Deacon King Kong(76)

“So you say.”

“She’s in a good place. She’s turned loose, a free angel now, by God. I talks to her most every day.”

“If you don’t watch your points, you’ll get your wings too. Deems is busy these days.”

“I ain’t studying him.”

Sausage considered this. “I see him every day, out there selling that poison hand over fist, the devil keeping score. He knows we’re partners. He ain’t asked a lick about you. Not a mumbling word. That makes me nervous. He got a trick to play, Sport. When you ain’t looking, he’s gonna chop cotton and pull fodder. You got to get outta these projects.”

Sportcoat ignored that. He stood up and stretched, took another sip of peppermint bourbon, then passed the bottle to Sausage. “You don’t never get tired of thinking, do ya? Where’s my umpire costume?”

Sausage nodded at a black plastic bag in the corner.

“I’mma take this home tonight. Tomorrow, I’mma go out there and see Deems again. I won’t be drunk this time, for I wants to remember what he says. After I speaks to him, I’mma tell you all about it.”

“Don’t be a drag-behind fool.”

“I’m going right out there and I’mma say, ‘Deems, I’m getting the team together, and I just want you to pitch one game for us. One game. And if you don’t wanna play no more baseball after that, why, you can quit. I won’t bother you never no more. One game only.’ He’ll be begging me to get the team back together again after that.”

Sausage sighed. “Well, I reckon to really understand the world, you got to die at least once.”

“Stop talking crazy,” Sportcoat said. “That boy loves baseball. He got the same ways old Josh Gibson had. You know Josh Gibson? Greatest catcher to ever play the game?”

Sausage rolled his eyes as Sportcoat extolled the virtues of Josh Gibson, the greatest Negro catcher ever, how he met Gibson after the war in 1945, and on he went, until Sausage finally said, “Sport, I don’t know that you seen even half the people you calls out.”

“Seen ’em all,” Sportcoat said proudly. “Even barnstormed a little myself, but I had to make money. That ain’t gonna be Deems’s problem. He’ll make plenty money in the bigs. He got the fire and the talent. You can’t take the love of ball out of a ballplayer, Sausage. Can’t be done. There’s a baseball player in that boy.”

“There’s a killer in that boy, Sport.”

“Well, I’ll give him a crack at one or the other.”

“No you won’t! I’ll fetch the police first.”

“Ain’t you forgot that warrant that’s on you?”

“I’ll let Sister Gee fetch ’em then.”

“Sister Gee ain’t studying no police. She’s hard on me about that Christmas Club money. She’ll be wanting that money first, Sausage. Folks is losing faith in me on account of it ’round these parts. Even you. Betting against my life for a cigar with Joaquin.”

Sausage blanched, then took a quick snort of the peppermint. “That wasn’t about you,” he said. “That was about Joaquin. I been playing numbers with him for sixteen years. Only hit once. I think he’s got it out for me. I wanted some of my money back.”

“Sausage, you done found the secret of youth, ’cause you lying like a child.”

“I figured it this way, Sport. Since you didn’t wanna run off and was gonna be ki— gonna go out by Deems’s hand, however the cut come or go, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I made a few chips on account of it. I been a good friend, ain’t I?”

“Very good friend, Sausage. I don’t mind you making a few chips on my account. In fact I’ve got a proposition for you. Help me make peace with Deems. Tell him I wanna see him, and I’ll forget the insult you done to me by betting against my life.”

“You losing your marbles, son. I ain’t going near him.”

“Deems ain’t mad at me. Do you know Deems bought me this very umpire uniform?”

“No.”

“Yes he did. Brung it to me brand-new just after Hettie died. Come right to my house two days after we buried her. Knocked on the door and handed it to me saying, ‘Don’t tell nobody.’ Now, would somebody like that shoot a friend in cold blood?”

Sausage listened in silence, then said, “If it was Deems, yes.”

“Hogwash. I needs you to go out there and tell him I wants to speak privately. I’ll meet him in private and clear this all up.”

“I can’t do it, Sport. I’m too chickenhearted, okay?”

“It’s me he’s pining for, Sausage. You ain’t got to worry about your skin.”

“I do worries about my skin. It covers my body.”

“I’d go to the flagpole myself. But I don’t wanna embarrass him in front of his friends. If I speak to him in private, he won’t be shamed.”

“You shamed him by shooting him. In fact, him giving you that umpire outfit makes things worse,” Sausage said, “being that you shot him for his kindnesses.”

“That boy got plenty goodness left in him,” Sportcoat said, taking the bourbon from Sausage and sipping. “His grandfather Louis was all right, wasn’t he?”