[640] “So why are you here?” I asked him. “What are you doing?”
[641] “I’m not doing anything,” he said. Blankly.
[642] “You confessed to something you didn’t do,” I said. “You asked for this.”
[643] “No,” said Hubble. “I did what I said. I did it and I told the detective.”
[644] “Bullshit, Hubble,” I said. “You weren’t even there. You were at a party. The guy who drove you home is a policeman, for God’s sake. You didn’t do it, you know that, everybody knows that. Don’t give me that shit.”
[645] Hubble looked down at the floor. Thought for a moment.
[646] “I can’t explain it,” he said. “I can’t say anything about it. I just need to know what happens next.”
[647] I looked at him again.
[648] “What happens next?” I said. “You stay here until Monday morning, and then you go back to Margrave. Then I guess they’ll let you go.”
[649] “Will they?” he said. Like he was debating with himself.
[650] “You weren’t even there,” I said again. “They know that. They might want to know why you confessed, when you didn’t do anything. And they’ll want to know why the guy had your phone number.”
[651] “What if I can’t tell them?” he said.
[652] “Can’t or won’t?” I asked him.
[653] “I can’t tell them,” he said. “I can’t tell anybody anything.”
[654] He looked away and shuddered. Very frightened.
[655] “But I can’t stay in here,” he said. “I can’t stand it.”
[656] Hubble was a financial guy. They give out their phone numbers like confetti. Talking to anybody they meet about hedge funds or tax havens. Anything to transfer some guy’s hard-earned dollars their way. But this phone number was printed on a scrap of torn computer paper. Not engraved on a business card. And hidden in a shoe, not stuffed in a wallet. And playing in the background like a rhythm section was the fear coming out of the guy.
[657] “Why can’t you tell anybody?” I asked him.
[658] “Because I can’t,” he said. Wouldn’t say anything more.
[659] I was suddenly weary. Twenty-four hours ago I had jumped off a Greyhound at a cloverleaf and walked down a new road. Striding out happily through the warm morning rain. Avoiding people, avoiding involvement. No baggage, no hassle. Freedom. I didn’t want it interrupted by Hubble, or by Finlay, or by some tall guy who got himself shot in his shaved head. I didn’t want any part of it. I just wanted some peace and quiet and to go looking for Blind Blake. I wanted to find some eighty-year-old who might remember him from some bar. I should be talking to that old guy who swept up around the prison, not Hubble. Yuppie asshole.
[660] He was thinking hard. I could see what Finlay had meant. I had never seen anybody think so visibly. His mouth was working soundlessly and he was fiddling with his fingers. Like he was checking off positives and negatives. Weighing things up. I watched him. I saw him make his decision. He turned and looked over at me.
[661] “I need some advice,” he said. “I’ve got a problem.”
[662] I laughed at him.
[663] “Well, what a surprise,” I said. “I’d never have guessed. I thought you were here because you were bored with playing golf on the weekend.”
[664] “I need help,” he said.
[665] “You’ve had all the help you’re going to get,” I said. “Without me, you’d be bent forward over your bed right now, with a line of big horny guys forming at the door. And so far you haven’t exactly overwhelmed me with gratitude for that.”
[666] He looked down for a moment. Nodded.
[667] “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m very grateful. Believe me, I am. You saved my life. You took care of it. That’s why you’ve got to tell me what to do. I’m being threatened.”
[668] I let the revelation hang in the air for a moment.
[669] “I know that,” I said. “That’s pretty obvious.”
[670] “Well, not just me,” he said. “My family as well.”
[671] He was getting me involved. I looked at him. He started thinking again. His mouth was working. He was pulling on his fingers. Eyes flicking left and right. Like over here was a big pile of reasons, and over there was another big pile of reasons. Which pile was bigger?
[672] “Have you got family?” he asked me.
[673] “No,” I said. What else could I say? My parents were both dead. I had a brother whom I never saw. So I had no family. No idea whether I wanted one, either. Maybe, maybe not.
