“I'm sorry, Allan,” Immy closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.
“Why, Immy? Why did you do all this – and blackmail me..?”
“No, that part was made up.”
“I got the letters, Immy.”
“Yeah, but Shaw used me. For some reason he and Betty held out on me. They never invested in any land deal. They kept all the money for themselves. I needed to get even with him. So I wrote the letters on paper from the Colman police department.”
Scratch sighed. “You knew I would take care of him.”
“Yes, Allan,” Immy nodded. “I knew you'd take care of him.”
“Where are the kids?” Scratch said without looking at her.
“A friend has them,” Immy said.
“Get changed,” Scratch told her. “Grab what you want to take with you. I'm driving you to Oklahoma City.”
“I don't…”
“No time to argue, Immy! They were going to kill you! The governor will surely try again!”
Immy nodded as she started to weep. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
29
Scratch got Immy and her kids to Oklahoma City safely. He got a room at the Charlton, paid for a month. No words were spoken, no hugs, no kisses, no goodbyes. He stopped at the General Hospital to see Betty. It was a terrible sight.
He sat in a metal folding chair a nurse provided. He stared at Betty, taking in her condition, for a long time. No words were spoken. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her he forgave her. But his tongue wouldn't release the words.
Betty was in a coma. Bandaged. Her arms and legs in casts. Scratch bawled like a baby. He couldn't help it. Too many things were happening at once, so much to feel, and he didn't want to feel anything.
“You killed Horace Hammock,” Scratch wiped his nose and eye. “You killed him, came back, and that's when I surprised you. What were you looking for?” He waited for an answer. No answer came, of course, and Scratch continued in one feverish sentence. “His evidence that you, Shaw and Immy were blackmailing everyone. That part I was sure of… he also had the hatbox with-with the bones of the baby…”
Scratch wept hard.
“Why didn't you come to me?” he said, sobbing. “You could've told me… I could have taken care of everything…”
The nurse came into the room, stood in the threshold and listened to Scratch weep. She backed out of the room and closed the door.
* * *
On his way back to Odarko, three Oklahoma Highway Patrolmen pulled him over. Guns were drawn, and one of the butts of their .357s found its way to Scratch's forehead.
When he came to, his eyes focused on two men sitting at a huge desk. One of the men was the governor of Oklahoma, the other was old man Spiff's lawyer. Guarding the door and the windows behind Adams were Oklahoma highway patrolmen, six to be exact, and all them with their weapons aimed at Scratch.
“You were out for quite a while,” Dan Lowery said.
“He had to rest up,” Governor Adams said. “He knew we got a lot of talkin' to do.”
“What do we have to talk about, Governor?” Scratch asked. “Loyalty?” That question was lobbed at Lowery.
Lowery smiled at that. “Loyalty goes on as long as whoever is signing my paycheck.”
“How long has that been going on?” Scratch picked himself up and used a chair to steady himself. He realized he'd left a dirty stain where he'd been lying on a red and yellow checkered rug with tassels at each corner.
“Inconsequential, Mister Williams,” Lowery said.
“Lowery is a good man. An asset to anyone's business,” Adams said, chuckled, his crooked teeth poking out between fat heart-shaped lips. His three chins moved up and down a gurgling, wobbling throat. Adams was a fat man. He was too big for the Columbus wingback chair he was propped up in. He looked as if he was desperately trying to recoup his youth by combing the three stands of hair over a huge bald spot and wearing a modern pair of men's thin eyeglass frames that barely covered his large fish eyes.
“That's what old man Spiff thinks of the young lawyer. Funny, though, Governor.” Scratch sat in the glossy wooden chair in front of the desk. “If I may ask a question?”
Adams waved up a hand indifferently. “Ask away, Mister Williams.”
“Knowing your views on human beings,” Scratch lit a cigarette, blew smoke in the governor's direction. “What are you doing hanging around with a Jew?”
“Are there any better people to be around especially when it comes to law and business, Mister Williams? I know he's from unclean blood. I know. But I'm all right with it as long as he takes care of problems and brings me those greenbacks.” He cleared his throat, readjusted his large ass in the chair. “I'll overlook anyone's deficiencies as long as I am compensated. Just as I'll overlook your deficiency.”
“What deficiency is that?” Scratch asked.
Lowery and Adams looked each other and laughed.
“A nigger is always going to be a nigger no matter what skin color he pretends to be,” Adams said, his thick dark eyebrows narrowed. “You can never run away from the truth.”
“I have something of yours.” Lowery rose from his chair next to Adams, took two steps and retrieved a glass eye from his jacket pocket. He tossed it to Scratch. Scratch caught it haphazardly with both hands. “I'm sure you've been missing this.”
Scratch removed his eyepatch. He turned from Lowery and Adams, held his head to one side and eased his glass eye into the empty eye socket. He turned back to face Lowery and Adams. A highway patrolman stood in front of Scratch, the barrel of his .357 touching
