“Then—it wasn’t too long ago—he came to my room and woke me up one night and said he was going away. Quitting, with only a few months to go for his graduation. I thought he was kidding at first. But Adam never kept a gag going long, so I tried to talk him out of it. He wouldn’t listen, and he wouldn’t give me any hint where he was going, or why. All he said was that he’d found what he could do, and that whatever I heard, I should believe it. ‘Because it will be true, Pres,’ he said. And then he asked to borrow my gun. I gave it to him and showed him how to work it, because even then I wasn’t absolutely sure he was serious.

“He left that night.

“I haven’t heard from him since, except for what I’ve read in the newspapers.”

Preston Haller folded and unfolded his hands, and for a time the three men sat quietly, listening to the deep hum of the air-conditioning unit.

Driscoll was the first to speak.

“You still like him, don’t you?”

Preston Haller said: “Yes, but he’s got to be stopped. Use whatever you want . . .”

“Maybe we’re too late to bomb him out of there completely,” Driscoll said, “but we can go a long way in that direction. That isn’t supposed to be my interest: I’m not crusading, only writing about a guy. But the piece is going to have quite an effect on his plans. Mr. Haller, I’d like you to answer a few direct questions. One: Did Adam Cramer ever, to your knowledge, go out with any Negro girls?”

Preston Haller said, “Yes. Several times.”

“Are the girls around? Can you give me their names?”

“I think so.”

“Question number two: In all the time you knew Cramer, did he ever express to you any anti-Negro or anti-integration views?”

“Never.”

“So it can be said, can’t it, that he’s doing this for, you might say, intellectual reasons; he isn’t really against integration; that the whole thing is an effort to put the theories of an off-horse college professor into actual practice.”

“Nothing is as simple as all that,” Preston Haller said. “He has other motivations, I’m sure.”

Driscoll said, “Yes; we’ve spoken to one of them already.”

He removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet and picked up the check. Then they walked out of the darkened bar, out into the hot, white sun.

20

20

Past rows of shacks and broken toys, past garbage heaped in careless mounds and scattered by the dogs that roamed these streets, gray wood, frayed clothing hung on rusted wires, past fat and scarred-up men who stood on corners laughing in the vomit-heavy air, he walked; and thought that hours had gone by, although, of course, that couldn’t be.

I ought to go on back, he thought.