“Naw,” Reginald said. “Winter’s joined the Klan!”
“Reggie, come now,” Quentin said. “You can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
“Papers, hell!” Reggie said. “I went to the City of Kansas looking for you all and I showed up at Molly Shakespeare’s place right after Winter and Lukas had left. The whole town was talking about it. He’d been buying bathtub gin with twenty-dollar gold coins. He hit that train with the Klan, no doubt.”
At the bar, Johnson’s eyes went wide. Everyone else fell silent. Reggie’s smile faded slowly.
“No, I cannot believe it,” Jan said from his table, the first words he’d said. “I do not put anything past young Winter, but I cannot see how they would have him.”
“How they’d have him?” Reggie said. “Shit, Sarge. The Klan ain’t what it used to be. They’re mostly bandits and moonshiners now. They wear the white robes so no one’ll prosecute. Winter was with ’em when they hit the post office, banks, trains. That kind of job. He ain’t torching schools or shooting senators or nothing. It’s just funny, is all.”
“It’s not fucking funny,” Johnson said. His voice was a low rumble.
“Now, Fred,” Reggie said. “You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” Johnson said. “You better know what I mean. Riding with the Klan? The Klan?” Johnson’s voice rose dangerously.
“It was just for the money!” Reggie said. “They weren’t picking on colored folks.”
“In any case, he’s not our problem any longer,” Quentin said. “Let’s all have another drink.”
Johnson looked as if he would say more. But then shook his head, glowered at everyone, and turned to the mirror.
At that moment, Noah entered the room.
“Noah!” Quentin cried. “Everyone, it’s my brother! Someone get him a drink.”
“Well,” Reginald said. “I’ll be double damned if he ain’t your spitting image, Quentin.”
“Fuck him,” Charlie said, but Johnny clapped a hand over his mouth.
Noah walked over to the men slowly, looking around at the shattered glass and overturned tables. By the time he reached them they had fallen quiet.
“Gentlemen,” Noah said. “The police will be here at any minute. You have to get out, and you obviously can’t go through the front door. Fortunately, there’s a passage under the street that leads to a restaurant I own. Please gather up your things.”
“Of course, Brother,” Quentin said. “Johnson, go upstairs and get Bread.”
Charlie’s eyes glittered at Noah from over Johnny’s thick fingers.
46
Unlike the hotel, the restaurant was actually being renovated. The walls were unpainted and unpapered, the floor was rough and uneven, and there was no furniture save for a few tables and chairs.
When the men woke the next day they were stiff from sleeping on the floor. There was no food in the pantry and the men did not have much to entertain them other than a deck of cards. They spent the morning sitting around at the tables and staring at the boarded-up windows and making desultory attempts at conversation.
Charlie was badly hungover and his mood was as black as tar. He was the one to finally say it. “Fuck this. I’m going out for some real food.”
Jan was sitting at a table by the door. He’d known this moment would come.
“No, Charlie,” he said. “You have to stay in.”
“Who’s going to make me?” Charlie snapped. His eyes were red rimmed and his thin hair was standing up. “You?”
“Yes, Charlie,” Jan said. “Me. I will make you stay.”
Charlie tramped toward the door, with Johnny hard on his heels. Jan stood up to block their way.
Quentin was sulking in the corner. Every now and then he would press his eyes up against the cracks between the boards on the windows where the thin lines of light were sliding in.
“Charlie, Johnny,” Quentin said. “Do what Sergeant Müller says.”
Charlie stopped, then Johnny bumped into him from behind. Charlie shoved his brother back and glared at Quentin.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Charlie said.
“You have gone outside enough,” Jan said. “I will not let you ruin my pardon like you have ruined everything else.”
“Shut the fuck up, kraut,” Charlie said, without taking his eyes off Quentin. “Quentin, this is ridiculous. I’m not going to do nothing, but I want my fucking breakfast. Your brother wanted us to stay here, he should have given us our fucking breakfast. It’s not our fault his business is in the newspapers.”
