“So, you’re gonna give him this, way Buster told you?”
“I’m going to give him a copy of it. That’s what I was writing.”
I took the paper from Richard, folded it, and returned it to the sock drawer.
“Well, let’s get to doin’.”
“First, you go wash your face, brush your teeth, and comb your hair. I’ve got a toothbrush and a comb for you. Rest is in the bathroom downstairs.”
———
AS USUAL on a Saturday, the town was bustling. Since Richard didn’t have a bike, we walked. We went by the picture show, and I walked fast as we went, tried not to look through the glass doors to see if I could see James, but I couldn’t help myself.
I didn’t see him.
We walked over to the hotel where Mr. Stilwind lived. In the lobby, we looked around and wondered what to do. A young man behind a counter smiled at us and beckoned us over. He wore a black suit and white shirt and his hair was slicked down flat against his head. He looked like the kind of guy Callie might find attractive.
He said, “May I help you boys?”
“I need to see Mr. Stilwind.”
“Are you kin?”
“No.”
“I believe I should call him. May I tell him what this is about?”
“Tell him Susan and her baby.”
“Susan and her baby?”
“Yes.”
“Should I elaborate on that?”
“No. He’ll know.”
“Very well.”
He called up, spoke what I had told him over the phone. When he put down the receiver, he said, “He’ll be right down. Would you like to make yourself comfortable.”
We went over and sat in some big soft chairs. After a moment, the elevator dropped, opened, and out stepped Stilwind, all dressed in black, looking as if he were about to go to a funeral. The only thing missing was his hat.
He saw me, startled, then came over. “You,” he said.
I hadn’t really noticed before, and maybe it was the harsh sunlight slipping between the great hotel curtains, but up close his face was as marked with wrinkles as a henhouse floor with chicken scratches. He looked ten years older than I had first thought him to be, and I hadn’t thought him to be a spring chicken then.
“I got something for you,” I said.
“An apology from your father . . . He decide to take my offer? It’s still open, you know.”
“No, sir. He would want me to tell you to cram your offer where the sun doesn’t shine. I have a copy of something. This was written by Chief Rowan. It has to do with you and your daughter Susan. We have the original put away in a safe place. This is a copy I made.”
I gave it to him. He read it. His face turned pale. He held the paper in his hand as if he had suddenly discovered a snake there.
“That’s your copy,” I said.
“I assume this young man knows about it?”
“As well as others.”
“If everyone knows, why should it matter to me?”
“Not everyone knows. Me and a few others.”
“Adults?”
“Yes. I told enough people so I’d have backup. I want my family left alone.”
“Your father put you up to this?”
“No. If my father wanted to do something about this, he’d come over and beat you and throw you down the stairs and drag you through the street and set you on fire. He doesn’t know about it.”
Stilwind’s face moved, tried to find an expression, settled on a sneer.
“How do I know you have the original?”
“How do you think I made this copy? Think I’d give you the only copy?”
“How did you come by it?”
“That’s my business.”
“You know the chief?”
“Never met him, never heard of him until recently.”
“He isn’t in on this?”
“No.”
“You want money, of course. Money for your silence.”
“No. I want you to leave my family alone. No made-up safety problems for the police or the fire department to inspect out at our drive-in. No problems from you of any kind.”
“I can’t be responsible for anything you think might be my fault.”
“That’s your problem.”
“You sound awfully grown-up for a kid. Awful mean.”
I did sound grown-up, and I was proud of it.
“I’m not mean. You made a threat to my family. This is a way of keeping things where they belong. The only thing left is your son, James. He better never come within fifty feet of any of my family.”
“And what about this boy?”
“You don’t need to know who he is, but he counts too. You stay away from him.”
“Gladly. Is that all, you little worm?”
“Yes, sir. That’s it. The Worm has spoken.”
———
OUT ON THE STREET, in the hot sunshine, I was ecstatic. What I had done had been Buster’s idea, not mine, of course, but I was proud of myself. I liked the way I had talked, the sound of my voice. Richard was very impressed, and told me so.
“Man, you had him by the short hairs.”
“The short hairs? What’s that mean?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I’ve heard it. You were really good in there.”
“Thanks.”
As we walked past Harriman’s Feed and Seed, Mr. Chapman came out. He was wearing a sweat-stained brown hat and was carrying a large bag of fertilizer. He didn’t see us at first. We froze. He eased down the steps to the curb and dumped the bag into the back of his old rickety black pickup, made it companion to a half dozen other bags there.
When he looked up, he saw us. There was something about his face that I can’t describe. A kind of blankness as far as his features went, but his eyes, they were as dark and nasty-looking as a dying animal’s.
“You,” he said to Richard. “You had a punishment.”
“I ain’t gonna take no more of that,” Richard said.
“Say you ain’t?” Chapman said. “Say you ain’t?”
“No, sir, I ain’t.”
Beside me, I could feel Richard tense.
Chapman glared at me. “And you and your high and mighty daddy, and that little Jezebel of a sister—”
“Shut your mouth,” I said. “I’ll tell Daddy if you lay one hand on me or Richard. And he’ll come to your house and beat you like a dirty rug.”
“He will, will he?” Chapman said.
“He sure did the other day,” I said, “and he wasn’t even trying.”
“I ought to whip your proud butt with my belt,” Chapman said.
“You ain’t gonna whip either our asses,” Richard said. “You laid your last hand on me, old man.”
