Free The Bible Salesman by Clyde Edgerton Page A

like the fingers,” he said.
    “Yeah, that’s right,” said Clearwater.
    Henry had had a chance to see some of the criminals down in Grover, Florida. They seemed like regular people. That showed how smart they were. One of the car painters had a gold tooth in front. Mr. Clearwater had said it was important for Henry not to talk to them.
    Clearwater wiped each hand low on his pants in the rear, just above the cuff. “Go bring the Chrysler,” he said. “Here’s the keys.” He tossed them.
    Henry pulled the Chrysler up beside the Oldsmobile, turned off the ignition, got out. “I like them white-sidewall tires,” he said. Mr. Clearwater was wiping his hands again.
    Henry looked out across the field of broom straw that stood just beyond a few trees. The first stars of evening were beginning to show, and far across the field stood a long line of black pines. In the sky just above the pines lay a strip of yellow sky. It made him almost remember something he and Uncle Jack had done.
    Clearwater opened the trunks of both cars so they could transfer the boy’s belongings and some of his. He retrieved eight license plates from eight states; two crowbars; a fifth and half-fifth of Henry McKenna in a paper sack; a portable Royal typewriter in its case; a zip-up canvas bag containing two wigs, a hunting jacket, binoculars, two .38 pistols, a pearl-handled .32, masking tape, rope, three sticks of dynamite, blankets, and rubber dishwashing gloves.
    He got out a clean white shirt and put it on, looked over at the place he’d buried the billfold and glove compartment contents. It looked good. He made an out-of-the-way incision in the Oldsmobile trunk lining and pushed the license plates through, then motioned for Henry, now standing there waiting like he ought to, to put his things in the trunk. Henry stepped over and placed his suitcase, valise, and a new cardboard box of Bibles in next to the spare tire.
    Clearwater noticed a speck on his glasses. As he wiped it off, he saw that it was a dark red. If you found the sweet spot above and behind the ear there wasn’t much trouble if you could swing hard with both hands — real quick. Knocked them out cold. But if you missed it and had to hit him again . . . not good. They’d be ducking and moving all around, and you sometimes couldn’t be accurate, might get a little spatter. He didn’t like to use the crowbar that way. He could kill somebody. Misuse of tools. That’s what his pistols were for. He’d killed with pistol, rifle, bayonet, and piano wire in France six years before and had experienced the luck of having bullets hit all around him but never touch him, and he’d experienced the weakness in his knees and the tingle in his chin just as he witnessed life leave somebody. You had to do your job. It was a job. And this was a job, just at a different place and time, all in the same world, a world that was no more than a place for things to happen. If your job brought wealth, then good.
    “Okay, I’ll follow you this time,” said Clearwater. “I’ll drive the Chrysler. And remember, if we get split up, pull over and let
me
find
you
.”
    They drove along in the night on a two-lane blacktop for about an hour, meeting few cars. Henry thought about home. It wouldn’t be too long before he could save up enough money to buy a car. He might could buy Caroline one too, or Aunt Dorie. Or maybe one for both of them. He might get a chance after six months or so to join the FBI as a regular G-man. Mr. Clearwater hadn’t mentioned it, but for sure that’s what would come next. He’d have to tell Carson. Maybe he could even arrange for Carson to come to work for the FBI too.
    They stopped at a service station and filled up with gas. Clearwater took the lead for the final short stretch. As he drove, he pulled a letter from his pocket, turned on the inside light, and read directions. He looked at the map and then up to the road. In a few minutes he turned onto a gravel road and