Jones keening now-animal stuff.
'They had blood on them, didn't they? You killed six goddamn people, you got sprayed. Ray did the clean-up, he tidied the loose ends, «he's» the one who hid the shotguns, he's the boss man, he's been giving the orders since you were giving out butthole up at Casitas. Spill, goddamn you!'
'WE DIDN' KILL NOBODY! I AINT NO FUCKIN' QUEER!'
Ed circled the table-walking fast, talking slow. 'Here's what I think. I think Sugar Ray's the boss, Leroy's just a dummy, you're the fat boy Sugar likes to tease. You all did road camp together, you and Sugar Ray got popped for Peeping Tom. Sugar liked looking at girls, you liked looking at boys. You both like looking at white folks, because that is the colored man's forbidden fruit. You had your 12-gauge pumps, you had your snazzy '49 Merc, you had some red devils you bought off Roland Navarette. You were up in Hollywood, white folks' neck of the woods. Sugar was teasing you about being fruit, you kept saying it was just because there were no girls around. Sugar says prove it, prove it, and you guys start peeping. You're getting mad, you're all flying on hop, it's late at night and there's nothing to look at, all those nice white folks have their curtains down. You drive by the Nite Owl, there's these nice white people inside- and it is just too fucking much to take. Poor fat sissy Tyrone, he takes over. He leads his boys into the Nite Owl. Six people are there-three of them women. You drag them into the locker, you hit the cash register and make the cook open the safe. You take their billfolds and purses and you spill some perfume on your hands. Sugar says, 'Touch the girlies, sissy. Prove you ain't queer.' You can't do it so you start shooting and everybody starts shooting and you love it because finally you're more than a poor queer fat little nigger and-'
'NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO!'
'Yes! Where's the guns? You fucking confess and turn over the evidence or you'll go to the fucking gas chamber!'
'No! Didn' kill nobody!'
Ed hit the table. 'Why'd you ditch the car?'
Jones lashed his head, spraying sweat.
'Why'd you burn the clothes?'
No answer.
'Where did the perfume come from?'
No answer.
'Did Sugar and Leroy rape the women first?'
'No!'
'Oh? You mean all three of you did?'
'We didn' kill nobody! We wasn't even there!'
'Where were you?'
No answer.
'Tyrone, where were you last night?'
Jones sobbed; Ed gripped his shoulders. 'Son, you know what's going to happen if you don't talk. So for God's sake admit what you did.'
'Didn' kill nobody. None of us. Wasn't even there.'
'Son, you did.'
'No!'
'Son, you did, so tell me.'
'We didn'!'
'Hush now. Just tell me-»nice and slowly».'
Jones started babbling. Ed knelt by his chair, listened.
He heard: 'Please God, I just wanted to lose my cherry'; he heard: 'Didn't mean to hurt her so's we'd have to die.' He heard: 'Not right punish what we didn' do… maybe she be okay, she don't die so I don't die, 'cause I ain't no queer.' He felt himself buzzing, electric chair, a sign on top: THEY DIDN'T DO IT.
Jones slipped into a reverie-Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Father Divine. Ed hit the #2 cubicle.
Rank: sweat, cigarette smoke. Leroy Fontaine-big, dark, processed hair, his feet up on the table. Ed said, 'Be smarter than your friends. Even if you killed her, it's not as bad as killing six people.'
Fontaine tweaked his nose-bandaged, spread over half his face. 'This newspaper shit ain't shit.'
Ed closed the door, scared. 'Leroy, you'd better hope she was with you at the coroner's estimated time of death.'
No answer.
'Was she a hooker?'
No answer.
'Did you kill her?'
No answer.
'You wanted Tyrone to lose his cherry, but things got out of hand. Isn't that right?'
No answer.
'Leroy, if she's dead and she was colored you can cop a plea. If she was white you might have a chance. Remember, we can make you for the Nite Owl, and we can make it stick. Unless you convince me you were somewhere else doing something bad, we'll nail you for what's in that newspaper.'
No answer-Fontaine cleaned his nails with a matchbook.
A big lie. 'If you kidnapped her and she's still alive, that's not a Little Lindbergh violation. It's not a capital charge.'
No answer.
'Leroy, where are the guns and the car?'
No answer.
'Leroy, is she still alive?'
Fontaine smiled-Ed felt ice on his spine. 'If she's still alive, she's your alibi. I won't kid you, it could get bad: kidnap, rape, assault. But if you eliminate yourself on the Nite Owl now, you'll save us time and the D.A. will like you for it. Kick loose, Leroy. Do yourself a favor.'
No answer.
'Leroy, look how it can go both ways. I think you kidnapped a girl at gunpoint. You made her bleed up the car, so you hid the car. She bled on your clothes, so you burned the clothes. You got her perfume all over yourselves. If you didn't do the Nite Owl, I don't know why you hid the shotguns, maybe you thought she could identify them. Son, if that girl is alive she is the only chance you've got.'
Fontaine said, 'I thinks she alive.'
Ed sat down. '«You think?»'
'Yeah, I thinks.'
'Who is she? «Where is she?»'
No answer.
'Is she colored?'
'She Mex.'
'What's her name?'
'I don' know. College-type bitch.'
'Where did you pick her up?'
'I don' know. Eastside someplace.'
'Where did you assault her?'
'I don' know… old building on Dunkirk somewheres.'
'Where's the car and the shotguns?'
'I don' know. Sugar, he took care of them.'
'If you didn't kill her, why did Coates hide the shotguns?'
No answer.
'Why, Leroy?'
No answer.
'Why, son? Tell me.'
No answer.
Ed hit the table. 'Tell me, goddammit!'
Fontaine hit the table-harder. 'Sugar, he poked her with them guns! He 'fraid it be evidence!'
Ed closed his eyes. 'Where is she now?'
No answer.
'Did you leave her at the building?'
No answer.
Eyes open. 'Did you leave her someplace else?'
No answer.
Leaps: none of the three had cash on them, call their money evidence-stashed when Sugar burned the clothes. 'Leroy, did you sell her out? Bring some buddies by that place on Dunkirk?'
'We… we drove her 'roun'.'
'Where? Your friends' pads?'
'Tha's right.'
'Up in Hollywood?'
'We didn' shoot them people!'
