Unwritten Laws 01(335)

Henry gazes up at Brody but says nothing. He looks more like a stroke victim than an active participant in a conversation.

“See that fire downrange?” Brody asks, pointing at the burning bucket and banker’s boxes. “Thirty years of notes and diaries? Nobody’s ever going to see it. Shit, son … don’t you realize we could drive back to Ferriday right now and start asking people on the street who Pooky Wilson was, or Joe Louis Lewis, and not three in ten would know? Not one in a hundred, if we asked people under thirty. And Ferriday’s ninety percent black! Thirty miles from here, nobody’s even heard those names. Nobody gives a shit, black or white. The nigras living in Ferriday now aren’t thinking about anything but how to fill their crack pipes tomorrow.”

Brody looks down at Henry as though waiting for agreement. “You know I’m right, son. You wrote all those stories, and what thanks did you get? Did anybody hand you the key to the city? Nobody cares but a few New York Jews and liberal, guilt-ridden princesses like Ms. Masters over there.”

With a last shake of his head, Brody straightens up and turns slowly back to me, his face haggard and finally looking its age. “Well, Mayor … nothing left now but the final act. But never fear. Nobody’s gonna leave the theater bored.”

“For God’s sake, Brody. You’ve got all the fucking money in the world. Just take it and go. Surely you’ve got some nonextradition haven somewhere? You can’t kill everybody who knows about you. You’re going to be found out. It’s inevitable. If you kill us, John Kaiser will never stop trying to nail you. Never. Go now.”

Royal looks at me like I’m mad. “Go? Why would I leave?” He kicks Sleepy Johnston’s corpse. “With this fool dead, I’m washed clean. ‘Washed in the blood,’ as they say. Henry’s dying, and his files are ashes. Katy’s gone, and those tapes, too.” He takes one step toward me, then another. “About the only thing in this world I have left to worry about is you. You and Princess there.”

“If you kill us, you’ll trigger the biggest manhunt in the history of this state.”

One eyebrow goes up. “You think so?”

Regan moves out of the shooting station and approaches us with the flamethrower.

“I think it’s human nature to overestimate our own importance,” Brody says. “Here’s the ending, son. You and your girlfriend are going to disappear down the drain of this room, just like Henry and Mr. Johnston there. Randall’s going to melt you into barbecue drippings, then feed your bones to the pigs on my daughter’s farm, miles from here. Your father will be dead by morning.” Royal comes still closer, so close that I smell his breath, a mix of whiskey and dirty dentures. “Last of all, your mother and your little girl.”

For one shattering moment, I fear that he’s located Mom and Annie at Edelweiss. But I see in his eyes that he hasn’t—and then I understand the final act that remains to be played.

“It’s only fitting,” he says, “when you think about what happened to my Katy. So—”

“You’re insane. You think you can get away with killing my whole family?”

“I do. When morning comes, there won’t be anything left but three empty houses. There’ll be some hullabaloo, of course. The FBI will run all over town like ants in a stepped-on pile. But meanwhile, Forrest will quietly spread the word that your family went into witness protection somewhere. And you know what? Folks will believe it. They’ll figure they were right all along—Doc Cage couldn’t have really killed anybody! Yeah, they’ll figure that whole story of him being a fugitive was some kind of cover story.”

“What kind of cover story? That’s ridiculous.”

Royal purses his lips like a storyteller asked to make up a good one on the spot. “I’m thinking Sonny Thornfield might disappear tonight as well. Maybe Snake Knox with him. Those two have had their runs. And Agent Kaiser has declared the Double Eagles a domestic terror group. And then there are those rumors that Snake’s been claiming he killed Martin Luther King. Yes … I think that story’s got legs, Mayor. And I think the more loudly the Bureau denies it, the more people will believe it.”

He’s right …

Brody stares at me as he might at a wayward nephew. “You still don’t understand, do you? I built what I have from nothing. From that godforsaken levee where my mother ate raw pig. Hundreds of people depend on me now. Thousands. And you want to tear all that down because a couple of niggers forgot their place forty years ago? It defies understanding. Hell, Cage, not even the FBI was working those cases until Henry started embarrassing them in the newspaper every week!”