Part 11 (2/2)
Reverend Bob's voice went velvet. ”I have no interest in your private affairs, Larry. If you have money, where you got it ... I don't care. What you're doing here in Edwardtown is no business of mine. Neither is your past. Remember what I said: atonement and forgiveness. Now, I admit I tend to be overzealous at times. It's just that I'm so committed to building this church. I could use your help.”
”I understand.” Farrow forced a smile. ”Give me a few days to think things over. We'll talk about this again, though. That's a promise.”
”Take as long as you wish.”
Farrow stood. ”Take care, Reverend.”
The reverend spread his hands and said, ”Praise the Lord.”
Farrow opened the door, closed it softly behind him, and walked from the church.
Farrow sat at the bar of Linda's, a long, deep tavern on High Street that catered primarily to tourists and the town's lesbian population, sipping a Snow Goose Winter Ale. Farrow liked to come here early in the evening, before the live folk and jazz bands took the stage, when there were very few patrons. In this hour he could drink quietly and without conversation. He was careful not to overtip the bartender, a prematurely bald graduate student, as this would only encourage the young man to talk.
Farrow took his beer and walked past the billiards tables and shuffleboards to the rest-room enclave in the back of the house, where a pay phone was mounted on the wall. He dialed a two-one-three exchange and got Roman Otis on the line.
”How we doin', man?” said Otis.
”A situation came up here that I have to take care of. After that I'm ready to roll.”
”Then I'm ready, too.”
”You flush?”
”I'm about busted flat in Baton Rouge and waitin' on a train. Supposed to see a man about that this afternoon. Man owes owes me some money. Gonna do that thing and then I'm clear. Could use a temporary change of scenery and some new prospects. How about you?” me some money. Gonna do that thing and then I'm clear. Could use a temporary change of scenery and some new prospects. How about you?”
”I've been living like a monk,” said Farrow. ”I'm doing all right, but it's time to leave.”
”Where you want to meet, man?”
”You still got that cousin of yours likes to talk too much, did that Lorton jolt?”
”Yeah, Booker's out and livin' up there in southern Maryland, outside D.C.”
”We'll meet at his place.”
”Ain't we still hot up that way?”
”No. I read the D.C. paper every day. They've never had a thing. We've got unfinished business there, Roman.”
”If you say we do, Frank, then we do.”
”You mail off that photograph I sent you?”
”Did it. Listen, Frank...”
”What?”
”Remember my sister's husband, Gus? Tall guy on the white side?”
”Tall, h.e.l.l. He's a giant. Polish guy, right?”
”Some s.h.i.+t like that. He played professional, Frank, long time ago. ABA ball. Was the backup center for the Spirits of St. Louis.”
”What about him?”
”When I came out here, I was lookin' to invest some of my hard-earned cash. Gus had the idea we should loan out some of my money to those unfortunate citizens got themselves burdened with bad credit ratings.”
”You got in the vig business. What did I tell you about that?”
”You were right. Didn't work out the way Gus planned. Gus feels real bad about it, Frank. Plus he and my sister Cissy need to put a little country between 'em for a while. So Gus is riding with me right now.”
”He's all right?”
”Gus is solid. See, he couldn't play ball for s.h.i.+t, Frank. Oh, he could grab a rebound or two if the ball bounced right into his hands. But they used him for something else. The coach would tell him that a certain player had been ridiculing him before the game. Basically, they'd put him in the game just to f.u.c.k motherf.u.c.kers up. This is the man who made Artis Gilmore have bad dreams. Gus sent some starters to the hospital for real, ended a couple of careers. He's tough.”
”Bring him along.”
”Right.”
”When can you be at your cousin's?”
”Gonna take me about a week to make it across country in my short.”
Farrow said, ”I'll see you then.”
Farrow walked back into the bar. Grace, the waitress from the Royal Hotel, was sitting on the stool beside his and working on a vodka tonic. He slid onto his seat and lit a cigarette.
Grace smiled. ”Thought I'd find you here.”
”How'd you know it was me?”
”You left your Kools on the bar. Not many white men I know smoke Kools, and in the five years I've lived in this town I have never seen a black in this place.”
”They've got their own bars on the north side of town.”
”Yeah, it's great, isn't it? That's why I moved to the Eastern Sh.o.r.e from Baltimore. People stay with their own down here in Edwardtown. It's the way things ought to be.”
”Your idea of paradise, right?”
”Well, it's not perfect.” She lowered her voice. ”A perfect world would be no n.i.g.g.e.rs at all.”
Grace laughed shortly while Farrow finished his beer and thought of his friend Roman. He noticed Grace studying her thumbnail. He said, ”You all right?”
”I did this today at the restaurant. Sliced the nail halfway down to the cuticle. I haven't had a chance to cut it down or put a Band-Aid on it.”
”You oughtta take care of that.”
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