“The waiter?”
“Or we could just take a guess at something. I mean, how bad could it be, in a place like this?”
“I did this wrong, didn’t I, Tussy?”
“What? You haven’t done anything—”
“I should have asked you where you wanted to eat. Instead of, like you said, putting on a show.”
“You just come out and say what you think, don’t you?”
“Not usually. I’m not that much of a talker.”
“But in your business . . .”
“Oh, I talk all the time,” Dett said, deflecting. “But that’s, like you said, business talk. Negotiations and all. I meant . . . with women.”
“You don’t seem like a shy man to me.”
“I just don’t spend a lot of time going out on dates and stuff. I’m always working.”
The waiter hovered.
Tussy and Dett looked at each other.
“Could I have this?” she said to the waiter, touching a line on the menu.
“Certainement, madame. And for monsieur?”
“I’ll try this one,” Dett said, following Tussy’s example and pointing at random.
“What’s your favorite?” she said, as soon as the waiter departed.
“My favorite?”
“Your favorite food. I know it’s not . . . whatever we just ordered. If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”
“Lemon pie,” Dett said, unhesitatingly.
“That’s no meal!”
“You said whatever I wanted.”
Tussy turned in her seat so she was looking directly in Dett’s eyes. “All right, let’s say it would be lemon pie—my lemon pie—for dessert. What would the main course be?”
“Well, I guess . . . I . . . I guess I don’t think about food much. Maybe a steak?”
“Uh-huh. And what else? You can’t just have steak and pie!” she said, mock-indignantly. “You need a vegetable at least. You like baked potatoes?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t sound all that excited about it.”
“I like the skins. Not the inside, so much.”
“Do you like salads?”
“I like the stuff they put in salads, but not all mixed together, with dressing all over it.”
“Lettuce and tomatoes?”
“Lettuce. And celery. And radishes. And those little onions.”
“Pearls.”
“Pearls?”
“Pearl onions, that’s what they call them, but I never heard of anyone eating them raw. You like real crunchy stuff, huh?”
“I guess I do. Like I said—”
“—you don’t think much about food,” she interrupted, smiling. “You don’t go out on a lot of dates. And you said you weren’t a gambler. What do you do for fun? Watch television?”
“Not so much,” Dett said.
“How old are you, anyway?” Tussy said, laughing.
“I’m thirty-nine. I was born in—”
“Oh, I was just playing,” she said, a touch of anxiety in her voice. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The waiter arrived, and ceremoniously presented the food. Tussy and Dett ignored him until he went away.
“This kind of looks like a little steak,” Tussy said, poking dubiously at the meat on her plate. “And yours, it looks like . . .” She bent over Dett’s plate and sniffed. “Well, I think it’s some kind of fish, but there’s wine in that sauce on it, that’s for sure.”
“The bread’s good,” Dett said, chewing a small morsel he had removed with his fingers. “Anyway, I don’t care. I didn’t come here for the food.”
“Well, I’m not leaving here without tasting everything,” Tussy said. “Gloria, that’s my best friend, she’d kill me if I didn’t describe every square inch of this place, never mind the food.” She resolutely cut off a small piece of the meat on her plate, and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds before swallowing, and saying, “It’s not steak. It’s . . . lamb, I think. What about yours?”
Dett forked a morsel into his mouth, swallowed it without chewing. “It’s all right, I guess.”
“Can I try it?”
“This?” he said, nodding at his plate.
“Yes. That way, I can say I had two different meals here. Besides, it might be good.”
“Sure,” Dett said. He reached for his plate, intending to put it before Tussy, but she had already speared a portion with her fork.
“This is good!” she said.
“Let’s switch,” Dett immediately offered.
“Don’t you like—?”
“Like I said, it’s okay. But it’s not what I came here for.”
Tussy held Dett’s eyes for a long second. Then she reached over and switched their plates with professional skill, blushing furiously.
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 21:02
* * *
The Gladiators’ dull orange Oldsmobile made its third circuit of the lot on Halstead.
“I know that car,” Sunglasses said to Lacy, as he pointed with a black-gloved finger. “That dark-blue Imperial. It’s Dioguardi’s.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” Sunglasses said. “I seen it plenty of times, right in front of that restaurant he owns.”
“You think he’s meeting with that Ace kid?”
“In that spot, who else? It sure as hell isn’t any of the Kings, right? You still want us to drop you off? Two blocks away, it’s their turf. If they spot you . . .”
“Nobody’s going to spot me,” Lacy said. “That’s why the jacket stays in the car. You know how people are always saying niggers all look alike?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you know what? I think it works the same way for them when it comes to us. Without my jacket, I’m just . . . a regular guy. A nothing.”
“Without the jackets, maybe that’s what we all are,” Sunglasses said.
