Sunset jerked the revolver out of the holster, and with a motion quicker than she’d’ve thought she could muster, fanned the barrel alongside Macavee’s body, over his shoulder, and back behind his jaw toward her.

It was a good blow. There was a meaty noise and Macavee’s head jerked up and his hat leaped away. He seemed to focus on Sunset a second, then fell straight toward her.

Sunset moved just in time to let his face hit the mud. His forehead banged the edge of the board sidewalk.

There was a moment of silence.

Sunset looked at the crowd. There were a lot of open mouths. “Any of them decide they’re coming for me,” she said, “shoot above their heads first. Second time, shoot to wound.”

“Is blowing off a leg considered a wound?” Clyde said.

“I’ll be damned,” Rooster said, looking at Macavee. “Wish to hell I’d thought of that. I just asked him to shut up.”

Morgan flipped Macavee over. His forehead had a strip of blood where he had hit the board sidewalk and his face was coated in mud.

“I didn’t kill him, did I?” Sunset said.

“Nope,” Clyde said. “But he wakes up, you could tell him he’s a waitress on a gambling boat and he’d believe it.”

“I took your advice.”

“You sure did. That’s what Pete used to do.”

The crowd, which had been following Macavee, moved back a step.

Sunset said, “Go on, folks. All Smoky would have to do is point and pull, and about half of you would be in the rest of you folks’ pockets.”

The crowed grumbled, backed up, found places behind cars or where they thought they were out of scattergun range.

Sunset put the revolver back in the holster, turned to Rooster, said, “Well, Smoky needs arresting.”

“We done figured that,” Morgan said. “Sheriff thought so too. But that didn’t work out.”

“Guess I’ll have to go in and get him.”

“You’re kidding us, right?” Morgan said.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re here to help,” Clyde said. “You ain’t the one to do no arresting.”

Sunset smiled at him, started around the front of the car, onto the sidewalk.

“Miss,” Rooster said, “you ought not do that.”

“You going in there to get him?” Sunset asked.

“No, I ain’t,” Rooster said.

“Morgan?”

“Ain’t planning on it.”

She looked at Clyde. “I think we’re just about out of law enforcement. So that leaves it to me.”

“And me,” Clyde said.

“I guess I have to chime in on that, too,” Hillbilly said. “But I want someone to note that I said I thought this was a damn bad idea.”

“Noted,” Sunset said.

“I want someone to note it ain’t gonna get killed, so they’ll remember I said it.”

“Got you covered,” Rooster said. “On the note part, and with a gun. But I ain’t getting around in front of that car, and I advise you to step on back this way, ma’am.”

“I’ll do it,” Clyde said.

“No, you won’t,” Sunset said. “Last time I looked, I was the boss. Give me that slap jack.”

She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt and took the slap jack from Clyde and slipped it inside her shirt so that it hung under her bra and under her left arm.

Sunset started walking toward the theater.

“Now’s the time for me to tell you I ain’t much of a shot,” Rooster said.

Sunset paused. “Can any of you hit anything?”

“I couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass with a two-by-four if I was standing behind him,” Hillbilly said.

“I can,” Clyde said.

“Then drape over the hood there, and keep a bead on the door.”

Clyde leaned over the hood and pointed the pistol. “Don’t walk in front of me,” he said. “Sticks his head out, ain’t asking questions. He gets popped. And watch it. You’re about to step in mule shit.”

Gun drawn, Sunset came to the open door and didn’t find Smoky behind it. She stepped over the sheriff’s body. Blood was on the floor and drying and it stuck to her shoes like gum. Nearby, a box of yellow giveaway dishes lay overturned and broken.

She made bloody tracks to the dark entrance, where she could hear movie voices. She stuck her head inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but pretty soon she could see Smoky’s head. He was sitting in an aisle seat, the shotgun propped against his shoulder like a sentry.

Sunset didn’t know how good a shot she was. She might hit him from where she was, but if she missed, well, there would be a blazing gun battle. She figured that happened, she would wind up on the bad end of the program. Already Smoky had one man dead, one man crippled, one mule harvested. A redheaded woman wearing a constable’s badge wouldn’t be much of a reach.

She put her gun away, said, “Smoky.”

Smoky turned his head slowly, like it didn’t matter. She couldn’t see his features, just a black face in shadows and screen flickers.

“My name is Sunset. I’m the constable over at Camp Rapture.”

“That the sawmill place?” Smoky said.

“Yes.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Everyone seems to notice.”

“You sure you the sheriff?”

“Constable. Almost the same thing. I’m supposed to bring you out and they’re going to arrest you. That’s the way it has to be.”

“They’re gonna hang me. Cut my balls off first, make me suffer. I seen it done once. They even set the man on fire before they hanged him.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“That’s what you say.”

“I got some men out there will help me see it don’t happen.”

“They gonna give me the ’lectric chair.”

“You’ll get a fair trial.”

“Colored don’t get fair trials.”

“You killed a man, Smoky.”

“Didn’t have nothing against that sheriff. He was a good man. Just wanted to watch a picture show. Ain’t never seen one. Ought to be able to watch a picture show. They could have a colored section. They could put a curtain up between us and them or something. Wouldn’t have to see our faces.”

“You don’t go with me, do it my way, Smoky, you will be lynched.”

“They’ll kill me anyway. Nice and legal.”

“Not with your pants down, cut up and tortured. Everyone seeing you humiliated. You want that?”

Smoky turned back to the movie. “I don’t regret that ole grocer none. And I don’t like mules either.”

Sunset eased forward, slipped into the seat behind Smoky.

“You let me finish the picture show?” Smoky asked.

“I can arrange that.”

“I’ll keep the shotgun till then.”

“I’ll tell them outside,” Sunset said.

“That ain’t a real mustache, is it?”

“What?”

“Not you. That fella, in the movie, he ain’t got a real mustache, does he?”

Sunset looked at the screen. “I think it’s painted on.”

“That’s what I thought. That’s supposed to be funny, ain’t it?”

“I’ll go out now, talk to them.”

“I had to start that thing up there, what’s it called, a camera?”

“Projector, I think.”

“Had to do that so I could see it from the first. Figured it out. I was always good figuring stuff like that out. I could have worked here.”

“I’ll be going out now, Smoky.”

“I rubbed my ass around in this seat real good, gave it a real dose of nigger butt, that’s what I did. Don’t tell them which seat. That way someone’s got to sit in it.”

“We’ll keep it between me and you.”

Sunset stood up slowly and walked out of the theater.

Rooster said, “Really think he’s gonna let you take him when that picture’s over? Whatever he’s been drinking, you been drinking some of it too.”

“Why don’t we have you get him a little picnic lunch when you go back in,” Morgan said. “Some chicken and light bread. Maybe some pie.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Sunset said. “Hillbilly, go over to the cafe, see can you rustle up something already cooked. Tell them the law will pay for it. Have them sign a receipt or something.”

Hillbilly started slogging across the mud.

“Which law is gonna pay for it?” Rooster asked.

“Your town, your bill,” Sunset said.