“I guess he never talks.”
“He couldn’t. We’d all be cooled if he ever did. Oh, man, the fuzz are stupid.”
“They only care about the locals. Montgomery’s father is superintendent of schools or something.”
“Questioning begins at home. They know none of us would ever talk. So they always pick him up, the same kid, and beat the shit out of him. Funny, funny.”
“You have a great sense of humor this morning, Creasey.”
“I had a beautiful night. The stars came down and talked to me.”
“What did they say?”
“They said, ‘Creasey, you are the chosen of God. You are chosen to lead the people into the sea.’ ”
“A wet dream.” “Yeah. A wet dream.”
“I’ve got to go see the man about some horse,” Fletch said. “I gotta go steal some bread.”
Creasey did not move. He remained staring into the sea where he would lead the people on his next high.
Fletch sat cross-legged in the shade of Vatsyayana’s lean-to. Vatsyayana was sitting cross-legged inside the lean-to.
“Peace,” Vatsyayana said.
“Fuck,” said Fletch.
“That, too.”
“Some reds,” Fletch said.
“I’m fresh out.”
“I’ve got twenty dollars.”
“Expecting a shipment any day. Hang in there.”
“Need it now.”
“I understand.” Vatsyayana had the world’s kindliest eyes. “No got. I’ve got what’s left of the horse.”
“Horseshit.”
“Each to his own taste. How’s Bobbi?”
“Asleep.”
“She really grooves on you, Fletch. She was here last night.”
“I know. You didn’t ball her.”
“Who could? By the time she shows up here, she’s had it. Did you ball her last night?”
“No.”
“She looks terrible, Fletch.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it, Fletch.”
“I know. I think she has fetuses going on all the time.”
“That’s not possible.”
“No. She’s not strong enough to carry anything.”
“Why don’t you get her away from here?”
“You think Gummy will talk?”
From the back of the lean-to, Vatsyayana’s eyes momentarily brightened. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? They keep beatin’ on him.”
“He hasn’t talked yet.”
“Why do they keep pickin’ on the same kid?”
“He’s local. They can put more pressure on him. I guess they figure if they keep hammerin’ on the same kid, instead of hammerin’ on you one day and me the next, over time they can break him down and get him to turn state’s evidence. I’ve seen it before.”
“Will it work? I mean, will they break him down?”
“I doubt it. He’s in very deep now. He feels nothing.”
“How will we know if he talks?”
“The men in blue with big sticks will come swooping down out of the skies, Society’s avenging angels, sunlight glistening from their riot helmets.”
“How will we know it’s going to happen?”
“It won’t happen. Believe me, Fletch. You’re all right. It won’t happen.”
“Fat Sam, I heard someone say he wanted to rip you off.”
“Who?”
“I won’t say.”
“Creasey? These days, Creasey can hardly walk so far.”
“Not Creasey. Someone else.”
“Who’d want to rip off Vatsyayana?”
“He says he even knows your source.”
“No one knows Vatsyayana’s source.”
“He says he does. He says you get your delivery here on the beach. That someone brings it to you. Is that true?”
“Son, there is no truth.”
“He says the next time you get delivery he’s gonna be there. He’s got some scheme where he picks up both the cash and the junk.”
“Not possible. It doesn’t work that way.”
“What way?”
“It doesn’t work any way.”
“How do you get it?”
“I pray for it and it comes. You’re a good boy, Fletch, but you’re not too bright. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
“Yes.”
“I bet they have. No one’s gonna rip off Vatsyayana.”
“Is it possible? I mean, you could be ripped off.”
“No way. Not possible. Just relax. By tomorrow noon I should have some reds. Can you make it?”
“Gimme the H.”
“Gimme the twenty.”
“No one would want you ripped off, Sam.”
“If it ever happened, it would be bye-bye highs.”