CHAPTER 30

The first thing Bucky did in jail was heave his guts into the toilet.

After that, he felt much worse. Trembling hands, jumpy stomach. Too much thinking about how he could have--should have--been dead. He touched his bloody forehead, which felt sticky, like wet airplane glue, then wiped his hands on his cold wet pants. He gazed out the barred window, hoping his headache would hurry up and go away.

His eyes still stung from tear gas, and all he could see was a steamy brick wall with a shadow of a crow on a wire.

His legs felt rubbery, so he lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling. He pictured Chief Parker with his throat torn out. What a way to die. Hopefully, he’d told Deputy Chief Harman who murdered Will and Miss Iris.

He shuddered. A million bullets had whizzed by him within the width of a feather. He thought of his gramma and the gator. He should’ve tried to save her, dove back in the water, but he didn’t. So he told himself--promised himself--the next time someone’s life was in danger, he’d do something to help.

He turned onto his side and pulled his knees up. They say it’s better to be a live coward than a dead hero. He added under his breath, “What about a live fool?”

“If you’re askin’ me,” came a voice from somewhere, “I couldn’t tell ya.”

Bucky bolted upright. A man with his arm in a sling stood in the cell across from him. Late twenties. Lean and bony, hair yellow as corn and thick enough he could do okay combing it with his fingers. A piece of cheatgrass dangled from his lips.

“Geesh!” Bucky said. “You scared the hell out of me. Didn’t know you were there.”

“That’s ’cause I didn’t want you to know. Part of my trade, ya might say. Besides, I enjoyed watching you puke and fret like a pregnant nun. Was you out fightin’ injuns?”

“Not exactly.” Bucky touched his forehead.

“Heard a couple Caddos had a date with the undertaker.” The man patted his vest, then the pockets of his jeans, stiff and shiny with dirt. “You got a cigarette?”

Though Bucky didn’t smoke, he slapped his trouser pockets. “Afraid not.”

The man cupped both hands to his mouth. “Hey, Sparks!” He gripped the bars. “Sparrrrks!”

Bucky gazed around for the first time. Four cells made up the Defiance City Jail, two pairs against opposite walls. The one next to him was empty, but someone slept in the cell diagonally across.

A door opened at the end of the corridor, and Officer Sparks stomped in, his hair cut military style and brushed up stiffly on the sides.

“Damn, Sparks,” the man said. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your jackin’ off.”

“What do you want now, Tyburn?” the man said.

“Now, Sparks,” Tyburn cooed, “is that any way to talk in front of a distinguished guest?”

Sparks turned to Bucky. “Don’t pay any attention to that one. Even his old man calls him a scoundrel. Oughta hear him tell.”

“Don’t go badmouthing me, Sparks. I got shit on you that’s pretty--”

“All right, Tyburn, that’s enough. Whadaya want?”

Tyburn yanked the cheatgrass from his mouth. “A goddamn smoke.”

Sparks pulled a Marlboro from his breast pocket and waved it slowly in front of Tyburn. Tyburn grabbed for it through the bars, but Sparks pulled it back. “What’s the magic word?”

“Stop the bullshit and hand it over.”

“Bucky, would you like this fine cigarette?”

“Give me the fucking thing.” Tyburn snapped his fingers. “Please.”

Sparks handed it over but didn’t offer a light.

Tyburn frowned. “Expect me to chew the fucker?”

Sparks pulled out a Zippo lighter and lit it through the bars. Tyburn gripped Sparks’ wrist steady, lit up, and kept his grip. Sparks gave a hard yank and broke free. “Asshole!”

“Just messin’ with ya, Sparks. You always were a pussy.”

“I’ll tell you somethin’, mister hotshot. You’re up shit creek this time. No more butt whacks for stealing jawbreakers, or a stint in reform school for cracking Gustafson’s safe. No sir.” He tugged on shirtsleeves that had ridden up into his jacket. “Even Mr. Overstreet can’t get you out of this one. That bullet hole in your arm ain’t nothin’.” Sparks put his face close to the bars. “‘You’ll be doin’ nigger-dick time with extra Sunday sausage, and I’ll laugh and lau--”

Tyburn shot his arm through the bars and sizzled Sparks’ cheek with his cigarette. Sparks flew back and grabbed his seared face. “Son of a bitch! You almost got my eye.”

