“Yardbird,” Spiff said to Scratch. “Get that shit-kicker out from under the desk.”
Scratch took a few steps to the side of the desk. He reached down and grabbed Lowery by the collar and dragged him out. Lowery screamed, whined, begged for them not kill him. Scratch jerked him hard, as if he had a disobedient dog on a leash. Lowery choked on his words, coughed, and vomited on the carpet.
Spiff looked away. No one was sure if he was disgusted by Lowery vomiting or his cowardice.
When Lowery was done retching, he looked up at Spiff and wept hard, his body convulsing as he tried to apologize.
“I'm so sorry, Mr Spiff. I'm so sorry. Please, please. Please, please, please, please…PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!”
Spiff laughed. It was a mean, hard laugh. Soul-crushing.
Lowery lowered his head into his hands and cried harder.
“I see what you tried to do,” Spiff said. “If that was me lying on the floor,” he pointed at Governor Adams. “You would be in charge of Pinnacle. Or at least you thought you would. No. I'm not going to kill you. Instead, I'm going to run you out of my town, my state. Run you out like the whipped cur you are. Shep, take this motherless dog and put him on a bus.”
“As he is?” Shep asked.
“As he fucking is. He leaves the state of Oklahoma with the clothes on his back. Nothing else. Yardbird?”
“Yes, Mr Spiff?”
“Take his wallet. I don't want him to have any money I gave him.”
30
The Chrysler Crown Imperial rolled down the highway toward Spiff's mansion. Scratch was in the backseat with Spiff and the old Korean man was sitting in the seat in front of them. The driver had the window rolled up, as per Spiff's orders. Just in case anything incriminating was said, Scratch figured. The radio was on. Peggy Sue by Buddy Holly ended and a newsman came on.
“We bring you this news with much sadness,” the broadcaster said. He paused and you could hear in his voice how upset he was. “Governor Quincy Adams has passed away. He suffered a massive heart attack in his office and was brought to Oklahoma General, where he died shortly thereafter. This station will break for a moment of silence.”
Scratch glanced at Spiff. He was grinning from ear to ear, smoking a cigar and drinking brandy. That was Spiff's expression of victory. Right on cue, the next song came on the radio. Hank Williams singing You Win Again. Scratch turned his attention to the old Korean man. He was singing along with the song.
The news is out, all over town
That you've been seen, a-runnin' 'round.
I know that I should leave, but then
I just can't go, you win again.
This heart of mine, could never see
What everybody knew but me.
Just trusting you was my great sin.
What can I do, you win again.
The old Korean man smiled, then disappeared.
Scratch looked out the window. He flinched. Something in the distance caught his eye. A car was turned upside down, half in a ditch, half lying on the blacktop with glass surrounding it. Scratch knocked on the glass of the driver's compartment. The driver lowered the window.
“Yes sir?” The driver asked.
“Stop the car!” Scratch ordered.
“What?” Spiff protested, slurring his words. “Burt! Don't you dare!?”
“Stop the car, Burt! There's an accident!” Scratch talked over Spiff.
“Sir?” Burt slowed the car down, but was confused about the orders.
Spiff let out a sigh of anxiety. “Will this amuse you, Scratch Williams?”
“Tickled pink, Oliver Spiff!”
“Then stop the damn car, Burt!” Spiff ordered.
Burt did as he was told.
Scratch got out of the limousine, not even waiting for the car to come to a full halt. Burt got out afterwards. They immediately investigated the accident. Spiff eventually got out, complaining non-stop. Scratch walked over slowly to look at the car. Burt went to the other side.
Scratch remembered the night before when he and Dobro chased this white kid through Dobro's club. Not just the kid they were after, the girl who was him…
A red Plymouth Fury was turned over, lying on its roof, all the glass from the windows, windshield and rear screen obliterated. The driver, a blond-haired male, hung out of the window, his face cut into ribbons and with one large glass shard piercing his throat. The second victim was a young brown-haired woman. She was sprawled out on the blacktop about 20 feet from the destroyed Fury. Her broken and mangled body was lying face down. Scratch went to look at the young woman, Burt close behind him. They both squatted down, Scratch doing so with a grunt. He turned the young woman's head to face him…
Scratch and Dobro had both been chasing Maggie Spiff, too. They couldn't catch her or the blond-haired boy because they ran into Pita-Paul and Gilmore right outside the club. Dobro managed to get away. The first blow from Pita-Paul made Scratch black out.
“This is preposterous,” Oliver Spiff said, hurling his cigar down and mashing it into the blacktop with his shoe. “I need to get home and conduct business! Who cares who these people are…”
“Oh, my God,” Burt choked back tears. “It's…”
“Maggie Spiff,” Scratch finished Burt's sentence.
George Spiff rushed over to make sure they weren't pulling some kind of sick practical joke on him. No. It was Maggie Spiff who was lying dead in the middle of the road. Spiff cradled his daughter in his arms and begged Scratch and Burt to do something. Burt sprinted to the limousine and drove off to find the nearest phone.
“That's sad,” the old Korean man said.
“Yeah,” Scratch said.
“Did he win again?” the old Korean man asked. “And if he did, at what cost?”
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