[674] “I’ve been married ten years,” Hubble said. “Ten years last month. Had a big party. I’ve got two children. Boy, age nine, girl, age seven. Great wife, great kids. I love them like crazy.”
[675] He meant it. I could see that. He lapsed into silence. Misting over as he thought about his family. Wondering how the hell he came to be in here without them. He wasn’t the first guy to sit in this cell wondering that. And he wouldn’t be the last.
[676] “We’ve got a nice place,” he said. “Out on Beckman Drive. Bought there five years ago. A lot of money, but it was worth it. You know Beckman?”
[677] “No,” I said again. He was afraid to get to the point. Pretty soon he’d be telling me about the wallpaper in the downstairs half bath. And how he planned to pay for his daughter’s orthodonture. I let him talk. Prison conversation.
[678] “Anyway,” he said eventually. “It’s all falling apart now.”
[679] He sat there in his chinos and his polo shirt. He had picked up his white sweater and wrapped it around his shoulders again. Without his glasses he looked older, more vacant. People who wear glasses, without them they always look defocused, vulnerable. Out in the open. A layer removed. He looked like a tired old man. One leg was thrust forward. I could see the patterned sole of his shoe.
[680] What did he call a threat? Some kind of exposure or embarrassment? Something that might blow away the perfect life he’d described on Beckman Drive? Maybe it was his wife who was involved in something. Maybe he was covering for her. Maybe she’d been having an affair with the tall dead guy. Maybe lots of things. Maybe anything. Maybe his family was threatened by disgrace, bankruptcy, stigma, cancellation of country club membership. I went around in circles. I didn’t live in Hubble’s world. I didn’t share his frame of reference. I had seen him trembling and shaking with fear. But I had no idea how much it took to make a guy like that afraid. Or how little. When I first saw him at the station house yesterday he had looked upset and agitated. Since then he had been from time to time trembling, paralyzed, staring with fear. Sometimes resigned and apathetic. Clearly very afraid of something. I leaned on the cell wall and waited for him to tell me what.
[681] “They’re threatening us,” he said again. “If I ever tell anybody what’s going on, they said they’ll break into our house. Round us all up. In my bedroom. They said they’ll nail me to the wall and cut my balls off. Then they’ll make my wife eat them. Then they’ll cut our throats. They said they’ll make our children watch and then they’ll do things to them after we’re dead that we’ll never know about.”
7
[682] “SO WHAT SHOULD I DO?” HUBBLE ASKED ME. “WHAT would you do?”
[683] He was staring over at me. Waiting for a reply. What would I do? If somebody threatened me like that, they would die. I’d rip them apart. Either as they spoke, or days or months or years later. I would hunt them down and rip them apart. But Hubble couldn’t do that. He had a family. Three hostages waiting to be taken. Three hostages already taken. Taken as soon as the threat was made.
[684] “What should I do?” he asked me again.
[685] I felt pressure. I had to say something. And my forehead hurt. It was bruising up after the massive impact with the Red Boy’s face. I stepped to the bars and glanced down the row of cells. Leaned against the end of the bunk. Thought for a moment. Came up with the only possible answer. But not the answer Hubble wanted to hear.
[686] “Nothing you can do,” I said. “You’ve been told to keep your mouth shut, so you keep it shut. Don’t tell anybody what’s going on. Ever.”
[687] He looked down at his feet. Dropped his head into his hands. Gave a moan of abject misery. Like he was crushed with disappointment.
[688] “I’ve got to talk to somebody,” he said. “I’ve got to get out of this. I mean it, I’ve got to get out. I’ve got to talk to somebody.”
[689] I shook my head at him.
[690] “You can’t do that,” I said. “They’ve told you to say nothing, so you say nothing. That way you stay alive. You and your family.”
[691] He looked up. Shuddered.
[692] “Something very big is going on,” he said. “I’ve got to stop it if I can.”
[693] I shook my head again. If something very big was going on around people who used threats like that, then he was never going to stop it. He was on board, and he was going to stay on board. I smiled a bleak smile at him and shook my head for the third time. He nodded like he understood. Like he finally accepted the situation. He went back to rocking and staring at the wall. His eyes were open. Red and naked without the gold rims. He sat silently for a long time.
