Three Days Before the Shooting ... (28 page)

“Is that what you asked him to do?” Tolliver said.

“No, sir, I didn’t, although I wish I’d thought of it.”

“What did you ask him?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then did you make some gesture toward him?”

“Gesture?” Hickman frowned, studying Tolliver. “You mean did I beckon him?”

“You know what I mean!”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“I mean did you insult him, challenge him, or make some kind of provoking gesture toward him?”

“You mean like thumbing my nose?”

“Yes, anything of that order.”

Hickman smiled, “Mister, you’d better take a good look at my gray head of hair. I told you I have things on my mind. So no, I didn’t gesture toward him. In fact, I didn’t even raise my hand—neither to beckon nor to bless him, nor make the sign of the cross. In fact, until I felt him come up on me, my eyes were closed.”

“Then why were you holding him?”

“Oh, be reasonable, man,” Hickman said. “He tried to strike me!”

“But why? That’s my question.”

Hickman shook his head. “Mister,” he said, “I’ve seen fairer judges hanging around courthouse squares in Mississippi.” Then pointing to me, “Why don’t you ask him? You see him down here standing over me. I’m not up there where he was sitting, am I? Are you interested in the truth, or are you trying to blot out your God-given vision?”

Tolliver reddened, leaning toward him. “Never mind my eyes, you’re not answering the question!”

“Well, it’s the best I can do,” Hickman said. “Mister McIntyre can talk, and he’s standing right here. Besides, you were close enough to have seen or heard me if I’d said or done anything. I can’t figure what you’re trying to do. Is there a rule which says that you can’t ask him about what happened? Maybe I need a lawyer for myself! You must know that it takes at least two to tell the truth about a thing like this, so even if I could tell you something you’d still have to let Mister McIntyre speak.”

Tolliver shook his head disgustedly, turning to me.

“All right, McIntyre, maybe you can help us get somewhere. What’d he do?”

I could feel perspiration coursing down the small of my back, my mouth dry with embarrassment. I was unable to speak, shook my head.

Tolliver cursed beneath his breath.

“Are you two playing some kind of game? What the hell’s going on? I look up and see two men about to fight, and now neither of them wants to talk!”

“But Marv,” Bates said, “maybe the reverend here doesn’t know anything. He was just sitting there when McIntyre shot down here like someone had give him a hotfoot.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Hickman said. “Maybe he was dreaming or something….”

Now it’ll come
, I thought.
He’s going to pretend to read my mind
. But could he know—even about Laura? Could she have gone to live in his town? How long ago? Or could one of the old folks he’s worried about be her grandmother?

“No,” Bates was saying, “he wasn’t dreaming, not the way he was swinging.”

“Then maybe he just came to understand something he’s been puzzled about, or overlooking for a long time,” Hickman said.

“Like what?” Tolliver said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Hickman said. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Why can’t you answer a simple question?” Tolliver said. “Just say what you mean.”

“I’ll try, but it won’t be simple. What I meant was that sometimes a man will have such a sudden revelation that the shock will make him act before he knows what he’s doing. Like sometimes in church, when the Spirit strikes right past a man’s brain and hits his heart and limbs and gets him going. One minute he’s just sitting there in the heat of the service, looking and listening and maybe thinking that the preaching and the singing has nothing to do with him. But then—hallelujah!—and next thing he knows he’s already on his feet and heading to the mourners’ bench. Way deep inside he’s on fire and thirsty for that old healing water. But even though his legs are moving, he’s confused in his mind, because he’s in the midst of a transformation. He’s both lost and found. He’s passing among strangers who are friends and friends who are strangers. His mind is confused but he’s already saved and celebrating in his transformed heart. Understand?”

Tolliver stepped back, staring at him. “Is that supposed to explain something?” he said.

Hickman returned his gaze. “Well, I tried,” he said.

“What has all that to do with what he asked you?” Bates said.

“I was trying to discuss what happened in the blanks between seeing and not-seeing,” Hickman said. “Between acting and understanding the act; between the tick and the tock, the now and the then….”

The voice trailed off, and Tolliver stared at the old man with great distaste. I shivered.