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 21:54
* * *
The check was presented in a natural-calfskin case, open on three sides. Dett unfolded it like a book, glanced at the tab, put a
hundred-dollar bill inside the folio, and closed it.
“It cost that much?” Tussy said.
“No. There’ll be change.”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re not supposed to—”
“You could never do anything wrong,” Dett said. “Not with me.”
The waiter returned with the portfolio. Tussy seemed relieved to see several bills inside when Dett opened it again. He took some of the money, left the rest, and closed it again.
“I trust you found everything to your satisfaction,” the man at the front said, as they walked to the front door.
“Oh, it was just wonderful!” Tussy assured him.
The valet drove Dett’s Buick to where they were waiting. An attendant reached to open the passenger door for Tussy just as Dett stepped forward to perform the same act. The attendant bounced off Dett as if he had hit a wall. Dett closed Tussy’s door gently behind her, and handed the breathless attendant a pair of dollar bills with his other hand, all in the same motion.
Dett walked around to where the valet was holding open the driver’s door. “Your partner’s got your half,” Dett told him, and pulled his door shut.
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 21:58
* * *
As if beckoned by the red glow of Lacy’s just-lit cigarette, Harley Grant’s Chevy glided up. Lacy tossed his cigarette away and got in.
“What was so important, you had to see me?” Harley asked him.
“There’s a meet Wednesday. Between the Hawks and the Kings,” Lacy answered.
“A real one?”
“Yeah. Supposed to go down in the big lot on Halstead, a little ways from where you picked me up.”
“Kids,” Harley said. “What’s that to me?”
“Kids, yeah. Only, we got
a treaty with the Hawks.”
“I told you, Lacy. We’ve got big plans now. You can’t be getting into any—”
“I know that. I know what the plan is. We wouldn’t be fighting with them—on their side, I mean—but they wanted to be sure we’d be around, back them up, in case the Kings bring too many men. Extras, like.”
“We talked this over, Lacy,” Harley said, in the same quietly commanding voice he used with Benny, a voice Royal Beaumont never heard. “If you get your guys into any—”
“We’re not,” Lacy assured him. “But that isn’t what I had to tell you, the important thing. See, the Hawks, they’ve got guns.”
“So do the Kings. It’ll be like it al—”
“Not zip guns, Harley. Real ones.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ace, the President of the Hawks, he showed it to us. Brought it right into our clubhouse.”
“What, exactly, did he show you?” Harley asked, enunciating each word to emphasize its importance.
“A pistol. A real pistol.”
“One like this?” Harley said, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from inside his leather jacket and holding it below the dash.
“Like that,” Lacy said, “only bigger. And it was all bright, too, not like yours.”
“You’re sure?”
“I seen plenty of real guns,” Lacy said. “This was just like the ones the cops carry.”
“He say where he got it? Or if they have any more?”
“He said he got it from the Klan,” Lacy snorted. “But I don’t think so. I think I know where he got it.”
“Where?”
“From Dioguardi.”
“Dioguardi?” Harley said, consciously keeping his voice level. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Where they have their clubhouse, that’s Dioguardi’s building,” Lacy said, defending, but not defensive. “Dioguardi’s got a storefront real close by, too—the one with the windows painted black? And tonight, just before you came, we saw his Imperial, parked in the exact same lot where the meet’s going to go down.”
“This . . . Ace is his name? . . . He was with him? With Dioguardi?”
“We couldn’t see inside the car. But it figures, right? I mean, where would the Klan have heard of some little club like the Hawks?”
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 22:10
* * *
“Did you mean what you said before?” Tussy asked Dett.
“What?”
“That I couldn’t do anything wrong. With you, I mean?”
“Yes. That’s the truth.”
“Walker, how could you say such a thing?”
“I don’t know how I could say it,” Dett told her, as he turned onto Route 44, heading back toward town. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. When I said it, I knew it was. I don’t know how else to explain.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” she said, drumming her fingers lightly on the dashboard.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to keep talking to you.”
“I want to, too,” Dett said.
“I know. I just don’t want you to take what I’m going to say the wrong way.”
“I promise.”
“If you take me home now, I can’t invite you in. The neighbors . . . Some of them, they’ve known me since I was a little girl. And the others, they know I was divorced, so they all think I’m . . . you know.”
“I would never want you to—”
“And the only place I know in town—the only nice place, I mean—where we could sit quietly and talk this late is the diner, and I could never bring you there.”
“Oh,” Dett said, not understanding, but unwilling to say so.
“I know someplace. It’s out in the woods. Where some of the kids go to park. You know, like to—”
“Sure.”
“I want to go there,” Tussy said, firmly. “We could be alone, and talk some more. But I don’t want you to think I’m one of those—”
“I wouldn’t,” Dett said, solemnly. “Never.”
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 22:16
* * *
“Are you crazy, calling me here? At this hour? What if my father had answered the phone?”
