Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

I hoped I wouldn'’t have to play the next card, but Paul’s not giving me any choice. “I'm sorry to hear that. Because if you don'’t run, you know who’s going to get the job.”

Paul blanches again. “Shad Johnson?”

“Yep.”

“Christ.”

“Who knows? Maybe that wouldn'’t be such a bad thing.”

“Bullshit.” Paul lowers his voice. “I was talking to Father Nightingale, from out at Mandamus Baptist? He speaks for a lot of the black community. He doesn’'t even like Shad being district attorney. Said you can’t trust him as far as you’d throw him. I'm not sure the blacks would even turn out for him.”

“They will if you’re not in the race. But if you’re in it, they’ll vote for you. They know where your heart is.”

Labry looks away for a while, then turns back to me. “Penn, if you can’t accomplish the things we dreamed about, what chance do I have?”

“That'’s the wrong way to look at it. I aimed too high. I wanted to solve the education problem because that’s where salvation lies, but I couldn'’t do it. I used to blame the whites for that, but there’s blame on both sides.”

He nods dejectedly. “You know what I think the real obstacle is?”

“Does it even matter? The existing public facilities couldn'’t absorb the kids from the private schools even if their parents decided to send them.”

“Oh, hell, that’s just a matter of money. If we really brought all those kids into one system, what you’d have is a bunch of white kids

who couldn'’t make the athletic teams and a bunch of black kids who couldn'’t make their grades. You talk about something nobody wants?

That'’s

it.”

There’s truth in what Labry says, but he knows the reasons run deeper. “Paul, if I was going to live up to my principles, I would have moved Annie to the public school on the day I was elected. But I didn't. I was unwilling to risk my child’s education, and maybe her safety, unless there were a dozen other white kids in there with her. It’s time for someone with more conviction and a different list of priorities to give it a shot. And that’s you.”

Labry’s blushing now. “You know, I think when we lost the Toyota plant, we lost the mandate you had after the election. We’ll eventually get there on education. But people’s first concern is high-paying jobs.”

“You’ll never get the latter without the former. But there are lots of other things to be done. Annexation of county land. Pushing through the eco-preserve on the creek. Keeping the selectmen from covering the bluff with RV parks. Schmoozing people like Hans Necker. You’re twice as good as I am at that stuff. Be honest, Paul. Don’t you want the job?”

Labry looks down and twists the toe of his shoe into the grass. “From what I’'ve seen these past years, being mayor’s about dealing with a bunch of people who all think they'’re something special.”

“Well, aren'’t they? If anyone still believes that, I figured it was you.”

“Sure they are. But no more special than anybody else. We get in trouble when we start thinking we’re better than our neighbor. Or that somebody else is better than the rest of us. But that’s what people always do.”

“Is that how you see me? As a guy who thinks he’s better than other people?”

Paul laughs softly. “That'’s the funny thing. You

are

better, in a lot of ways. Oh, I'm sure you'’ve got your secrets; everybody does. But knowing you like I do, knowing all you'’ve accomplished in your past, and then seeing you fail in your own eyes…”

“I'm not a politician, Paul. That'’s why I never ran for DA in Houston. I was a lawyer at heart. Now I'm a novelist, and I think that spoiled me. When you write a book, you have total control of

the universe and everyone in it. When you’re mayor of a town, you’re lucky if you can control yourself, much less anyone else.”

Labry steps onto a low concrete wall and sweeps his hand to take in the whole of the cemetery. “Look out there. Jewish Hill, Catholic Hill, Protestants between. Colored Ground. Babyland, where the unwed mothers’ babies went if they died. We try so hard to stay separate from each other that we even do it in death. It’s tribal, man, and it’s not just the South.” Paul turns and points toward the rear of the cemetery. “But the truth is over there behind Catholic Hill, in those thick woods. Paupers’ Field. There’s three thousand bodies back there, just dropped in holes in the ground. In the dark under those trees, there’s no separation. The roots are growing down through all of them, just alike.”

“I'm not sure I see where you’re going. But it doesn’'t sound like you’re too interested in being mayor.”

“We’re all equal before God,” Labry says. “That'’s what I'm saying. But nobody walking this planet seems to get that. Everybody sins, Penn.

Everybody.

That'’s the great leveler. Not death.

Sin.

”

“I was hoping for a more definitive answer.”

Labry gazes into the forest for a while. Then without warning he springs off the wall and looks up at me with a grin. “Hell, yes, I'’ll do it. I'’ll be the damnedest mayor this town ever had!”

I look back in amazement for a few moments, then we both burst out laughing.

CHAPTER

41

Caitlin hunches low behind the wheel of her car and takes a sip from a can of diet Dr Pepper. She’s parked between two trucks in the lot of the Bargain Barn on Highway 15. She knows Darla was lying. The girl was so flustered that she’s bound to panic and leave the store at her first opportunity. Forty minutes have passed since Caitlin left the store, but her cell phone has not rung. Despite Caitlin’s promises of confidentiality, Darla was too rattled for that. But Caitlin has dealt with enough sources to recognize the signs of panic. This is a lot like fishing, or what she remembers her father trying to teach her of it during the summers she stayed with him. Only out here there’s nowhere to pee.