Hickman sighed, his eyes turned inward, and I could hear the silence of the corridor, the click and slide of distant elevator doors. What on earth was the old Negro talking about? Is he kidding the three of us, I wondered, or is he simply poor at similes; with his status outside the complexities of society making for a hazy sense of correspondences? Where was he taking me?

His eyes fluttered then and he was looking up at Tolliver.

“I was only speculating on what happens in the still moment between the now and the then,” he said. “All I know for certain is that today the depths have been stirred up. The grave has yawned and the house has rocked and the mighty laid low. So that anybody is likely to act strange. Maybe something happened in Mr. McIntyre’s head, some kind of unusual connection was made that caused him to act before he knew what he was doing. On the other hand, he might just have gotten impatient with sitting around here waiting and decided to see how I’d take it if he was to hit me one. But whatever it was, it isn’t important.”

“I’ll decide what’s important,” Tolliver said. “Anything that happens around this case is important.”

“Of course, and you’re right,” Hickman said. “All I meant, as the prizefighters say, is that he didn’t lay a glove on me. I’ve been struck at before, so I was prepared.”

Suddenly his face changed, his voice becoming briskly matter-of-fact as he looked at me. “Son, will you tell this man what it was you thought you were doing?”

And with his “son” my voice was back again. “You know what happened,” I shouted, almost convinced by the words. “And don’t pretend to defend me!”

He watched me calmly. “No, son,” he said, “you might think that I do, but I really don’t know what happened. But you might look at it this way: I have to defend
you
so that I can defend myself. This officer thinks I did something to bring you down here, but you know that I didn’t and I think you should tell him so.”

The old sound of authority was back in his voice and his eyes calmly demanding. I felt trapped, held by the presence of some dark and insidious force. Tolliver was growing visibly annoyed with both of us. And puzzled. “You must have done something to provoke this incident,” he said, “and if McIntyre didn’t have such a misplaced sense of honor he’d tell us what it was. He’s a reasonable man, a liberal man, and I intend to get to the bottom of this before you leave here.”

He turned. “And you, McIntyre, you must be as upset as hell to think you can get away with hitting a man in my custody. You shouldn’t be here, you know. Another move like that and I’ll throw you the hell out; I don’t care what he did to provoke you. And it doesn’t matter to me whether you get a story or not. In fact, it might be better for everyone if you didn’t. So now get back there and sit down!”

“Before it’s all over, the truth will show its face,” Hickman said. “So go in peace, Mister McIntyre.”

“Oh, shut up!” Tolliver said.

I moved away, still feeling the imprint of Hickman’s fingers cutting into my wrist, his eyes pressing against the back of my skull. Recalling the
strength which he’d displayed in the visitors’ gallery, I wondered how I had been so overwhelmed as to attack him. He’d picked off my blow like an outfielder snagging a long, slow fly….

“Say, McIntyre!”

It was Tolliver again, coming toward me. And looking back past his rolling shoulders, I could see Bates and Hickman watching me, and tensed, wondering if Hickman had sent him to question me further. Then he had reached me, saying, “Listen, McIntyre, I don’t want you to misunderstand me; that old darky gets on my nerves as much as he gets on yours. Sitting there with his eyes closed, praying and mumbling to himself. But hell, I can’t let you attack him; he’s in custody.”

He frowned, staring. “Man, you look all done in. Why don’t you take a breather and back off of this thing a bit? Go stretch your legs.”

“I’m tired as hell,” I said, “but I can’t risk it, because the moment I leave, something new is sure to erupt.”

“I doubt if anything will happen,” he said. “At least not for a couple of hours.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I mean that the Senator won’t come out of sedation before that.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard one of the surgeons instructing the nurses.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “Still, I’d better stick here. But thanks for the information, and I’m sincerely sorry I caused the trouble. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, forget it, that old bastard provoked you. He got out of line somehow.”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I was thinking about something else, something unrelated—then bang!—and I was standing over him.”

“Well,” Tolliver said, “I have no doubt who triggered it. He said something or did something extreme. In fact, the whole bunch of those people seem to have turned extremist all of a sudden. You’d be surprised at the reports coming into the Bureau. Like the one who set that fire on the Senator’s lawn …”

I looked away, holding on tight to myself.
Here comes that burning Cadillac again!

