“I’m not a rat.”

“You learn that from a Cagney picture? Hell, son, you’re just a farmer. Look at the dirt under your nails.”

“I won’t rat on ‘Machine Gun’ Kelly.”

“He ain’t Billy the Kid.”

“You want me to stand up for the bankers and oilmen?”

Jones rubbed his face, took a sip of water, and leaned back in his chair. “I came to you because I told your daddy I’d try. This is a favor, son, and it won’t come ’round again. You need some plain talk and understanding of this predicament. You think Kelly and your stepsister would do the same for you?”

“I know they would.”

Jones took another sip and grunted. “You want to bet?”

“Kit told me you coppers would try and buddy up. She said y’all can’t breathe without telling a lie.”

“I’m offering you time. You’re young enough that you can still claim some of it. Your story doesn’t have to go like this.”

“Go to hell.”

“Boy,” Jones said, sadly, “that just doesn’t sound right coming out of your mouth. I knew you’d be like this, and some of the fellas thought they might be able to get you to tell them where to find the Kellys by stomping the ever-living shit out of you. I told them that wasn’t necessary. I figured you had a level head.”

“You figured wrong.”

Jones stood.

“How much they promise you?”

“They ain’t paying me.”

“I’d at least ask something for my child,” Jones said. “Don’t be foolish. You know Kathryn spent up toward two thousand dollars just on panties, shoes, and such? They’re living it up. Big parties, spending sprees, booze, and high times. I bet they’re laughing at the ole Shannon family.”

“They’ll bust us out.”

“You think George is worried about you?” Jones asked, slipping into his suit jacket and reaching for his hat.

Armon looked down at his manacled legs. “Fuck you.”

“Boy, those words just don’t fit your mouth,” Jones said. “High times. While your youngun is about to be sent to the orphanage, they’re popping champagne bottles.”

“They’ll bust us out.”

“Sure,” Jones said, reaching for the door. “Did you know Kathryn doesn’t even speak to her other kin? They’ve tried to call and write her for years, but she thinks she’s too good for ’em. Just like she thinks she’s too high-hat for you, Potatoes.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I’m a trained investigator, son.”

“She visits her grandma in Coleman ever since I know’d her. She loves that old woman. Stick that in your pipe, copper.”

Jones knocked on the door for the deputy. The door cracked open. “You sure are a tough nut, Potatoes. I just plain give up.”

27

Well, if the devil don’t walk among us,” Grandma Coleman said, spitting some snuff juice into an empty coffee can. Her hair was dyed the color of copper wire, framing a wrinkled complexion that resembled the skin on boiled milk. Sometimes Kathryn saw a bit of Ora in her grandmother, and sometimes, when the old woman grew cross, she saw a bit of herself. Mainly it was the way her cataracted eyes would gain some clarity-if only for a moment-and fix on something in her mind. Kathryn knew that look, had seen it in the mirror too many times when George would wander into the bathroom and ask her if she’d like to pull his finger or lift his leg to play a flat tuba note.

“Mornin’, Ma,” George said, leaning down and kissing the woman’s old sagging cheek. He’d showered and shaved, put on a fresh pair of gray pants and a short-sleeved white shirt without a tie. Grandma reached up and wiped away the filth of George Kelly, sticking out her old tongue like she had a bad taste, while Kathryn read the Dallas Morning News: SHANNON FAMILY FACES FEDERAL JUDGE.

“How ’bout some ham and eggs?” George asked as he poured a cup of coffee.

“Scat,” Ma Coleman said.

“Biscuits and gravy?” George asked, taking a sip, winking at Kathryn.

“I said shoo,” the old woman said. “I could smell your brand of evil soon as you crossed the threshold. You smell of sulfur.”

“Just some bay rum, Ma.”

“Git your own breakfast,” she said. “Shoo.”

George reached on the table for Kit’s silver cigarette case and fetched a Lucky, although he was a Camel man, and took a seat at the beaten table. “Can I have the funnies?”

Kathryn kept reading the front page, all about Ora, Boss, and Potatoes being in court later today and how the federal types had made a motion to extradite all three of them back to Oklahoma City, saying the outlaws had too many friends in Texas. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’ll give ’em back.”

“What?” Kathryn said.

“The funnies. Little Orphan Annie just got caught in a scrap with these pirates yesterday, and I wanted to see how the whole mess turned out.”

“George?” Kathryn said, snatching away the funnies.

“Come on, now, Kit.”

“Satan!” Ma Coleman said.

“Listen, we got to bust them out.”

“Annie and Sandy?”

“Quit trying to be funny,” she said. “They want to take my mother back to Oklahoma. They’ll hang her, George. I read they’re going to make us an example for what happened to Lindbergh’s baby.”

“Charlie Urschel ain’t no baby a’ mine.”

“I rebuke you,” Ma Coleman said, her glazed blue, sightless eyes shut. “Protect her, Lord. Seek the Lord’s forgiveness and repent.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” George said. “Would you shut her up?”

“I rebuke you, Satan,” the woman said, slapping the rough-hewn boards of the tabletop. “Bless this sister in Jesus’ name.”

“Ma?” George asked. “You still got those chickens? I’d like some eggs.”

“For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”

“Sure thing, Ma,” George said, slurping the hot coffee. “But can I get some eggs first? Bacon, if you got it.”

“We got to get to Dallas,” Kathryn said, finishing the story, reading over the last line about the kidnappers and their accomplices facing the chair. “If they take Ora out of Texas, they’ll kill her.”

“You want me to march into the county jail with my pistol and rescue my mother-in-law?”

“George, bring the machine gun.”

“I’d be dead long before I make it inside the joint.”

“Call some friends.”

“Albert won’t be much help.”

“Call Verne Miller.”

“Have you gone loony tunes? His best friend is in the slammer for something we did. Not to mention, we stole their loot. He’s got cause to be upset.”

“Then give it back.”

“Doesn’t work that way, Kit,” he said. “Hell, I didn’t mean to take it. How was I supposed to know Kid Cann packed all the cash together?”

“They’re going to kill my mother.”

“You want them to kill your husband, too? We set our path a long ways back.”

Kathryn didn’t speak, flipping her cigarette case from side to side.

“We got to get out of Texas,” George said. “Today.”

“Satan,” Ma said. “The beast roams the earth as a lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

“Shut up, old woman,” George said. “I gotta think.”

Kathryn lay back and slapped George across the mug. “You’ve got to do something.”

“I’ve got to fetch up some eggs,” George said, rubbing the red mark across his unshaven jaw and standing from the table. “I’m going to take a bath, eat breakfast, and then for the rest of the day I’m going to get good and stinking drunk. You can do all the thinking today.”

“That’s your answer?”

“I’m not going to Dallas.”

“I’m going to Dallas,” she said. “They need a lawyer.”

“Go,” George said.

“Satan,” Ma Coleman said.

Kathryn tramped out of the room, the screen door swatting behind her. George wasn’t but two seconds behind, Kathryn wishing he’d waited a beat so she could muster up some good sniveling tears, but to hell with it.