[694] I COULDN’T UNDERSTAND THE CONFESSION. HE SHOULD have kept his mouth shut. He should have denied any involvement with the dead guy. Should have said he had no idea why his phone number was written down in the guy’s shoe. Should have said he had no idea what Pluribus was. Then he could have just gone home.
[695] “Hubble?” I said. “Why did you confess?”
[696] He looked up. Waited a long moment before replying.
[697] “I can’t answer that,” he said. “I’d be telling you more than I should.”
[698] “I already know more than I should,” I said. “Finlay asked about the dead guy and Pluribus and you flipped. So I know there’s a link between you and the dead guy and whatever Pluribus is.”
[699] He gazed at me. Looking vague.
[700] “Is Finlay that black detective?” he said.
[701] “Yes,” I said. “Finlay. Chief of detectives.”
[702] “He’s new,” Hubble said. “Never seen him before. It was always Gray. He was there years, since I was a kid. There’s only one detective, you know, don’t know why they say chief of detectives when there’s only one. There’s only eight people in the whole police department. Chief Morrison, he’s been there years, then the desk man, four uniformed men, a woman, and the detective, Gray. Only now it’s Finlay. The new man. Black guy, the first we’ve ever had. Gray killed himself, you know. Hung himself from a rafter in his garage. February, I think.”
[703] I let him ramble on. Prison conversation. It passes the time. That’s what it’s for. Hubble was good at it. But I still wanted him to answer my question. My forehead hurt and I wanted to bathe it with cold water. I wanted to walk around for a while. I wanted to eat. I wanted coffee. I waited without listening as Hubble rambled through the municipal history of Margrave. Suddenly he stopped.
[704] “What were you asking me?” he said.
[705] “Why did you confess to killing the guy?” I repeated.
[706] He looked around. Then he looked straight at me.
[707] “There’s a link,” he said. “That’s all it’s safe to say right now. The detective mentioned the guy, and used the word ‘Pluribus,’ which made me jump. I was startled. I couldn’t believe he knew the connection. Then I realized he hadn’t known there was a connection, but I’d just told him by being startled. You see? I’d given it away. I felt I’d blown it. Given away the secret. And I mustn’t do that, because of the threat.”
[708] He tailed off and went quiet. An echo of the fright and panic he had felt in Finlay’s office was back. He looked up again. Took a deep breath.
[709] “I was terrified,” he said. “But then the detective told me the guy was dead. He’d been shot. I got scared because if they had killed him, they might kill me, too. I can’t really tell you why. But there’s a link, like you worked out. If they got that particular guy, does that mean they are going to get me too? Or doesn’t it? I had to think it out. I didn’t even know for sure who had killed the guy. But then the detective told me about the violence. Did he tell you about that?”
[710] I nodded.
[711] “The injuries?” I said. “Sounded pretty unpleasant.”
[712] “Right,” Hubble said. “And it proves it was who I thought it was. So I was really scared. I was thinking, are they looking for me too? Or aren’t they? I just didn’t know.
I was terrified. I thought for ages. It was going around and around in my head. The detective was going crazy. I didn’t say anything because I was thinking. Seemed like hours. I was terrified, you know?”
[713] He fell back into silence. He was running it through his head again. Probably for the thousandth time. Trying to figure out if his decision had been the right one.
[714] “I suddenly figured out what to do,” he said. “I had three problems. If they were after me too, I had to avoid them. Hide, you know? To protect myself. But if they weren’t after me, then I had to stay silent, right? To protect my wife and kids. And from their point of view that particular guy needed shooting. Three problems. So I confessed.”
[715] I didn’t follow his reasoning. Didn’t make much sense, the way he was explaining it to me. I looked blankly at him.
