The Great Santini Part 40

"So I can beat the Christians to the punch. They also call this car 'Sammy's Jewish Submarine.' "

"It must be tough being a child of Israel."

"No tougher than being a child of Rome. Everyone in this town thinks you're weirder than h.e.l.l for that s.h.i.t you do at the foul line," Sammy said, turning down River Street and cruising past the storefronts, the image of the Cadillac sliding dreamlike past the illuminated plate gla.s.s windows.

"That's not s.h.i.t. That's the sign of the cross."

"Yeah. s.h.i.t. Why do you do that stuff anyway?"

"If I make the shot, Sammy, then there's a G.o.d. If I miss it, then there's not."

"That makes sense to me. Hey, what do you want to do tonight, Ben? Go to the Shack?"

"Naw. The whole team will be there. I feel like Cain when I'm around those guys now," Ben said as the car turned a corner on Rutledge Street and pa.s.sed the small white framed grocery store that Sammy's father owned. "What does your daddy do anyway, Sammy? Does he make a living off that store?"

"No, Ben, that's just a front. I was going to tell you sooner or later, but you've forced my hand. That store's just a front. He makes his real cash dough s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Saint Bernards for stag movies. I wish he would screw Red Pettus in a stag movie."

"Red giving you some more trouble?"

"Not real trouble. He just says things every time I see him."

"Why don't you just punch him once or twice?"

"There's one thing you seem to have forgotten about Sammy Wertzberger, Marine brat, and it's very important in understanding the nature of that great and n.o.ble man. Sammy Wertzberger is one of the greatest cowards that ever lived. Sammy Wertzberger doesn't fight unless he's fighting blind or crippled people. Or real small women."

"Red's just a bully. You've got to stand up to him sometime."

"Oh no. That's where you're wrong. I can sit and whimper and fall to my knees and beg for mercy for my whole lifetime. That's the nature of a true coward. I've made a very careful study of myself and from every conceivable angle, I'm a total chicken s.h.i.t. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ben," Sammy said, slowing the car down and looking over the backseat. "Look on the floor and bring it up here with us."

Ben pulled a 12-gauge double barreled shotgun off the floorboards of the backseat. "Is it loaded?" Ben said, handling the weapon with caution. "What did you bring this thing for?"

"It's not loaded. I brought it because the next time I run with the bulls at Pamplona I'm gonna take this baby with me. If one of those big b.a.s.t.a.r.ds gets near me I'm gonna make about ten thousand cheeseburgers out of him," Sammy shouted, gripped by one of the Hemingway fantasies which came to him, Ben had noticed, with more and more frequency. "Now, I thought since neither of us have dates tonight..."

"Yeah, it's very rare when you and I don't have dates."

"But since this does happen to be one of those rare occasions when we are not seducing fair young maidens, I think we ought to head for the beach and have a little fun with those young lovers parked in the moonlight. You know, sneak up on couples making out and shoot the shotgun off right beside their car."

"What if the guy jumps out and beats h.e.l.l out of us?"

"Who's gonna jump out and beat the h.e.l.l out of a guy holding a shotgun, man? Besides, we'll just shoot it and run our nuts off."

"O.K., but you do the shooting and I'll do the running."

They were on the beach highway now, pa.s.sing long stretches of tomato and cuc.u.mber fields that quilted both sides of the road, pa.s.sing the lights of the blue-shuttered shacks of the barrier-island blacks, pa.s.sing over the small bridges that spanned the salt creeks that fingered deep into the marsh, pa.s.sing black men walking the shoulder of the highway, black churches, and a hundred other reminders that once you left the town of Ravenel and crossed the waters toward the barrier islands, you had entered the land of the freed slave, the gullah black, and it was a very different land from the one you had just left. Ben had asked Arrabelle where the voodoo people lived in Ravenel County and she had replied, "Every time you white folk go to the beach to color yourself up, you pa.s.s by some haint-fearin' people. And I'll tell you this, a bad spirit ain't gonna enter no house which done got the shutters painted blue. Now I just know that be a fact." The Cadillac pa.s.sed small, smoke-filled clubs with loud music and black people spilling out of open doors and sometimes overflowing into the highway.

"Hey, Ben," Sammy said after they had pa.s.sed several minutes in silence.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Do you realize that there are guys out there gettin' it right now. I mean gettin' it while we're just riding around talking about it."

"We're not talking about it."

"Well, I want to start talking about it. Here's what I would like to be doing right now instead of being with you. No offense, Ben, buddy-roo. No, I'd like to be biting Mary Lou Scoggins on her left thigh. And then I'd like to take my whole head and put it between Olive Tatum's b.o.o.bs and bounce them back and forth against my nose. But mostly, I'd like to walk up to Cindy White in the hall at school, bite her on her delicious little f.a.n.n.y and hang on for dear life as she raced around the hall trying to shake me off. By the way, Ben, you know who wants to date me?"

