Now Let's Talk of Graves (45 page)

*

“How do I get up there?” Sam was standing right up on top of Nadine now, screaming in her ear, pointing at Lavert and Billy Jack. And Harry. That goddamn Harry.

“I'm going to kill you!” she shouted up at him.

*

Billy Jack gasped like a tired fish. He was dying. He knew he was dying. Maybe he was already on the other side. But, no, he could still see his mama. She was standing down there, so pretty, with—why was
she
here? That curly-headed woman he'd seen with Zoe?

Now somebody else was yelling in his ear. “How did you know Church Lee? We know you mugged him. Why did you kill him?”

Who was
that?
Billy Jack could hardly see. Man standing beside Joey's man—with lots of curly hair, wearing a raincoat. Was it raining? It was awfully wet, he knew that.

*

Jimbo's ears perked up at Harry's question. Church Lee? Church Lee! He could tell them plenty about what happened to Church Lee. Or, rather, what hadn't. Now, where the hell was Maynard? And what the hell was going on here? It looked like one of those crazy art films. That little blond guy popping up and out of the water in the baptising tank like one of them little ducks. And Maynard nowhere to be seen. But he didn't think Maynard's old secretary would lie to him. She'd said he was here, so he was here. Now all Jimbo had to do to tell him the good news was to find him.

* * *

Sam was up in the baptismal, up in their faces. “Lavert, let go of him.”

“Why, yes, ma'am,” he said, “I'd be happy to.” Giving her his best grin—like an egg-sucking dog pretending he was innocent. Knowing all the while from the way he was thrashing around that Billy Jack couldn't swim.

*

“Maynard, I know you're in here.” Jimbo was yelling from where he was now, hanging out over the balcony railing. Saying, “'Scuse me, ma'am,” to Nadine, who swiveled her head up at him like he was another piece of fresh hell. Trying again—“Maynard Dupree, come out wherever you are, I've got something mighty important to tell you. Yo! Maynard Dupree!”

*

Lavert was holding Billy Jack up by the hair of his head.

“I do believe I saved his life,” he said.

“Try it,” Harry said to Sam.

“You've lost your mind,” Sam spat out.

“Go ahead. Ask him the big question. I think his pump's primed now.”

What the hell? She leaned over to the miserable little bastard. “Tell us about Church Lee.”

“Where? When?” Billy Jack sputtered. His lips were a little blue.

“At the Pelican.”

“We were just having a drink.”

“After you tried to mug him?”

Billy Jack attempted a nod.

Lavert growled, “Speak, boy. Speak.”

“Yes!”

“What were you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Dunk him again,” Harry said.

“No!” Sam cried, but too late.

“Talking about killing him! Killing Church Lee!” The words spurted out of Billy Jack when he could breathe again.

Sam looked at Harry. Harry looked at Sam. He gave her a wink, said, “Method's a little crude, but works like a charm, seems to me.”

*

Maynard was determined to kill Jimbo. Where was that son of a bitch? He looked up at the balcony, where his voice had come from. Was he up there the whole time? He couldn't have been. He
knew
he saw him in the choir loft. But now Jimbo was
up there
shouting his name right out like that in the temple of his beloved Nadine. Come to show him up. Come to ruin his scene. After all he'd done for him. Given him money. Set him up with his crazy flying lawn chair.

Maynard clenched the .38 in his right hand. Maybe what he ought to do was jump up and save Nadine's son from Mr. Black Person Washington.
That
would set him up with her. No, first things first. Now it was Maynard Dupree versus Jimbo King—to the death. He wasn't going to screw up like he had with Church Lee all those years ago, the duel under the live oaks at dawn. He'd learned his lesson. He'd get it over with. Now. Clean.

*

“What do you mean—killing him?” Sam wanted Billy Jack to be more specific.

“He said he wanted to die. Said he was broke. It was all over. But he wanted his family to collect on his insurance.”

“So why didn't he just die?” Harry growled. “Your story's not making sense, little man.”

“I don't know, I don't know! I didn't even know who he was then!” Billy Jack screamed.

Harry rolled his eyes at Sam. “So what was the plan?”

“He told me about what time he'd drive home that night from the hotel. What route he'd take. I didn't want to use my car, so he got me that old Buick with no tags.”

Sam raised her eyes to Harry's, then back to Billy Jack. “Where'd he get the car?”

“I don't know!”

Lavert shook him.

Then: “Off some old lady. Said she was dead. Said she was a patient. Said he'd never registered it again, so it couldn't be traced.”

“And then?” Harry was impatient to cut to the chase.

“He told me to follow him from the hotel. Somewhere along the way he'd stop, and I'd do him.”

“So you did,” said Sam.

“Yes! I did it! I had to!” Tears rolled down Billy Jack's face, mixing with the baptismal water.

“Why?” asked Sam.

“Because he knew who
I
was. I didn't know who
he
was. But he knew who
I
was. And he said he'd tell my mama I mugged him. It was an accident I mugged
him.
But Mama'd be mad at me again.”

Sam's shoulders slumped. Billy Jack's mama. Nadine. Church's girlfriend. Nadine. Maynard's girlfriend. Nadine. It was shades of the feud between the two men over Madeline Villère all over again. Except this time Church lost and here was Billy Jack.

Church, who was bust and wanted his daughter, rich as Croesus, to collect on his insurance, set up his daughter's supplier, the son of
his
girlfriend, to kill him. Dear God!