[716] “Three separate problems, right?” he said. “I decided to get arrested. Then I was safe if they were after me. Because they can’t get at me in here, right? They’re out there and I’m in here. That’s problem number one solved. But I also figured, this is the complicated bit, if they actually were not after me at all, then why don’t I get arrested but don’t say anything about them? They would think I had got arrested by mistake or whatever, and they see that I’m not talking. They see, OK? It proves I’m safe. It’s like a demonstration that I’m dependable. A sort of proof. Trial by ordeal sort of a thing. That’s problem number two solved. And by saying it was me actually killed the guy, it sort of definitely puts me on their side. It’s like a statement of loyalty, right? And I thought they might be grateful I’d pointed the heat in the wrong direction for a while. So that was problem number three solved.”
[717] I stared at him. No wonder he had clammed up and thought like crazy for forty minutes when he was in with Finlay. Three birds with one stone. That’s what he had been aiming for.
[718] The part about proving he could be trusted not to spill his guts was OK. Whoever they were, they would notice that. A spell in jail without talking was a rite of passage. A badge of honor. Counted for a lot. Good thinking, Hubble.
[719] Unfortunately the other part was pretty shaky. They couldn’t get to him in here? He had to be joking. No better place in the world to ace a guy than prison. You know where he is, you’ve got all the time you need. Lots of people who’ll do it for you. Lots of opportunity. Cheap, too. On the street, a hit would cost you what? A grand, two grand? Plus a risk. Inside, it costs you a carton of cigarettes. Plus no risk. Because nobody would notice. No, prison was not a safe hiding place. Bad thinking, Hubble. And there was another flaw, too.
[720] “What are you going to do on Monday?” I asked him. “You’ll be back home, doing whatever you do. You’ll be walking around Margrave or Atlanta or wherever it is you walk around. If they’re after you, won’t they get you then?”
[721] He started up with the thinking again. Going at it like crazy. He hadn’t thought very far ahead before. Yesterday afternoon it had been blind panic. Deal with the present. Not a bad principle. Except pretty soon the future rolls in and that needs dealing with, too.
[722] “I’m just hoping for the best,” Hubble said. “I sort of felt if they wanted to get me, they might cool off after a while. I’m very useful to them. I hope they’ll think about that. Right now it’s a very tense situation. But it’s all going to calm back down very soon. I might just make it through. If they get me, they get me. I don’t care anymore. It’s my family I’m worried about.”
[723] He stopped and shrugged. Blew a sigh. Not a bad guy. He hadn’t set out to be some big criminal. It had crept up on the blind side. Sucked him in so gently he hadn’t noticed. Until he wanted out. If he was very lucky they wouldn’t break all his bones until after he was dead.
[724] “How much does your wife know?” I asked him.
[725] He glanced over. An expression of horror on his face.
[726] “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. I haven’t told her anything. Not a thing. I couldn’t. It’s all my secret. Nobody else knows a thing.”
[727] “You’ll have to tell her something,” I said. “She’s sure to have noticed you’re not at home, vacuuming the pool or whatever you do on the weekend.”
[728] I was just trying to lighten it up, but it didn’t work out. Hubble went quiet. Misting over again at the thought of his backyard in the early fall sunlight. His wife maybe fussing over rosebushes or whatever. His kids darting about shrieking. Maybe they had a dog. And a three-car garage with European sedans waiting to be hosed off. A basketball hoop over the middle door waiting for the nine-year-old to grow strong enough to dunk the heavy ball. A flag over the porch. Early leaves waiting to be swept. Family life on a Saturday. But not this Saturday. Not for this guy.
[729] “Maybe she’ll think it’s all a mistake,” he said. “Maybe they’ve told her, I don’t know. We know one of the policemen, Dwight Stevenson. My brother married his wife’s sister. I don’t know what he’ll have said to her. I guess I’ll deal with that on Monday. I’ll say it was some kind of terrible mistake. She’ll believe it. Everybody knows mistakes are made.”
[730] He was thinking out loud.
[731] “Hubble?” I said. “What did the tall guy do to them that was liable to get himself shot in the head?”