Quentin’s face was lined with shadow from the boarded-up windows. He looked thoroughly demoralized. “Charlie, I understand your frustration,” he said. “The election is very soon. We are almost there.”
“Quentin,” Charlie said. “You can’t tell me you’re going to let that little popinjay coop us up in here. I don’t care if he is your brother. I know you. You won’t let him do it.”
Quentin made a frustrated motion with his hands and leaned farther back into the shadow.
“Hey, come on, Charlie,” Dusty said. “Ease up.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do!” Charlie said. “Quentin, come on now!”
“Go sit down, Charlie,” Jan said.
“Don’t push me, kraut,” Charlie said.
“Sit down now, you fat bully,” Jan said. “It’s your last chance.”
Charlie’s eyes widened and he seemed, with his anger, to grow calmer. He glanced from side to side. Charlie was not a smart man but he had a fair amount of low cunning. He knew that he and his brother were not well liked and without Quentin’s support no one would stand up for him. In particular, he saw Fred Johnson looking at him, just looking, his intelligent and expressive countenance as flat and hard as a penny.
And so he did not lunge. He said, “You don’t tell me what to do, Müller. This ain’t the army. You get that?”
“Fine,” Jan said. “Anything you like.”
But by lunchtime, still with no food, it became clear that something had to be done. The men decided that Jan would go out for provisions. He was back so quickly that the men feared he had not given himself enough time to shop properly, but to their relief he had come back with enough bacon, bread, and coffee for days. He even had a cheap cigar for Charlie, who accepted it with superficial good grace.
Dusty was in the kitchen frying the bacon while the other men drank coffee and ate bread, friends again, when there came a knock at the front door. The sound of it was sharp and distinct, like it was made with a small and heavy metal object.
The men fell quiet. The knock was repeated, deliberate but jaunty.
Seven notes.
Shave and a haircut, two bits.
“It can’t be,” Jan whispered.
Shave and a haircut.
A clear voice cried out with childish fury, “Let us in, you pack of floppy goat cunnies!”
Charlie’s eyes flew open wide. “Well kiss my grits!” he said.
“Lukie!” Johnny cried, barreling toward the front door.
The air seemed to grow colder, and sounds more distinct and clean. The fingers of light coming in from between the cracks were particularly bright and well defined against the darkness.
Stop him, Jan wanted to say, but his throat was frozen.
Johnny threw open the door, and Winter was standing there.
“Auggie!” Johnny howled, throwing his arms around Winter.
“Jesus,” Dusty whispered. A cast-iron frying pan he was holding slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor.
Charlie jogged toward Winter. Reggie glanced at Jan, looking ashamed and a little confused, like a dog after its owner has pretended to throw a stick and instead hidden it behind his back.
Lukas Shakespeare popped out from behind Winter, shrieking greetings to everyone he recognized.
“What the fuck are they wearing?” Dusty asked.
Jan still could not speak, could not mov
e. Laughter was building inside him, trying to get out, but he was afraid that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Winter was wearing a crisply pressed cream-colored suit. His tie and handkerchief were pink, his hair was heavily styled into curls, and even across the room the smell of his aftershave was overpowering. He wore white gloves and shining white leather shoes, and he was carrying a long cane with an ivory handle.
He has lost his mind, Jan told himself. He has gone insane.
But if he had gone mad he had not done so in pedestrian fashion. It was a new kind of madness, a kind of alternate sanity, a different way of reacting and fitting into the world.
Quentin rushed up and shut the door behind the new arrivals.
“Shit, Jan,” Dusty said. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“Go back in the kitchen,” Jan said.
Jan and Dusty moved into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. A moment later it opened again and Johnson came in.
“How did he find us?” Jan asked.
“Don’t sound like you were too inconspicuous out there,” Johnson said. “Acting casual was never your strong suit.”
