Sweetsmoke (23 page)

    Don't
know him, said Cassius.

    "Clay
was recently in the newspapers, declined Lincoln's attempt to appoint him
ambassador to Spain. I am returned from the North this evening, where I have
been for these last three weeks. I take it as a tribute to the ongoing secrecy of
our arrangement that I was told nothing of Emoline's death. And you may trust,
my friend, that I am kept informed of all things that affect my business. If
you know the item, then you know Union men are interested in that niddering
Whitacre's correspondence."

    Military
men? said Cassius.

    "Indeed.
And as you know about the hidden place behind the panel—" I built it.

    Logue
shifted in the chair. Cassius thought that never before in his life had a white
man so thoroughly examined his face.

    "Where's
your partner?"

    Partner?
said Cassius, puzzled.

    "Your
compatriot, your second, the gump in hiding with the club or pistol. The one
you'll signal once I walk out of here with Whitacre's documents. If you're to
extort from me, you'd better have a partner."

    Maybe
I say he waits outside and protect myself, or maybe I say ain't got one, so you
can mistrust the truth.

    Logue
listened to the answer and a cautious smile infected his face.

    "You
have the makings of an excellent smuggler, yond Cassius."

    Yond
Cassius? said Cassius with growing interest.

    "Is
that not Hoke Howard's affectionate name for you?"

    Cassius
reconsidered Gabriel Logue. Why had he exposed his lie? Cassius could determine
no advantage to it.

    Old
Master reads Shakespeare, said Cassius.

    "How
well you mind your tongue, Cassius. Initially I insist I haven't heard of you
and then I acknowledge your master's particular words. And you endure my
prevarication in silence. You strike me as a man worth knowing. That makes you
dangerous." Gabriel Logue spoke with admiration. He shifted himself in the
chair, making himself more comfortable, as if he might stay for a while. The
chair again complained.

    It is
said you killed many men, said Cassius.

    "Is
it indeed?"

    Cassius
saw that there would be no other response, so he moved on: How goes your
business with Hoke Howard?

    "Do
I conduct business with your good master?"

    Hoke
Howard needs you, said Cassius.

    "He
does indeed," said Logue, and his smile threatened to become habit.
"The embargo was imposed at the precise wrong moment and his wares were
left to rot on the docks, putting him in grave financial peril. Bad for him,
good for me, thus he and I are indeed conducting business."

    Cassius
reflected that sharing information was a game to Logue. And if it was a
bartering chip, then Cassius's quid pro quo was about to come due.

    "I
must say, your conversation is good for clearing a man's head. Frequenting the
bierhaus,
a man tends to imbibe to excess."

    The
bierhaus
? In the German part of town?

    "Is
that so odd? From your reaction I see that my home away from home is likely to
continue to fool the Anglo-Saxon planters who would not believe I house with
German immigrants. Hans Mueller is in particular need of my talents."

    You
fear discovery?

    "Mostly
by my wife, as she would be mortified to learn of my accommodations." He
leaned conspiratorially forward. "It does not live up to her standards.
No, Mule can't afford to hand me over, I keep him in business, providing
certain necessities, readily available in the North, for him to sell. At a
profit, I might add. And now it is your turn. Tell me why you're here, so far
from your plantation, in the middle of the night."

    To
meet a man coming for Emoline's intelligence.

    "Would
you take her place, Cassius?" said Logue as if to a precocious child.

    I
would know who killed her, said Cassius slowly and deliberately.

    "Killed
her?" said Logue, standing up. Emoline's chair tipped back but did not go
all the way over. "God damn it, you said she was dead, not murdered."

    Hit
on the back of the head, said Cassius, indicating the stain in the floorboards.

    "Who
was it?"

    Anyone.
No one.

    "This
is damned inconvenient. Who else knows you're here?" He moved to a window
and peered out into the rain. Cassius was surprised to see that something
frightened Logue.

    No
one.

    "Who
saw you come?" He moved to the next window.

    No
one.

    "I
was careful, but even I might have missed someone. This is not good, not good
at all." He closed the baffles on the lantern and opened the front door.
The heavy sound of rain rushed into the room. Logue looked up and down the dark
street. He stayed inside the curtain of water and stared for a long time, then
returned to the room and closed the door, squelching the sound behind him.
"If Whitacre's people knew, I'd be in chains. Unless they want to catch me
with the papers." Another test as he searched Cassius's face for any sign
that might give him away.

    How
does Whitacre fit in? said Cassius.

    "Whitacre
has been charged with capturing the spies known to be operating in this
area."

    You
think she's dead because she was a spy?

    "You
know another reason?"

    Cassius
told Gabriel Logue what he knew about Emoline's death. He told him that
Emoline's son did not know about the secret hiding place and was only
interested in her money. He told him that Captain Whitacre's cook Maryanne had
brought a packet.

    When
Cassius was finished, Logue said, "Well, if we're to be undone, let's at
least see what our Emoline has collected."

