"Sit, Rooster. Have a cup of coffee?"

Rooster sat. "Suppose," he said.

"Good," McBride said. "Hey, bitch, get us some coffee."

"I ain't no maid," said the blonde.

"Fresh. And don't make me ask again."

The blonde went away. McBride smiled at Rooster from under his mustache.

"Sometimes you have to slap them a bit, high and low, but they come around, that's for sure. What do you think of that ass?"

Rooster felt himself turning red. All he could say was, "It's nice."

McBride laughed.

"Nice. That's some first-rate pokadope. Whatcha got? It's early for me, and I was busy, as you can see. I don't think you came over here to drink a cup of coffee."

"No, sir."

"Oil Festival go well?"

"I suppose."

"Good. And your business here is?"

"The constable over at Camp Rapture."

"How could a constable concern me-wait a minute. Ain't it Pete's bitch? Yeah. Heard about that. She's the one when that old fart of a sheriff got killed, came over and pulled that nigger out while you stood around with your thumb up your ass. Hit Macavee with her gun, didn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

"How is old Macavee?"

"He left town."

McBride grinned. "Gal sounds like some kind of punkin. Hear she's good-looking too. That right?"

"I suppose."

"You suppose. Is she, or isn't she? She look as good as the tail I got here?"

"She wears more clothes."

McBride guffawed.

"Reckon she does."

"She come by the office the other day with one of her deputy constables," Rooster said. "They call him Hillbilly. Anyway, she showed me something. It was land maps. Maps of a colored fella's land. Zendo. Only it was the maps before they was sliced up. You know what I mean."

McBride leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, which caused his massive hairy forearms to flex.

"How did she come by them?"

"They got to be the ones Pete and that whore Jimmie Jo had. I don't know how she got them."

"The maps Pete stole? The ones you told me about."

Rooster nodded.

"You told Henry?"

"You told me anything like this came up, I should come to you first."

"You did right, Sheriff. And I'll tell Henry, not you. You look nervous, Rooster. I hate a nervous man. Makes me think they're trying to sneak around and put a finger up my ass."

"Sorry, Mr. McBride," Rooster said, and looked up as the blonde came back into the room. She had let down her hair and put on some clothes and had a fresh pot of coffee and a ceramic cup. She poured some into McBride's silver cup, then set the ceramic cup in front of Rooster and poured his coffee.

"You want to feel her a little, go ahead. She's on my tab, ain't you, honey?"

"I'm okay," Rooster said.

McBride laughed. "You're anything but okay. Go on out of here, kid, you're making Rooster sweat."

Rooster tried not to watch her go.

"You'd like to have that swing on your front porch, wouldn't you, Rooster?" When Rooster didn't answer, McBride said, "Did you get the maps back?"

"They didn't offer to give them back."

McBride shifted, uncrossed his legs, put both feet under the table.

"You didn't ask for them?"

"I wasn't sure what to say."

"Cause it was a good-looking woman had them? Am I right?"

Rooster drank from his cup, almost sloshing the coffee. He said, "Something like that."

"So, what did they do?"

"I told them to go to the courthouse."

"You told them to go to the courthouse? Now, that's dumb, Rooster. That means you gave them a chance to put things together."

"Yes, sir."

"The maps don't mean nothing without you put them one to the other. Not smart, Rooster. They go to the courthouse, look at records, they're gonna see what's been changed. That was Pete and his whore's game, pulling the records as a threat, gonna tell some big law unless they were dealt in, and not in a little way, like you, but in a big way. Big as me. Big as Henry. Nope. That old dog ain't gonna hunt. That's why I was called in, to fix things. And I did. All you had to do was say, 'Those maps are city property. Don't know how they come into your possession, but I'll need to put them in their proper place, and I want to thank you for bringing them by.' Wouldn't that have been simple, Rooster?"

"It would have. Knew it soon as they left."

"Then it was too late, wasn't it, Rooster?"

"Yes, sir."

"Things been going good here. Earned my money here and there, but I haven't had to do much. I got people to do it for me, and I like that. I've moved up in the world. I think it and it gets done, but not by me. I don't like to do what I don't have to do, bother with a thing I don't have to. And now you make me bother. The woman . . . What's her name?"

"Sunset."

"Now that's a snapper of a name. That a nickname?"

"She's got red hair. I don't know her real name."

"Ain't nothing nicer than to peel one down and see that red hair fanned out between her legs. Shakes her hips, it's like a red flag waving at a bull. But that's not our concern here, is it? Now, we got a bump in the road and you've run us over it. Know what happens when you hit a bump, Rooster?"

Rooster shook his head.

"A bump can knock shit out of the back of your wagon. Knock shit all over the goddamn place. Hear me, now?"

