A Stained White Radiance by James Lee Burke Page B

you ever see Jewel Fluck around?” Clete said.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHe’s a little sawed-off guy. Hangs around with Eddy. He’s in the AB.”
    â€œI’m not sure what you’re saying.”
    â€œThe Aryan Brotherhood,” Clete said. “They’re jailhouse Nazis.”
    â€œWell . . .” Bobby Earl began.
    â€œYou really don’t know Fluck, huh?” Clete said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œStreak would really like to talk with him and Eddy. They almost blew out his light. You get Streak mad and he’ll throw elephant shit through your window fan.”
    Clete held up his glass for the butler to fill it again.
    â€œI think we don’t need to talk anymore,” Bobby Earl said. “I’m not sure why you’re here anyway. I have the feeling you’d like to provoke something.”
    â€œHere’s my business card, Mr. Earl,” I said. “But I’ll be back in touch one way or another. How’s Eddy’s face?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe had a lot of splinters in it the last time I saw him. Do you know why he’d want to tear up your brother-in-law’s house?”
    â€œNow, you listen—”
    â€œHe and two others executed a policeman. They blew his brains all over a basement floor at pointblank range,” I said. “You’d better think up some better bullshit the next time cops come out to your house.”
    The blood had drained out of his cheeks. Then a strange transformation took place in his face. The skin grew taut against the bone, and there was a flat, green-yellow venomous glaze in his eyes, the kind you see only in people who have successfully worked for years to hide the propensity for cruelty that lives inside them.
    â€œYou got in here when you shouldn’t have. Now you’re on your way out,” he said.
    â€œThat sounds serious. No J.D. refills?” Clete said.
    The butler rested his hand on the back of Clete’s chair. Through the banana trees I saw the gateman walking across the lawn toward us. I stood up togo. Clete lit a cigarette and flipped the match into the swimming pool. It was deep dusk now, and the trees were swimming with fireflies.
    â€œDon’t crowd the plate,” he said, his eyes looking straight ahead.
    The butler looked at Bobby Earl, who nodded his head negatively and rose from his chair.
    â€œI get it,” Clete said, rising also, his grin back in place. “You’re cutting us some slack. Otherwise the hired help might just stomp the shit out of us. But this ain’t nigger-town. And it’s no time for bad press, right? I’ve changed my mind about you, Mr. Earl. You’ve got real Kool-Aid. I dig it.” He blew cigarette smoke at an upward angle into the violet air and gazed approvingly about the grounds. “What a place. I’ve been in the wrong line of work.”
    Then the butler fitted his hand around Clete’s biceps to point him toward the driveway.
    Clete pivoted and lifted his huge fist into the butler’s stomach. It was a deep, unexpected blow, in the soft place right under the sternum, and the butler’s face went white with shock. His mouth gasped, and his eyes locked open as big as half dollars.
    Then Clete grabbed him by the back of his jacket and threw him spread-eagled across the table that had been set for two.
    â€œBack off, Clete!” I said.
    â€œYeah? Take a look at the lollipop our man’s got in his pocket?” He held up a leather-hided slapjack in one hand, and tossed it over his shoulder into the pool. “Let’s see what other items Bonzo’sholding. How about this? A .25-caliber Beretta. What were you going to do with this, fuckhead?”
    The side of the butler’s face was pressed flat against the table; spittle dripped into his chin beard.
    â€œAnswer me. You think this is Beirut?” Clete said, his hand tight on the back of the butler’s neck.
    Then he