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“What kind of guy was Dillinger?” Billy Jo said. “He was a mean one.”
“He’d break out of this place,” one of the men from gang three said.
“No, he wouldn’t. He’s dead,” Billy Jo said.
“Your ass, Billy Jo.”
“He was killed in front of a movie somewhere,” he said. “Your bloody ass.”
“I knowed John when they put him in the stockade,” Daddy Claxton said.
“Was he really tough like they say?” Billy Jo said.
“He was plenty mean,” Daddy said.
The truck bounced over some railroad tracks and drove down a gravel road. Rocks spun up from the tires and banged under the fenders.
“What’s today?” Jeffry said.
“Friday,” Toussaint said.
Jeffry frowned and counted on his fingers.
“When are you breaking out?” a man across from him said.
Jeffry counted and moved his thin lips silently.
“When are you guys going to leave us?” the same man said.
“Shut up,” Billy Jo said.
“Everybody in camp knows about it, you dumb bastard.”
“Keep shut.”
“You guys talked it all over the place.”
“There ain’t anybody going to tell,” Billy Jo said.
“What about him?” The man pointed to Avery.
“What are we talking about?” Billy Jo said to Avery.
“I wasn’t listening.”
“Then you’re deaf.”
“I don’t care what you do, podner.”
“The hell you don’t. You was listening,” Billy Jo said.
“He wasn’t paying you no mind,” Brother Samuel said.
“Glory to the Lord, Brother,” someone said in the darkness.
“Glory be,” Brother Samuel said.
“Amen, Brother.”
