"Your father was a lot of things," Harry Rex said, drowning his hotcakes with at least a quart of somebody's homemade molasses. "But he wasn't sweet."
"No he was not," Ray agreed. "Did he ever come in here?"
"Not that I recall. He didn't eat breakfast, didn't like crowds, hated small talk, preferred to sleep as late as possible. I don't think this was his kind of place. For the past nine years, he hasn't been seen much around the square."
"Where'd Dell meet him?"
"In court. One of her daughters had a baby. The daddy already had a family. A real mess." He somehow managed to shovel into his mouth a serving of pancakes that would choke a horse. Then a bite of sausage.
"And of course you were in the middle of it."
"Of course. Judge treated her right." Chomp, chomp.
Ray felt compelled to take a large bite of his food. With molasses dripping everywhere, he leaned forward and lifted a heavy fork to his mouth.
"The Judge was a legend, Ray, you know that. Folks around here loved him. He never got less than eighty percent of the vote in Ford County."
Ray nodded as he worked on the pancakes. They were hot and buttery, but not particularly tasty.
"If we spend five thousand bucks on the house," Harry Rex said without showing food, "then we'll get it back several times over. It's a good investment."
"Five thousand for what?"
He wiped his mouth with one long swipe. "Clean the damned thing first. Spray it, wash it, fumigate it, clean the floors and walls and furniture, make it smell better. Then paint the outside and the downstairs. Fix the roof so the ceilings won't spot. Cut the grass, pull the weeds, just spruce it up. I can find folks around here to do it." He thrust another serving into his jaws and waited for Ray to respond.
"There's only six thousand in the bank," Ray said.
Dell dashed by and somehow managed to refill both coffee cups and pat Ray on the shoulder without missing a stride.
"You got more in that box you found," Harry Rex said, carving another wedge of pancakes.
"So we spend it?"
"I been thinking about it," he said, gulping coffee. "Fact, Fs up all night thinking about it."
'And?"
"Got two issues, one's important, the other's not." A quick bite of modest proportions, then using the knife and fork to help him talk, he continued: "First, where'd it come from? That's what we want to know, but it ain't really that important. If he robbed a bank, he's dead. If he hit the casinos and didn't pay taxes, he's dead. If he simply liked the smell of cash and saved it over the years, he's still dead. You follow?"
Ray shrugged as if he was waiting for something complicated. Harry Rex used the break in his monologue to eat sausage, then began stabbing the air again: "Second, what are you going to do with it? That's what's important. We're assuming nobody knows about the money, right?"
Ray nodded and said, "Right. It was hidden." Ray could hear the windows being rattled. He could see the Blake & Son boxes scattered and crushed.
He couldn't help but glance through the window and look at his TT roadster, packed and ready to flee.
"If you include the money in the estate, half will go to the IRS."
"I know that, Harry Rex. What would you do?"
"I'm not the right person to ask. I've been at war with the IRS for eighteen years, and guess who's winnin'? Not me. Screw 'em."
"That's your advice as an attorney?"
"No, as a friend. If you want legal advice, then I will tell you that all assets must be collected and properly inventoried pursuant to the Mississippi Code, as annotated and amended."
"Thank you."
"I'd take twenty thousand or so, put it in the estate to pay the up-front bills, then wait a long time and give Forrest his half of the rest."
"Now, that's what I call legal advice."
"Nope, it's just common sense."
The mystery of the biscuits was solved when Harry Rex attacked them. "How 'bout a biscuit?" he said, though they were closer to Ray.
"No thanks."
Harry Rex sliced two in half, buttered them, added a thick layer of jam, then, at the last moment, inserted a patty of sausage. "You sure?" . .
"Yes, I'm sure. Could the money be marked in any way?"
"Only if it's ransom or drug money. Don't reckon Reuben Atlee was into those sorts of things, you?"
"Okay, spend five thousand."
"You'll be pleased."
A small man with matching khaki pants and shirt stopped at the table, and with a warm smile said, "Excuse me, Ray, but I'm Loyd Darling." He stuck out a hand as he spoke. "I have a farm just east of town."
Ray shook his hand and half-stood. Mr. Loyd Darling owned more land than anybody in Ford County. He had once taught Ray in Sunday School. "So good to see you," Ray said.
"Keep your seat," he said, gently shoving Ray down by the shoulder. 'Just wanted to say how sorry I am about the Judge."
"Thank you, Mr. Darling."
"There was no finer man than Reuben Atlee. You have my sympathies."
Ray just nodded. Harry Rex had stopped eating and appeared to be ready to cry. Then Loyd was gone and breakfast resumed. Harry Rex launched into a war story about IRS abuse. After another bite or two Ray was stuffed, and as he pretended to listen he thought of all the fine folks who so greatly admired his father, all the Loyd Darlings out there who revered the old man.
What if the cash didn't come from the casinos? What if a crime had been committed, some secret horrible sting perpetrated by the Judge? Sitting there among the crowd in the Coffee Shop, watching Harry Rex but not listening to him, Ray Atlee made a decision. He vowed to himself that if he ever discovered that the cash now crammed into the trunk of his car had been collected by his father in some manner that was less than ethical, then no one would ever know it. He would not desecrate the stellar reputation of Judge Reuben Atlee.
He signed a contract with himself, shook hands, made a blood oath, swore to God. Never would anyone know.
They said good-bye on the sidewalk in front of yet another law office. Harry Rex bear-hugged him, and Ray tried to return the embrace but his arms were pinned to his sides.
"I can't believe he's gone," Harry Rex said, his eyes moist again.
"I know, I know."
He walked away, shaking his head and fighting back tears. Ray jumped in his Audi and left the square without looking back. Minutes later he was on the edge of town, past the old drive-in where p**n o had been introduced, past the shoe factory where a strike had been mediated by the Judge. Past everything until he was in the country, away from the traffic, away from the legend. He glanced at his speedometer and realized he was driving almost ninety miles an hour.
Cops should be avoided, as well as rear-end collisions. The drive was long, but the timing of the arrival in Charlottesville was crucial. Too early and there would be foot traffic on the downtown mall. Too late and the night patrol might see him and ask questions.
Across the Tennessee line, he stopped for gas and a rest room break. He'd had too much coffee. And too much food. He tried to call Forrest on his cell phone, but there was no answer. He took it as neither good news or bad - with Forrest nothing was predictable.
Moving again, he kept his speed at fifty-five and the hours began to pass. Ford County faded into another lifetime. Everyone has to be from somewhere, and Clanton was not a bad place to call home. But if he never saw it again, he would not be unhappy.