“Be quiet and listen. Something very bad’s happened. Is still happening. Sadie’s been hurt already. Maybe a lot.”
There was a brief pause. When he spoke again, Deke sounded younger: like the tough man he had undoubtedly been forty years and two wives ago. Or maybe that was just hope. Tonight hopeand a man in his late sixties was all I had. “You’re talking about her husband, aren’t you? This is my fault. I think I saw him, but that was weeks ago. And his hair was much longer than in the yearbook picture. Not the same color, either. It was almostorange.” A momentary pause, and then a word I had never heard from him before.“Fuck!”
I told him what Clayton wanted, and what I proposed to do. The plan was simple enough. Did the past harmonize with itself? Fine, I would let it. I knew Deke might have a heart attack—Turcotte had—but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. It was Sadie.
I waited for him to ask if it wouldn’t be better to turn this over to the police, but of course he knew better. Doug Reems, the Jodie constable, had poor eyesight, wore a brace on one leg, and was even older than Deke. Nor did Deke ask why I hadn’t called the state police from Dallas. If he had, I would have told him I believed Clayton was serious about killing Sadie if he saw a single flashing light. It was true, but not the real reason. I wanted to take care of the son of a bitch myself.
I was very angry.
“What time does he expect you, George?”
“No later than seven-thirty.”
“And it’s now… quarter of, by my watch. Which gives us a smidge of time. The street behind Bee Tree is Apple-something. I disremember just what. That’s where you’ll be?”
“Right. The house behind hers.”
“I can meet you there in five minutes.”
“Sure, if you drive like a lunatic. Make it ten. And bring a prop, something he can see from the living room window if he looks out. I don’t know, maybe—”
“Will a casserole dish do?”
“Fine. See you there in ten.”
Before I could hang up, he said, “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.”
His reply was close to a dog’s growl. “Good.”
6
The street behind Doris Dunning’s house had been Wyemore Lane. The street behind Sadie’s was Apple Blossom Way. 202 Wyemore had been for sale. 140 Apple Blossom Way had no FOR SALE sign on the lawn, but it was dark and the lawn was shaggy, dotted with dandelions. I parked in front and looked at my watch. Six-fifty.
Two minutes later, Deke pulled his Ranch Wagon up behind my Chevy and got out. He was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a string tie. In his hands he was holding a casserole dish with a flower on the side. It had a glass lid, and looked to contain three or four quarts of chop suey.
“Deke, I can’t thank you en—”
“I don’t deserve thanks, I deserve a swift kick in the pants. The day I saw him, he was coming out of the Western Auto just as I was going in. It had to’ve been Clayton. It was a windy day. A gust blew his hair back and I saw those hollows at his temples for just a second. But the hair… long and not the same color… he was dressed in cowboy clothes… shit-fire.” He shook his head. “I’m getting old. If Sadie’s hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Are you feeling all right? No chest pains, or anything like that?”
He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Are we going to stand here discussing my health, or are we going to try to get Sadie out of the trouble she’s in?”
“We’re going to do more than try. Go around the block to her house. While you’re doing that, I’ll cut through this backyard, then push through the hedge and into Sadie’s.” I was thinking about the Dunning house on Kossuth Street, of course, but even as I said it, I remembered that therewasa hedge at the foot of Sadie’s tiny backyard. I’d seen it many times. “You knock and say something cheery. Loud enough for me to hear. By then I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“What if the back door’s locked?”
“She keeps a key under the step.”
“Okay.” Deke thought for a moment, frowning, then raised his head. “I’ll say ‘Avon calling, special casserole delivery.’ And raise the dish so he can see me through the living room window if he looks. Will that do?”
“Yes. All I want you to do is distract him for a few seconds.”
“Don’t you shoot if there’s any chance you might hit Sadie. Tackle the bastard. You’ll do okay. The guy I saw was skinny as a rail.”
We looked at each other bleakly. Such a plan would work onGunsmokeorMaverick,but this was real life. And in real life the good guys—and gals—sometimes get their asses kicked. Or killed.
