Decker kept checking the rearview mirror. “He said he had eyes on us, but I don’t see anyone back there.”
“Maybe he was bluffing.”
“He didn’t strike me as a bluffer.”
Mars looked back too. “They could be driving with their lights off.”
“Maybe.”
Mars directed him to three more turns, and they finally ended at a tumbledown house set well off the road and that didn’t have a neighbor for about a mile.
“Well, this is about as lonely and creepy as it gets,” noted Mars as they pulled to a stop in front.
Decker said, “I don’t see another car.”
A second later from the side of the house a pair of car lights flashed on and then off.
Decker and Mars climbed out of the car.
The car door on the other vehicle opened and there stood Roy Mars.
As he stepped forward into the moonlight they could see he was dressed in faded dungarees, an overcoat, flannel shirt, and work boots. The gun he held in his right hand was large and pointed at them.
Decker stepped forward and said, “I don’t think there’s a need for that.”
“How about the gun in your waistband, Decker? I can see the bulge from here. Even with your big gut.”
“It’s not as big as it used to be.”
“Congratulations. Pull it out muzzle first.”
Decker did so and handed it across to Roy.
“Inside,” Roy said.
He followed them in.
The room was small and smelled of mildew and rot. Roy stepped past them and turned a knob on a camp lantern that sat on an overturned packing crate. The room was instantly illuminated, the light throwing shadows across the space.
Roy tucked Decker’s gun in his pocket and leaned back against the wall. “So, you got the skirt back.”
“And how did you hear about Davenport?” asked Decker.
“I didn’t. It was a deduction based on the reports of Sheriff Roger McClellan getting blown away at his old man’s farm outside Cain. It said nothing of any dead woman. So, you got her back?”
“Yes.”
“Mac’s dead. So you got what you came for. So why dial me up?”
“There are still two more unaccounted for,” said Decker. “That’s why.”
“You can’t expect to get everything you want in life. Doesn’t work that way. Just ask Mellow here.”
“Then why did you agree to meet with us?” asked Mars.
“Curiosity got the better of me, I guess.”
“I think it’s more than that,” said Decker. “You were once part of the team, maybe the unofficial fourth Musketeer, but then you turned against them.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In answer Decker took out the page he had earlier torn from the yearbook back at Cain High School.
“You’re the fourth from the left, Aaron Callahan.”
“What?” exclaimed Mars, staring at the page.
“Roy Mars is actually Aaron Callahan. You’ve changed, of course, Roy, but it’s easy to see that it’s you and that you went to Cain High with the Three Musketeers.”
“That’s good, Decker. How’d you figure that out?”
“We found two sets of initials on the inside of your bedroom closet back in Texas. AC and RB. I ripped those pages out of the class pictures in the yearbook that had the last names beginning with ‘C’ and ‘B.’ Didn’t recognize anyone with the last name beginning with ‘B’ as you. But I did with ‘C.’ So RB must’ve been the initials for Lucinda’s real name.”
“Roxanne Barrett.” Roy looked at Mars. “That was your mother’s real name. But she liked Lucinda better.”
“How did you pick Mars as your last name?” asked Decker.
Roy grinned. “Always liked the red planet, even when I was a kid. Seemed cool.”
Decker nodded. “You were on the football team with them. Left tackle, which means you guarded Huey’s blindside. He was the QB.”
“Guy was a mediocre signal caller that we made look good. McClellan was a rabid dog fullback and safety on the D-side. The kind who’d take a bite out of your leg in a pileup. Eastland was the slick scatback. Never went over the middle on pass routes, and on running plays he’d always run out of bounds before he got nailed. Prick didn’t like to get hit. A real pussy. But he was good-looking and smart and came from money and he was obviously going places, so the girls dropped their panties when he showed up anywhere. He and Thurman. But that was because of the old man. He was the big dog in Mississippi. Everybody knew him.”
Decker said, “Huey Sr. was an all-around racist. Segregation now and forever, like George Wallace said.”
“Hey, back then in Mississippi those were all positives. Maybe they still are in some quarters.”
“You grew up with these pricks?” said Mars.
“Well, everyone has to grow up somewhere. But I never ran in their circles. I had the wrong pedigree.”
“And you helped them bomb those two places?”
“I told you before, Mellow. I see no need to repeat myself.”
Decker said, “And you have the evidence to bury them. Which is why you disappeared after the bombings.”
“I chose to leave.”
“Why?”
“My reasons. No business of yours.”
“Was it the kids? The kids who died in the church?”
“Why do you think I’d care about some colored kids?”
“You said they weren’t supposed to be there, that it wasn’t part of the plan,” said Mars.
“And you ended up marrying a black woman,” Decker added.
Roy shrugged but said nothing.
“You can bring these assholes down, Roy. Almost fifty years later. Justice?”
“Why would I care about that? I’m just trying to survive here.”
“Eastland’s goons killed McClellan. And Huey has already taken steps to throw a monkey wrench in the FBI’s investigation.”
“None of that surprises me. They were always the brains. McClellan was just the attack dog. It was why he became a cop. I wonder how many skulls old Mac busted when he was wearing the uniform?”
“Plenty,” said Decker. “And I would wager most of them were black skulls.”
“But why the bombings?” asked Mars. “Like you said, they were going places. Huey had his dad’s connections. So why?”
“You hit it on the head, Mellow. Huey Sr. I don’t know this for a fact, but I strongly suspect he put them up to it.”
“But why would they go along with it? They had to know this might come back to haunt them later.”
“They were young punks who thought they were invulnerable. They really saw themselves as like the Three Musketeers, fighting to defend their way of life. Their white life. You should’ve seen them. They always acted so noble, like they were doing God’s work or some shit like that. Hell, they could’ve been living in the 1860s.”
“So they were fighting the good fight to keep the South the way God wanted it?” said Mars.
“Something like that. Me, I just wanted the money.”
“How noble of you,” said Mars in disgust.
“Shit, you think this was the only church or NAACP office to be bombed? Hell, in the South in the fifties and sixties, it was like the Middle East. Didn’t you ever see the old newsreels? People getting knocked off their feet by fire hoses. Dogs attacking women. Places blowing up. Beatings at the lunch counters. Bodies hanging from trees. Bullets flying.”
“I grew up in Texas over thirty years ago with biracial parents, so no, I never saw any racism at all,” said Mars sarcastically.