“Hm-m-m.” The deputy moved slowly around to see Floyd’s profile, and the color slowly flowed up Floyd’s face.
“You see?” Floyd cried. “If this guy’s on the level, would he bring a cop along?”
“Ever see ’im before?” the contractor insisted.
“Hmm, seems like I have. Las’ week when that used-car lot was busted into. Seems like I seen this fella hangin’ aroun’. Yep! I’d swear it’s the same fella.” Suddenly the smile left his face. “Get in that car,” he said, and he unhooked the strap that covered the butt of his automatic.
Tom said, “You got nothin’ on him.”
The deputy swung around. “’F you’d like to go in too, you jus’ open your trap once more. They was two fellas hangin’ around that lot.”
“I wasn’t even in the State las’ week,” Tom said.
“Well, maybe you’re wanted someplace else. You keep your trap shut.” The contractor turned back to the men. “You fellas don’t want ta listen to these goddamn reds. Troublemakers—they’ll get you in trouble. Now I can use all of you in Tulare County.”
The men didn’t answer.
The deputy turned back to them. “Might be a good idear to go,” he said. The thin smile was back on his face. “Board of Health says we got to clean out this camp. An’ if it gets around that you got reds out here—why, somebody might git hurt. Be a good idear if all you fellas moved on to Tulare. They isn’t a thing to do aroun’ here. That’s jus’ a friendly way a telling you. Be a bunch a guys down here, maybe with pick handles, if you ain’t gone.”