Wherein Everage attempts reconciliation, Delano starts a new life, his own,
and Danvers deafens a duo.
August 1, 1950
"Man, I wish I could drive you at least to Euclidean, but I gotta set up
the kitchen this morning."
"Don't sweat it, brother." Delano grabbed his duffel bag from the back
of Cero's old truck, swung it onto his shoulder. "Just tell Titus I'm
sorry I missed him, and to bring the rest of my stuff to Biloxi if he
gets down that way. Tell him to look for me at the gym." Frank had told
him that Dumond might hire him on as a trainer.
Delano shook hands with Titus' co-worker, and looked south as Cero did a
U-turn and headed back to Gulfport.
The sun wasn't above the trees yet, and already Delano felt sweat
trickling down his neck. If he didn't get a ride by ten, he planned to
nap in the shade of a live-oak until three or four this afternoon. If
no one had offered him a ride, he would walk all night or until someone
did.
He had been walking close to an hour when a car's horn honked as it
came abeam of him. It rolled to stop on the shoulder a hundred feet
ahead him. Delano ran up to the shiny, brand-new Lincoln, noting the tag
read Harrison County. With luck, he might have a ride all the way to the
coast.
The driver leaned over to roll down the passenger side window. Delano
leaned down to talk and found himself face-to-face with Everage.
"I can give you a ride to the Euclidean cut-off. Hop in."
Everage turned the handle, pushed the door all the way open. Delano made
no move to comply. "Get in. If I was gonna kill you, I would have shot
you already." He looked pointedly up and down the road. No cars were
coming; Delano had passed the last house about fifteen minutes ago. "You
see any witnesses?"
A drop of sweat burned its way into Delano's eye. His shirt was stuck to
his back. "Thanks, but I'll pass." Delano put his hand on the door, but
did not close it. Everage shrugged, gave a no-hard-feelings sort of
look. Delano thought of a dozen different things to say to him. What
came out was, "This is the Cosmo, right?"
"Nineteen-fifty Cosmopolitan, top of the Lincoln line. Same model the
White House ordered twenty of. The car of choice for high-ranking
federal types."
"I thought you were a truck guy."
"I still got the Power Wagon. Needed a nice ride to impress some
influential people with. Got this one for twenty-five hundred. They go
for thirty-two, when the dealer isn't a regular at a certain house of
ill repute." Everage took a thin cigarette out of his pocket, lit it.
The aroma of marijuana filled the car and tickled Delano's nostrils.
"Well, there goes the new-car smell."
Everage chuckled, offered the reefer to Delano, who declined.
"Right, I forgot you like the powders."
"Naw, I quit all that. I have an addictive personality, so I'm told.
Best to stay sober."
Everage nodded, let out a breath. " 'Swat I told you. You should listen
to friends."
Delano gave it a second before answering. "That night back in
forty-seven, Everage. When I took off in your truck? There were two of
you alive. Mitch tells me that they found four bodies in the ashes of
Lucius' home. Frank told me that you had two Mexicans, friends of yours,
working on the ranch. I think the fellow I shot was one of them. And
you killed the other because it was easier to get away by yourself than
if there was two of you."
"This ain't news to me."
"The point bein', as bad I dislike knowing you're out to get me, I would
surely regret thinking you were my friend even more."
Everage shrugged, blew out a puff of smoke as he studied the glowing tip
of the reefer. "I guess having friends is one way to live. Then there's
mine." To which he added, "The flowers are the best."
"Say what?"
"The flowers." He repeated. "That's where the buzz is. The leaves aren't
worth a damn." Everage took another drag. "This came from Oaxaca,
Mexico. And they separate the flowers, sell them for a higher price.
Gotta pay more, but you get a quality high without burning out your
lungs."
It smelled good, Delano had to admit. "Gimme that."
Everage watched Delano as he smoked."Take a couple of puffs, Catch up."
"This don't make us buds, understand?"
"I got it, Delano. A truce, right?"
"Yeah, smoke'em peace pipe, like that Indian who raised you would say."
"Wolfheart didn't raise me, he schooled me. And he never smoked a peace
pipe, because he never made peace."
"My mistake."
The joint was tiny now. Everage squeezed the burning end between two fingers,
and dropped the remainder back in his shirt pocket.
"Well, I'm glad we cleared the air." Everage said as he blew out the
last puff. Delano chuckled in spite of himself. He swung the door shut
and re-shouldered his duffel bag.