"Frankenstein's daughter."

"Very funny. But Emma Lee Givens has put out the word that she's hot for Sammy's bod."

"That's really nice, Sammy," Ben said. "She's just about the nicest girl at Calhoun High. And you know she's one of the smartest."

"Yeah, I heard she liked me from Mr. Loring. He just hinted around a bit and I got the message. Teachers love to be matchmakers. I guess Emma Lee just drooled over my gorgeous body in silence all these years and finally could bear it no longer. She knew she had to make a move fast because she was just one of ten thousand girls who were making plans to sample the bodily wares of that stud Sammy Wertzberger. Sammy Wertzberger," he repeated. "Do you think my name sounds funny, Ben?" he asked.

"What?"

"Tell me the truth. Do you think my name, Sammy Wertzberger, sounds funny?"

"No, it sounds O.K."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not. I don't think it sounds funny."

"All right. We'll conduct a test. You pretend that you're me and you're meeting someone for the first time. Now walk up to this imaginary person and introduce yourself without laughing."

"h.e.l.lo," Ben said seriously, "my name is Sammy Wertzberger." Then he giggled.

"See, it's impossible. It's impossible to say my name without laughing. I can't even do it. That's why I've always wanted to change my name to something like Rock Troy," Sammy said. "That sounds good."

They heard breakers crashing against the beach and the air was heavy with salt and spray. There were several cars parked along the beach road with couples welded together in clinched silhouettes.

"I want to find someone who's parking alone. Someone who really means business. I know the best spot in Ravenel County. Not many people know about it. Only the real lady-killers like myself."

Sammy drove along the road that paralleled the beach for more than a mile. Then the road took a slight turn inland at the point where private homes and private property began and the state beach ended. Turning out the lights of his car, Sammy grabbed the shotgun, loaded two sh.e.l.ls in the barrels, and motioned for Ben to follow him quietly. Soon, they were creeping down an infrequently traveled dirt road lined with palmettos and mossy live oaks. It was a cold, soundless night, black as obsidian, and Ben could only follow the sound of Sammy's insistent plunge toward the ocean. He had lost sight of Sammy as soon as they left the main road.

There was a long curve in the road that led them to an arch of trees that covered the dirt road before it died in a series of low sand dunes near the beach. Parked beneath the trees was a car. Sammy grabbed Ben by the wrist and pulled him behind a tree thirty yards away from the automobile. A radio was playing loudly from the car. But as the two boys watched from their covert looking post, the thing that held their fascination the longest was the fact that they had advanced to within striking distance of a police car.

"I'm getting out of here, Sammy," Ben whispered. "See you back at the Jew canoe."

"Wait a minute. That's Junior Palmer's prowl car. He's a deputy sheriff."

"I'm leaving, Sammy. You could end up dead shooting that shotgun off near a sheriff."

"I'm not going to shoot this shotgun. I'm going to do something far more exciting and far more dangerous."

"Let me know how it turns out when you see me Monday, you hear?"

"You don't understand, Ben," Sammy whispered, "I'm gonna sneak up there and find out who Palmer's with. He's married and has two kids."

"Sammy. You are nuts, man. Weren't you the guy who was telling me what a big coward he was just a little while ago? Anyway, that might be his wife in the car."

"Oh, c'mon, Ben, n.o.body goes out and parks with his wife. He's messing around with somebody. Now I'm gonna sneak behind that tree where the car is parked and see if I can't see in the window who Palmer's with. I've always wanted to get something on that son of a b.i.t.c.h. You hold the gun," Sammy said, slipping off commando style toward the police car. He paused after he had gone a few feet and said, "Cover me."

Keeping to the shadows and taking his time, Sammy advanced to the strategic oak and remained concealed in the shadows for over five minutes. Then Ben saw Sammy's shadow, quiet as a ferret, retreating along the same route he had advanced, but stopping behind each tree to ensure that he had not been seen.

"It's a n.i.g.g.e.r, Ben! It's a G.o.ddam n.i.g.g.e.r!"

"Jesus Christ! Let's get out of here!"

They sprinted down the dirt road, Ben taking a commanding lead with every stride, until he heard Sammy trip over a stump and somersault into an oleander bush. He went back and pulled Sammy up, holding his elbow, and they resumed their headlong flight away from the parked car.

Entering the Cadillac with equal desperation from two sides, they were soon accelerating down the beach road and back on the highway that headed from town.

"Whoopee!" Sammy said. "We just got hold of a real important piece of information. We have just seen Deputy Sheriff Palmer putting it to a colored woman, also known locally as a n.i.g.g.e.r, in the backseat of his patrol car out here in Dumf.u.c.k, Egypt. That is what I call a real important piece of information."

"I don't think it's so important. I'm just glad as h.e.l.l to be getting out of there alive."

