‘Don’t know his real name,’ Gaylord said, ‘but I recognize the ring. Ugly, cheap ole thing.’ He smiled. ‘You looking for a big man,’ he said. ‘Even bigger than ole Gaylord.’
‘I know,’ Ben told him.
‘He big,’ Gaylord added, ‘but he harmless. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘But you don’t know his name?’ Ben asked.
‘It’s like I said before,’ Gaylord told him. ‘He ain’t got no regular name. But everybody call him Bluto, ’cause he so big and such.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Well, I hear tell he ain’t got no house.’
‘He must live somewhere.’
Gaylord laughed. ‘Way I hear it, he live in a pipe.’
‘Pipe?’
‘One of them big old pipes around the rubber plant.’
‘A storm drain?’ Ben asked unbelievingly.
‘That’s right.’
‘When did you see him last?’ Ben asked.
Gaylord’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. ‘He was in here late Sunday. He come in most everyday.’
‘And plays pool?’
‘That’s right?’
‘Where does he work?’
Gaylord laughed. ‘Aw, he don’t work. He do a few little errands over in Bearmatch. Little of this, little of that. But he don’t have no regular job.’
‘Well, where does he get the money to play so much pool?’
Gaylord looked as if it had never occurred to him.
‘He has to get it from somewhere,’ Ben said insistently.
‘Guess so,’ Gaylord said.
‘How about friends, relatives?’
‘Ain’t got none, far as I know.’
‘Then he must have a job.’
‘Naw,’ Gaylord said with certainty. ‘He couldn’t have no regular job.’
‘How do you know?’
‘’Cause he ain’t got enough sense for a regular job,’ Gaylord said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He like a child,’ Gaylord repeated. ‘You know, in his head.’
‘Retarded?’ Coggins blurted suddenly. ‘You mean, mentally retarded?’
Gaylord looked at him. ‘Yeah, like that. He like a little bitty child. Ain’t a speck of meanness in him.’
TWENTY-TWO
The avenue was almost entirely deserted when Ben and Coggins walked back out onto the sidewalk. It was as if a great wind had blown everything away, the wooden stalls packed high with socks and T-shirts, the racks of cheap dresses and shiny ready-made suits, even the old men who often sat in front of the barbecue stands, whittling idly with their pocket knives. Only the grit of the gutter remained, bits of paper, cigarette packages, bottle caps, all of which looked like little more than the residue of a vanished population.
‘I screwed up,’ Coggins said as he and Ben walked back down toward the car.
‘You did the only thing you could do.’
‘I believe in nonviolence,’ Coggins said. ‘I really do. I believe in persuading people, in moving their consciences.’
Ben shrugged. ‘Well, sometimes maybe you just have time to stop them.’
There were no other cars on the avenue, and when Ben and Coggins got to theirs, they found Breedlove and Daniels lounging on the hood.
‘They were about to tow this old wreck,’ Daniels said, ‘but Breedlove told them it belonged to one of Birmingham’s ace detectives.’
Breedlove laughed. That’s right. Besides, I figured you’d be back before the action started.’ He looked at Coggins. ‘You too, Leroy. I didn’t figure you’d want to miss this.’
Ben opened the passenger door. ‘Get in,’ he said to Coggins.
‘Where you going, Ben?’ Breedlove asked as he slid off the hood. ‘Aren’t you supposed to help with the arrests?’
Ben closed the door then walked over to the driver’s side. ‘Nobody’s said a thing to me about that,’ he said, ‘so I’m just going to continue what I was doing.’
Daniels stepped up beside him. ‘Still working on that little girl?’
Ben nodded as he opened the door and pulled himself inside.
‘I hear her mama filed a Missing Person.’
‘Her aunt,’ Ben told him.
‘A nigger woman,’ Breedlove said. ‘That’s what Mc-Corkindale told me.’
Ben stared at him coolly. ‘That’s right. What about it?’
Daniels stepped back slightly and flashed Breedlove an icy smile. ‘Hey, Charlie, I think Ben’s getting a little testy in his old age.’
Breedlove leaned in from the other side. ‘King’s giving another speech tonight, Ben,’ he said teasingly. ‘I heard you missed the last one.’
Ben said nothing, and Breedlove was still studying his face with an odd, indecipherable intensity when he hit the ignition and pulled away.
The first wave of marchers crested the hill as Ben drove slowly up it. He guided the car over to the far right and stopped.
‘You taking me back to jail?’ Coggins asked.
‘You want me to?’
Coggins smiled tentatively. ‘It seems a little safer.’
‘I’m going to check out the rubber plant,’ Ben told him. ‘See if I can find this Bluto character, the one Gaylord was talking about.’ He glanced over at Coggins. ‘You want to come?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Coggins said. He pulled the pistol from his belt and handed it to Ben. ‘But this time you keep the gun.’
For a few minutes they sat together in silence while the long line of Negroes filed past the car. Down below, the first sirens had begun to wail, and Ben could hear the engine of the Chief’s tank as it started to grind loudly at the far end of the park.