He watched her turn to the door as it opened to bright sunlight behind someone coming in, a guy wearing a hat John Rau would recognize from two hundred yards, facing a line of Confederate skirmishers across a field. The figure in the doorway hesitated and seemed to change his mind about coming in-until John Rau, sure of who it was now, called to him, "Hey, Arlen, is that you?"

The trip wasn't a waste of time after all, John Rau pretty sure this was the man who'd shot Floyd Showers, or had it done.

Shit. It was too late now to duck out, the cop looking right at him. Arlen came on in raising his hand to the state cop and getting a cordial tone ready. "Hey, chief, what're you doing here, fixing to get laid? Hey, I got to piss before I wet my pants. You wait there, chief, I'll be right back." He hurried along the bar and into the back hall to the men's. He did have to piss, unzipped and stood at the rusty urinal as he got his phone out of his back pocket and punched a number.

"What're you doing? You got some little girl with you?" He listened and said, "Well I'm about to have a conversation with a state dick dropped by for a Co'Cola. When I'm through, and it ain't gonna take long, I'm coming to see you." He listened and said, "What do you think for, you dumb shit."

He punched another number.

"Fish? Drop what you're doing, we're going on a job." He listened and said, "I'll tell you on the way.

Pick me up at Junebug's." He listened again and said, "No, nothing that big. Your forty-five, something you can slip in your waist."

He walked up to the state cop standing at the bar in his neat suit and tie and his Co'Cola, Arlen cordial again as he said, "I bet you're ready for the Cross Roads. You know what uniform you're gonna wear?"

This state cop didn't offer his hand. "The Second New Jersey Mounted Infantry, though I think dismounted this time. I lost a beautiful mare at Yellow Tavern. Stepped in a hole and broke her leg. How about yourself, Forrest 's Escort?"

"I may as well serve under Walter," Arlen said, "since I work for him." He wished he could think of this state cop's name, so he could throw it in while they took time to bullshit each other before getting to the point. "I haven't been to the site yet to look it over."

"It'll remind you some of Brice's."

"Too bad we can't use the actual battlefield."

"Even if we could," this know-it-all cop said, "Brice's is too far away to do Tunica any good. You have to look at this muster as a way to promote Tunica."

"I guess you're right," Arlen said, nodding to the bartender, who came over in his sour undershirt popping open a can of Bud. Arlen took a long swallow, giving himself time to wonder if he should mention Floyd before the cop brought it up. Ask how the investigation was going. Show he'd talk about it like anybody else. He wished he could think of this state cop's name. He believed it was John something. Arlen had reenacted with him, remembering him going either way, gray or blue, hardcore to his buttons; and he remembered this John something testifying to evidence in court when he went down on the extortion charges. Two years of his life in the toilet.

The cop said, "I heard Dennis Lenahan, the diver…?”

Beating him to it.

"Was on the ladder, way at the top, when you and Junebug shot Floyd. That's the story going around. You hear it?"

Jesus, getting right into it. Arlen said in the cop's face, "No, I don't believe I have."

"It was right here, I'm told, where it started. Either you or Junebug bragging about it."

"It was me, I'd know, wouldn't l?"

"Well, I'd lean more to Junebug saying it than you. Maybe you weren't around?"

"If what you're telling me is true," Arlen said, "then what you're saying is the diver seen who did it."

"I expect so, if he was there."

"Then whyn't you ask him?" Arlen stared right at the cop as he said it. Looked him right in the fuckin eye.

The cop said, "I intend to. You bet." "So he hasn't stepped up hisself." "No, he hasn't."

"Why's that, you suppose?"

"I imagine he's been threatened."

Now the cop in his Sunday suit and tie, an American flag on it, was looking him in the eye, but not giving it much. This was not like any cop Arlen had ever been exposed to. He seemed more like a lawyer.

"Tell you the truth," Arlen said, "I wouldn't have any reason to whack Floyd. He never done nothing to me. I believe that man was so miserable he mighta done hisself in, tired of living in the gutter."

"Five in the back of the head?"

"Oh, is that right?" Arlen said. "My goodness." He paused and said, "Come on, chief, why don't we quit fuckin the dog here. You gonna bring me up on a story somebody heard in a bar? When was it, the night before last? Hell, I was right here where I'm standing most of the night." He turned his head to the bartender. "Wesley, where was I the night Floyd died and went to heaven?"

"Right there," Wesley said, "where you're standing."

Arlen found out at Parchman Jim Rein was the best do-anything man you could have at your side-Jim Rein already behind that razorwire for assaulting county prisoners too aggressively. He had entered as a fish, what they called all new arrivals, but swore he'd never get hooked, become some inmate's wife. Anybody approached Jim Rein with romantic ideas Jim cracked his head open. In no time at all he was Big Fish, too mean to land. Arlen came into the population, a homeboy from Tunica, and Fish became Arlen's bodyguard, working for him just as he had when they were both sheriff's deputies.

They had the same relationship going nowdriving north on 61 toward Tunica in Fish's black Chevy pickup. Fish reminded Arlen of Li'l Abner.

Arlen told him about this boy Robert last night showing him the picture. "A nigger hanging from a bridge and tells me it was my grampa Bobba lynched him."

"Your grampa, huh?"

"See, I'd have known. But I never heard of Bobba doing that. It would've been a good story to tell people. Then I'm leaving, this boy Robert come out to the car, says don't worry, he won't say nothing about my shooting Floyd. I told him, `Stand there, I want to talk to you.' He says, `Later,' and walks in the house."

Jim Rein said, "Where'd this boy Robert come from?"

"I have to find that out."

"Or how he knew about Floyd."

"It musta been the diver told him. I kept thinking, I'm sitting there at the table with him, he could be a federal agent of some kind. I kept my mouth shut till he shows the picture of the nigger was lynched. I have to look into this boy Robert." He told Jim Rein about his conversation with the state cop just now, as much of it as he could remember word for word and saying he couldn't think of the cop's name.

"The one come out with you? That's John Rau, the CIB man. I was talking to a deputy's on the case with him's my cousin? He says far as they's concerned John Rau don't know shit. They not doing nothing for him they don't have to."

"I should've had you do Floyd 'stead of the Bug."

"I told you I would, but I had to go to Corinth for my uncle's coming-home party. Eighteen years he was in."

"How's Earl doing?"

"Looks fine but don't know how to act now he's out. Earl's in the grocery store with Aunt Noreen? He asks can he go by himself over to where he saw the cans of Deviled Ham. Aunt Noreen says she told him, `Earl, you don't have to ask permission no more to go someplace.' Eighteen years, man." Jim Rein turned his head. "Where we going?"

"The bughouse," Arlen said.

He watched Jim Rein think about it before starting to grin. "That's what Earl says Parchman was like, everybody in there's crazy. He was looking forward to conjugal visits, only he never had none in the eighteen years. Aunt Noreen was too embarrassed to get in the trailer there on the grounds, people watching her."