“Fourteen days left,” he said. “You be ready for him?”
Arlen didn’t understand what in the hell he was talking about. Then Rebecca Cady spoke, and it became clear the comment had been intended for her.
“You know the answer,” she said. Her voice was strained.
Wade nodded congenially. “Yes, I do. I just wanted you to know I can keep track of the days, too.”
He stood up, scraping his chair back across the porch floor. “Becky, let’s take a moment inside. In private. Just you, me, and Mr. McGrath.”
McGrath was apparently Tate’s last name. The three of them started for the door, but Arlen interrupted.
“Hold on. You can stay right out here and have your talk.”
Wade spun back to him. “You were just telling me the virtues of minding your life while I mind my own. Weren’t you?”
Arlen ran his tongue along the inside of his lip and stared at him but didn’t say anything. Wade gave a short nod and pulled the door open and went inside.
“Who do you think he really is?” Paul said in a whisper when they were alone. “Doesn’t behave like a judge.”
I am the match, Wade had said.
“He’s a big fish,” Arlen said, “in a small pond. Sharp teeth, though. Even the ones in the small ponds got their teeth.”
He was watching them through the shadowed glass. Wade was standing close to Rebecca, talking to her, while Tate McGrath floated around in silence. Arlen thought of McGrath’s three sons and the man they’d loaded into the black Plymouth the previous night, of the way his legs wouldn’t support his weight and his mouth couldn’t form words. He thought of the woman in the yellow dress.
Rebecca’s face was flat, betraying no emotion. She turned away from Wade and lit an oil lamp while he talked, the light throwing a pale glow across his face, making his glasses shine again. At length he turned to Tate and snapped a few words, and the older man went out through the front door. He was gone for only a minute, and when he came back he had a box in his hands, what looked like a large wooden cigar box wrapped with twine. He set it on the bar in front of Rebecca, who kept her eyes down and didn’t look at it.
Wade leaned close, his face within inches of hers, and he spoke softly into her ear, tapping the box with his index finger as he talked. Still she didn’t look up. Wade wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled slowly, until her chin lifted.
“Hey,” Paul said, “what’s he doing? That son of a bitch.”
Arlen said, “Paul,” but it was too late: the kid was out of his chair and through the door. Arlen swore and went after him.
Solomon Wade still had a fistful of Rebecca’s hair, and he turned to them and a small smile showed on his face as Paul rushed forward.
“Get your hands off her,” Paul was saying. “Damn you, take your hands off—”
Tate McGrath stepped in front of Wade and swung. He hit Paul square in the forehead with the punch, stepping into it, a good solid crack that sounded as if someone had dropped a clay pot. Paul’s feet went out from beneath him, and he fell straight backward. He got his hands out, kept his head from drilling into the floorboards. Rebecca Cady gave a little cry when he went down.
Paul struggled to his feet, unsteady, and charged back at McGrath, who sidestepped the rush, hooked his right hand around Paul’s arm, and sent him spinning into one of the tables. He went down again, this time in a clattering mess, taking three chairs and the table with him.
McGrath walked to one of the chairs and lifted his foot and brought it down hard, shearing the leg right off the chair. He reached down and picked it up, a heavy chunk of wood, and then he advanced on Paul, bouncing the wood in his hand, as Arlen finally caught up to them.
McGrath heard him coming and whirled to strike, but Arlen had just bent to pick up what was left of the chair and he used it to block the blow. He shoved ahead, holding the chair, and McGrath twisted, trying to clear away from it. Arlen leaned his weight forward, bracing the chair with his left arm, and then reached down for McGrath’s waist with his right, made one quick clean grab and came up with McGrath’s own knife.
McGrath gave a grunt and tried to go for his pistol, but Arlen shoved the chair into his face and then dropped it entirely as the older man stumbled back. By the time McGrath had regained his balance, Arlen had his greasy hair in one hand and the knife at his throat with the other.
He jerked on the hair and maneuvered McGrath sideways so that the whole room was visible. Paul had gotten to his feet, breathing hard, but Wade hadn’t so much as moved. He still had hold of Rebecca’s hair, but he hadn’t stepped toward the brawl.