“That’s where I was aimin’.”

“I’ll kill you for that!” Sparks snarled then turned and stomped out.

“Like I’m really scared. Fuck you!” Tyburn hollered after him, then glanced at Bucky and grinned.

Listening to all this uproar had improved Bucky’s health. Eyes and stomach felt fine, his head hurt only a little. Might as well strike up a conversation to pass the time. “Tyburn’s an interesting name. Never heard it before.”

“I didn’t pick it. But hey, Tyburn Newgate’s the name, crime’s the game.” He put a finger to his lips. “Keep that under your hat.”

Bucky stepped up to the bars. “Bucky Ontario. Cars, new and used.”

Tyburn grinned. “I know who you are.” He shook his finger. “You’re the guy who sold the cops those Furies, ain’tcha?”

Bucky saluted. “Guilty as charged.”

“Well, Lordy. You owe me a debt of gratitude, friend. It was me who robbed the bank--with a couple of associates, that is.”

Wow. A real bank robber. “How’d they catch you?”

“One of my dumb-ass associates blabbed his ass off in a Laredo bar. Said he was smarter than Willie Sutton. Well, shit, everybody knows Willie Sutton robbed banks. So the bar owner puts two and two together and here I am.”

“How come it’s you and not your, er, associates?”

“’Cause I passed out at the bar and the two of ’em hauled ass across the border for snatch. Hope they got crabs.”

“Officer Sparks said you used to steal jawbreakers at Gustafson’s. Just so you know, you screwed it up for future generations. Gustafson now keeps the jar behind the counter.”

“Mr. Magoo, that’s what we called him, used to live above the store until his wife got crippled. He knows how to get his way with the younger female gender. I could tell stories about him that would curdle your toothpaste. I seen him twist kids’ ears till they squealed. He crapped a litter of lizards when he caught me stealing one of his chickens.”

“Chickens? You poor or something?”

“Fuck no, not poor. Lived inna biggest house in town. Wanted to cut off its head an’ see if it’d run around like they say.” Tyburn picked up his crushed cigarette from the floor, straightened it, and tucked it behind his ear.

Tyburn knows the town pretty well. Maybe he’d know if Harman was right about Kansas molesting Marybeth. “Do you know a guy named Kansas Karradine?”

“You kiddin’? I popped his daughter’s cherry. Least that’s what she said, the lyin’ bitch. Don’t go tellin’, she was a mite underage.”

My God, another one who molested Marybeth. Now Bucky really felt sorry for her. Bucky hated to pry, but he was curious. “Why’d you call her a lying bitch?”

“Tol’ me she was pregnant just to scare me. She’s smart, I’ll give her that. She’d get old man Gustafson to let her read magazines and eat ice cream while her old man shopped.”

“She has a boyfriend. Least I think so. Name’s VO.”

“I know him. He was our lookout when we played revzies over at Harvey’s used car lot on Central. We’d start ’em up and rev ’em until they screamed. If anyone got caught, it was VO. Sparks, Harman, and me would always make him--”

“Did you say Harman?”

“Sorta funny, ain’t it? Him being your new police chief and all. Hell, we go back to before having hair on our balls. Talk about poppin’ cherries, you think I was bad? Harman was a million times worse. We useta get drunk and bull whores at the wigwam house on the reservation. Harman was never particular. He’d fuck a cat with a broken back. He should give Marybeth a ride. She’d go for him in his fancy uniform. But I’ll tell ya this, I wouldn’t want to be in his moccasins right now.”

A cough echoed off the walls. A stringy-haired Indian in the cell next to Tyburn sat up from his cot, heaved up phlegm and spit it on the floor, then scratched his belly with all ten fingernails. “That’s the only intelligent statement that asshole’s made all day. Your chief will be tied to a stake and baked in the sun. His tongue will swell, and ants will gorge upon his flesh.”

The door down the hall opened. Officer Sparks stomped in, his cheek bandaged. “Social’s over, Mr. Ontario. You’re outta here.”

“Bucky,” Tyburn said, with a salacious grin. “Do me a favor. Tell Marybeth to come visit. For old time’s sake.”