Using her cell phone, she’s trying to Google some more recent information on local Pentecostals when Darla McRaney hurries through the door of the Bargain Barn, looks right and left, then runs to an ancient Pacer hatchback parked in the corner of the lot. Once she’s inside, Caitlin starts her own car but stays low behind the wheel until the Pacer reaches the highway turn.

Darla crosses the westbound lanes, then turns east toward Vidalia and Natchez. Caitlin follows, but since there aren'’t many traffic lights on this road, she leaves ten or twelve car lengths between them.

Less than a mile down the highway, the Pacer turns into a used-

car dealership. It’s a small operation with older-model cars and pickup trucks parked on a vacant lot with the grass worn down to mud in many places. Garish signs scream EASY TERMS! and NO MONEY DOWN! while the banner over the gate reads NO CREDIT, NO PROBLEM!

Caitlin pulls onto the shoulder fifty yards from the entrance, then gets out and walks into the parking lot of the adjacent business, a small engine-repair shop. Its parking lot is crowded, making a covert approach to the car lot easy.

Ten yards from the border between the lots, she sees Darla gesturing vehemently at a silver-haired, red-faced man. They’re standing between a van and a large SUV, apparently to shield their conversation from anyone in the trailer that serves as the dealership’s office, but Caitlin has a good view of them both. She creeps along the side of a trailer until she hears Darla call the man Pastor Simpson.

That'’s got to be right,

Caitlin thinks, because now she remembers Simpson from the story she did on charismatic religions.

Having heard enough to be sure of what she’s seeing, Caitlin steps out of cover and walks right up to the pair. “Pastor Simpson?” she says. “I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

Simpson looks up sharply, as though prepared to respond angrily, but then he mistakes Caitlin for a customer.

“Ma’am, I'm busy just now, but if you’ll wait a minute, I'’ll be right with you.”

“I'm not here about a car.”

“That'’s

her,”

Darla says anxiously. “The newspaper lady.”

“Aw, hell,” Simpson says. “What do you want with me?”

“I'm here about Linda Church.”

“I don'’t know who you’re talking about. I never heard a nobody by that name.”

Caitlin sighs wearily. “I find that hard to believe, since the first person Darla ran to after I questioned her about Linda was you.”

“Well, you flustered this poor girl. I'm her pastor. She’s afraid you’re going to put her in the newspaper or somethin’.”

Caitlin holds up both hands in a placating gesture. “I'm not here to put anybody in the newspaper.”

“That'’s a bald-faced lie,” says Simpson with conviction. “That'’s

what you live for, to see your name in the paper. I remember the story you did on our church, don'’t think I don'’t. You twisted the truth ever which way to make us look like fools. I got nothin’ to say to you.”

Caitlin steps closer and speaks with all the sincerity she can muster. “Sir, my only concern is the safety of Linda Church. She’s a material witness to a major crime, and I believe her life is in danger.”

“Well, what’s that got to do with us?”

“I believe you helped Linda. I think you got Darla to carry a note from Linda to Penn Cage.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The mayor and I are very close friends.”

Simpson snorts. “Livin’ in sin is what you mean, ain’t it?”

“Mr. Simpson, I believe you acted as a Good Samaritan to Linda, just as your faith teaches, but I'm not sure you understand how dangerous the people who are looking for her are. If you really want to help Linda, you’ll tell me how to find her. I'’ll make sure she receives around-the-clock protection.”

Simpson stares at Caitlin for a long time, as though about to come clean. Then he says, “It’s hard to stay protected when you’re on the front page of a newspaper. I tell you what, missy. If Linda Church had asked me for help—and I'm not saying she did—I woulda got her straight outta town where no slimy sons-of-bitches could hurt her. Okay? Now, that’s all you’re gonna get from me without the sheriff.”

Caitlin turns to Darla, but before she can speak, Simpson interposes himself between them. “You leave this girl here alone too, or I'’ll have some law on you. We don'’t take kindly to harassment on this side of the river, especially by the likes of you. Now, get off my lot.”

Caitlin tries to step around Simpson to address Darla directly, but he steps in front of her and shoves her backward.

“That'’s assault,” Caitlin says quietly.

“You don'’t get your ass off my property,” Simpson snarls, his eyes blazing, “I'’ll show you some battery too. Git!”

Caitlin holds her ground for a face-saving moment, then turns and walks back to her car.

CHAPTER

42

Walt Garrity blinks in surprise as he’s ushered into Jonathan Sands’s office. He expected the antebellum decor to be uniform throughout the boat, but this room could be the office of a European investment banker. The play that brought him here is simple: He’s told the pit boss that he needs to speak to the manager about a special group event, one the standard event planner won'’t be able to okay without the manager’s approval, and since that’s the case, he’d rather talk directly to the man with the power to answer his questions.