In search of Hillbilly, Clyde drove into Holiday, cruised the streets, saw him through a plate-glass window at the cafe, parked and went in.
Hillbilly sat at a table by himself drinking coffee, a saucer with a fork and pie crumbs on it at his elbow. He looked up as Clyde came in, stood over the table.
“Clyde,” Hillbilly said.
“Sonofabitch.”
“Damn, man. We’re in a public place.”
“Step outside, Mr. Song Bird. We won’t be public then.”
“We’ll be on the street, moron. That’s public too.”
“Yeah. Well, at least the furniture won’t get broken.”
Hillbilly sighed. “What’s the matter with you?”
Clyde looked around. Patrons were starting to stare. He sat down at the table, put his elbows on it, leaned forward, said, “Sunset didn’t tell me, just sent me to look for you, but I know what happened.”
“And what was that?”
“You charmed her. You gave her some line of bull-”
“I don’t do that.”
“Not with your mouth, but with your eyes, your ways. You got her to give herself to you because she thinks she loves you, and you probably did the same to her daughter. And now, you don’t show. What you doing in town, Hillbilly?”
“I quit.”
“Quit cause you got what you wanted.”
“A paycheck, Clyde. I got a paycheck. Now I can buy a guitar.”
“And you got them. Sunset and Karen.”
“She didn’t tell you that, I can bet that, so how would you know?”
“I can tell way she’s acting.”
“You’re jealous.”
“You’re right. You didn’t even tell her you quit. How come?”
“I was going to send word. Maybe drop by. Look, I got a place now.” Hillbilly gave the address. “Come see me when you cool down.”
“You sorry bastard. If a man could sell you for what you think you’re worth, he’d be a rich man.”
“I didn’t lie to anyone. I got what I wanted, but they wanted it too.”
“Sunset thought there was more to you than there is. Karen ain’t nothing but a little girl.”
“There’s an old saying, Clyde. Goes, If they’re old enough to bleed, they’re old enough to breed.”
“Step outside. Come on. Step outside.”
“You’re twice my size.”
“And I’m gonna give you twice the beating.”
Hillbilly sighed. He drank the last of his coffee, stood up, took coins out of his pocket, put them on the table.
They went outside. Hillbilly said, “I don’t want to make an ugly scene. Let’s go around back.”
“You don’t want to make a scene, all right. You like lying and doing your business in the dark.”
They went around back of the cafe. Clyde said, “You want a little bit at a time, or all at once?”
“Any way you want to dole it out will have to do.”
Clyde came at him then, kind of roared as he did, and he felt powerful as a bull, mad as a rabid dog, and Hillbilly wasn’t there. It was like the ground opened up and the sonofabitch was gone, because the next thing was Clyde found himself floundering at the air, felt a battering ram fall out of the sky and hit him in the ribs. By the time he realized Hillbilly had dodged and hit him with a left hook, it was too late, because now, behind it was a kick to the balls, and when he bent over, Hillbilly leaped in the air and brought his elbow down on the back of his head, hard and sharp enough to make stars leap to sight, then he was on the ground, face down, and Hillbilly was kicking him, the eye, the ribs, the arm, then the little bastard grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and Clyde felt cold steel on his throat.
“I can cut your throat quicker than you can say that’s sharp, or I can let you go with just opening your mouth, putting it down on that rock in front of you. You get to choose.”
“You little-”
Hillbilly cut him. Not deep, but a little. All Clyde felt at first was pressure, then a sting, something wet running down his chest and inside his shirt.
“Next time, all the way across. No in-betweens. This is it. You get to choose. Cut throat. Mouth on the rock. Which is it? Answer.”
“The rock.”
“Put your mouth on it.”
Clyde did, and it tasted of dirt and there was a kind of copper taste in the back of his mouth to boot.
Hillbilly’s knife went away, and with all the force he could muster, he stamped down on the back of Clyde’s head, and Clyde’s teeth bit into the rock.
There was another kick, to the side of the head, and another, and Clyde went out.
When Clyde came to, Hillbilly was gone, and so was a piece of one of his front teeth. He stood up and felt the tooth and cussed. He couldn’t believe how easily he had gotten his ass whipped. Here he was, coming in like a knight on a charger, and the dragon, a miniature one at that, had whipped his ass, and handily.
He hurt all over, his neck was bleeding where the knife had cut him, and he was spitting blood. He limped out to his truck, started back to Sunset’s place. As he drove, he could hardly work the clutch, he ached so bad, and his vision was blurry, his eyes filled with tears. He felt like the biggest old donkey ass in creation.
Rooster left town about the time Clyde arrived, drove on out with the intention of seeing Sunset, lying to her, ready to try and get the maps back. But just before he came to her place, not really knowing he was going to do it, he veered onto a little hunting trail that went left. He bumped over it, stirred up a burst of quail, drove until there wasn’t anything to drive on, came to a thin line of thirsty trees growing on a long red-clay hill.