    Logue
moved to the false panel beside the hearth. He looked at Cassius over his
shoulder. "Tell me, Cassius, did she irritate you as much as she did
me?"

    Cassius
said nothing.

    Logue
smiled then and said, "I will miss her, too." He opened the panel
swiftly, indicating familiarity.

    "It
appears you did not share her money with her son," said Logue.

    And I
don't share it with you, said Cassius.

    Logue
reached in to remove the two packets. He left her money and her letters in
place. He brought the lantern to the table and sat. He undid the packet brought
by Maryanne. He skimmed the Whitacre letters, then refolded them and resecured
the package. He opened the second packet and read that more carefully.

    "Do
you read, Cassius?"

    No.

    "No,
of course not." Logue paused. "These are intercepted telegraph
dispatches. They came from a telegraph operator. They did not come from a
cook."

    Cassius
put his hand on his pouch under his shirt and touched where he knew the scrap
of paper rested inside, Emoline's hand-drawn map, W York.

    Could
this telegraph man have been her murderer? said Cassius.

    "It's
possible."

    Perhaps
if the Confederates were closing in and he was nervous and wanted his
information back?

    "Possible."

    And
he came back for it?

    "All
of it possible. But highly unlikely."

    Why?

    "The
telegraph operator's risk comes when making the exchange. Nothing in this
packet suggests his identity, so he's safer
not
returning. Beyond that,
I imagine there is a middle man."

    Cassius
said nothing.

    "Maybe
I should be grateful, this will uncomplicate my life. Without Emoline, I can go
about my business without concern for espionage or patriotism. I can be the
rascal full-time."

    How
do you get these north?

    Logue
considered him for a moment, and when he began to speak, Cassius again saw how
openly whites were willing to speak in front of blacks, as if they were
speaking to a wall or a chair.

    "I
suppose you're not likely to afford me competition. Not so difficult as you'd
imagine. Unless you're in uniform, there's little difference between the
gentleman of the North and the gentleman of the South. When transporting small
packages, I simply ride across the border. Man like me doesn't usually get
stopped. But I will send something this sensitive hidden in one of my wagons
that will join the army train of supplies. Ever see a wagon train? Picture an
endless line of wagons stretching for miles, now that is one massive operation,
something no one man can oversee alone. Man's got to delegate, and the moment
he does, I am in business. They divide their train into little fiefdoms, and in
the military, when you see something out of the ordinary, well, that must fall
under the authority of Major Body Louse or Colonel Forty-Rod. Pass the buck,
Cassius, that's the army way. Quartermaster Whitacre will ironically provide
the safe passage of these documents to the North. A greased palm here, a plug
of tobacco there, and a handful of extra wagons roll somewhere into the middle
of the line. Once at their destination, the wagons split off and after more greased
palms, they cross the border. The papers get across, Hoke Howard gets what he
wants, I get what I want, Bluebellies get a smoke, Butternuts get coffee, and
then the bell rings and they all rush out to eradicate each other. The world is
good."

    So
it's not dangerous? said Cassius.

    "Oh
it's dangerous."

    Cassius
nodded. Then he said: Whitacre's father-in-law, Jarvis, dusted up with Hoke.
Afterward, Whitacre came to Sweetsmoke—

    "Ah,
to 'assess' your goods. Jarvis sent his son-in-law to get even with your
master."

    I
knew he was angry, said Cassius.

    "Hoke
made too much money when he invested in that fleet of ships, before the embargo
kicked his backside. Jarvis cannot forgive him."

    Hoke
had already moved the livestock, said Cassius.

    "Good
for him, anticipating Jarvis, you can't say Hoke doesn't have his moments. Wise
move, yes sir, that'd put Old Jarvis in a huff. But this is good for me, I will
get an excellent price on the tobacco, very favorable terms. I owe you,
Cassius."

    Pay
your bill by leaving Emoline's money behind.

    "You
imagine you've earned it, then?"

    Cassius
shrugged.

    "Intelligence
and greed, you would be useful to a man in my position. Are you certain you
won't take her place? Our friends up North will be greatly disappointed when
this information dries up. Not that they know how to utilize it. It would amaze
you to know of the self-satisfied generals sitting on their prodigious arses
who ignore these dispatches. They'd rather get their intelligence from reading
the enemy's newspapers."

    Can
you tell me how to find this telegraph man? said Cassius.

    "I
cannot. In an arrangement like this, it is best not to know your compatriots.
Do you plan to find him?"

    If you
know nothing of her killer, then he is my only other link. He will have some
information.

    Logue
shook his head as he began to understand Cassius's plan. "And this is
information you must have?"

    To
find her killer, yes.

    Cassius
indicated the stain on the floor.

    Gabriel
Logue began to laugh. "You have had occasion to take note of your
reflection, in a looking glass or perhaps a puddle?"

    Now
and again.

    "Then
perhaps you are aware that your skin is black, that you are only counted as
three-fifths of a man, that you are a slave owned and controlled by your
master?"

    Most
days.

    "And
you would seek poor Emoline's killer?"