Read Havana for Free Online Page B

“what does this mean?”
    â€œDaddy, what is—”
    â€œYou just no never-mind, Bob Lee. It ain’t a thing to worry about.”
    He picked up his son, for the boy’s fear upset him, and meant to give him a hug of reassurance, because he himself had never been hugged as a child. But immediately they were discovered on the porch, and en masse, the visiting party rose, abandoning poor Junie, and headed eagerly to him.
    Earl knew in a second this was no lynching party.
    â€œWell, Earl, by god, there you are,” said Colonel Jenks in a way far heartier than his normal dour style. “Why, Junie said you and the boy and Lawyer Vincent had gone hunting south of Blue Eye.”
    â€œWe came back early.”
    â€œNo luck? I don’t see no animal on the fender.”
    â€œThe best luck. It worked out fine.”
    He put his son down.
    â€œYou run off, Bob Lee. Seems these boys come to talk to Daddy. Junie, can you get the boy some lemonade?”
    â€œYou come, Bob Lee,” sang Junie, taking the boy in her sheltering presence.
    Earl turned to face whatever this would be. They stood, all of them, on the porch, in the pale twilight. “Now what is going on here, sir? You don’t come to call with a Cadillac every day.”
    â€œEarl, may I introduce Phil Mackey of Governor Becker’s office and Lane Brodgins, on the staff of Congressman Harry Etheridge himself.”
    The two men stepped forward behind large smiles and pushed hands at him; Earl shook each numbly. He looked behind them to see that Junie had been pressed to prepare for whatever this would be: A suitcase, the nice one he’d bought for her when she went on a trip to Cape Girardeau for her mother’s funeral last year, lay on a table. In it he saw neatly folded clothes: shirts, socks, slacks—his own. He also saw his new Super .38 Colt, wrapped in a cotton cloth, nested in his undercover shoulder holster. It was the right gun to pack, whatever was coming up. Junie knew.
    â€œEarl—may I call you Earl, Earl?” said the governor’s man.
    â€œEarl, you know how highly Fred Becker thinks of you. We all know you may have put him in the governor’s mansion.”
    â€œThat was some years ago,” said Earl.
    â€œYes, sir, it was. Now—well, you tell him, Lane.”
    This Brodgins, the Washington version of the slickster of which Mackey was only a rural prototype, stepped forward now, and put a well-manicured hand on Earl’s shoulder.
    â€œEarl, you know how Congressman Etheridge—hell, Harry—how highly Harry thinks of you, too. You’re one of three Arkansas Medal of Honor winners. Harry thinks of you as his boys.”
    Earl just nodded. He knew enough of Boss Harry to go on edge, for he didn’t trust the man: a speechifying, deal-making politician who rose to power through old Ray Bama’s organization in Fort Smith. But Boss Harry—who came originally from Polk, moved up to Fort Smith, and made his way from gofer to secretary of the Democratic party to city legislator to mayor to congressman—had far exceeded his mentor. He was a man who, getting to Washington in record time, and quite young, had mastered its lessons, solved its system, and learned how to get himself into key positions. He’d been there so long he was a power, now especially, as chairman of some big moneybags committee.
    â€œThe governor always says, ‘That Earl, he’s the most capable man in Arkansas,’” said Phil.
    â€œEarl,” said Sam, “I’d keep my hand on my wallet. These boys are reaching for something.”
    â€œNow, Mr. Sam,” said Phil, “you may be Polk County’s prosecuting attorney, but you are still Earl’s best friend, so you advise him to listen to us, because we come with some damned good news.”
    â€œLet’s hear it,” said Earl.
    â€œEarl,” said Phil, “you’ve seen gangsters.