Deacon King Kong(41)

“What bet?” Sister Gee asked.

Sausage glanced at Joaquin in the betting window, who, along with the line of bettors, was openly staring at them. Joaquin looked chagrined but remained silent.

“What difference do it make?” Hot Sausage said glumly. “I got bigger problems now.”

“I’ll explain it to the police,” Sister Gee said. “I’ll tell them your real name.”

“Don’t do that,” Sausage said quickly. “I got a warrant out for me. Back in Alabama.”

Sister Gee, Miss Izi, and Sister Billings stared at each other in surprise. Joaquin, and several people in line, watched with interest as well. This confession was unexpected but juicy.

“A warrant! Oh, that’s bad luck, papi!” Joaquin piped up from his window. “You good people, too, bro.” He said it so loudly that several people in line who had tuned out now tuned back in, staring at Hot Sausage.

Sausage glanced at them and said, “Whyn’t you just put it on the radio, Joaquin?”

“That does change the bet, though, papi,” Joaquin said.

“Don’t try to twist out of it.” Hot Sausage sucked his teeth. “I won the bet fair and square.”

“What bet?” Sister Gee said.

“Well . . .” Sausage began, then trailed off. To Joaquin he said hotly, “I’d sleep in a hollow log before I give you a plugged nickel.”

“Things happen, bro,” Joaquin said sympathetically again. “I understand. But I still want my cigar.”

“I’d fertilize my toilet with ten cigars before I give you one!”

“Could a grown-up speak here?” Sister Gee said impatiently. She turned to Sausage. “What was the bet?”

Sausage didn’t address her, but rather turned to Sportcoat, looking sheepish. “Oh, it was about you, buddy—getting pulled in, arrested, y’see. I ain’t mean nothing by it. I’da bailed you out—if I could. Best thing for you is to get arrested, Sport. But now I got to worry about my own skin.” Hot Sausage looked away glumly, rubbing his jaw.

“A warrant ain’t nothing, Sausage,” Sportcoat said. “The police gives ’em out all over. Rufus over at the Watch Houses got a warrant on him too. Back in South Carolina.”

“He does?” Sausage brightened immediately. “For what?”

“He stole a cat from the circus, except it wasn’t no cat. It got big, whatever it was, so he shot it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t no cat he killed,” Sausage snorted. “Rufus ain’t got no moderation. Who knows what he done? That’s the thing with a warrant. You don’t know what it’s for. When a person got a warrant on them, they coulda killed somebody!”

There was a pregnant silence as Miss Izi, Bum-Bum, Sister Gee, Joaquin, Sportcoat, and several people in line stared at Hot Sausage, who sat on the top step, fanning himself with his porkpie hat. Eventually he noticed them staring and said, “Well. What y’all looking at me for?”

“Did you . . . ?” Miss Izi asked.

“Izi, keep quiet!” Joaquin barked.

“Shut your talking hole, you evil gangster!” she snapped.

“Go take drowning lessons, woman!”

“Monkey!”

“Ape!”

“Me gustaría romperte a la mitad, pero quién necesita dos de ustedes!”

“Will y’all quit!” Sausage shouted. “I ain’t ashamed to tell it. I was on a work crew in Alabama and runned off.” He looked at Sportcoat. “So there.”

“That’s the difference between Alabama and South Carolina,” Sportcoat said proudly. “In my home country, a man on a work crew stays on the work crew till the job is done. We ain’t quitters in South Carolina.”

“Can we rope this in and get to the problem!” Sister Gee said, her voice sharp. She turned to Sportcoat. “Deacon, you’re gonna have to go to the police. Deems was a wonderful boy. But the devil’s having his way with him right now. You can explain that to the police.”

“I ain’t explaining nothing. I done him no wrong that I recall,” Sportcoat said.

“You don’t remember humping Deems like a dog when you shot him?” Miss Izi said.

“I heard that too,” a woman in line at Joaquin’s window said to the man behind her.

“I was right there,” Miss Izi said proudly. “He showed Deems who’s boss.”

The woman laughed and turned to Sportcoat. “Ooooh-wee! You a bad man, Mr. Sportcoat! Oh, well. Better to be a fat man in a graveyard than a thin man in a stew.”

“What’s that mean?” Sportcoat asked.

“Means Deems is gonna come meddlin’. And you best not be around,” Hot Sausage said.

“Deems ain’t gonna do nothing,” Sportcoat said. “I known him all his life.”

“It’s not just him,” Sister Gee said. “It’s the folks he works for. I hear tell they’re worse than a bunch of root doctors.”

Sportcoat waved his hand dismissively. “I ain’t come here to sit around talking all this who-shot-John nonsense. I come here,” he said, glaring at Hot Sausage, “to talk to a certain boiler man about my umpire suit, which I put up in his boiler room.”