[732] He stood up and leaned on the wall. Rested his foot on the edge of the steel toilet pan. Looked at me. Wouldn’t answer. Now for the big question.
[733] “What about you?” I asked him. “What have you done to them liable to get yourself shot in the head?”
[734] He wouldn’t answer. The silence in our cell was terrible. I let it crash around for a while. Couldn’t think of anything more to say. Hubble clunked his shoe against the metal toilet pan. A rattly little rhythm. Sounded like a Bo Diddley riff.
[735] “You ever heard of Blind Blake?” I asked him.
[736] He stopped clunking and looked up.
[737] “Who?” he said blankly.
[738] “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m going to find a bathroom. I need to put a wet towel on my head. It hurts.”
[739] “I’m not surprised,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
[740] He was anxious not to be left alone. Understandable. I was going to be his minder for the weekend. Not that I had any other plans.
[741] WE WALKED DOWN THE CELL ROW TO A KIND OF OPEN AREA at the end. I saw the fire door Spivey had used the night before. Beyond it was a tiled opening. Over the opening was a clock. Nearly twelve noon. Clocks in prisons are bizarre. Why measure hours and minutes when people think in years and decades?
[742] The tiled entrance was clogged with men. I pushed through and Hubble followed. It was a large tiled room, square. A strong disinfectant stink. One wall had the doorway. On the left was a row of shower stalls. Open. The back wall was a row of toilet cubicles. Open at the front, divided by waist-high partitions. The right wall was a row of washbasins. Very communal. Not a big deal if you’d been in the army all your life, but Hubble wasn’t happy. Not what he was used to at all.
[743] All the fittings were steel. Everything that would normally be porcelain was stainless-steel. For safety. A smashed-up porcelain washbasin yields some pretty good shards. A decent-sized sharp piece would make a good weapon. For the same reason the mirrors over the basins were sheets of polished steel. A bit dull, but fit for the purpose. You could see yourself in them, but you couldn’t smash them up and stab somebody with a fragment.
[744] I stepped over to a basin and ran cold water. Took a wad of paper towels from the dispenser and soaked them. Held them to my bruised forehead. Hubble stood around doing nothing. I kept the cold towels on for a while and then took some more. Water ran down my face. Felt good. There was no real injury. No flesh there, just skin over solid bone. Not much to injure, and impossible to break. A perfect arch, nature’s strongest structure. That’s why I avoid hitting anything with my hands. Hands are pretty fragile. All kinds of small bones and tendons in there. A punch big enough to deck that Red Boy would have smashed my hand up pretty good. I’d have joined him in the hospital. Not much point in that.
[745] I patted my face dry and leaned up close to the steel mirror to check out the damage. Not bad. I combed my hair with my fingers. As I leaned against the sink I could feel the sunglasses in my pocket. The Red Boy’s shades. The spoils of victory. I took them out and put them on. Gazed at my dull reflection.
[746] As I messed about in front of the steel mirror I saw the start of some kind of a commotion happening behind me. I heard a brief warning from Hubble and I turned around. The sunglasses dimmed the bright light. Five white guys were trawling across the room. Biker types. Orange suits, of course, more torn-off sleeves, but with black leather additions. Caps, belts, fingerless gloves. Big beards. All five were big, heavy men, with that hard, slabby fat which is almost muscle but not quite. All five had crude tattoos on their arms and their faces. Swastikas. On their cheeks under their eyes and on their foreheads. The Aryan Brotherhood. White trash prison gang.
[747] As the five swept the room, the other occupants melted away. Any who didn’t get the message were seized and hustled to the door. Thrown out into the corridor. Even the soapy naked guys from the shower stalls. Within seconds the big bathroom was empty. Except for the five bikers and Hubble and me. The five big men fanned out in a loose arc around us. These were big ugly guys. The swastika tattoos on their faces were scratched in. Roughly inked.
[748] My assumption was they’d come to recruit me. Somehow hijack the fact that I’d knocked over a Red Boy. Claim my bizarre celebrity for their cause. Turn it into a race triumph for the Brotherhood. But I was wrong. My assumption was way out. So I was left unprepared. The guy in the middle of the five was looking back and forth between Hubble and me. His eyes flicked across. They stopped on me.
