trouble today without me makin’ more for you. But you listen to me now: the sensible thing to do is turn yourself in after you see your son. The police ain’t savages; they’ll give an ear to your story. All runnin’s gonna do is make things worse.”
“I know that.”
“One more thing,” Gwinn said, his hand on the window frame. “Maybe you’re not a religious man, but I’ll tell you somethin’ true: God can take a man along many roads and through many mansions. It’s not where you are that’s important; it’s where you’re goin’ that counts. Hear what I’m sayin’?”
“I think so.”
“Well, you keep it to heart. Go on now, and good luck to you.”
“Thanks.” I’ll need it, he thought. He put the Chevy into reverse.
“So long.” Gwinn let go of the truck and stepped back. “The Lord be with you.”
Dan nodded and reversed the truck along the dirt drive that led from the reverend’s house to the cracked concrete of Highway 175. Gwinn stood watching him go as Dan backed onto the road and then put the truck’s gears into first. The reverend lifted his hand in a farewell gesture and Dan drove away, heading southbound again but this time rested, his head clear and for the moment free of pain and a paper bag full of fried chicken on the seat beside him. He had driven perhaps a mile from Gwinn’s house when a car came around the bend and passed him, going north, and he saw a young black man at the wheel and a black woman on the passenger side. Then he was around the curve himself, and he gave the truck a little more gas. The Lord be with you, he thought. But where had the Lord been at three o’clock this afternoon?
Dan reached into the bag and found a drumstick, and he chewed on it as he followed the curvy country road deeper into the Louisiana heartland. As the sun continued to settle in the west and the miles clicked off, Dan focused his thoughts on what lay ahead of him. If he swung east and got on the freeway again, he would reach Alexandria in about an hour. If he stayed on this slower route, it would take double that. The sun would be gone in another thirty minutes or so. The police would surely be staking out the house on Jackson Avenue, and those prowl cars had mighty strong spotlights. He couldn’t even risk driving past the house. How long would it take before the police slacked off their surveillance? He might think about giving himself up after he’d talked to Chad, but he wasn’t going to let the boy see him wearing handcuffs. So the question was: how was he going to get to Chad without the police jumping all over him first?
South of a small hamlet called Belmont, Dan pulled into a Texaco station, bought five dollars worth of gas, a Buffalo Rock ginger ale to wash down the excellent fried chicken, and a Louisiana roadmap. The gray-haired woman who took his money was too interested in her Soap Opera Digest to pay him much attention. In the steamy blue evening Dan switched on the pickup’s headlights and followed Highway 175 as it connected with Highway 171 and became a little smoother. At the town of Leesville, where he found himself stopped at a traffic light right in front of the police station, he took a left onto Highway 28 East, which was a straight shot into Alexandria. He had about thirty miles to go.
Fear started clawing at him again. The dull throbbing in his head returned. Full dark had fallen, a sickle moon rising over the trees. Traffic was sparse on the road, but every set of headlights in his rearview mirror stretched Dan’s nerves. The nearer he got to Alexandria, the more he doubted this mission could be accomplished. But he had to try; if he didn’t at least try, he wouldn’t be worth a damn.
He passed a sign that said ALEXANDRIA 18 MI.
The police are gonna be there, he told himself. They’ll get me before I can walk up the front steps. Would they have the telephone tapped, too? If I called Susan, would she put Chad on the phone or would she hang
“I know that.”
“One more thing,” Gwinn said, his hand on the window frame. “Maybe you’re not a religious man, but I’ll tell you somethin’ true: God can take a man along many roads and through many mansions. It’s not where you are that’s important; it’s where you’re goin’ that counts. Hear what I’m sayin’?”
“I think so.”
“Well, you keep it to heart. Go on now, and good luck to you.”
“Thanks.” I’ll need it, he thought. He put the Chevy into reverse.
“So long.” Gwinn let go of the truck and stepped back. “The Lord be with you.”
Dan nodded and reversed the truck along the dirt drive that led from the reverend’s house to the cracked concrete of Highway 175. Gwinn stood watching him go as Dan backed onto the road and then put the truck’s gears into first. The reverend lifted his hand in a farewell gesture and Dan drove away, heading southbound again but this time rested, his head clear and for the moment free of pain and a paper bag full of fried chicken on the seat beside him. He had driven perhaps a mile from Gwinn’s house when a car came around the bend and passed him, going north, and he saw a young black man at the wheel and a black woman on the passenger side. Then he was around the curve himself, and he gave the truck a little more gas. The Lord be with you, he thought. But where had the Lord been at three o’clock this afternoon?
Dan reached into the bag and found a drumstick, and he chewed on it as he followed the curvy country road deeper into the Louisiana heartland. As the sun continued to settle in the west and the miles clicked off, Dan focused his thoughts on what lay ahead of him. If he swung east and got on the freeway again, he would reach Alexandria in about an hour. If he stayed on this slower route, it would take double that. The sun would be gone in another thirty minutes or so. The police would surely be staking out the house on Jackson Avenue, and those prowl cars had mighty strong spotlights. He couldn’t even risk driving past the house. How long would it take before the police slacked off their surveillance? He might think about giving himself up after he’d talked to Chad, but he wasn’t going to let the boy see him wearing handcuffs. So the question was: how was he going to get to Chad without the police jumping all over him first?
South of a small hamlet called Belmont, Dan pulled into a Texaco station, bought five dollars worth of gas, a Buffalo Rock ginger ale to wash down the excellent fried chicken, and a Louisiana roadmap. The gray-haired woman who took his money was too interested in her Soap Opera Digest to pay him much attention. In the steamy blue evening Dan switched on the pickup’s headlights and followed Highway 175 as it connected with Highway 171 and became a little smoother. At the town of Leesville, where he found himself stopped at a traffic light right in front of the police station, he took a left onto Highway 28 East, which was a straight shot into Alexandria. He had about thirty miles to go.
Fear started clawing at him again. The dull throbbing in his head returned. Full dark had fallen, a sickle moon rising over the trees. Traffic was sparse on the road, but every set of headlights in his rearview mirror stretched Dan’s nerves. The nearer he got to Alexandria, the more he doubted this mission could be accomplished. But he had to try; if he didn’t at least try, he wouldn’t be worth a damn.
He passed a sign that said ALEXANDRIA 18 MI.
The police are gonna be there, he told himself. They’ll get me before I can walk up the front steps. Would they have the telephone tapped, too? If I called Susan, would she put Chad on the phone or would she hang
Similar Books
