“Right.” Dixon said this single word with a growl and Mike saw his face was no longer disconnected nor blank. “You’ll get this.” Dixon snarled. Pulling back a closed fist, he powered forward with a punch, which took the man’s neck from Dixon’s hand. The blow flattened the man against the wall, and much like the spit trailing down the bricks, his body slipped down the wall, back to the surface, head lolling forward.
“Drag him to the truck,” Dixon said, shaking his hand out as he stared down at the man. Without a word, Mike moved to do as he was told. Scooping his hands underneath the man’s armpits, he pulled him away from the wall, and slid him on his back down the cobblestone alley to the truck. Dixon met him there, and between them, they hefted the man, deadweight in his unconscious state, over the tailgate. “Lose yourself for a couple of hours,” Dixon spoke as he folded into the driver seat, his gaze cutting to Mike. “I’ll be back. You be here.”
“But, don’t you—”
Whatever else his protest would have held, Dixon cut him off quickly. “Lose yourself. Be back in two.” The engine roared, exhaust echoing down the open tunnel created by brick walls, and Mike stepped away from the truck, turning to watch as it rolled steadily away.
It wasn’t the first time he had assisted Dixon. Tonight was a union man the company needed to shut down. Last week it had been the shift worker who drank away his paycheck, leaving his wife and two babies in nappies to fend for themselves. The week before it had been a man forging checks, trying to cash in fake for real. It was the first time Dixon had left him behind, however.
Mike looked left and right, not seeing anything, but he knew with as deep as the shadows were along the walls of the alley, there could easily be folks who saw. Saw Mike’s role in the events, even if his part was mostly watching.
At least the union guy wasn’t local so there wouldn’t be any kinfolk to deal with come tomorrow when the man turned up at the hospital.
Mike turned and jogged quickly up the alley, took a left at the end and shifted to a smooth running stride, one he could keep up for miles. With sure steps, he followed the upward winding road to where it changed to gravel, then trailed that to a bend, turning off onto a weed-covered lane, tree branches crowding it from both sides.
At the end of that lane was an opening where the moon shone down, filtering through the leaves and branches of the trees dotting the open meadow, lights from the town visible below. He moved in, counting rows until he came to the right one, then turned to trot up between the markers, footsteps slowing as he neared his destination.
Dropping to his knees, he rocked backwards to land on his butt and put his back to the solid marble headstone. “Hey there, old man Gregor,” he said conversationally, reaching behind him to pat the stone. “Just came by to see Ma and Pa.” He turned, looking at the plot next to where he sat, the ground still raised into two long, low mounds. The minuscule metal marker the funeral home had thrust into the dirt showed the head of the graves. Names written in small letters. Laverne Badet Otey. Burnett Samson Otey.
He didn’t have to see the information to be reminded. Mike knew their birthdays were only days apart. He’d grown up listening to Pa pretend to complain about how hard a month February was for him because it came with both birthdays, their wedding anniversary, and Valentine’s Day. He’d always played up how expensive Ma’s tastes were when the least person around her knew the truth. She didn’t want gold or diamonds, didn’t care about a new stove or car to drive. She was happiest with simple pleasures. Her family around, songs in the air, and good food on the table. And, without looking, Mike knew their going home days were only days apart, too, offset by only a week. A week without Pa, then the nightmare which was Ma’s murder.
Sitting there, he glanced at the moon, marking where it was in the sky so he could keep track of the time. Wouldn’t do for Dixon to come back only to find Mike not there. Then, for the next hour and a half, he talked to his mother and father. Spoke to them about what his day held, what was going on with Darrie and Tabby, explained how important his job was and how it meant Tabby could stay where she needed to be. Where their parents had brought her into the world, a place Mike prayed she could grow and thrive, surrounded by the things they held dear.
What he didn’t do was tell them about the specifics of his job, because he knew it wasn’t anything they would want for him. One of the lessons he had learned from his father was how you measured the worth of a man. You wanted people around you who were straight talkers, not liars. Folks who were faithful, right, and good, not twisted and evil. And, more than anything, you wanted people around you with honor.
***
A noise came through the open window from the front porch and Mike sat straight up in bed, suddenly awake and wide-eyed, staring at the square of darkness. He waited, and then it came again, the sliding of something across the wooden planks of the stoop, a pause, then another slow slide with a hitch in it this time, the slide interrupted with small stuttering movements. He couldn’t place the noise, it didn’t sound like a hound. It wasn’t a raccoon, either.
