8

Two days following his encounter with Gagool Angola, the police in Bay St. Clement telephoned Pace and asked him to come in and give an official account of what happened. The child had not yet been located but since Gagool had told Pace she was on her way to see her father, they expected her to show up at Pee Dee sooner or later. Pace complied with their request; it took him half an hour to recount the episode, and he made certain to suggest strongly that the authorities investigate this Bee Sting individual and not allow him to harm the girl should she be returned to the custody of her mother.

After he’d satisfied the cops, Pace noticed that it was five minutes past two, so he walked three blocks from the police station to Duguid’s and went inside. Misty Tonga was not seated at the bar. Two heavyset, forty-ish men in overalls wearing Remington Ammo caps were drinking Rolling Rocks and loudly arguing about whether or not a particular call in a recent football game had been blown by an official. The same bartender as the other day was on duty. He nodded to Pace and came over to meet him at the end of the bar opposite the contentious pair.

“If you’re lookin’ for Princess White Russian, she ain’t been in since you were here last. At least not on my shift.”

Pace said, “Thanks,” and turned to go.

“You sure you don’t want a double Russki?” asked the bartender.

Pace waved his right hand from side to side over his head without looking back. He knew he had to check out the Crusader Ralph office, so he ambled down there. The sign was gone. He didn’t bother to try the door this time. Driving home, Pace thought Whatever Happened to Misty Tonga? would be a good title for a mystery story.

He cut on the radio and was delighted to hear Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs sing: “Hey there, little Miss Riding Hood/ You sure are lookin’ good/ You’re everything a big, bad wolf could want.” Pace remembered the first time he’d heard this song, while he was shooting pool one Friday afternoon in Johnny Reb’s Roadhouse in Gonzalez, Louisiana, when he was eighteen. He and his high school buddies had gotten drunk, or close to it, that day on flat Dixie beer, and later ended up bruised and bloodied in a ditch after almost having had a bad accident on the highway in Flyboy Derondo’s yellow 1954 Buick Roadmaster. When Sam the Sham and his bunch began howling like wolves, Pace joined in. As Beany Thorn used to say, sometimes all it takes is a little shoutin’ to chase the devil off the porch.

Pace was in a good mood when he got out of his Pathfinder. The music had done its job. However, when he looked over at Dalceda’s house and saw Gagool Angola sitting on the porch swing, Pace did not feel like shouting. He walked over and sat down next to the seven year-old girl.

“My legs is too short to make it go,” she said.

Pace pushed off his heels and they swung. Gagool giggled, and just like her shriek, the sound was full of joy.

This time Pace decided to take the girl to Bay St. Clement himself, but only after cleaning her up a little and again feeding her a grilled cheese sandwich and hot chocolate, as she requested he do. Gagool did not resist being taken in but she made it plain that this was not her preference. She had been sleeping in a cemetery and did not know the direction to Pee Dee. A woman who lived across the street from the cemetery had seen Gagool wandering around and given her a bright red cloth coat with a rip in the back and a bag of stale doughnuts. The child told Pace that she had eluded capture by the cops after she’d run from his place by hiding at first in the woods where Pace had been shot. She asked Pace to please make the police promise to take her to visit Ray-Ray and he said he’d try.

Pace insisted on remaining at police headquarters until Gagool’s mother arrived. Oswaldina Capoverde showed up accompanied by a large, bearded man wearing a lavender jump suit and a brown short-brim hat, whom Pace assumed was Bee Sting.

“You can’t take her, Ms. Capoverde,” the police captain told her. “There’s been a complaint filed regarding the child’s treatment and living conditions, so she’ll be kept for the time being at the Child Services Center in Charlotte until a judge decides what’s best for her. You’ll be notified of the court date.”

Oswaldina Capoverde demanded to see her daughter and yelled about how she knew what was best for Gagool, but she was not even allowed to see her. The large man grabbed Oswaldina by one arm and took her out before she made the situation worse. He did not say a word during the fifteen minutes or so that he and the woman were there, but he took note of Pace’s interested presence and shot him an evil eye before leaving the station.

The matter was in the hands of Child Services now and there was nothing more Pace could do. He told the captain that Gagool wanted to see her father and the captain said that would be up to the authorities in Charlotte. They would be in contact with Pace in order to obtain a statement from him concerning the possibility of the child’s having been abused, but because he was not related to Gagool he probably would not be allowed to be present at the hearing unless he filed a petition to be heard.

Outside a light snow was falling, an unusual event even in January in Bay St. Clement. Pace was glad that Gagool would not be sleeping in the cemetery that night. Oswaldina and her man were gone. Pace stood for a few moments on the front steps of the police station, allowing the snow to wet his hair, then he walked to the police parking lot and found that all four tires on his Pathfinder had been slashed.