“What’s Quentin doing?” Jan asked. “His brother said …”
“He’s talking to them. Telling him his brother don’t want them here. But he won’t make Winter leave.”
Jan put his hand on his mouth, then glanced from Dusty back to Johnson.
“The Empire brothers?”
“They think he walks on water since he took the fall for them in Mississippi. If they only knew.”
“Knew what?” Jan asked.
Johnson just shook his head.
“I know you don’t like me,” Jan said. “And I know you and Winter went through a lot during the war. But he can’t join us.”
“Not after he rode with the goddamn Klan, he can’t,” Johnson said.
“We’ve got to watch that kid,” Dusty said. “He’s the fastest draw I’ve ever seen.”
“I am more worried about Winter than a boy,” Jan said. “Fred, we can’t do it without you.”
“I ain’t afraid of him,” Johnson said.
The door to the kitchen opened again and Jan’s hand dropped down to his gun. But it was only Bill Bread.
“Are you with us, Bill?” Jan said.
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you think?” Jan said. “He is going to cost us our pardon.”
After a pause, Bill said, “Jan. You know there is never going to be a pardon.”
“What are you talking about?”
Bill shook his head. “Nothing.”
Johnson looked at Bill very carefully, then said, “You know he’s got to go. Riding with the Klan? After all we fought for?”
“What do you think we were fighting for down there, Fred?” Bill asked. His hair stuck up at a funny angle and he smelled, but his eyes were calm. “What do you think we’re fighting for here? Really?”
“This isn’t the time for your Indian shit,” Dusty said.
“We have to move quickly,” Jan said.
“I’ll take care of Winter,” Johnson said. “Jan, you make sure you’ve got the kid. Dusty, you cover the Empire brothers and the rest. All right?”
“Yes,” Jan said. “Certainly.”
“Motherfucker riding with the Klan,” Johnson said, “and showing his face around here.”
They walked back into the main room. Winter was sitting at the head of a large table near the front door. He was smoking a cigarette in an ivory holder and blowing inexpert smoke rings in the air, to the delight of the Empire brothers.
Winter’s pale yellow eyes locked on Johnson the minute he stepped into view and tracked him all the way across the room. A dribble of smoke slipped through his lips. The boy Lukas tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes into slits and put his hands on his pistols.
As their group came closer, everyone fell silent.
“Good morning, Freddy,” Winter said. “Now how do you do.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Winter?”
Winter paused, and then said, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Johnson said. “And you know what I’m talking about.”
Johnson grabbed a chair and dragged it toward Winter’s table. Jan slipped around behind Lukas and drew his revolver. Winter made a movement with his hand and there was a loud bang. Jan cried out in pain and his weapon hit the floor.
Lukas drew both his pistols and brandished them at Johnson. “Jesus, what was that?”
In Winter’s hand there was a two-shot derringer, a palm pistol smaller than a deck of cards, a girl’s gun. Its handle was ivory and matched the rest of Winter’s outfit. Jan raised his wounded hand to his mouth and sucked the blood.
Johnson didn’t move. The derringer was pointed at him now.
“Why don’t you sit down, Fred,” Winter said, “and we’ll talk this over. Do it real slow now.”
Johnson stared at Winter with his big brown eyes, unafraid, unyielding. He carefully lowered his powerful body into the chair, settled back, and kept looking at Winter.
“You too, Bill,” Winter said.
Bill had crept up with a sawed-off shotgun and had put himself in a position that gave him a clear shot at Winter and the backs of both Empire brothers.
“You first, Auggie,” Bill said.
“No,” Winter said. “You first, Billy.”
Bill braced the weapon against his shoulder.
“Come on now, Billy boy,” Winter said. “It’d have been easier for me to put that shot in Jan’s belly than his pistol. Ain’t no one else going to get shot here. And we both know you’re going to back down before I do. Don’t we?”
Another second, and Bill lowered the shotgun.
Winter made a quick motion and the derringer disappeared up one of his immaculate sleeves. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” he said.
