They went in the kitchen for drinks, Vernice hanging back, telling them from the doorway she was going to catch up on her reading. She said, "I won't disturb you. I'll let you talk about the show and Diane Corrigan-Cochrane," and closed the door between the kitchen and the dining L.

Getting out the Early Times and the ice, Dennis said, "Did somebody see me up on the ladder about that time? Then learn about Floyd on TV and believe I must've been there?"

"I told you," Charlie said, "what I thought, it's just talk, pure speculation. A clerk in the sheriff's office hears a couple of smart-ass deputies talking about it."

"Or Arlen Novis told somebody," Dennis said, "one of his guys. Or Junebug was bragging about it. Charlie, I'm the one who ought to tell somebody, that CIB guy, John Rau." He said, "I'm ready to," not happy with the way he felt, like he couldn't move because this redneck ex-convict had told him to sit.

Charlie didn't care for that kind of talk. He said, "Let's don't rock the boat." He said, "Leave sleeping dogs lie." He said, "Don't duck if nobody's throwing at you." And said, "You know I was never afraid to come inside on a batter. They knew it and you'd see some of 'em at the plate with their butts stuck out, ready to bail."

By the time they were seated at the table with their drinks, Charlie smoking, Charlie telling Dennis the clubs he was with when he struck out those famous hitters-"With Triple-A Toledo playing Columbus when I got Mattingly"-they didn't see the door open or look over until they heard Vernice.

"Charlie, there's somebody to see you."

Vernice sounding like she didn't want to move her mouth.

"Yeah? Who is it?"

"Arlen Novis."

Standing right behind her in his hat. No, a different one. Arlen putting his hands on her hips now to move Vernice out of the way. He came in and she closed the door, staying out of it.

Arlen sat down at the table with them, no one saying a word, sat back in his chair staring at Dennis-Dennis staring back, getting a close look at the hat, one soldiers wore, not cowboys, military from another time, soiled and misshapen, a gold braid turned green around it instead of a band. Arlen said, "I finally got to see you dive. You're pretty good."

The man's eyes holding on him, not letting go.

Dennis stood up, turned to get the Early Times from the counter and placed it on the table. Sitting down again he said, "How would you know if I'm good or not?"

Arlen turned his head to Charlie. "You better introduce us."

"I know who you are," Dennis said. "What I don't understand is why you're telling people I was on the ladder when you shot Floyd. You make it a funny story? I'm so scared I'm shaking the ladder?"

Arlen seemed surprised. He did. But then gave Dennis his stare and was about to speak when he looked up.

Vernice was in the doorway again.

She said, "Dennis, it's somebody for you."

Robert, leaving the highway, turning that shiny S-Type front end toward downtown 'Tunica-where small-town friendliness was still a way of life-had been thinking about Jerry and his uniform and all the shit that went with it: the boots, the sword, the pair of revolvers, big.36 caliber Navy Colts. He had watched Jerry put the uniform on-cut by his tailor-and pose, the guinea hard-on trying to look like General Grant. The likeness was close, but not all the way there till he put the hat on. Hey, now, with the beard, the beard making it, the motherfucker was U. S. Grant in person.

It was the idea of getting dressed up that had drawn Jerry into the deal, the man having just enough a sense of humor the idea worked for him. Robert telling him, "Man, you get to wear a uniform, carry a sword." It might've been the sword closed the deal. Jerry saying, "You know, I never used a sword before." Then maybe thinking about the different weapons he had used, from baseball bats to car bombs. The man even knew things about the Civil War he saw on TV.

School Street.

Robert made the turn and saw he believed two cars in front of the house, coasted up the block and pulled in behind the second car, his headlights telling him it was the '96 Dodge Stratus back again. Worth five bills at a chop shop.

Hmmmm.

Robert got out of the jag. Then reached into the back for his attache case.

CHARLIE BELIEVED HE LIKED THE WAY this game was opening up, seeing Robert as a new pitcher coming in who didn't have a bad arm. Threw one seventy miles an hour on his third try.

"You know Dennis," Charlie said, "world champion diver. And that's Arlen Novis. Arlen was a sheriff's deputy till he went to prison." Charlie got Robert seated, facing Arlen across the length of the table, Arlen putting his stare on Robert the whole time. Neither one bothered to reach out to shake hands. Charlie motioned to the briefcase Robert held on his lap. "Can I put that out of the way?"

Robert said no, he'd set it here on the floor.

"Beer, whiskey, a soft drink?"

Robert said the Early Times would do fine and Charlie put ice in a glass for him. They were all set and Charlie said, "Well now…”

And Robert said to Arlen Novis in his pleasant way, "I see you're wearing the authentic Confederate slouch hat. Looks good on you. Like it's been to war."

Arlen took the hat by the curled part of the brim and adjusted it to his head, the way men did who wore hats, but didn't say thank you, didn't say anything, and Robert kept talking.

"I saw you out by the diving tank yesterday evening? That was a cowboy hat you had on. Out there with that other fella. But you didn't get to see Dennis perform his dive, did you? I saw it. Did a beautiful flying reverse pike and I gave him a ten."

Nothing like getting right into it. Charlie raised his glass and was taking a sip of whiskey as Dennis spoke up.

Saying to Robert, "We were just talking about last night. I was asking Arlen here, how come he's telling people I was on the ladder when he shot Floyd?"

Arlen was staring at Dennis with a look that drew lines in his face and made it appear rigid, like he was having a time holding back. It surprised Charlie Arlen didn't speak up.

"I asked him," Dennis said to Robert, "if he told it as a funny story. I'm so scared I'm shaking the ladder."

Arlen still held back. Cool-headed or confused, wondering what the hell was going on here.

Robert said to Dennis, "Mr. Novis and that little dude, they were the only ones out there?"

"And Charlie."

"I was in my cage," Charlie said. He believed Arlen was deciding what to do, and would come out of his chair mean and ugly once he did.

Robert said to Dennis, "Was somebody told you one of 'em is saying that?"

"Somebody who heard it spread the word around and it got to the TV news lady, Diane. She's the one told me."

"Reliable source," Robert said. "So it was either Mr. Novis here telling people you were on the ladder, or the little dude, Junebug. I would tend to think it was the Bug and not Mr. Novis. See, I was out to Junebug's place. I met him, bought some product off him. He didn't say nothing about shooting Floyd that I heard, but he seemed like the kind would tend to brag on it."

Charlie watched him looking straight ahead now at Arlen, frowning a little, like he was curious.

"Were you there, Arlen, at Junebug's? You weren't some of them came out to look at my Jaguar, were you?"

Robert, the next moment, was smiling.

"I sure like that hat. I bet there's nothing farb about you, huh? Am I right? You'd take a hit before you got caught wearing anything wasn't pure Confederate. And I mean a real hit." Robert raised his hand toward Arlen's eyes, stones set in his head. "Listen, I'm not fuckin with you. I mean what I say as a compliment to your integrity. I'm wearing the gray same as you account of I'm Southron going back a ways." Robert paused and gave Arlen a serious look now. "Did you know there was sixty thousand African Confederates fought for their homeland same as white boys did? But see, nobody wanted 'em at first. I mean either side. The high-ups would say, `We don't think these colored boys will stand and fight. They don't have the background.' The what? Over in Africa the motherfuckers are chasing lions naked, with spears-they don't have the background? You know what I'm saying, Arlen? They warrior stock, all the motherfuckers brought over here."