"Watch who you catch a ride with." Everage was rolling up the window as
he spoke.
"Just a second, Everage. Finish what you were sayin' earlier, about
friends."
The window pane stopped sliding up. Delano's reflection aligned
perfectly with the half of Everage's face that was visible. Delano was
pondering that odd juxtaposition as Everage answered.
"You should know what I mean, it's kept us both alive. You can count on
your friends to help you out, or you can just be too much damn trouble
to kill." Everage's eyes were replaced by a reflection of Delano's, the
Lincoln's engine rumbled to life, and Delano was left standing by himself
in the hot sun.
--------------------------
August 3, 1950
"I had just turned five, and Mom gave me some change, and sent me up to
Mason's to buy a loaf of bread. Old Man Mason told me that they had no
bread because the delivery was late."
The trunk of a pine tree, probably drifted in from Horn Island, had
settled into the sand in the path of the two runners. About thirty feet
long, there was beach enough on either side of the obstacle that they
could have run around it. Instead, Frank leapt and cleared it, came down
running. Delano jumped, tucked his legs in, and did a flip over the
trunk, stumbled a bit as he landed, but kept running.
Frank took a break from his story to chide his friend. "You could have
broken an ankle doing that."
"That's why I always do my running with a doctor." Delano responded as
he pulled even with Frank, who shook his head and finished his childhood
tale.
"So I walked back home, and told her that. Mom asked for the money back,
and I told her that I had thrown it away. She looked shocked, and I
said, "But I didn't need it anymore."
"And the moral is..."
"No moral." Frank said. "That is how I think Everage conceives of
friendship."
They had reached the marina, their turnaround point. On the way, Delano
had related to Frank what he could remember of his encounter with Everage. It
was three miles back to the car, but the wind would be at their backs.
Neither man stopped moving, instead running in place as they talked.
"Race back? Loser buys lunch."
"You buy either way. I don't get a check until next Friday." Delano had
been worried that Dumond would hold Agee's death against him, but the
old cajun had been happy to see him, and eager to hire him on.
"Okay, how about the loser does fifty push-ups?
"Frank, I can do fifty in my sleep."
"Fifty one-handed, twenty-five each hand."
"Agreed." And Delano took off. Frank had expected it, however, and was
only a stride behind his friend.
Delano walked with Frank out his car. In addition to a salary, Dumond
had offered Delano the room upstairs above the gym. Delano needed a
place to stay, Dumond felt better if someone was on the premises after
hours.
Frank tossed his workout clothes in the back seat. He was headed for the
clinic, so he had changed into his whites rather than waste time at the
office. Delano was wearing clean gray sweat pants and matching shirt. A
couple of shipyard workers on the late shift liked to spar and/or work
out after they got off work in the morning. Delano had already pegged
one as having potential, and he planned on talking the fellow into being
Delano's first trainee.
"Dumond gives me a bonus for every new member I bring in. And, if the
guy has any talent, I get a piece of his fights."
"Well good luck with that, Delano. I'm glad things are looking up. For
both of us."
Delano looked away, seeming to be suddenly interested in the sparse
traffic on the road fronting the gym. Frank knew he still didn't trust
Everage. Hell, even Frank had doubts, in part because of his friends'
warnings. But everything was in play; if Everage didn't come through
Frank still had a lucrative practice, he be okay. If Everage did come
through...
"I understand why you didn't take up Everage's offer of a ride, Delano.
But you never said why you were hitching a ride in the first place."
'Delano snorted. "It was stupid. The bus driver was a redneck, called me
'boy'. And he was rude to an old black lady on her way to her son's
funeral. If I had stayed on until we reached the coast, that fat
pig-eyed prick would be missing some teeth."
"Yeah," Frank agreed. "No way to start your first day back in your home
state."
A late-model Ford pulled into the parking lot. "There's my student,
Frank." They shook hands, Frank drove off after promising to pick him up
at lunchtime , and Delano escorted the two big men, still in their work
clothes, inside.
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August 3, 1950, Nine p.m.
Danvers patted the gun under his left shoulder. He resisted the urge to
practice a smooth, quick draw one more time. Everage had quit frisking
him a few meetings ago, seeing that Danvers had realized there were some
advantages to their involuntary partnership. Indeed, the information he
had given the D.A. was going to make Mississippi the state others would
look to for clues on how to solve their own organized crime problems.
