What?” Jessup asks. He tries to keep the edge off his voice. Thinks he wouldn’t mind teeing up on Brandon on a football field, driving his shoulder through him, pinning him to the dirt. “What do you have under control? I don’t understand any of this.”
Hawkins lowers the footrest, stands up. “I’ve got to take off,” he says. “And, obviously, keep my name out of things.”
“You working tomorrow?” Earl asks.
“Not supposed to. But Chief Harris has a hard-on and the mayor’s already involved, so we’ll see. Might be a lot of overtime in the department this weekend.” He shakes Earl’s hand, David John’s, Brandon’s, takes Jessup’s hand in his. Hawkins squeezes hard, a macho handshake meant to show he’s in charge. Jessup’s expecting it, though, gets a better grip first, squeezes harder, torques the underside of Hawkins’s hand so the bones grind, but he lets go quickly. Doesn’t think he can get away with more than that.
The men are quiet until the door is closed, and Jessup hears Hawkins’s footsteps, the police car’s door open and slam shut, the throaty growl of the cruiser’s engine.
Brandon speaks first. “The big thing is your truck. I’m sure they’ll find Corson’s DNA on your truck. Even if you scrub it down, it will be there. The science on that is incredible now. It’s basically impossible to get rid of. Crime scene techs have gotten really good at catching it. They find DNA on your truck and everything goes out the window. We’ve got to get rid of the truck.”
Jessup runs cold. A roller coaster cresting, the feeling of being sent to the principal’s office, his truck fishtailing and the sound of a soda can crushed by a boot stomping down. He realizes he’s breathing fast and shallow. Not sure if he’s going to be sick or not.
Earl says, “It’s taken care of.”
Jessup’s sure he must look sick, the roller coaster dropping straight down, everything swirling.
Brandon doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s just the four of us who know, right? Nobody outside of this room?” He looks at David John, Earl, Jessup, all three of them nodding in turn. “Good. And we aren’t going to talk about it again. Ever. Never, ever speak about what happened. The official story—Corson left the party, Jessup never saw him again, just an accident—is the only story now. You tell the truth and Jessup is going to spend a long time behind bars. They’ll make it out like a deliberate act. But you listen to me, and we’ll come out ahead. If they don’t have the truck and nobody’s stupid enough to say what really happened, they don’t have anything. Worst case a fine, a slap on the wrist for not providing the truck if they come with a warrant. So stick to the official story, that Corson was aggressive, you walked away, no idea how Corson managed to kill himself. This is how we’re going to play it: it’s a witch hunt. Pure and simple. Got it?”
They all nod again.
“They want to make an example out of you, Jessup. You caught the part about the warrant?” Jessup nods. He’s tired of nodding. Brandon continues: “They’ll be here early in the morning. They’ll toss the trailer, go through everything. Looking for the clothes you wore last night. They’ll want to impound your truck. You’re sure that’s taken care of, right?” Earl nods. Brandon continues, “they’ll work up everything they find for DNA, going over Corson’s body and car for DNA evidence, too. But I talked to one of the Jew lawyers already, and you’re good with whatever they find on Corson or in his car.”
“What?” Jessup thinks he might be sweating, which seems hilarious, because he’s freezing.
“Well, you guys played football against each other last night, and my understanding is you knocked the shit out of him a couple of times, so yeah, of course there’s DNA.”
“Right,” Jessup says. Thinks of the Mercedes. He was wearing gloves, his coat. Is there DNA? How does that work? What can they find in the car?
“Look,” Brandon says, as if he’s reading Jessup’s mind, “you don’t have to worry about anything. Any DNA on Corson, any on you or your clothes, even in his car. The only issue is the truck. We’ve got good lawyers, and I’ve seen the video that girl made at the party. That boy was out of control, and nobody in his right mind would have blamed you for popping him one. And everybody saw him get in the car and drive away. They are going to come in hot and heavy on this; they want to string you up because they can’t get at me.”
He looks again at Jessup, Earl, and David John in turn, waits for them to nod at him, to acknowledge how important he is, that none of this would be happening if “they” weren’t out to get him. Jessup wants to ask who “they” are, but it doesn’t matter. Brandon means all of them: the mayor, the police chief, the blacks, the Jews, the stupid white liberals who are selling out their own kin. Even though he hasn’t been to church in a couple of years, Jessup’s still been around it, can play Brandon out note for note.
Brandon shakes his head. “If I’d been here when your brother got jumped by those two boys, things would be different.” He looks truly remorseful. “He’d be sitting right here with us right now. But you don’t have to worry, Jessup. I’m going to take care of all of this. That’s why I’m here. That’s why Earl’s here. But the thing is, Jessup, we’ve got a golden opportunity here. It’s all about the spin.”