“What is it, fellow?” Tolliver said. “Are you ill?”

I shook my head, closing my eyes to find flashes of flame streaked behind my lids. For a split second the name whirled up and away from me, then struck fire in my mind.

“You mean Minifees,” I said, “LeeWillie Minifees.”

“Right,” Tolliver said, “that’s the boy. That’s him! Could you’ve imagined
such a thing? It’s gotten so that every time one of these spades moves within shouting distance of Sunraider everything goes to hell!”

Down the corridor Bates had returned to his post, and I could see Hickman, resting like a bear stuffed into the white iron chair, his hands clasped peacefully over his stomach. A tremor swept over my body.

“Burning a Cadillac!” Tolliver said with strong feeling. “It’s an atrocity!”

“Yes,” I said. “In the excitement I’d almost forgotten the incident. Has Minifees been released?”

“Released! Are you kidding? After what
he
did? And now this shooting?”

“Are you saying that he’s implicated?”

“That’s just the point, we don’t know, we’re investigating him. But anyone who’d do what he did is capable of doing anything. So we’ve got him right here, in the psycho ward.”

“Here?” I said. “My God, I’d like to see him. What are the charges?”

“He’s under observation, he hasn’t been charged. But when he is, if you ask me, it can be any number of charges: arson, felonious assault, resisting arrest, the wilful destruction of private property, endangering the public safety, inciting to riot, making incendiary speeches—
er
, if it turns out he’s connected with this shooting, it could even be treason.”

“He’s in bad trouble,” I said. “If there’s any way possible, I’d like to have a talk with him. I had no idea he was here.”

“I’ll look into it,” Tolliver said. “It’ll depend on others. But you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s being held here. A number of suspects and criminal psychopaths, rapists, and the like are held here. Clyde Sterling the poet is here; a Negro janitor—what’s-his-name—who’s suspected of murdering his rich buddy and stealing his life’s savings, is here—killed him at a birthday party.”

Suddenly I came down hard on the bench, my legs giving way beneath me. “But that man was drunk,” I said.

“Who?”

“McMillen, Aubrey McMillen.”

Tolliver leaned close. “What do you know about it, McIntyre?”

“I covered the story. The dead man’s name was Jessie Rockmore.”

“That’s right, it was. And as you say, McMillen was drunk, but it’s our guess that he’s also a murderer and a psychopathic liar. That’s why he’s under observation. There’s a three-ringed circus of psychos here, but if you ask me, that fellow Minifees takes the cake!”

“He was pretty wild,” I said, “but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might be implicated in the shooting.”

“Listen,” Tolliver said, “in an event like this
anyone
could be involved. You have to look for motives everywhere and in everybody. Maybe this fellow has nothing to do with it, but on the other hand that car-burning might have
been an act, a diversionary tactic intended to prepare for an attack that misfired until this morning. During that Minifees confusion anything could have happened to Senator Sunraider. In fact, if we’re able to place some character on the scene with a pistol or grenade or rifle, we’ll have him nailed. I understand that there were important details to what went on out there which didn’t get into the news accounts. Even your paper ran an odd little story that played the incident for laughs. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I wish you had, maybe you’d have supplied us with more to work on, some significant detail instead of that lame attempt to make a joke out of it.”

“We do our best,” I said.

“Sometimes
you do. But I’m not criticizing you, McIntyre; I’m speaking of the press in general. For instance, I heard that that clown was wearing alligator shoes which cost fifty bucks apiece! Now if you ask me, that’s some kind of crime in itself!” He grinned. “Anyway, you take it easy. Take a nap if you like, and don’t worry about Hickman, he’s not going anywhere. And when the Senator comes out of it we’ll alert you.”

He moved away and I was relieved that he hadn’t questioned me further. I felt completely turned around, what with his having thrown Minifees into juxtaposition with the gunman and having revealed McMillen’s presence in the hospital. Watching Tolliver disappear into the Senator’s room, I began to shake and tremble. Then I was looking at Hickman nodding in his chair, and suddenly I was laughing within myself.