[749] “OK, he’s the one,” he said. Looking straight at me.
[750] Two things happened. The end two bikers grabbed Hubble and ran him to the door. And the boss man swung a big fist at my face. I saw it late. Dodged left and it caught me on the shoulder. I was spun around by the blow. Grabbed from behind by the neck. Two huge hands at my throat. Strangling me. The boss man lined up for another shot at my gut. If it landed, I was a dead man. I knew that much. So I leaned back and kicked out. Smashed the boss man’s balls like I was trying to punt a football right out of the stadium. The big Oxford shoe crunched him real good. The welt hit him like a blunt ax.
[751] My shoulders were hunched and I was pumping up my neck to resist the strangler. He was wrenching hard. I was losing it. I reached up and broke his little fingers. I heard the knuckles splinter over the roaring in my ears. Then I broke his ring fingers. More splintering. Like pulling a chicken apart. He let go.
[752] The third guy waded in. He was a solid mountain of lard. Sheathed with heavy slabs of meat. Like armor. Nowhere to hit him. He was pounding me with short jabs to the arm and chest. I was jammed back between two sinks. The mountain of lard pressing up. Nowhere to hit him. Except his eyes. I jammed my thumb into his eye. Hooked the tips of my fingers in his ear and squeezed. My thumbnail popped his eyeball sideways. I pushed my thumb in. His eyeball was nearly out. He was screaming and pulling on my wrist. I held on.
[753] The boss man was up on one knee. I kicked hard at his face. Missed. Caught him in the throat instead. Smashed his voice box. He went back down. I went for the big guy’s other eye. Missed. I held on with my thumb. Like pushing it through a bloody steak. He went down. I spun away from the wall. The guy with the broken fingers ran for the door. The guy with the eye out was flopping about on the floor. Screaming. The boss man was choking on his smashed voice box.
[754] I was grabbed from behind again. I twisted away. A Red Boy. Two of them. I was dizzy. I was going to lose it now. But they just grabbed me and ran me to the door. Sirens were going off.
[755] “Get out of here, man,” screamed the Red Boys over the sirens. “This is ours. We did this. Understand? Red Boys did this. We’ll take the fall, man.”
[756] They hurled me into the crowd outside. I understood. They were going to say they did it. Not because they wanted to protect me from the blame. Because they wanted to claim the credit. A race victory.
[757] I saw Hubble bouncing around in the crowd. I saw guards. I saw hundreds of men. I saw Spivey. I grabbed Hubble and we hustled back to the cell. Sirens were blasting. Guards were tumbling out of a door. I could see shotguns and clubs. Boots clattered. Shouting and screaming. Sirens. We raced to the cell. Fell inside. I was dizzy and panting. I had taken a battering. The sirens were deafening. Couldn’t talk. I splashed water on my face. The sunglasses were gone. Must have fallen off.
[758] I heard screaming at the door. I turned and saw Spivey. He was screaming at us to get out. He rushed into the cell. I grabbed my coat from the bunk. Spivey seized Hubble by the elbow. Then he grabbed me and straight-armed both of us out of there. He was screaming at us to run. Sirens were blasting. He ran us to the emergency door where the guards had rushed out. Shoved us through and ran us upstairs. Up and up. My lungs were giving out. There was a door at the top of the last flight painted with a big figure six. We crashed through. He hustled us down a row of cells. Shoved us into an empty cell and flung the iron gate shut. It crashed and locked. He ran off. I collapsed on the bed, eyes tight shut.
[759] WHEN I OPENED THEM AGAIN HUBBLE WAS SITTING ON A bed looking over at me. We were in a big cell. Probably twice as wide as the last one. Two separate beds, one on each side. A sink, a john. A wall of bars. Everything was brighter and cleaner. It was very quiet. The air smelled better. This was the holding floor. This was floor six. This was where we should have been all the time.