Rooster nodded.

McBride reached under his ugly wig and scratched his head.

"Shit gets knocked out, then I got to go in and do more work than needs to be done, and mind you, I don't dislike the work, but I don't like to undo what don't need undoing or fix what shouldn't have to be fixed. You following me here, Rooster?"

"Yes, sir."

McBride sucked deeply on his cigar and let the smoke come out of his nose. "Can we maybe give this bitch some money for the maps? She go for that?"

"I don't think so. She seems pretty sure of herself, like maybe she wants to do some good."

"A do-gooder. They can be trouble. Like Christians or teetotalers, they can latch on to a thing like a goddamn bulldog and not let go, even if it ain't good for them. I hate do-gooders. Give me a lawman or a politician any day, and I can work with them. Even a preacher can be worked around, but the true Christian or do-gooder, they're hard to figure."

"Maybe Hillbilly will come around," Rooster said. "He's a deputy constable. He knows Sunset and what she knows. Shake some money at him, he might come around and tell us something you want to know, like where the map is."

"I don't know from Hillbilly or what he knows or what he'll do. You're trying to pass your job to someone else, Rooster. I don't like that."

"No, sir."

"This goes South, me and Henry, we could lose a lot of oil money. Do some prison time I don't want to do. I ain't never done time and I've done plenty things might have given it to me. I don't intend to take a dose of bad time now. What you're gonna do, Rooster, is you're gonna go see this woman. Say you got curious, went to look at the records, saw they didn't match, think someone is trying to cheat that nigger . . . What's his name?"

"Zendo."

"Zorro out of his land."

"Zendo."

"Tell her that. Appeal to that do-gooder nature. She'll probably turn around and give you the maps, thinking you're gonna take care of things. She doesn't give you the maps, then we got a problem. There's lots of people you can have a problem with, Rooster, and it'll work out. You don't want no problem with me. Comprende?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't mind a little graft, a little reach out, but I like a man knows his part. Not like Pete, who wanted to take me and Henry big. That I don't like. You wouldn't do that, try that, would you, Rooster?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Now we're done. Except for a little last something."

McBride rose, his robe flopping open. Rooster looked at his coffee cup on the table. McBride went into the other room and came back promptly. He had a fistful of bills in his hand. He came over and stood by Rooster. He was so close, his penis was almost rubbing Rooster's elbow. He said, "Hold out your hand, Rooster."

Rooster turned in the chair, held out his hand and McBride put a hundred-dollar bill in it. He put a second hundred. Then a third. He folded up the other four and put them in the pocket of his robe. "I'm paying you for coming to me like you're supposed to. But I'm not giving you all I would have given you, because you screwed up, Rooster. Get the maps, amigo."

McBride closed Rooster's hand up with the bills in it, squeezed so hard Rooster tumbled out of the chair and rose up on his knees. McBride's penis hung in his face.

"Kiss it, Rooster."

"No."

"Sure. You kiss it."

McBride squeezed Rooster's hand harder and there was a cracking sound. Rooster leaned forward and kissed the head of McBride's penis.

McBride let go, stepped back. Rooster, red as flame, stood up.

"Weren't no call for that," Rooster said. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Hell, Rooster, kissing my dick just sweetened up your day."

When Rooster was gone, McBride called out to the blonde. She came in and he took her to the couch. When he was finished, she said, "I don't know why I bother to put anything on."

"I didn't ask you to dress," McBride said. "You go on, now. Go home."

"I didn't mean to make you mad. It's just Two is making me nervous."

"He's up?"

"Yeah. I don't want to stay back there with him. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"You didn't make me mad, I'm just sick of you. Go on now while I'm in the right mood about it."

She went in the other room and put on her clothes. When she came out, McBride was stretched out on the couch.

She looked at him but didn't speak.

When she was gone, he got up, locked the door behind her, had some coffee, fastened up his robe, went to the kitchen. He had just eaten, but he wanted to cook, and he figured he cooked what he wanted the right way, it would take a while. He put on his apron. It was a big one with short frilly sleeves and a bit of lace around the bottom and on the sides. He got down some pans and lit the kerosene stove and put a pot of water on to boil for spaghetti. He took a clove of garlic, tore it apart in his hands, placed the pieces on a cutting board, used a mallet to smash it. He did the job so well none of the garlic got away from him, but it made his eyes water.

He heard a noise, turned. In the doorway, standing in the shadows, was Two, wearing his long black Prince Albert coat. Way it fell around him, with the split tails, it made him look like a giant beetle, all black and thick and silent, with blazing green eyes. A nigger with those eyes and that Prince Albert coat. It didn't seem right, but there he was.