He parked and looked in the mirror. Under his hat was a thin, long-nosed, ghost face. He didn’t like that face, not only because it was ugly, but because it had all the character of a frog. He looked at the hill and the line of trees, thought the hill was most likely an old Indian mound. It had the looks of one. Back home in Mineola, he had plowed into them and found pots and arrowheads and bones.
He got out and leaned against the car, thinking, listening. He heard a train way off, its lonesome whistle calling, and he knew up beyond that line of trees was the track.
Rooster took off his gun belt, reached through the open window, laid it on the car seat, removed his badge, put it there too. He went walking up the rise, through the trees, came to a spread of gravel, then the tracks, glinting blue-black in the hot sun. He could hear the train rumbling toward him in the distance. He stuck his foot out, rested it on the rail. He could feel the train inside his shoe.
As it made the curve, it would slow, Rooster knew that, because not far up was a water fill, and it would stop there. That’s where hobos jumped on the train. He looked around in case he might see a hobo, but there were none.
Rooster squinted his eyes, looked down the track, saw the train coughing along, growing bigger as it came. He stepped back into the line of trees, and when the train was making the curve, it slowed considerable, almost to a crawl, and he began running. He frightened a couple of doves in the bush as he ran, and they scattered skyward, startling him, but he kept running, and he made the train, got on it with one leap, edged his way between the boxcars and rode there, jiggling with his feet on the boxcar connection. At the water stop he thought maybe he could slip down, find a car open, or open one himself. Then he could ride inside, lay back and travel right on out of this life. Ride until he wanted to get off. No set place to go. Just ride till he couldn’t take it anymore.
He thought about Sunset, her not knowing, not expecting what was coming, and he figured Plug and Tootie, they’d go along easy with whatever McBride wanted, same as him. Briefly, he considered jumping off, going back to warn her. But no. He didn’t even have the guts for that. He felt as if McBride would know he was running away, that somehow he would sense it, come looking for him, or most likely, send Two. He didn’t want to be near Holiday or Camp Rapture, or East Texas for that matter, when McBride found out he was gone. Louisiana might be too damn close. A guy like that, he could hold a grudge for most anything.
Rooster watched the trees speed by, saw the ground rise up on either side of the train, momentarily throwing shadow over him, then the hills were gone again and there was a speckle of pines, a scattering of houses. He took a deep breath. When he let it out again, he said, “Good luck, redhead.”
The train blew its whistle, rolled around the bend with a rumble and a squeak, then ducked out of sight, taking Rooster with it.
When Clyde drove up into the yard he sat behind the wheel of the truck, not wanting to get out. He noted Sunset’s car was gone, and he was glad of it.
A stocky man and Marilyn were sitting in chairs out front, shelling some peas Marilyn had brought with her. They were shelling them into sacks. A boy was sitting on the hood of Marilyn’s truck eyeing Karen, who was sitting beneath the oak shelling peas into a shallow pan. Clyde tried to figure who the hell the man and the boy were, but they seemed to fit, so he didn’t get out and ask. He never wanted to get out.
The stocky man saw him, got up and came over.
He stuck a hand through the window. “Lee Beck. Marilyn says you’re Clyde.”
Clyde shook the hand briefly, said, “I’m what’s left of him.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got beat up.”
“I can see that.”
Marilyn, Karen, and the boy came over.
“Clyde,” Karen said, “are you okay?”
“My pride is beat up the most,” Clyde said. “Well, actually, I think me and my pride got about an equal beating. I got a chipped tooth too.”
“Who did it?” Karen asked.
“That’s the worst part,” Clyde said, opening the truck door, getting out, feeling woozy. “That goddamned pretty boy. Hillbilly.”
Karen burst out crying and ran into the tent.
“I didn’t know she cared,” Clyde said.
“I think it’s Hillbilly she cares about,” Marilyn said.
“Well, she need not worry about him. He’s as perky as a goddamn guinea hen. Though he might have bruised a knuckle or two. Damn, I thought I was a tough sonofabitch, but he was something. I hope she doesn’t think I hurt him.”
“Karen just recently found out Hillbilly’s a turd,” Marilyn said. “She’s carrying his baby.”
“Damn,” Clyde said.
“Thanks, Grandma,” Karen said from the concealment of the tent. “Thanks a lot.”
“People are gonna know soon enough, dear. And this here is family and friends.”
“Feared as much,” Clyde said. “Thought it might be, but I didn’t say nothing cause I didn’t want to do no guesswork. I should have, though.”
“You’re talking about me,” Karen said. “I’m here, you know.”
“You want to get in on this,” Marilyn said, “come out of the tent.”
“You don’t fret none, baby,” Goose said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You don’t even know me,” Karen said, and this time she poked her head out. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Goose,” said the boy. “And I know all of you I need to know. You’re the prettiest thing I ever seen.”
Karen made a sound that was unfriendly, pulled her head back inside.
Lee said, “Goose, that’s my granddaughter you’re talking to.”
“And I don’t mean nothing but respect,” Goose said.
“Where’s Sunset?” Clyde asked.
“She went to the town meeting,” Marilyn said. “They’re talking about removing her.”
“Ain’t this the perfect day?” Clyde said.