“Jesus!” said Lavert, and dropped Billy Jack into the holy water.

*

“You didn't do it, Maynard!” shouted Jimbo, leaning way out over the balcony now. “Can you hear me? I made it all up. You didn't kill Church Lee! I didn't kill him either. I don't know who killed him.”

*

“You son of a bitch!” screamed Maynard from the choir loft.

*

“Maynard!” Nadine cried, whirling. “
You
killed Church?”

*

Maynard took his best shot at Jimbo, but he was out of practice. The bullet ricocheted dead smack into the middle of the glass front of the baptismal tank—which exploded.

Torrents of water gushed down into the choir loft—along with Billy Jack, who landed atop Maynard Dupree, knocking them both cold.

“Billy Jack! Maynard! Billy Jack! Oh, Jesus!” Nadine wailed as she raced up to her two men, only to slip and fall in the tide.

“He didn't do it!” Jimbo yelled from up in the balcony. “He didn't!”

“
Who
didn't?” Sam screamed back, wanting to make sure he wasn't talking about Billy Jack.

“Maynard Dupree! I just made him think he'd put me up to killing Church. He couldn't remember because he was so drunk. Neither of us did nothing!”

Sam wasn't so sure about
that,
and she turned to tell Harry, but both he and Lavert had somehow (Had they flown?) gotten themselves down in the snarl of water and glass and bodies that was Maynard Dupree and Billy Jack.

Harry was gently slapping Billy Jack, whose right arm was crooked at a very peculiar angle. Lavert was applying the same technique, though not so gently, to Maynard Dupree.

*

Arkadelphia, who'd gotten tired of waiting out in the ambulance, bustled up the aisle with the white pebble-grain Bible, his name inscribed on the cover in gold leaf, that his grandmother had given him on the day he was baptized. He carried it in his ambulance kit in case of emergency. “Sister Nadine,” he called. “Sister Nadine, I am such a fan of yours. Could I trouble you to autogr—”

“Get
away
from me!” screamed Sister Nadine.

“Well, I never!' Arkadelphia puffed up.

“Never mind,” said G.T., rising from where she'd hit the deck between two pews as soon as she'd seen Maynard's .38. She patted Ark on the arm. “Never mind. That little bastard's
ours,
bubba. After the police come and do what they're gonna do, we're taking Billy Jack Joyner into hospital lockup in
our
ambulance, and I want you in the back sitting on him, get
him
to autograph your Bible as well as that paperwork we got outstanding from
last
time we picked him up. You know what I mean?”

Forty

SAM PROPPED UP propped up on an elbow, smiled her pretty smile, and said, “Play it again, Harry.”

So he did.

It went like this:

I thought I knew how angels flew

Till you stepped off the plane

Toting all my dreams

In a carryon. Your smile

The end to all my pain.

I'd dreamed so long and prayed so strong

That love would come my way

But Friday eve till Monday morn

Were terrible nights and days

So I went out to the air-o-port

Down the long ramp

Laid my head on the tarmac

Said, Big plane, squash me flat,

I ain't going back, ain't going back

To that old misery, no way, Jack.

And there you were

Sashaying off that plane.

Saying: What you doing's wild, child

Making up new rules, fool

Gonna give your curls a whirl

‘Neath this insane plane.

Come fly with me,

Don't die on me,

Streak the sky with me,

My
love.

Who could resist a deal like this?

I jumped up on your wings.

Said fly me high

Oh my oh my oh my oh my

Waited my whole life

Who knew it could be so easy?

Oh, I thought knew how angels flew

Till you stepped off the plane.…

“I like it a lot. It's come a long way,” she said.

He rolled over, traced a finger across her breasts, naked under the sheet in his big brass bed, the one he'd run out and bought after the first time he'd heard Dylan sing “Lay, Lady, Lay.” Hoping somebody like Sam would come and sprawl herself across it.

There you go, he said to himself now. Nothing like the power of positive thinking.

“Glad you like it.” He grinned.

Sam looked around. On his bedside table sat a jumble of dishes and spoons. She remembered something about stopping at the all-night A&P on the way here last night for chocolate ice cream. In case of an emergency, Harry had said. Her lacy underwear made a small pile on a rattan chaise. She remembered that part better than the ice cream. Harry had undressed her very slowly. Folded things
very
carefully—at least up to a certain point. Your mama did a nice job on you—she remembered saying that. It was the last thing she said for a while that you could quote in a family newspaper.

“Not bad for a kid,” she said now.

“What?”

“I said for a kid you do pretty good work.”

“Not bad yourself for an old broad.” He reached over and grabbed a handful of her, his mouth on hers. Showed her he hadn't forgotten how quickly they found what they were looking for last night, the sweet fit.

After rerunning a few moves she wouldn't mind getting real used to, she said, “I didn't plan this.”

“Well, I'm glad I did.”

She punched him. “Scheming all along to get me here?” As if the thought had never crossed
her
mind.

“No, now that you put it that way. I kept thinking it would be upstairs at the Royal O. Or maybe a room at the Maison de Ville.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh.”

“You think I'm kidding?”

Sam leaned back against a pile of pillows and stretched long and lazy. Feeling like she did today, she'd happily listen to any kind of nonsense. “Give it to me from the top.”

He strummed the chorus of her song on his guitar, saying, “Well, first I was going to take you to lunch at Galatoire's.”