“Park over there by that Chevy,” the man said, indicating a white car under a tree. “I’ll see if Winston’s here.”

“I don’t think we should be out here,” I said when he was gone. “They’re wearing capes, Charles William. They’ve got those capes on. They look like vampire movies. Let’s go.”

“We went to all this trouble. Let’s just look at what they’re doing. We don’t have to stay long. Junior and Winston won’t let anybody hurt me. Jesus Christ, Dee. Don’t look like that. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

“Charlie-Boy.” A second face was peering in the window. “I’m glad you made it. Who’s that with you? Who you got in there?” The face came all the way into the window. I shrank further back into the seat. The dark-faced white trash of the Delta always made me feel this way, as though some disaster was already happening, as though at any moment I might be captured and become one of their pale frightened women.

“This is Rhoda. She wants to see a cockfight.”

“No, I don’t. I mean, I don’t care if I do or not.”

“Well, get on out. It’s okay. Kleet didn’t scare you, did he? He’s an Avenger. We had a meeting called but it’s over now. Some niggers over in Huntsville acting up. Come on, get on out.” He opened the door on Charles William’s side.

“So what happened to little Irise?” he went on. “She quit on you?”

“Her momma won’t let her out at night. Rhoda snuck out, didn’t you, Rhoda?”

“We don’t need to get out of the car. We could just sit here.”

“Get out,” Winston said. “Come in the store. Have a beer.”

“It’s okay, Dee,” Charles William said. “You’re with me. Nothing can hurt you here.”

“What are we going to do?”

“See a fight. The cocks love to fight. They fly at each other. You can’t keep them from fighting.” He came around to my side of the car and helped me out and took my arm and we walked up on the porch. The groups of men parted as we passed. Winston stood in the doorway holding open the door. He had taken off his cape and laid it across a chair. It sat upon the chair, just as evil on the chair as it had seemed when he was wearing it. The hem was muddy and the hood hung down into the satin folds. On the front was a red satin cross inside a circle. I walked around the room, smiling as hard as I could at the men sitting at the tables. When in Rome, I counseled myself. The Romans were drinking beer and eating pickled eggs and pickled pig’s feet from filthy-looking glass jars on the bar.

“You want an egg?” Winston asked.