and the headlights from his '48 Dodge put the lake, Shaw, Dobro, and Scratch in the spotlight. Scratch took off in a sprint, waving his hands, but it was too late.
“Your girlfriend stole your car,” Dobro said.
24
Scratch lay in a ditch, his head bleeding profusely. The morning sun slashed his eyes like daggers through a ripe tomato.
“You fucked up, boy,” Scratch heard a voice say. He cringed at the sound of the expletive. Blurriness gave way to a figure highlighted by the sun's
