Read Online DR07 - Dixie City Jam by James Lee Burke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Lee Burke
Ads: Link
hereabouts don't
call him a boy.'
'He probably ain't gonna get much older if you don't take the
beeswax out of your ears. There's something bad going on out yonder. I
don't like hit.' He waved his hand vaguely at the eastern horizon.
'You mean the vigilante?'
'Maybe. Maybe something a whole lot bigger than that.'
'I don't follow you.'
'Things falling apart at the center. I think it's got to do
with the Antichrist.'
'The Antichrist?'
'You got woodpecker holes in your head or something?'
'I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about.'
'There's signs and such, the way birds fly around in a dead
sky right before a storm. You had a president with the numbers in his
name.' He puffed out both his cheeks. 'I can tell you're thinking, son.
I can smell the wood
burning.'
'What numbers?'
'Ronald Wilson Reagan. Six-six-six. The Book of Revelation
says hit, you'll know him by the numbers in his name. I think that
time's on us.'
'Could I get y'all anything else?'
'Does somebody have to hit you upside the head with a
two-by-four to get your attention?' he said.
'Stop talking to the man like that, Os,' his wife said,
opening another Moon Pie, her gaze fixed indolently on the willows
bending in the breeze.
'That colored fellow out yonder's innocent,' he said to me.
'These murders, I don't care if hit's dope dealers being killed or not,
they ain't done by somebody on the side of justice. People can pretend
that's the case, but hit ain't so. And that bothers me profoundly.
God's honest truth, son. That's all I come here to tell you.'
'Do you know something about the murders, Reverend?'
'You'll be the first to hear about hit when I do.' His face
was dilated and discolored in the heat, as though it had been slowly
poached in warm water.
After he and his wife drove away in
their flatbed truck, the
exact nature of their mission still a mystery to me, I called up to the
house.
'Hey, Boots, I'm going to Lafayette to talk to a lawyer, then
I have to pick up some ice for the coolers,' I said. 'By the way, that
man in the blue shirt you saw… I think he was just in the
shop. He's a fundamentalist radio preacher. I guess he's trying to do a
good deed of some kind.'
'Why was he staring up at the house?'
'You've got me. He's probably just one of those guys who left
his grits on the stove too long. Anyway, he seems harmless enough.'
If I had only mentioned his name or the fact that he was with
his wife, or that he was elderly, or that he was a southern mountain
transplant. Any one of those things would have made all the difference.
----
chapter
six
She had just changed into a pair of
shorts and sandals to work
in the garden when he knocked on the front screen door. He wore a blue
cotton short-sleeve shirt and a Panama hat with a flowered band around
the crown. His physique was massive, without a teaspoon of fat on it,
his neck like a tree stump with thick roots at the base that wedged
into his wide shoulders. His neatly creased slacks hung loosely on his
tapered waist and flat stomach.
But his green eyes were shy, and they crinkled when he smiled.
He carried a paper sack under his right arm.
'I wasn't able to give this to your husband, but perhaps I can
give it to you,' he said.
'He'll be home a little later, if you want to come back.'
'I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Will
Buchalter. Actually this is for you and the little girl.'
'I'm not quite sure I understand.'
'It's a gift. Some candy.' He slipped the box, which was
wrapped in ribbon and satin paper, partially out of the sack.
'That's very nice of you, I'm sure, but it might be better if
you drop back by when Dave's here.'
'I didn't mean to cause an inconvenience. I'm a little bit
inept sometimes.'
'No, I didn't mean that you were—'
'Could I have a glass of water, please?' He took off his hat.
His fine blond hair was damp in the heat.
Her eyes went past his shoulder to the dock, where she could
see Batist washing fish fillets in a
call him a boy.'
'He probably ain't gonna get much older if you don't take the
beeswax out of your ears. There's something bad going on out yonder. I
don't like hit.' He waved his hand vaguely at the eastern horizon.
'You mean the vigilante?'
'Maybe. Maybe something a whole lot bigger than that.'
'I don't follow you.'
'Things falling apart at the center. I think it's got to do
with the Antichrist.'
'The Antichrist?'
'You got woodpecker holes in your head or something?'
'I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about.'
'There's signs and such, the way birds fly around in a dead
sky right before a storm. You had a president with the numbers in his
name.' He puffed out both his cheeks. 'I can tell you're thinking, son.
I can smell the wood
burning.'
'What numbers?'
'Ronald Wilson Reagan. Six-six-six. The Book of Revelation
says hit, you'll know him by the numbers in his name. I think that
time's on us.'
'Could I get y'all anything else?'
'Does somebody have to hit you upside the head with a
two-by-four to get your attention?' he said.
'Stop talking to the man like that, Os,' his wife said,
opening another Moon Pie, her gaze fixed indolently on the willows
bending in the breeze.
'That colored fellow out yonder's innocent,' he said to me.
'These murders, I don't care if hit's dope dealers being killed or not,
they ain't done by somebody on the side of justice. People can pretend
that's the case, but hit ain't so. And that bothers me profoundly.
God's honest truth, son. That's all I come here to tell you.'
'Do you know something about the murders, Reverend?'
'You'll be the first to hear about hit when I do.' His face
was dilated and discolored in the heat, as though it had been slowly
poached in warm water.
After he and his wife drove away in
their flatbed truck, the
exact nature of their mission still a mystery to me, I called up to the
house.
'Hey, Boots, I'm going to Lafayette to talk to a lawyer, then
I have to pick up some ice for the coolers,' I said. 'By the way, that
man in the blue shirt you saw… I think he was just in the
shop. He's a fundamentalist radio preacher. I guess he's trying to do a
good deed of some kind.'
'Why was he staring up at the house?'
'You've got me. He's probably just one of those guys who left
his grits on the stove too long. Anyway, he seems harmless enough.'
If I had only mentioned his name or the fact that he was with
his wife, or that he was elderly, or that he was a southern mountain
transplant. Any one of those things would have made all the difference.
----
chapter
six
She had just changed into a pair of
shorts and sandals to work
in the garden when he knocked on the front screen door. He wore a blue
cotton short-sleeve shirt and a Panama hat with a flowered band around
the crown. His physique was massive, without a teaspoon of fat on it,
his neck like a tree stump with thick roots at the base that wedged
into his wide shoulders. His neatly creased slacks hung loosely on his
tapered waist and flat stomach.
But his green eyes were shy, and they crinkled when he smiled.
He carried a paper sack under his right arm.
'I wasn't able to give this to your husband, but perhaps I can
give it to you,' he said.
'He'll be home a little later, if you want to come back.'
'I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Will
Buchalter. Actually this is for you and the little girl.'
'I'm not quite sure I understand.'
'It's a gift. Some candy.' He slipped the box, which was
wrapped in ribbon and satin paper, partially out of the sack.
'That's very nice of you, I'm sure, but it might be better if
you drop back by when Dave's here.'
'I didn't mean to cause an inconvenience. I'm a little bit
inept sometimes.'
'No, I didn't mean that you were—'
'Could I have a glass of water, please?' He took off his hat.
His fine blond hair was damp in the heat.
Her eyes went past his shoulder to the dock, where she could
see Batist washing fish fillets in a
Similar Books