And he, Danvers, would be the guy whose counsel every law enforcement
official sought.
Trouble was, Everage intended on being there to give Danvers, Governor
Danvers, counsel, whether needed or not. He did not want the big, coldly
brutal black man on his team, and there seemed only one way to get him
out of his life. Well, maybe two ways.
The car slowed to a stop beside him. The passenger side door opened as
if in response to the voice from within. "Get in before the mosquitoes
do."
Danvers complied, and was rewarded with a wave of cool air. "Air
conditioning!" Only the State Attorney General rated a car with such a
luxury. District D.A.'s such as himself were allowed to purchase and
install a system in their government-issue vehicles.
"Right, Guv'nor. Although you wouldn't sweat as much if you dressed more
sensibly." Everage was wearing a loose cotton shirt and white slacks.
"I have to wear this damn suit. I'm supposed to be at a meeting."
"And so you are."
"Nice car. Yours?"
"Yeah. The Cosmopolitan. Figured a man with your public image deserves
better than a war-era truck for conducting our business. Why don't you
show me what you have in the briefcase? You might still have time to
visit the park."
Danvers hated Everage's references to his sin. But he put it out of his
mind for the moment. "This is the preliminary report, but everything is
in here. People, places, amounts."
They were still driving north. Everage slowed down, turned the car
around so it was facing south, and pulled to the side of the road. "This
is far enough. Let me see." He turned on the interior light, leafed
through the thick sheath of type-written paper, the logo of the State of
Mississippi at the top of every page.
"Nice. There are a few additions I need you to make. Raw emeralds are
being imported, duty-free, shall we say, on a banana boat that comes to
Gulfport every..."
"I can't add any more to this. Twice I've delayed this report for your
'one more' this and 'by the way' that. You and your associates will have
to be satisfied with this as it reads now."
Everage spoke as he continued scanning the report. "I don't have any
associates. You think I trust anyone that much? What I do have...."
That admission, that he worked alone, steeled Danvers resolve. That and
the realization that this would never be over, Everage would always want
more, and then more on top of more. He pulled the gun, held it close to
his chest, aimed at Everage's midsection.
Everage looked up casually. "The heat getting to you? I can start the
car, get the cool air flowing again."
"You screwed up, telling me you have no partners. I was beginning to
think you were a one-man operation. Thanks for confirming it." He
started to squeeze the trigger, Everage still showed little reaction.
"I'm going to kill you, if you want to say a prayer, do it quickly."
Everage looked skyward. "Oh Lord," he began. Tell this wretched sodomite
that I don't need partners. What I do need, Lord, is to get home before
the mail runs tomorrow. If I miss the postman, Lord, in two days time
various officials and reporters will be opening envelopes of a romantic
dalliance between Jody," Everage looked down from the heavens and into
Danvers' eyes. "That is the name you use when meet the Filipino sailors,
correct me if I'm wrong." He turned his gaze skyward again. "Where was
I?"
"Damn you!"
Everage felt more than saw Danvers' gun hand rise up. He swatted the
gun, a Remington Derringer, aside as Danvers squeezed the trigger. A
spider-web of cracks appeared in the rear window.
Before Danvers could waste another window, Everage punched him in the
face, hard. He felt the man's nose cartilage crumble under the blow, but
he couldn't hear it; the sound of the shot in such closed quarters had
deafened him. Temporarily, he hoped. Danvers' eyes rolled up in his
head.
Everage plucked the gun from the unconscious man's hand and set it
on the seat. He got out of the car, shook his head in an attempt to get
rid of the ringing sound as he walked around to the passenger's side and
opened the door. Danvers' limp body fell out onto the gravel, one leg
still in the car. Everage pulled him the rest of the way out, laid him
on his back, hands on his chest, parallel to the road. Then he got back
in the car, turned the key, backed up until he could see Danvers laying
if front of the lincoln. There was a set of oncoming headlights. Everage
drove the Lincoln over Danvers as the truck slowed to a stop.
"Hey buddy! Need a hand?"
Everage opened the window, was slightly amused at the look he got when
the driver saw he was talking to a negro in a car he hinself could never
afford. "Just over-heated a bit, Thanks for the offer." But the
samaritan was already rolling south, gaining speed. Everage was glad he
could hear the guy; his hearing was returning, but the ringing was still
there. He reached behind him, found the Louisville Slugger, and opened
the door. He leaned out and down, and poked the bat under the car until
he made contact with something soft. Then he poked it again, guessing he
was hitting a shoulder. He adjusted his aim forward a foot and made
another probe. This time he was rewarded with an agonized cry and a
thump as Danvers' head came up and hit the engine block.
