Free Delusion by Peter Abrahams

was Lee Ann’s show.
    “Maybe what?” said Lee Ann.
    Nell gazed at Nappy, saw what should have been obvious: he was drunk. “Maybe you don’t know that people are looking for you.”
    He took a quick scan of the clearing. There was nothing to see but a blue butterfly hovering over one of those yellow flowers. Nappy’s index finger slid off the trigger guard, onto the trigger.
    “Not to harm you,” Lee Ann said. “They’ve been looking in Houston, Atlanta, all the places the refugees went.”
    “I ain’t no refugee.”
    “You’re not?” Lee Ann said.
    “Didn’t flee no hurricane.”
    Lee Ann glanced around. “You’re saying this is where you were living, even before the hurricane?”
    “Not sayin’ nothin’.”
    Nell had another thought. “Are you here for some other reason?”
    His finger left the trigger, moved back to the guard. Was it just because he preferred the sound of her voice? “Like what reason?” he said.
    Nell couldn’t think of any. Lee Ann said, “Getting back to the tape, what was your motivation in sending it? Were you friends with Alvin DuPree? And who did you actually send it to, by the way?”
    Nappy waved his free hand in front of his face, as though brushing away flies. “Lot of questions,” he said.
    “Why don’t we go inside?” Lee Ann said. “Take them one at a time.”
    “Etiquette,” Nappy said.
    “Etiquette?” said Lee Ann.
    “Etiquette is why,” Nappy said. “Meanin’ manners. My place, so my place to hand out invitations. Or not.”
    “My apologies,” said Lee Ann.
    The sarcasm was plain in her tone, but Nappy must have missed it, because he nodded in an apology-accepting way and said, “Manners don’t cost nothin’, but they worth many treasures.” He took a D E LU S I O N
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    bottle from his back pocket—Knob Creek—pulled the stopper with his teeth, spat it out, tilted the bottle to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He held the bottle out to Nell. “Drink, Nellie?”
    “Thanks, but it’s a little earl—”
    His voice rose. “Many treasures.”
    Nell took the bottle. She didn’t like bourbon, not even premium bourbon, and it was too early for her, plus she hadn’t drunk straight from the bottle since high school, and didn’t much like the idea of putting her lips where his had been; but she drank.
    Nappy watched closely. “Sweet,” he said. “Now pass it around the circle.”
    Nell passed the bottle to Lee Ann. Lee Ann wiped the rim on her sleeve— Why didn’t I have the nerve to do that? Nell thought—and took a real slug. That brought the little giggle from Nappy.
    “We havin’ fun?” he said. Lee Ann gave him the bottle. He did an elaborate imitation of how she’d wiped the rim, then took an even deeper slug. It made him shudder.
    “Getting back to the tape,” Lee Ann said.
    “Somethin’ else,” said Nappy.
    “It’ll all come out anyway,” Lee Ann said. “When you testify at the hearing.”
    “Don’ know nothin’ about no hearing.”
    “That’s because they can’t find you,” Lee Ann said. “The hearing’s to free Alvin DuPree, based on the security-camera tape and the note that went with it, the one that said they had the wrong man. The tape turned up in a file cabinet that belonged to Bobby Rice.”
    “That’s fucked up.”
    “Why?” said Lee Ann.
    “Why not?” Nappy said.
    “Can you elaborate a little?” Lee Ann said. “Why is the tape turn -
    ing up in Bobby Rice’s file cabinet fucked up?”
    “Whyn’t you aks him?”
    “Impossible,” said Lee Ann. “Bobby Rice drowned in the flood.”
    Nappy shook his head, a little too hard, like a child warding off something he didn’t want to hear. “Strong sober man like Bobby? No way.”
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    PETER ABRAHAMS
    “It’s true,” Lee Ann said.
    Nappy’s eyes seemed to get redder. “Make you think who the hell runnin’ things.”
    “In Belle Ville?” Lee Ann said.
    Nappy took a long, long drink, head way back, then raised his hands high,