—Put down the rifle, he said.
—I can’t do that, Emmett. Not until you calm down and start talking sense.
—Sense is what I’ve been talking, Duchess. For the first time in a week. Willing or unwilling, you’re going to the police station.
Duchess looked genuinely frustrated.
—Because of Woolly?
—Not because of Woolly.
—Then why?
—Because the cops think you clobbered someone back in Morgen with a two-by-four, and then put Ackerly in the hospital.
Now Duchess looked dumbfounded.
—What are you talking about, Emmett? Why would I hit some guy in Morgen? I’d never been there in my life. And as to Ackerly, the list of people who’d like to put him in the hospital must be a thousand pages long.
—It really doesn’t matter whether you did these things or not, Duchess. What matters is that the cops think you did them—and that I was somehow involved. As long as they’re looking for you, they’ll be looking for me. So you’ll have to turn yourself in and sort it out with them.
Emmett took a step forward, but this time Duchess raised the rifle so that the barrel was pointing at his chest.
In the back of his mind, Emmett knew that he should be taking the threat from Duchess seriously. Like Townhouse had said, when Duchess was intent on something, everyone on the periphery was at risk. Whether his intentions now were focused on avoiding Salina, or obtaining the money from the safe, or seeing to the unfinished business with his father, in the heat of the moment Duchess was perfectly capable of doing something as stupid as pulling a trigger. And if Emmett got himself shot, what would happen to Billy?
But before Emmett could acknowledge the merits of this train of thought, before he had the chance to even hesitate, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a fedora on the cushion of a high-back chair, and the memory of Duchess sitting at the piano in Ma Belle’s lounge with his hat tilted back on his head in that cocksure manner gave Emmett a new surge of anger that restored his sense of inevitability. Emmett would have Duchess in his hands, he would take him to the police, and soon enough, Duchess would be on his way back to Salina, or Topeka, or wherever they wanted to send him.
Emmett resumed walking, closing the gap between them.
—Emmett, said Duchess with an expression of anticipatory regret, I don’t want to shoot you. But I will shoot you if you leave me no choice.
When they were three paces apart, Emmett stopped. It wasn’t the threat of the rifle or the plea from Duchess that made him stop. It was the fact that ten feet beyond Duchess, Billy had appeared.
He must have been hiding somewhere behind the staircase. Now he was moving quietly into the open so that he could see what was happening. Emmett wanted to signal Billy that he should return to wherever he’d been hiding, to signal him without making Duchess aware.
But it was too late. Duchess had noted the change in Emmett’s expression and glanced back to see what was behind him. When Duchess realized it was Billy, he took two steps to the side and rotated forty-five degrees so that he could still see Emmett while training the rifle’s barrel on Billy.
—Stay there, Emmett said to his brother.
—That’s right, Billy. Don’t make a move. Then your brother won’t make a move and I won’t make a move, and we can talk this through together.
—Don’t worry, said Billy to Emmett. He can’t shoot me.
—Billy, you don’t know what Duchess will or won’t do.
—No, said Billy. I don’t know what Duchess will or won’t do. But I do know that he can’t shoot me. Because he can’t read.
—What? said Emmett and Duchess together, the one perplexed, the other offended.
—Who says I can’t read? demanded Duchess.
—You did, explained Billy. First you said that small print gave you a headache. Then you said that reading in cars made you queasy. Then you said that you were allergic to books.
Billy turned to Emmett.
—He says it that way because he’s too ashamed to admit that he can’t read. Just like he’s too ashamed to admit that he can’t swim.
As Billy was talking, Emmett kept his attention on Duchess and he could see that Duchess was growing red. Maybe it was from shame, thought Emmett, but more likely from resentment.
—Billy, Emmett cautioned, whether or not Duchess can read doesn’t make any difference right now. Why don’t you just leave this to me.
But Billy was shaking his head.
—It does make a difference, Emmett. It makes a difference because Duchess doesn’t know the rules for closing the house.