I took hold of Tony’s arm and tried to shush him, but Jane wasn’t finished.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Jane said.
Pinstripe, still on his knees, pulled back his jacket and showed us a gun in a holster. He reached across and put his hand on it.
I was going to yell “Run,” when the other man said to Pinstripe, “Put it up, you idiot. They’re just a bunch of ragged kids.”
11
“You got some spunk, kid,” the man in shirtsleeves said, and gave Jane a smile.
“What I got is a size-four shoe with a good solid toe on it,” Jane said. “And I suppose I put about two of the four in him.”
Pinstripe finally got to his feet. He was mad enough to chew nails and spit horseshoes. The other man said, “Ah, come on, Timmy, where’s your sense of humor?”
“Watch how much I laugh when I shoot her a couple times,” Timmy said.
“Come on now,” the other man said. “We ain’t got time for this kind of silly business.”
“It don’t take so much time to shoot somebody,” Timmy said. “And besides, I’d enjoy it.”
“What you’re going to do is shut up and help me get this car out of the ditch,” said the man.
Timmy looked at him like he might not like that idea, but the way the other man was looking at him, and him not even having a gun, showed us who was boss pretty quick.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Timmy said. “I wasn’t going to do nothing. I was just sore, is all.”
“Consider yourself healed,” said the man. “Go see how Buddy’s doing.”
Timmy went back to the car, opened a back door, and stood there talking. We couldn’t hear what he was saying, but now we knew someone was in the backseat, lying down.
“Thanks,” I said to the man. “Thanks for not letting him hurt us.”
“Don’t get too happy about things,” he said. “I might let him shoot you yet. I ain’t for killing for nothing, but my killing for something might be less than someone else’s. He had that kick coming. But him I know, and you I don’t have any idea about, and don’t want one. Only concern I got for you is we might need you for something.”
Timmy came back then. “Buddy ain’t doing so good, Tiger.”
“All right,” the one called Tiger said. “We got to make some tough choices.”
Tiger looked at us.
Jane said, “You wouldn’t be Bad Tiger Malone, would you?”
“I would.”
“Dang it,” she said.
“What I want you kids to do is go back there and help Buddy out of the backseat. There’s a little sycamore tree over there in the pasture, and I’d like you to help him over there so he can sit under it. You understand me?”
“Sure,” I said. “We understand.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Jane asked.
“He’s got a stomachache,” Timmy said.
Bad Tiger looked down the road, first one way, then the other.
“We ain’t got all day,” Bad Tiger said. “I’ll just keep the squirt here till you get back, ’cause I want you to come back, and right away.” He reached out and took hold of Tony, resting his hand firmly on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to take too long or run off, ’cause I’d consider that bad behavior, and Tony here, he’d have to pay for your bad behavior. You wouldn’t like that, would you, Tony?”
“Pay how?” Tony asked.
“Let’s just say it would be harsh,” Bad Tiger said.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Y’all come right back.”
Timmy smiled. “Or take your time. Run off, you want to. I’ll take care of Tony. I wouldn’t mind that at all. When I get through with him, y’all can use what’s left of him for third base or something.”
“We’ll hurry fast as we can,” I said.
“Naw, don’t hurry,” Bad Tiger said. “Buddy’s going to need your help. But don’t hang on the clock hands, if you know what I mean.”
“We know,” Jane said. She was sounding a little subdued for the first time.
We went over to the Buick. The back door was still open. We looked in and saw a man stretched across the seat. His feet were on our side. His head was on the armrest across the way. His hair was down on his forehead, and it was wet with sweat. His face was beaded up with it, and his bloody gray suit jacket and tie lay on the floorboard. He had his hand on his stomach and he was breathing heavy. The seat and floorboard of the car were covered in blood.
A coat to match the pants Bad Tiger was wearing was slung across the front seat. A gun in a harness was there too.
The man in the seat saw me look at it. “I wouldn’t, kid. It won’t do you no good. Timmy would shoot you before you could get it pointed. And you’d have to be good just to get that far.”
I didn’t say anything. I just looked away from the gun.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jane asked.
“Didn’t you hear?” said Buddy. “I got a stomachache.”
“We heard,” she said, “but that’s some stomachache. There’s blood running between your fingers.”
“That don’t make it any less of a stomachache,” he said.
“We’re supposed to help you out and put you under a sycamore tree,” I said.
Buddy sighed. “Yeah, I heard. I guess you better help me.”
It took some work, and he screamed a couple times, but we got him to a sitting position. Jane got on one side and I got on the other. We put his arms over our shoulders and tried to walk him into the pasture toward the sycamore tree.
Sometimes he walked all right, and sometimes he stumbled.
“You better let me stop for a moment,” he said. “Let me get my breath.”
We stopped.
I heard Bad Tiger yell out, “Might as well just move on, Buddy. It ain’t going to get no better.”
“I reckon not,” Buddy said, and we started moving again.
We got him to the sycamore and helped him sit down under it. He breathed a little more heavily.
“You feel any better?” I asked.
“Course not, kid. I got a bullet in me.”
Jane spoke so only the three of us could hear. “Bad Tiger Malone is a bank robber. He’s almost as famous as Pretty Boy Floyd.”
“That’s him, all right,” Buddy said. “We hit a bank. Things didn’t go well. I got shot and someone else got the money.”
“Someone else?” I said.
“Forget it,” he said. “I ain’t up for conversation. Just keep me company awhile.”
“He told us not to,” Jane said. “He said he’d hurt my little brother.”
“He can be all right sometimes,” Buddy said. “Until he isn’t all right. You’d think Timmy is the crazy one, but he’s just less calm. Tiger, he’s the one you got to watch.”
“You seem nice enough,” Jane said. “What are you doing with them?”
“I’m not nice, and I’m with them because I was raised bad. I’ve known Tiger since we was kids. He wasn’t raised bad. He’s just bad. Timmy, I don’t know nothing other than I don’t like him. I really should have taken up some other line of work.”
“We’re sorry you’re hurt,” I said.
“Yeah,” Buddy said. “Me too.”
“You coming back up here,” Bad Tiger called, “or do I twist this kid’s arm off and beat him with it?”
“We’re coming,” I called back.
