Part 8 (1/2)

”Can't you use the n.i.g.g.e.rs you've got in the men's camp?” Koenig demanded.

”Well, I could, yeah, but dozers'd be a h.e.l.l of a lot faster,” Jeff replied. ”I figured that mattered to you. If I'm wrong, you'll tell me.”

Ferdinand Koenig paused once more. ”No, you're not wrong. All right-fair enough. You'll have your bulldozers. And I'm going to b.u.mp you up a rank to brigade leader. That translates to brigadier general in regular Army ranks. You'll get a wreath around your stars, in other words. Congratulations. When you were in the Army the last time around, did you ever reckon you'd make general?”

”h.e.l.l, no. I never even worried about making corporal,” Jeff answered, which was the G.o.d's truth. ”Thank you very much, sir.”

”You're welcome. A raise comes with the promotion. I expect you'll earn the money,” Koenig said. ”More responsibility comes with the promotion, too. You're going to be in charge of a really big operation out there, and a really important one, too. I wouldn't do this if I didn't think you could swing it.”

”I'll do my d.a.m.nedest, sir,” Pinkard said. ”It's for the Party and it's for the country. You can count on me.”

”I do. So does the President. You've shown you've got what it takes,” Koenig said, which made Jeff b.u.t.ton-popping proud. The Attorney General went on, ”Those bulldozers and their crews'll show up in the next few days. You tell 'em what needs doing, and they'll do it. Anything else you need-barbed wire, lumber, whatever it is-you holler, and you'll have it. If you don't, somebody's head'll roll, and it won't be yours. Freedom!”

”Freedom!” Jeff echoed the Party slogan, but he was talking to a dead line.

He got up from his desk, stretched, and went to the window. Out beyond the barbed wire, and out beyond the railroad spur and the road that ran alongside it, what was there to see? Nothing but more prairie-sagebrush and tumbleweed and jackrabbits and little gullies that turned into torrents when it rained. Leveling them out would be the dozers' main job. They could do it, and it wouldn't take long.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he said softly. ”A women's camp.” They were serious back there in Richmond. He'd known they were serious-he wouldn't have been a Freedom Party man if they weren't-but he hadn't known they were that that serious. If they kept on the way they were going, there wouldn't be a Negro left in the CSA before too long. serious. If they kept on the way they were going, there wouldn't be a Negro left in the CSA before too long.

Pinkard shrugged as he headed out the door. He wouldn't shed a whole lot of tears if that happened. If there weren't any Negroes, white men wouldn't have to worry about them taking away their jobs. They wouldn't have to worry about Negroes eyeing white women. And they wouldn't have to worry about Red uprisings. He'd got his baptism of fire in 1916 against Red Negro rebels in Georgia. They'd fought harder than the d.a.m.nyankees had. Of course, the USA and CSA took prisoners. Neither side in the black uprisings had bothered with that very often. So . . . good riddance to bad rubbish.

Out into the suns.h.i.+ne he went. Spring was in the air, but the sun wasn't biting down with full force yet. He'd grown up in Alabama and spent time in Louisiana. Texas summer was no fun for anybody, but it wouldn't be any worse than what he was used to.

With several submachine-gun-toting guards at his back, he did his usual prowl through Camp Determination. That he did it was normal. How he did it wasn't. He tried not to make his rounds the same two days running. He'd stick his head into barracks halls, or he'd go through the kitchens, or he'd go around just inside the perimeter checking for signs of tunneling, or he'd talk with prisoners, or . . . He never knew ahead of time. He just followed whatever gut feeling he had.

The Negroes had found they could complain to him if they stayed respectful. ”Suh, we needs mo' food,” a skinny black man said. He didn't ask for better food; that was obviously a lost cause.

”You're getting what I can give you,” Jeff said, which was more or less true. ”If I get more in, you'll get more, too.” That was also true, although he didn't expect to see the camp's supply increased. To drive the point home, he added, ”I can't make you any promises, mind.”

