Pops and I were alone on the porch that night. Chester was off working on the Paul Pierce murder investigation special edition, and Lo was at a Rotary Club meeting in Knuckle.
A Cadillac pulled up to the curb and a large man got out of the back. I knew instantly it was Bubba Boyd. He opened the fence gate like he owned it and strode to the bottom porch step, his son, Billy, a few steps behind. The driver was the man from the town hall meeting and stood under the streetlamp, arms crossed in the same posture of malevolence.
“Bubba, you picked an inauspicious time to come calling. I’m not in fine humor this evening.”
“We need to talk bidness,” he said and trudged up the steps.
“I didn’t think we had any business.”
“We got the bidness a Jukes.”
“Not for sale, Bubba.”
“You ain’t heard my offer.”
“Okay, make it.”
He sat down in one of the wicker chairs, its legs flaring on the load; Billy Boyd stood a pace back. The girth of Bubba’s thighs forced his legs wide. He wore thick gold rings on each of the fat fingers of his right hand, the gold seemingly embedded in the expanding flesh around it. He licked his lips and regarded Pops for a moment. Billy did the same.
“Hundert thousand cash money.”
Pops regarded him coolly. “That’s a fair offer.”
“I thought you would like it.” He leaned forward, elbows on thighs.
“Didn’t see you at the funeral last week.”
“I was otherwise engaged.”
“You missed quite a tribute. Paitsel’s eulogy touched everyone in the place. That was a special love those two had.”
“Special? What the hell you talkin bout special? That was disgustin, unholy, an sick is what it was. Paul coulda been big-time with his singing, but he chose the path of iniquity.”
Pops laughed. “So says the righteous man. You really think anyone would choose that life?”
“I do. We hold our destiny in our own hands.”
“So you think it was Paul’s destiny to wind up beat to death in an alley in his own town?”
Bubba licked his lips and looked straight at Pops. “He had it comin.”
Pops nodded like he understood. “You think he had it coming. So who do you reckon did that to him?”
“I don’t have any idea.”
“When they catch them it’ll be murder, now. That’s a whole different kettle.”
“Zeb ain’t got a lick to go on. Without witnesses, it ain’t likely to go nowhere.”
“How would you know that? Did you talk to Zeb?”
“Somethin happens in this town, I know bout it.”
Pops leaned forward in his chair. Bubba did the same so that they were almost nose on nose. “I think you put some of your boys up to it. Just like that time you put Gov Budget up to accosting Audy Rae. You sat there in the truck and let him do your dirty work like the coward you are. Let me tell you something, you’re lucky you stayed in that truck, or Sarah would have humiliated you just like she humiliated Gov.”
“I don’t reckon she woulda slapped me.” He grinned and his yellowed teeth showed for the first time. “She had, I woulda taken her behind Hivey’s an made her pay. Hell, she probly woulda liked that little ride.” He chuckled deep and darkly, then cut himself off when he saw the look on Pops’ face. It was a fusion of burgundy and purple with red-tipped ears. Pops’ eyes opened wide and seemed ready to burst out of their sockets. The skin on his forehead crumpled up into ridges and rolls of anger that made the mule-shot scene at Sen Budget’s seem like Christmas morning.
Pops lunged at Bubba Boyd, and his momentum pushed the bigger man back until the chair tipped and he fell to the porch boards with a heavy thump. Billy Boyd moved to help his father, then took a step back. He turned to the streetlight man. “Harlan!” Harlan came on a run.
Pops grabbed Bubba’s ear and twisted him up and off the floor. Blood trickled down Bubba’s jaw, and he leaned down to the pain and yowled.
“You will never speak of her that way again, you understand me?”
Harlan was at the bottom step now.
“Do not even think of coming up here,” Pops shouted and pointed with his free hand. Harlan paused, then stopped.
Bubba was still yowling. Pops twisted the ear again, and a fresh rivulet of blood washed Bubba’s neck.
“You understand me?”
“I got it, I got it,” he said through gritted teeth.
Pops dragged him to standing and down the steps by his ear, throwing him in a heap at Harlan’s feet. Billy Boyd’s mouth was moving, but no words came out. It was the first time he had ever seen his father at submission and it perplexed and unnerved him. He and Harlan helped Bubba to his feet and out to the car, a hand cupping the serrated ear. Pops turned wordlessly, chest heaving, and strode back up to the porch.
He paused at the top and turned to the road as Bubba Boyd’s Cadillac peeled off. Normal color returned to his cheeks and ears as he sat down in his chair and settled himself.
I was wide-eyed and openmouthed. The fury that exploded and the speed with which it arrived frightened me—it was as if a raging magma, held down for so long by rearing and position, ruptured its vessel and spewed forth in an overpowering surge. Then, just as quickly, the rage drew back into itself or dissipated to the night.
Pops picked up his mash, regarded the SWP etching, and said with surprising calm, “I won’t tolerate a man who speaks so rudely of my Sarah.”