He did not smile. Instead he looked directly into Johnson’s eyes and remained silent. Lukas still had his guns out. No one else had moved.
“Why don’t you let me know what this is about?” Winter asked.
“You know.”
“Go on. Say it.”
“You joined the Klan. You went to the other side.”
“The other side?” Winter said.
“Yeah,” Johnson replied. “And you ain’t welcome here no more. A derringer ain’t going to stop me from throwing you out.”
Winter lifted his cigarette holder to his mouth and inhaled and then leaned back in his chair. He looked at Johnson through a veil of smoke.
“Freddy, you’ve known me almost ten years now and you know I ain’t in the habit of explaining the things I do. I generally let people take me as they like and if there’s a problem I sort it out. But you saved my life in Georgia and a few times since then and so this one time, and only this time, I’ll explain myself to you.”
Johnson didn’t move or respond.
“There’s a lot of talk about what happened in the South, in Mississippi. The truth is, right now, in the South, the war’s still going on. Any civil war is a battle of wills. We won the war because we had the will to do some terrible things, and they didn’t have the will to stand them. They gave up the war because of what we done to them in the Shenandoah, in Georgia and the Carolinas.”
Winter stopped, and his face crinkled in deep thought, as if he was trying to put some kind of feeling into words. The cigarette smoldered in its holder. His expression cleared and he resumed speaking.
“Well, all right. We saved the Union. But now we’re fighting another war, to see what kind of peace we’re going to get. There’s a war going on right now, about what’s going to happen to the freedmen down south. And there’s a lot of talk going on about it up here. But the will is gone, Freddy. There ain’t no will to win the peace like there was to win the war. That’s why they turned on us after Mississippi.”
Winter sucked on his cigarette and exhaled two streams of smoke
through his nostrils.
“They were women and children. But they knew where Captain Jackson and his Klansmen were riding and they wouldn’t have told us if I’d kept the gloves on. Hell, most of them chose to die rather than talk.”
“Did you ever think that the ones who didn’t talk might not have even known?” Jan barked.
“Well, how many colored lives did we end up saving?” Winter asked. “Two dozen that night alone? But what did that matter to them? After all their talk? You mark my words, Freddy. They’ll turn their backs on your kind. They’ll give you up. They’ll leave you to your fate. Just like some men here wanted to hang you for killing your master.”
Johnson’s eyes flicked away.
Winter glanced over at Jan, his expression cold, and then turned back to Johnson.
“Did I ride with the Klan? Sure I did. Our little company had disbanded. Some hard words were said. So I met up with these boys who were hitting a train. You ride with the Klan and you rob the federal government, the people won’t talk about it. We all learned that the hard way, didn’t we? What’s more, the courts won’t prosecute. I took away a thousand dollars for two days’ work. I’d do it again in a fucking heartbeat. And you’re giving me shit for it? After all we been through?”
Johnson looked back at Winter, but the force of his will was gone.
“Here’s the thing, Freddy. Not everyone in this room is smart, or handsome. Ain’t nobody in here a good person. But everyone here has fought together. Everyone here has put his life on the line for everyone else. Everyone here was out in the woods together, out in enemy country, with bushwhackers looking to take our scalps and Klansmen looking to burn us alive. Everyone here put everything he had in the pot. Everybody. Now that’s not talk, Freddy. That wasn’t just words, wasn’t just noise and air. That was real.”
Winter shifted his gaze over to Bill.
“Real,” Winter repeated. “There’s your explanation, Fred. Now I don’t ever want to have this talk with you again. Dusty, pour Freddy a drink.”
Dusty poured a shot of whiskey in a teacup and passed it to Johnson. Winter already had a glass and he lifted it.
“Pick it up,” he ordered Johnson.
Johnson didn’t move.
Winter’s face seemed to lengthen. He shifted forward in his chair and stared down at the cup and then looked back up at Johnson again.
The Winter Family Page 19