”Do what you can, suh, please,” the black man said. Pinkard nodded and went on to the next barracks hall. The Negroes there grumbled about the food, too. Jeff listened and nodded and again said he'd do something if he got the chance. As long as they were grumbling about the food and not about the trucks that transported them to other camps, everything was fine. The trucks were what really mattered-and the Negroes didn't seem to know it.

For once, Cincinnatus Driver felt as if he were leading a charmed life. The Confederates had arrested him-and they'd let him go. To him, that went a long way toward proving white men weren't as smart as they thought they were. He might even find himself on the U.S. border one of these days before too long. He dared hope, anyhow.

Meanwhile . . . Meanwhile, life went on in Covington's colored quarter. It wasn't much of a life. Even compared to what he remembered of times before the Great War, it wasn't much of a life. He shrugged. He couldn't do much about that. He couldn't do anything about it, in fact. All he could do was try to get through from day to day.

He thought about staying away from Lucullus Wood's barbecue place. He thought about it, but found he couldn't do it. His showing up there wouldn't make alarm bells go off at the police station. The only Negroes who didn't show up there were the unlucky ones too poor to afford any of Lucullus' barbecue.

He hoped-he prayed-he wouldn't see Luther Bliss at the barbecue place anymore. He hated, despised, and feared the former head of the Kentucky State Police. Of course, he also hated, despised, and feared the Confederate States of America. Bliss was one of the CSA's sincerest and ablest enemies-and gave Cincinnatus the cold horrors just the same.

If the Confederate police didn't have informers posted in the barbecue joint, they were missing an obvious trick. Despite the risk, talk there was freer than anywhere else in Covington that Cincinnatus knew about.

By now, everybody who worked in the place recognized him when he came in. More than a few people also recognized that he had a special connection with Lucullus. They would always find a seat for him, even when the ramshackle restaurant was packed. He got extra barbecue when he ordered, and some of the time they didn't bother charging him. He'd always been a man who paid his own way, but he appreciated that now, because he didn't have a whole lot of money.

Policemen and Freedom Party stalwarts came into Lucullus' place, too. They also recognized Cincinnatus-recognized him and left him alone. They'd caught him once, and it hadn't stuck. Not all of them understood why it hadn't stuck, but they knew it hadn't. They were no more energetic than most mere mortals. They didn't feel like doing anything they didn't have to.

Lucullus came up to Cincinnatus while he was eating a big plate of beef ribs. The barbecue cook was a ma.s.sive man, muscle more overlain by fat with each pa.s.sing year. Who could blame him for liking his own cooking? Everyone else did, too. His father, Apicius, had been even wider and thicker.

Cincinnatus set down a rib. ”Afternoon,” he said.

”Afternoon.” Lucullus had a big, deep voice that went with his bulk. ”Mind if I join you?”

”You throw me out on my ear if I'm dumb enough to tell you yes in your own place,” Cincinnatus said. ”I done plenty o' dumb things in my time, but nothin' dumb as that.”

”Glad to hear it.” Lucullus squeezed into the booth, across the table from him. He waved to one of the waitresses. ”Bring me a cup of coffee, would you, Aspasia honey, when you git the chance?” Nodding, the woman waved back.

The coffee arrived faster than when you git the chance. when you git the chance. Cincinnatus hadn't expected anything different. When the boss asked for something, only a fool kept him waiting-and Lucullus wasn't the sort to put up with fools. Casually, Cincinnatus asked, ”So what do you hear from Luther Bliss?” Cincinnatus hadn't expected anything different. When the boss asked for something, only a fool kept him waiting-and Lucullus wasn't the sort to put up with fools. Casually, Cincinnatus asked, ”So what do you hear from Luther Bliss?”

He'd timed it well; Lucullus was just taking a sip. The cook choked, but the coffee didn't-quite-go up his nose. After managing to swallow, Lucullus sent him a reproachful stare. ”d.a.m.n you, you done that on purpose.”

”Who, me?” Cincinnatus was innocence personified-not easy for a black man on the wrong side of fifty with a ruined leg. But he'd been only partly malicious. ”What do do you hear from him?” he asked again. you hear from him?” he asked again.

