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"All right." Koenig paused once more. "Sounds like it went off smooth as can be. I'll let the President know about that, too."
"Thanks. Thanks very much." Pinkard beamed. Most of the time, nobody ever gave a jailer the respect he deserved.
After a few more polite noises-ones that didn't matter nearly so much-Koenig hung up. Jeff let out a long sigh. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. But he'd handled it.
He nodded to himself. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, all right. And he had a pretty good notion of what the next thing would be: a new population reduction. How many more of those could the guards take and still keep their marbles? He didn't want them blowing out their own brains or finding other ingenious ways to kill themselves, the way Chick Blades had.
What could he do about it, though? He didn't have the room or the food to keep all the blacks who flooded into Camp Dependable. If he tried, he'd touch off an explosion here. He couldn't do that, not when the Confederate States were fighting for their lives. He had to make things here run as well as he could. He wasn't supposed to cause trouble. He was supposed to stop it.
At least he didn't have Willy Knight to worry about any more. No more bad dreams about Knight escaping, either. That was something, anyhow.
When Cinci
He'd been lucky, after a fashion. Another white man came in just as he was going out: a tall, jowly fellow, still vigorous despite his white hair, with a mournful face and the light brown eyes of a hunting dog. He held the door open for Cinci
"Thank you kindly, suh," Cinci
A pigeon strutted by, head bobbing. It could walk about as fast as Cinci
After five or ten minutes, the man with the white hair and the hunting-hound eyes came out of the drugstore. He was carrying a small paper sack. He would have walked past Cinci
The man stopped dead. Just for a moment, his eyes widened. Surprise? Fear? Cinci
Sorry probably meant dead. His voice still held the snap of command. When Kentucky belonged to the USA, he'd headed up the Kentucky State Police-the Kentucky Secret Police, for all intents and purposes. He'd battled Negro Reds and Confederate diehards with fine impartiality, and he'd got out of the state one jump ahead of the incoming Confederates. If he was back now…
Cinci
"You probably deserved it." No, nobody'd ever said Bliss lacked nerve.
"Fuck you," Cinci
That made Bliss jump; no Negro in his right mind would say such a thing to a white man here. But the former-or not so former-secret policeman was made of stern stuff, and shrewd as the devil, too. "You want to holler for a cop, go ahead. You'll help the CSA and hurt the USA, but go ahead."
"Fuck you," Cinci
Seeing as much, Bliss managed a smile that did not reach his eyes. "This time, I reckon we're on the same side. Any… colored fellow who isn't on the USA's side, he's got to have something wrong with him." He didn't say nigger, but his hesitation showed he didn't miss by much.
He wasn't wrong, either. Cinci
Bliss gave back that unamused smile once more. "Raising Cain," he answered matter-of-factly. Those light brown eyes-an odd, odd color, one that almost glowed in the sunlight-measured Cinci
"I hoped to God I'd never see you again," Cinci
"Well, you're about to get your wish," Bliss replied. "Like I say, you want to yell for a cop, go right ahead." He didn't bother with a farewell nod or anything of the sort. He just walked away, turned the corner, and was gone, as if he were a bad dream and Cinci
Shaking his head, Cinci
He made his slow return to the colored part of town. No drugstores operated there. A couple had been open while Kentucky belonged to the USA, run by young, ambitious Negroes who'd managed to get enough education to take on the work. The Confederates had made them shut down, though. The Freedom Party didn't want capable colored people. As far as Cinci
A policeman in a gray uniform strode up to Cinci
"Got me some aspirin, suh." Cinci
"Let me see your passbook."
"Yes, suh." Cinci
Cinci
Now that he was back in his own part of town, Cinci