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The mood in the shop sobered. Bill could sense the fear from where he stood. And he hoped Floyd wouldn’t let that fear push him into doing anything stupid before Bill could get in there.
“What’re they saying about Memphis?” Isaiah asked.
Bill crouched down, whispering urgently. “Son, do as I say now. You hear me? I want you to slip out back here, climb over the fence. Run to your aunt Octavia’s house and tell Memphis I said to hide till I can get there. Don’t open the door to nobody. You understand?”
Isaiah started to speak, and Bill put a finger to his lips. “Understand?”
Isaiah nodded. Bill pried open the back door. “Go on.”
Bill slipped on his blind man’s glasses and grabbed his cane, tapping his way out into the sitting room. He hoped and prayed nobody would be fool enough to comment on it. And then he hoped and prayed that the Shadow Men wouldn’t recognize him. It had been many years, and even with the healing Memphis had put on him that had peeled back the years, Bill had a certain weariness to his face now and probably always would.
“Bill!” Floyd called as he sharpened his razor on the strop. “These gentlemen looking for Memphis. Said he’s in some kind of trouble with the law.”
“That a fact?” Bill said.
“You know where he is?” the smaller Shadow Man asked. Adams. The scent of pistachios hung over him. It made Bill’s knees tremble, remembering.
Bill didn’t dare turn around. He kept his eyes on the floor. “I heard that fool got hisself mixed up in a gambling debt and
had to run off to some cousins down ’round Virginia. Floyd, you ’member his cousin, Francois Mackandal, live up in the hills?” Bill said, coding his words behind a smile. “Yes, sir. Just two days ago they left. Old Francois got a farm down there, if I heard right. Oughta make a man of him. Yes, sir. Don’t imagine he’ll be back before summer,” Bill added quickly. “Bad luck.”
“Yes. Bad luck,” Mr. Adams said. “We heard he’s got an aunt who lives here, though. A Miss Octavia Joseph. You know where she lives?”
Behind his dark glasses, Bill watched Adams in the mirror. Bill remembered those tiny teeth and the smell of pistachios. The things those men did to him. The things they made him do. Even now, it twisted his guts. The tips of his fingers remembered, too. They called to him, wanting revenge.
“No, sir. ’Fraid I don’t,” Bill said, and tapped his way out the door, his heart beating with each rap of the cane. He managed two slow blocks, till he was sure they weren’t behind him. And then he broke into a run, heading straight for Octavia’s house.
When Octavia opened her door, Bill Johnson was standing there, looking like the Devil himself was after him. “Miss Octavia. I got to come in. Please!”
“What’s the matter?” Memphis said, coming into Octavia’s pin-straight parlor.
“Shadow Men know ’bout you. They’re at the barbershop right now, asking where you live. We got to get outta town.”
“I’m not running. Let ’em come,” Memphis said.
Bill took hold of Memphis’s arm. “What about Isaiah?” he said quietly. “You know what they done to me. What you think they gonna do to your brother? Make a stand later. Now we run.”
“What on earth you talking about?” Octavia said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Octavia was a good woman, the sort of woman Bill wished he could marry. He would spare her this pain if he could. “The men who killed Papa Charles, they know what Memphis and Isaiah can do. They want ’em for it. They’re on their way.”
Octavia put a hand to her mouth. Bill took her in his arms, held her. “I got to get them out of town. Before it’s too late.”
“Memphis. Isaiah. Pack your things,” Octavia said.
Quickly, Memphis and Isaiah stuffed a rucksack with only what was necessary. Isaiah was sad to leave behind his leather catcher’s mitt, but he packed some drawing paper, a pencil, and a small photograph of his mama and daddy back in happier days. Memphis added his notebook and pencil. He paused at the copy of Leaves of Grass that Theta had given him. He wanted to call her, to tell her he was leaving, but it would have to wait. He shoved the book into his rucksack, too.
Octavia wrapped some corn bread in wax paper and added it to their bounty. Octavia cradled Isaiah’s cheeks between her palms. “When you’re out on the road, don’t you talk to a soul unless they talk to you first. Keep your head low till you’re around your own. The less people know about you, the better.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She kissed his forehead. He threw his arms around her waist, and she sniffled back her tears. “You listen to Uncle Bill and your brother, now. Do what they say. And don’t forget to pray.”
Isaiah nodded against the softness of her belly.
“Come on, Ice Man.” Memphis took his brother’s hand.
“Take care of my boys, Mr. Johnson,” Octavia said, wiping her eyes.