Lucullus didn't bother pretending he hadn't had anything to do with the white man with the mahogany eyes of a hunting hound. ”Says he owes you one on account of you done that truck for him.”

The truck had held mines that went into the Licking River. At least one of them had blown a Confederate gunboat sky-high. The news should have gladdened Cincinnatus' heart. And so it did, in fact. All the same, he said, ”Reckon I owe Luther Bliss more'n one.”

”Mebbe.” Lucullus calmly filched one of the ribs off Cincinnatus' plate and took a bite out of it. Fiery barbecue sauce ran down his chin-an occupational hazard. ”How come you didn't spill your guts to the Confederates when they done grabbed you, you feel that way?”

Cincinnatus couldn't squawk at Lucullus' scrounging, not after all the free food the other man let him have. As for the other . . . ”Well, I didn't know where the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was at, or I might have.”

”Better be more to it than that,” Lucullus said severely.

There was, no matter how little Cincinnatus wanted to admit it. Scowling, he said, ”Don't reckon I'd tell the Confederates where a dog dog was at, let alone a son of a b.i.t.c.h like that one.” was at, let alone a son of a b.i.t.c.h like that one.”

Laughing, Lucullus said, ”That's better.” He lit a cigarette.

”Gimme one o' them things,” Cincinnatus said. Lucullus did, and leaned across the table so Cincinnatus could take a light from his. After a long, satisfying drag, Cincinnatus added, ”You don't know you're playin' with a rattlesnake there, on account of I ain't told you.”

”He is one, sure enough.” Lucullus sounded more pleased than otherwise. He explained why: ”Dat man be a serpent, sure enough, but he be our our serpent. He don't bite n.i.g.g.e.rs. He bites Confederates, an' they shrivels up an' dies.” serpent. He don't bite n.i.g.g.e.rs. He bites Confederates, an' they shrivels up an' dies.”

That wasn't quite literally true, but it made a telling metaphor. Cincinnatus wanted no part of it, or of Luther Bliss. ”He done bit me,” he said angrily.

”Well, but he reckon mebbe you got somethin' to do with them Confederate diehards back then.” Lucullus c.o.c.ked his head to one side and studied Cincinnatus. ”Plenty other folks reckon the same thing. My pa, he was one of 'em.”

And Cincinnatus had had had something to do with them, not that he intended to admit it now. ”That man steal two years outa my life,” he growled. ”You reckon I gonna trust him far as I can throw him after that?” had something to do with them, not that he intended to admit it now. ”That man steal two years outa my life,” he growled. ”You reckon I gonna trust him far as I can throw him after that?”

”Trust him to give the Freedom Party a boot in the b.a.l.l.s,” Lucullus said. ”He do dat every chance he git.”

Before Cincinnatus could answer, a gray-haired, stooped, weary-looking black man came into the barbecue place. One of the small h.e.l.ls of Cincinnatus' injuries was that he couldn't jump to his feet. He had to make do with waving. ”Pa! I'm over here! What is it?”

But he knew what it was, what it had to be. Seneca Driver didn't only look weary. He looked as if he'd just staggered out of a traffic accident. ”She gone, son,” he said as Cincinnatus did fight his way upright. ”Your mama gone.” Tears ran unnoticed down his face.

Lucullus had risen, too. He set a hand on Cincinnatus' shoulder. ”Sorry to hear the news,” he said in a low voice. ”Why don't you set your pa down, he tell you what happened.”

Numbly, Cincinnatus obeyed. As numbly, his father accepted the cup of coffee Aspasia brought him. His hands added cream and sugar. Cincinnatus didn't think he knew they were doing it. He said, ”She done laid down for her nap-”

”I know,” Cincinnatus broke in, wanting to say something. ”She was asleep when I went out.”

”Uh-huh.” His father nodded. He sipped from the coffee, then stared at it in surprise, as if wondering how it had got there. ”Sometimes I'm glad when she go to sleep, on account of I don't got to worry none fo' the nex' little while.”