He thought he heard scuffling, a scraping of gravel and sand. The
ringing muffled most of it. "Don't move, or I will run over your sorry
ass. Can you hear me?" There was a grunt Everage took as a yes. "I am
going to leave you here, let you walk back to your car. It's about six
miles, maybe seven. Might clear your head, and give you time to come up
with a story as to why you look like crap. Your gun is thirty feet in
front of you." He said as he removed the second bullet before throwing
the gun out the window ahead of the car. "Meet me, same time, same
place, next Wednesday, and be ready for a cavity-search. That ought to
be the highlight of your week."
Danvers felt little rocks hit him all over as Everage sped off. He
didn't want to get up. He didn't want to walk seven feet, much less
seven miles back to town. There was little traffic this time of night,
but someone was bound to come along and see him, looking disheveled and
beaten.
With little choice, he walked. The gun was where Everage said it would
be; empty, of course. He didn't bother with the shoulder holster, opting
instead to drop it into his coat pocket. There was a clink, barely
heard, as Danver's hearing was still below par. But he knew what it was.
He had replaced the bullets in the gun with hollow-points in
anticipation of killing his tormenter. He had wanted to make sure that
Everage went down. Christ, the man was fast, too fast to be human. He
was a devil, and devils don't die. His own demons were testament to that
fact.
He took the gun back out of his pocket, pivoted the barrels upward, and
put the .41 Rimfire cartridges back in the little weapon. The Rimfire
cartridges had a velocity when fired of 425 feet per second, slow as
bullets go, although quite deadly at close range. Some people, Danvers
included, could see the bullet in flight. He figured Everage could catch
the damn thing in his teeth, spit it back at him.
Danvers hated feeling powerless, not in control, almost as much as he
hated being a homosexual, maybe more. He looked at the gun; the pearl
handle shone in the moonlight. He did have one option, not a new
consideration. He had first contemplated taking his life when that
corporal caught him with the French boy. Bastard made sergeant because
of Danvers' recommendation, but he knew the man had talked about it. The
sudden silences when he walked into a room, the snickers overheard when
he left, were not his imagination.
The rumors followed him through two postings. He couldn't bring himself
to end his life, so he decided to get the Krauts to do the job for him.
Trying to get himself killed cost many German lives, and earned him a
bronze and a silver star. And the talk stopped; no one believed a
'faggot', a 'fairy', a 'queer', could be so brave. If they only knew, he
thought with a smile.
He kept smiling, he made a decision. I wonder if I can make it look like
an accident, or a murder that remains unsolved. He was near a bridge
over a small stream. Maybe I can shoot myself, throw the gun in the
water before I die. No one will discover my secret. Deana wouldn't miss
him; their marriage was as childless as it was loveless. "I can do it."
He said as he turned the gun toward himself. Shoot myself, throw the
gun. He pressed the barrel into the flesh next to his heart. Shoot, throw.
Shoot, throw. Shoot....
The bullet ripped threw his chest, missed the heart, severed a major
artery as he had planned, but then slammed into his spine. His arms went
limp, the gun dropped to the ground next to his buckling legs. He died
as he watched the headlights round the bend and approach him from the
south.
Everage saw a flash as he approached the bridge. He had driven until he
saw a two-track firebreak road, and gone down it far enough to be unseen
from the highway. He took the baseball bat and shattered the remainder
of the rear windshield. For good measure he but a few dings in the door
and the trunk, and smashed a tail light. If a cop pulled him, he could
say the car was vandalized by someone who thought no black man should
drive an auto that fine. Then he went back north to pick up Danvers before
another car came along.
Now he was alongside Danvers' still-bleeding out body, wondering how this
development would affect his plans. The meet with the Italians was in
two days. A dead prosecutor would scare them off, but not a missing one.
As he dragged the lifeless form into the woods, another idea came to
him. He was remotely aware how shocked normal people would be, but felt
no revulsion himself. It was good idea; all he felt was a little pride
in thinking of it.
Once the body was hidden to his satisfaction, Everage started out of the
woods. "See you in the morning, partner." His voice sounded like he was
hearing it through a wall.
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