to scream curses and hurl bricks, bottles and pieces of shattered wood at the charging troopers. Steadily, the troopers themselves picked up their pace, driving the crowd toward the flaming wall of the motel. They fell upon the stragglers with a terrible vengeance, beating them to the ground, then dragging them unconscious to the waiting police vans. Wave after wave of troopers charged across the littered parking lot, seizing people already dazed by the gas or stunned by nightsticks and finishing them off with a final blow to the head or kick to the belly.
Ben stood silently, half-hidden behind a tree, his face flickering in the light from the fire, his mind desperately returning to where it had all begun, his ears tuned to the voice of the man who had met Daniels in the darkness, listening to every word, the deal, one for one, King for Langley. King was an obvious target. But Langley?
Coggins came up a moment later, his clothes torn and dirty, his whole body limp with exhaustion.
‘Look at that,’ he said as he nodded toward the smoldering ruin of the motel.
‘They’ll rebuild it,’ Ben said.
‘The whole city’s going under,’ Coggins said. ‘Everybody’s hurting. Negro business. White business. Everybody.’ He shook his head. ‘Even the shothouses are empty.’
Ben felt something in his mind open up suddenly like a small, long-buried chest. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
Coggins looked at him. ‘Yes, what?’ he asked.
But Ben was already gone.
FORTY-FIVE
The early morning darkness had only begun to lift as Ben drew his car over to the curb not far from the house. He got out quietly and tucked the envelope he’d picked up at an all-night drugstore into his trouser pocket. Then he walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. The short black tire iron was nestled in a bed of oily rags, so he wiped it carefully before tucking it securely into the back of his trousers. Then he took off his jacket, tossed it into the trunk and closed the door.
The man on the porch got to his feet quickly as Ben made his way up the cement sidewalk. He stood, his legs spread, and peered down at him, waiting.
‘I was expecting Gaylord,’ Ben said lightly.
The man did not speak.
‘Doesn’t Gaylord usually keep guard around here?’
‘Gaylord d-don’t keep nothing,’ the man said in a voice that was deep, faintly musical, and which Ben recognized instantly even without the stammer.
‘Who are you?’ Ben asked.
‘Name’s D-douglas.’
‘Mine’s Wellman,’ Ben told him. ‘I came to see Mr Jolly.’
‘’B-bout what?’
‘Business.’
‘Well, he don’t usually see n-nobody this time of night.’
Ben smiled coolly. ‘He might want to see me,’ he said.
The man laughed. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I’m replacing Teddy Langley here in Bearmatch,’ Ben said in a lean, vaguely threatening voice. ‘And I figured it would be a good idea if I met the man that everybody says runs this part of Birmingham.’
‘So you is with the p-police, that right?’ the man asked.
‘That’s right,’ Ben said. He patted his shoulder holster. ‘That’s why I’ve got this.’ He smiled. ‘I’m supposed to wear it, on duty or off.’
‘Well, the thing is, Mr Jolly d-don’t allow no guns ’round him.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I can understand that,’ he said. He lifted his arms. ‘Take it.’
The man stepped forward and snatched the pistol from Ben’s holster. He lifted it lightly up and down in his hand. ‘Got good balance.’
‘I’m pretty good with it, too,’ Ben said lightly. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be needing to use it very much in Bearmatch.’
The man smiled happily. ‘Well, now, that’s go-good to hear. Mr Jolly, he gon’ be glad to know that. ’Cause them Black Cat boys, they been giving him a lot of shit.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Ben said. ‘That’s a shame, too. But they’re not around anymore.’
‘Mr Jolly, he be glad to know that, too.’
‘I figured he would be,’ Ben said. ‘And I reckon I can understand that, too.’ He shifted slightly on his feet. ‘Course we need to have a little talk first.’ He stared around casually. ‘And I sort of figured this time of day was better than broad daylight.’
‘Yeah, you right ’b-bout that,’ the man agreed. He smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming in the porch light. ‘Well, you stay right here. I’ll tell Mr Jolly you waiting on him.’
Ben stepped up to the porch as the man disappeared into the house. Quickly, he checked for the tire iron, keeping his fingers wrapped loosely around it until the man returned.
‘Okay,’ the man said as he came back through the screen door. ‘Mr Jolly say he see you now.’
‘Thanks,’ Ben said.
The man stepped to the side, waiting for Ben to pass in front of him.
‘After you,’ Ben said politely.
The man nodded quickly and turned toward the house.
The tire iron hit him exactly where Ben had intended, and he went down hard, his body slamming against the plain wooden floor, a wave of blood spreading down his neck, soaking his shirt collar. Ben straddled him immediately, then cuffed him. The man groaned slightly, but remained unconscious. His breathing was shallow but rhythmic, and as he stepped over him and headed toward Jolly’s office in the back of the house, Ben half-hoped that there’d be no breath left in him at all when he came back.
Roy Jolly was sitting behind his desk when Ben entered. He was dressed in a bright-red smoking jacket that looked two sizes too big. An enormous gilded mirror hung on the wall behind him, and as he stepped up to the desk, Ben caught his own reflection in it, worn, bedraggled, a face that suddenly seemed so old and broken that he could hardly recognize it.
‘Douglas tell me you come in place of the Black Cat boys,’ Jolly said.
Ben nodded.
‘They been pushed aside, that right?’
‘Yes.’
Jolly did not smile. His voice remained almost expressionless, a dry wind blowing through dry reeds. ‘How come you wants to see me?’
‘I hear you run Bearmatch.’
‘I in business,’ Jolly said modestly. ‘A businessman, he got to keep his ear to the ground.’ One eyelid drooped slightly. ‘Got to keep his eye on the sparrow, ain’t that right?’
Ben said nothing.
‘Ain’t nothing took from nobody that they ain’t let it go,’ he said. ‘That’s the truth, ain’t it?’
‘Except life,’ Ben said. ‘I’m not sure Daniels wanted to let his go.’
Jolly’s head tilted to the right slightly. ‘What you want, Mr White Man?’ he asked.
Ben stared at him silently.
‘People do for me, I do for them,’ Jolly said. ‘That’s the way it is in this world. Ain’t no paradise.’ He laughed softly. ‘More like Hell, you wants to know the truth of it. More like Hell.’ He leaned forward slightly, his small brown eyes bearing down on Ben. ‘How come you got Bearmatch?’
‘I wanted it,’ Ben said.
‘So did them Black Cat boys,’ Jolly said. ‘They come in here, starts messing around. I say, “Okay, I lets you mess. I don’t fuck with you.”’ He waved his finger at Ben menacingly. ‘For a time, I do it. For a little time, I lets you get it out of your system. Least till you figures it out. Then we makes a deal.’
‘What kind of deal?’ Ben asked.
Jolly grinned boyishly. ‘One thing for another.’
‘But the Langleys wouldn’t make any deals.’
