"It got stuck in my culvert and drowned. A gator don't know how to back up," he said.
"Why don't you bury it?"
"Animals would dig it up. What d' you want here?"
"You've been out in front of me all the time, Dock. I respect that," I said.
"What?"
"About the body on the LaRose plantation and any number of other things. It's hard to float one by you, partner."
His face was smeared by charcoal, warm with the heat of the fire. He watched me as he would a historical enemy crossing field and moat into his enclave.
"I spent some time in the courthouse this afternoon. You've got state contracts to build hospitals," I said.
"So?"
"The contracts are already let. You're going to be a rich man. Eventually Buford's going to take a fall. Why go down with him?"
"Good try, no cigar."
"Tell me, Dock, you think he'll have Crown popped if I set up Crown's surrender?"
"Who gives a shit?"
"A grand jury."
He brushed at his nose with one knuckle, huffed air out a nostril, flicked his eyes off my face to the women in the pool, then looked at nothing, all with the same degree of thought or its absence.
"You're dumb," he said.
"I see."
"You're worried about a worthless geezer and nigger-trouble that's thirty years old. LaRose'll put a two-by-four up your ass."
"How?"
"He wants company."
"Sorry, Dock, I don't follow your drift."
His thick palm squeezed dryly on the hoe handle.
"Why don't people want to step on graves? Because they care about the stiffs that's down there? If he gets his hand on your ankle, he'll pull you in the box with him," he said.
My lips, the skin around my mouth, moved wordlessly in the wind.
Bootsie and I did the dishes together after supper. It had stopped raining, and the sky outside was a translucent blue and ribbed with purple and red clouds.
"You're going to set it up?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want to cut the umbilical cord."
"What's the sheriff say?"