Jerry said, "How'd you do? You get everything?"

"Some from the Dixie Gun Work," Tonto said, with an accent from down Mexico way. "Some from the place in Corint." He brought out folded sheets of paper from his denim jacket and opened them, Robert hovering, asking if, he wanted a drink, something to eat-"Yes, of course"-Robert finally getting him seated with a straight vodka and a plate of food on the table in front of the sofa. Dennis saw he was wearing scuffed brown cowboy boots. Jerry had taken a chair, Anne had gone in the bedroom and closed the door.

Robert said, "You want to eat your lunch first?" Jerry said, "I want to know what the fuck he got, okay?"

Tonto Rey took his time, looking at Jerry and then at the sheets of paper he was holding. He said, "I got everything Robert tole me. I got four Navy Colt revolvers, thirty-six-caliber, like the ones you have," looking at Jerry again.

Jerry said, "Extra cylinders?"

"Two for each revolver. Also I got four of the big fucking Enfield rifles, fifty-eight-caliber. I got cartridge boxes, canteens, cooking pots, the lanterns, the sacks…"

"Knapsacks," Robert said.

"Yeah, those."

Jerry said, "The tents?"

"I got three of the big wall tents with the awnings, and I got the stakes, the cooking irons, pots, a table that folds up."

Robert said, "Anything you couldn't get?" "Everything you tole me. Is all in the truck." "What about Dennis' uniform?"

"At the place in Corint. Is ready, he can pick it up.

Dennis looked at Robert. "How's he know my size?"

"I told him same as mine be close enough. This place in Corinth, you can pick out your hat, too.

Have a choice, a forage cap or the kepi."

Jerry got up from his chair saying, "I'm going to take a nap. You guys finish and get out of here." He went in the bedroom and closed the door.

Robert said to Tonto, "You bring some good weed?"

"Only the best."

"What they have here's not too bad."

"Where they get it?"

"Mostly Virginia."

"I hear is okay."

"We'll go to my room," Robert said and looked at Dennis. "You want to puff some?"

Dennis said no. He had a question, but now Robert was asking Tonto what he'd like to do after. "Get laid," Tonto said. "They any girls around here?"

"Cute ones. They say, `You want to see my trailer?' You tell the one you want, `You betcha.' "

He looked at Dennis. "You want to come?"

Dennis shook his head and Robert said to Tonto, "I believe the man has all he needs. Hey, man? You can blow your whistle, you can ring your bell, but I know you want it by the way you smell. Know what I'm saying?"

Tonto said, "I hear you, man."

Dennis watched them grinning at each other. He said, "I know where you've got something going too." Robert's grin didn't fade away, but did weaken.

"Tell me," Dennis said, "why you need all the guns."

"We got more reenactors coming," Robert said.

Vernice had let him use her Honda. He pulled up to the house and saw her waiting for him at the front door, Vernice looking worried, anxious. "Your car's fine," Dennis said, "still in one piece."

"You have a visitor."

"Don't tell me Arlen Novis."

"From the state police. What in the world have you been doing?"

"I wish I knew," Dennis said. He walked through the empty living room and dining L to the kitchen.

John Rau, wearing his dark suit and the tie with the flag, was at the table with a cup of coffee. He said to Dennis, "Sit down." He looked past him and, in a milder tone, said, "Vernice, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes? Thank you."

Dennis heard the door close as he took the chair facing John Rau stirring his coffee but looking this way.

He said, "Guess who's dead?"

"Do I know him?"

"I think you do. Junior Owens."

Dennis started to shake his head.

"Better known as Junebug."

"I never met him."

"He was fished out of the river this morning."

"He drowned?"

"You know better than that. Cause of death, gunshot."

"How many times?"

"You want to know if it was the same gun that did Floyd. No, he was shot once, in the chest, looking at the man who fired a bullet that went through and through."

"Have you talked to anybody?"

"You're top of the list, Dennis. Like you were on top the ladder when those fellas killed Floyd. Have you heard that story?"

"I have, yeah."

"Is it true?"

"I've been advised not to get involved in this."

"By a lawyer?"

"Or talk about it with you."

"You've been threatened."

"I'm not going to say anything."

"But you want to. Don't you?"

"How can I be involved based on a story going around, a rumor?"

"One of the fellas that did Floyd started it. You think it was Arlen Novis or Junebug?"

Dennis could picture them walking toward the tank, even before it was done, and he'd say the one in the hat, Arlen. That was easy. But he didn't say anything; he shook his head.

"Can you imagine why Junebug was killed? If you were Arlen and you heard the Bug was shooting off his mouth?"

Dennis didn't say anything.

"You know Arlen?"

"I met him."

"What do you think of him?"

"He acts like a sheriff's deputy."

"I know what you mean. But he didn't shoot anybody till he came out of prison." John Rau waited and then he said, "Why don't you help me put him back in?"

13

THEY WENT UP TO MEMPHIS and took 72 East to Corinth, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Tunica, most of it dipping down into Mississippi and across the top of the state, the sound of blues in the car all the way. "A medley of De-troit bluesmen," Robert said. "Johnny `Yard Dog' Jones, mixing soul with his blues, Alberta Adams, been doing it seventy years. Sang with everybody who's anybody. Got Robert Jones on there, he'll make you think of another Robert, the great Robert Johnson, Son House, too. And, let's see, Johnnie Bassett, plays a kind of jazz blues."

Dennis said, "Why you live in Detroit?"

"Everybody's got to live someplace."

"Yeah, but Detroit- "

"It's a no-shit town, man, it jumps. Look at Motown, Kid Rock, that wigger Eminem. All kind of sounds come out of Detroit."

"You grew up there, went to school?"

"In my youth," Robert said, sitting low behind the wheel of the jag, "you know what I did? Worked for Young Boys, Incorporated, street-corner entrepreneurs, sell a dime bag of heroin for thirteen dollars and keep three. Started when I was twelve years old working for Mr. Jones. That was his name. He goes, `Want to make three hundred a day? Hustle you can make three thousand a week?' What do you think I said to the man? There were a couple hundred of us doing it. They give you these little envelopes marked with brand names like Murder One, Rolls-Royce, you take out to your corner, or to the projects for home delivery. Yeah, Young Boys showed how it was done, then other gangs came along, like Pony Down was one."

Out in the country cruising past cornfields, cows in a pasture, signs on trees that said JESUS SAVES… Dennis said, "You were twelve years old?"

"Thirteen, I bought a Cadillac."

"You weren't old enough to drive."

"I drove. Got pulled over every block, so I had the car put in my mama's name. She sold it. I was fourteen I bought a Corvette, kept it to use at night till it got jacked on me. You sell over two grand a week, Christmastime they take you to Las Vegas and get you laid by your first white lady."

"Did you use drugs?"

"Weed is all. Look at the people you selling to; you know you don't want to get hooked on the heavy shit. No, I even put money away, bought my mama things. I was fifteen I left Young Boys to try Pony Down and got a knife put to my throat. So I retired from the business."