Live by Night

For some reason, he was surprised to find them waiting for him — RD Pruitt and two other men. RD, in a stiff tan suit and a black string tie. The cuffs of his trousers stopped just short of his black shoes, exposing the white socks underneath. He had two boys with him — ’shine runners by the look of them, smelling of corn, sour mash, and methanol. No suits on these boys — just short ties on short collar shirts, wool trousers held up by suspenders.

They turned their flashlights on Joe, and it was all he could do not to blink into them.

RD said, “You came.”

“I came.”

“Where’s my brother-in-law?”

“He didn’t come.”

“Just as well.” He pointed at the boy to his right. “This here is Carver Pruitt, my cousin.” He pointed at the boy on his left. “And his cousin on his mama’s side? Harold LaBute.” He turned to them. “Boys, this here is the one killed Kelvin. Careful now, he might decide to kill you all.”

Carver Pruitt raised his rifle to his shoulder. “Not likely.”

“This one?” RD sidestepped along the ballroom, pointing at Joe. “He’s rat tricky. You take your eye off that pea shooter, I promise it’ll be in his hands.”

“Aww,” Joe said, “shucks.”

“You a man of your word?” RD asked Joe.

“Depends on who I give it to.”

“So you ain’t come alone like I ordered.”

“No,” Joe said, “I ain’t come alone.”

“Well, where they at?”

“Shit, RD, I tell you that, I spoil the fun.”

“We watched you come in,” RD said. “We been sitting out there three hours. You show up an hour early, think you get the drop on us?” He chuckled. “So we know you came alone. How you like that?”

“Trust me,” Joe said, “I’m not alone.”

RD crossed the ballroom, and his guns followed him until they were all standing in the center.

The switchblade Joe had brought with him was already open, the base of the handle tucked lightly under the band of the wristwatch he wore solely for this occasion. All he had to do was flex his wrist and the blade would drop into his palm.

“I don’t want no sixty percent.”

“I know that,” Joe said.

“What you think I want then?”

“Don’t know,” Joe said. “I suspect? I suspect a return to, I dunno, the way things used to be? Am I warm?”

“You about on the griddle.”

“But there wasn’t no way things used to be,” Joe said. “That’s our problem, RD. I spent two years in prison doing nothing but reading. Know what I found out?”

“No. You tell me, though, won’t ya?”

“Found out we were always fucked. Always killing each other and raping and stealing and laying waste. It’s who we are, RD. Ain’t no Used to Be. Ain’t no better days.”

RD said, “Uh-huh.”

“You know what this place could be?” Joe said. “You realize what we could do with this spot?”

“I do not.”

“Build the biggest casino in the United States.”

“Ain’t nobody going to allow gambling.”

“Gotta disagree with you, RD. Whole country’s in the tank, banks going under, cities going bankrupt, people out of work.”

“ ’Cause we got us a Communist for a president.”

“No,” Joe said, “not even close, actually. But I’m not here to debate politics with you, RD. I’m here to tell you that the reason Prohibition will end is because—”

“Prohibition ain’t gonna end in a God-fearing country.”

“Yes, it will. Because the country needs all the millions it didn’t get the past ten years on tariffs and import taxes and distribution taxes and interstate transport levies and, shit, you name it — could be billions they gave away. And they’re going to ask me and people like me — you, for example — to make millions of dollars selling legal booze so we can save the country for them. And that’s exactly why, in the spirit of the moment, they’ll allow this state to legalize gambling. Long as we buy off the right county commissioners, the right city councillors and state senators. We could do that. And you could be part of it, RD.”

“I don’t want to be part of nothing with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you to your face, mister, that you’re a cancer. You’re the pestilence that gonna bring this country to its knees. You and your nigger whore girlfriend and your dirty spic friends and your dirty dago friends. I’m a take the Parisian. Not sixty percent — the whole place. Then? I’m a take all your clubs. I’m a take everything you got. Might even go by your fancy house and tear me off a piece that nigger girl ’fore I cut her throat.” He looked back at his boys and laughed. He turned to Joe again. “You ain’t got this yet, but you leaving town, boy. You just forgot to pack your bags.”

Joe looked into RD’s bright, mean eyes. Stared deep into them until he got all the way past anything bright and was left with nothing but the mean. It was like staring into the eyes of a dog beat so much and starved so much and uglied so much that all it had to give back to the world was its teeth.

In that moment, he pitied him.

RD Pruitt saw that pity in Joe’s eyes. And what surged up in his own was a howl of outrage. And a knife. Joe saw the knife coming in his eyes and by the time he glanced down at RD’s hand, he’d already buried it in Joe’s abdomen.