“I would have hung up,” Harley said to Kitty. “But I had to take the chance. I have to talk to you.”
“Talk?”
“Kitty, please. This is serious. Real serious. It’s about your brother.”
“If you’re just—”
“I’m not. Please, Kitty. I can’t tell you this on the phone. Can’t you just meet me by the back of—?”
“No! And if you come by here, everyone in the neighborhood will hear those loud mufflers of yours.”
“I already traded cars. For the night, I mean,” Harley added, hastily. “It’s a black Caddy.”
“Fit right in around here, huh?”
“Kitty, now’s not the time to be doing that. Will you meet me or not?”
“I could go over to Della’s house for an hour, maybe. But that’s all, Harley. When could you—?”
“I’m only a couple of blocks away,” Harley said, speaking urgently into a pay phone, one hand inside his leather jacket. “Just walk to the end of the block, I’ll pick you up.”
* * *
1959 October 05 Monday 22:43
* * *
“I haven’t been here in . . . God, I can’t even remember the last time I was here. But it is beautiful, isn’t it? You can see the moon right through the trees.”
“Want to sit outside?”
“Outside? I’m all dressed up, and we don’t even have a blanket or . . . or do you?” Tussy said, a faint hint of wariness edging her voice.
“A blanket?” Dett said. “No. Where would I get a blanket? I thought, maybe, you could sit on the hood of the car. On my jacket, I mean, so you wouldn’t mess up your dress.”
“You’d ruin your coat,” Tussy said. The little smile at the corners of her mouth seemed to reach inside her words.
“No, I wouldn’t. And that way, I could . . . see you better. They didn’t even let us sit across from each other in that restaurant.”
“Yes. Wasn’t that—?”
“I thought you’d feel better that way, too. Outside, I mean.”
“Me? Why? Oh!”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“What you said was just right, Walker. Come on, let’s do it, just like you said.”
Dett spread his jacket on the Buick’s broad hood. Tussy took his hand, put one foot on the heavy chrome bumper, and stepped, turning as she sat down. “It’s warm,” she said, giggling.
“It is,” Dett agreed. “More like summer than—”
“I meant, where I’m sitting,” Tussy said, hiding her face behind her hand. “From the engine.”
“Oh. Do you want to—?”
“It’s fine,” she said, fumbling in her purse.
Dett moved close to her, matches ready.
As he leaned in, Tussy kissed him on the cheek, so butterfly-soft that he couldn’t be sure if it had actually landed.
“You want to know all about me, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes.”
“That’s so strange.”
“What is?”
“Just that you’d want to know, for real. When people ask, they really don’t, mostly. They’re just being polite. But what’s so . . . strange is that I know it myself, somehow. That you truly want to, I mean.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t—”
Tussy blew a jet of cigarette smoke to stop Dett from talking. “After my mother had me, she couldn’t have any more children, the doctor said. She used to tell people that was fine with her, because I was more than enough for anyone to handle.
“I had such a lovely life. I never knew how lovely it was until it happened. When I was fifteen.”
Dett watched Tussy’s face intently, silently willing her
to go on.
“My parents were killed,” she said, quietly. “People said it was an accident, and I guess it was. But I say ‘killed,’ because that’s what happened to them. They were coming home from the movies. It was pretty late, but I was up, because I was waiting for people to come home from the movies, too. I was babysitting, for the Taylor kids. I was a great babysitter. Everybody wanted me, because I was so reliable. I’d been doing it since I was eleven. I bought all my own clothes for school with the money I made, and I even had extra left. I was so proud of that.”
“Drunk driver?” Dett said.
“They were all drunk,” Tussy said, pain and sorrow twisted in her voice, “every single one of them in that car. It was just before Pearl Harbor. Everyone knew we were going to war, sooner or later. My dad had been in World War I. He always said that was supposed to be the last one, but there would never really be a last one, not with the way people are. . . .”
Tussy’s voice trailed off. Dett descended into the silence with her; he stood immobile, as if any movement would frighten her away.
Tussy took a deep drag of her cigarette, blew the smoke out in a vicious jet of anger. “They were all college boys,” she said. “Seven of them, in one car. They were going like maniacs. My folks were stopped at a light. They came right through the red and just . . . smashed them to pieces.”
“What happened to them?”
“I told you,” she said, sharply. “They were kil— Oh, you mean, what happened to the college boys? Nothing. They didn’t even get hurt. The driver walked away. I mean, he walked right out of his car. His big, huge new car. It crushed my dad’s little Ford like it was made of paper.”
“Did he go to jail? The driver, I mean.”
“Jail?” she said, bitterly. “I told you, they were rich boys. Maybe they got a ticket or something, I never knew. When the Taylors got home, we waited for my folks to come by and pick me up. But they never came. It got real late. There was a knock on the door, finally. It was the police.”
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