"Man, we got a lot of planning to do."

"Planning for what?"

"I figure Jehovah put us out there tonight for a reason, Ben. He wants us to punish Junior Palmer for his transgressions against the G.o.d of Abraham. Now while we are figuring out how to punish Deputy Palmer we must also figure out how we can profit by this little piece of good fortune. We are probably the only people in the world that know about Deputy Palmer and his weakness for dark meat."

"So what? Best we forget it right away, too."

"Forget it! Are you crazy, Ben? The way I see it, we accidentally stepped into high cotton back there. This is a real chance to pick up a little cash dough."

"You don't mean blackmail?"

"No, mercy me," Sammy said, shrinking back in mock horror. "Wash my mouth out with horse p.i.s.s if I mean blackmail. We are just going to have Deputy Palmer invest in a little occupational insurance. If he wants us to keep our loud little yaps closed, then he can grease the palm with a few measly little greenbacks. That way he can protect that silver badge he's so proud of."

"I don't like one word that you've been using pretty freely, Sammy. It's a p.r.o.noun that you keep throwing in. It's plural. It's the word 'we.' I want you to change this p.r.o.noun to the first person singular. Then I can enjoy this plot much more."

"Man, we're in this together, Ben. We're partners because we saw this together. I wouldn't think of making money off this without splitting it with you."

"Oh, no, I insist that you take it all for yourself. I wouldn't think of cutting you out of any earnings you make off this, especially since I don't want to end up dead or in prison."

"This is foolproof, Ben, and we can have a little fun making that j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. sweat for a couple of days. I was thinking of asking for twenty-five dollars, but I think I might just up the ante to a cool fifty."

"That's a lot of money, Sammy."

"We are just agents of G.o.d picked out of all humanity to perform this unpleasant task. Do you think I like the fact that I have to do this, Ben?"

"I think you love it."

"I eat it up," Sammy cackled. "Now help me compose the letter. 'Dear Deputy Palmer, comma.' Or should I put a colon, do you think, Ben? You're the English star."

"A comma's O.K."

" 'If you want it to remain a secret that you were seen copulating with a woman of color,' Hey, how do you like that phrase? 'A woman of color,' eh, Ben?"

"You're a poet, Sammy."

" 'Bring fifty dollars and place it,' G.o.ddam, where will we have him leave it?"

"Why don't you have him drop it off in your mailbox?"

"Oh, sure, Ben, you ever thought of getting a job as a guidance counselor?" Sammy said, driving in silence for several minutes as he considered a suitable drop-off point. "There," he finally said, pointing at the water tower that served the residents of St. Catherine's Island, the first and the largest of the sea islands separating Ravenel from the mainland. "I'll have him tape the money on the catwalk at the top of that water tower. h.e.l.l, yes, then there won't be any monkey business."

"Let me know how it turns out," Ben said.

"Hey, you'll go with me, won't you, Ben? Shoot, we won't keep the money or anything. We'll give it to charity. I know one charitable organization that plans to keep Sammy Wertzberger drunk from now until graduation night."

"I'll come along and watch, Sammy. But this whole thing is your idea."

"You'll drool when I'm folding the fifty loaves of bread into my wallet too. And then for the rest of the evening you'll probably just sit there in awe of me and my master criminal mind."

"Maybe I should get at least half of what you get, Sammy. After all, you're going to have to bribe me to keep me from telling Junior Palmer that you blackmailed him."

"Then we are partners in crime?" Sammy said.

"Partners," Ben answered.

Chapter 29.

Three times Sammy drove past the water tower on St. Catherine's Island to make sure that no one was lying in wait to apprehend the author of the blackmail note. Satisfied, he extinguished his headlights and hid the car in a natural cul-de-sac on the edge of the forest. Then both he and Ben scouted the terrain beneath the water tower half expecting the tubercular, sallow face of Junior Palmer to appear as an apparition before the long climb to the catwalk could begin. But they found nothing to either arouse their suspicions or allay their fears. Sammy hauled himself up on the ladder first and began climbing slowly. Ben followed him, staying four or five rungs behind his friend. At first they ascended in a dead silence.

"I wish there was a moon tonight," Ben said.

"Are you crazy?" Sammy whispered in reply. "Then some dope would see us climbing up this thing and every cop for a hundred miles would be there when we were climbing down."

"You sure that fifty dollars is going to be up here?" Ben asked.

"It better be," Sammy answered, "or Junior Palmer's name is going to be spelled S-H-I-T by tomorrow morning. Of course it'll be here. You know he must have had a cow when he got that note."

"Where'd you leave it?"

"Under his windshield wiper. I hid and watched when he came out of the jail and read the note. There's nothing but gold at the end of this rainbow."

"G.o.d, I feel like I'm high enough already to be climbing a rainbow. This thing is a lot higher than it looks from the ground."