“Well, I felt like a fool.” Sam played with the navy Colt in his pocket. He was already in the habit of carrying it. He picked up bad habits like his trousers picked up lint. “Makes me mad just to think about it.”

“ ‘Ira furor brevis est.’ ”

“I know. I read my Horace at school, too: ‘Anger is a brief madness.’ ”

“You’re a man of principles, Samuel. I respect that.”

If he only knew about Cuba, Sam thought. “One of the Negroes pissed his britches. Lawyer Scott.”

“I’ve pissed myself over less.”

Sam’s ears still rang. “Made a din, all right.” Blasted logs as thick as telegraph poles into toothpicks. What would such a gun do to human flesh? He could still see the pumpkins bursting.

“The gentlemen do love their toys.” Harry ordered a second whiskey.

“A strange deal all the way around. I mean, who’s in charge of what in this city?”

“That’s a question, all right,” Harry said. “ ‘I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance.’ ”

“Plato?”

“Socrates. Sorry, I can’t give you the Greek. Too many years.”

“Take Captain Kenan. He’s with the State Guard, right?”

“After a fashion. Reserve status, or whatever they call it.”

“But he’s not part of the Wilmington Light Infantry.”

“Oh, sure—he’s one of the mucky-mucks.”

“Is it a regiment, or what?” Sam said.

“Oh, I’d call it more of a club.”

“A club?”

“You have to be a man of ’morally upright character.’ Nominated and seconded. Then all the members vote. They each put either a white ball or a black ball in the box. Three black balls, you’re out.”

“Have they ever fought a battle?”

“Lord, the thought of those toy soldiers marching off to a real war. Where the other fellows have guns.” Harry’s laughter started him coughing.

“But the Civil War …”

“Oh, they mobilized. But the men just got absorbed by real regiments.”

“And Cuba?”

“Never fired a shot. Volunteered, though—give ’em credit for that. Sweated out the war in Georgia.”

“Then what are they doing with an armory?”

“Every club’s got to have a clubhouse, Sam. Place to drink bad whiskey and smoke good cigars. Get away from their womenfolk.”

“And a Gatling gun?”

“No,” Calabash admitted, “that makes it a special club.”

Sam drank his iced tea. He was getting awfully tired of tea. It was worst in the afternoon, when his mouth craved the bittersweet, frothy taste of lager beer. The heat made him so damned thirsty. “After that business yesterday, there’s talk, Harry. Secret vigilante clubs. You ever heard of anything like that?”

Harry put down his glass and rocked back, leaning his chair against the wall, tucking his hands behind his neck. “Well, now, which clubs might you have in mind?”

“Secret clubs, Harry.”

“You mean with spy codes? Secret handshakes? Mysterious symbols?”