Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [53]
“All right, Frank,” he said grimly. “I'll handle this for you. Your Daddy was a stubborn man, and I told him he was wrong when he changed his will.”
I picked up my hat from the table where Raymond had placed it.
“One more thing, Frank. How long do you expect to be at the Jeff Davis Hotel in Jax?”
I shrugged, mentally totaled my remaining money, and then held up four fingers.
“You'll hear from me before then. And when you get your money, Frank, I hope you'll settle down. A dog has fun chasing his own tail, but he never gets anywhere while he's doing it'
I shook hands with the old man and he walked me to the front door. “Can you stay for dinner, son?”
I shook my head and smiled my thanks, but when I opened the door he grasped my sleeve.
“There're all kinds of justice, Frank,” he said kindly, “and I've seen most of them in fifty years of practice. But poetic justice is the best kind of all. To measure the night, a man must fill his day,” he finished cryptically.
I nodded knowingly, although I didn't know what he meant, and I doubt very much whether he did either. When a man manages to live as long as Judge Powell has, he always thinks he's a sage of some kind.
I cut across town to the U.S. Highway and ate dinner in a trucker's cafe about a mile outside the city limits. Two hours later I was riding in the cab of a diesel truck on my way back to Jacksonville. I had the feeling inside that I had finally burned every bridge, save one, to the past. But I didn't have any regrets. To survive in this world, a man has got to do what he has got to do.
9
I was tired when I reached Jacksonville, but I wasn't sleepy. I had hoped to get some sleep in the cab of the truck on the long drive down, but the driver had talked continuously. As I listened to him, dumbly, my eyes smarting from cigarette smoke and the desire to close them, he poured out the dull, intimate details of his boring life—his military service with the First Cavalry Division in Vietnam, his courtship, his marriage and his plans for the future (he wanted to be a truck dispatcher so he could sit on his ass). He was still going strong when we reached Jax. To finish his autobiography, he parked at a drive-in and bought me ham and eggs for breakfast.
After shaking hands with the voluble truck driver, who wasn't really a bad guy, I caught a bus downtown and checked into the Jeff Davis Hotel. One look at the soft double bed and I became wide awake, If my plan was successful, I would know within three days, and I didn't have time to sleep all day. I had to proceed with a confidence I didn't actually have, as though there could be no doubt of the outcome.
After I shaved, I prepared a list for Doc Riordan. These were supplies I would need, and I intended to take advantage of our agreement. It would take a long time to use up eight hundred dollars worth of cocker's supplies.
One. Conditioning powder. Doc made a reliable conditioning powder—a concoction containing iron for vigor, and Vitamin Bi. This powder, mixed with a gamecock's special diet, is a valuable aid to developing a bird's muscles and reflexes. I put down an order for three pounds.
Two. Dextrose capsules. A dextrose capsule, dropped down a gamecock's throat an hour before a fight, gives him the same kind of fresh energy a candy bar provides to a mountain climber halfway up a mountain. On my list I put down an order for a twenty-four-gamecock season supply.
Three. Doc Riordan's Blood Builder. For many years Doc had made and sold a blood coagulant that was as good as any on the market. If he didn't have any on hand he could make more. This was a blood builder in capsule form containing Vitamin K, the blood coagulating vitamin, whole liver and several other secret ingredients. Who can judge the effectiveness of a blood coagulant? I can't. But if any blood coagulants worked, and I don't leave any loopholes when it comes to conditioning,