He was alone in the house. Tabby had gone to an overnight lock-in at a local church camp. Their Uncle Ezra had picked her up long before dark and driven her and a herd of other kids up the mountain past where the Mason compound was.
Darrie had been gone for months. Mike and Tabby had gotten a letter from him last week telling them after he finished up in Oklahoma, he’d be headed to Fort Lee in Virginia for more training. Darrie said he expected another eight weeks to pass before he would be able to take a few days and come home. After that, since he would be in the business of feeding the supply train for troops, which was needed for nearly everywhere, it would be anyone’s guess where he would be stationed.
Shaking his head, Mike swung his legs from the bed, standing in his skivvies. He shivered in the breeze wafting through the window, bringing with it the sound of that stuttering slide again. Making his way to the sitting room and then to the front of the house where, almost as an afterthought, he grabbed the baseball bat propped in the corner. Then, hand on the knob, he yanked the door open, bat in one hand, hovering over his shoulder, ready to swing.
Nothing was there. No shadowy figures stood on the porch. No boogie man ready to jump out at him. With a relieved sigh Mike looked around, seeing nothing there, nor in the yard. He made a scoffing noise far back in his throat, ducking his head to look up past the eaves, judging the time by the moon hanging in the sky over the trees.
The noise came again right at his feet, and with a jolt he looked down to where the sound was, seeing a dark puddle on the porch.
Reaching out a hand, he flipped on the light and then stood in place, frozen in shock. Tipping sideways, his hand opened to catch his fall against the doorframe and the bat fell to the floor, the crashing boom as it landed and bounced not even registering. Mike dropped like a stone, starch gone from his knees, his legs giving way. The pain didn’t hit him as he went down hard, hands out in front of him in a warding off position, but not against the fear of falling, they were warding him from something much more damaging. His eyes stayed focused on the figure lying on the porch.
This time when the ambulance pulled out of the yard headed down the mountain, he was riding in the back, lights reflecting from the trees as the leaves absorbed the screams of the siren. Arm stretched out as far as he could reach, Mike’s hand was gently wrapped around a tiny one, cold in his grip. A hand that held onto him so tightly it cut all the circulation in his fingers, until he couldn’t feel their tips. All that night, and the ones which followed, one thought continued to pound in his head: Not my Tabby. Please, Jesus. Not my Tabby.
An honorable man
Mike’s gut trembled as he stood, legs stiffened against the shaking threatening to take him to his knees, sick to his stomach while he waited for permission to sit back down. Please, God, he prayed, not even sure what he needed. Leaning forward slightly, he pressed his palms to the tabletop in front of him, tenting b
oth hands so his fingertips went pale and bloodless under the strain, white circles showing at the base of his red-stained nails.
The door at the back of the room opened with a murmured “All rise,” and in swept a stately, tall, white-haired man, back straight, robes swirling around his legs as he strode purposefully up the two steps leading to his chair. Pride of place, front of the room, the judge’s seat at the bench put him head and shoulders over anyone else. He stopped and swept the room with eyes piercing and hard, and Mike flinched when the brows over those eyes snapped together in a scowl.
As he sat, Judge Zonder stared straight at Mike and barked a question. “Mr. Otey, did you not understand my instructions the last time you were before my court?”
Glancing at his lawyer, Mike swallowed nervously when he saw the little man’s eyes were as round as he knew his own had to be. Looking back up at the judge, Mike sucked in a breath, then, still standing because the bailiff hadn’t spoken and no one except Zonder had sat, Mike said, “No, sir. You made yourself clear.”
“Then why…” Zonder paused a moment to sweep his hands out to the sides, indicating the entirety of the room. “…are you back in here today, Mr. Otey?”
Mike glanced at the lawyer again, a man to whom he had spoken exactly once. Mike was hoping for some instruction, any indication of what he should do. The man was useless, his face red and sweaty, mouth gaping like a marionette, panic curving the corners of his lips down. Looking back up at the judge, Mike paused a moment trying to gather his thoughts, but when Zonder made a “hurry up” motion with his hands, Mike bowed his head in submission. No help, no end in sight, no way for him to get out of this mess. I’m sorry, Tabby. So sorry, baby girl.
Without him meaning to, from that pose of defeat, his mouth started moving, and Mike talked. Gaze not wavering from the narrow strip of wood in front of him as sounds poured from his mouth. Eyes tracing back and forth along the grain in the tabletop, he spoke for several minutes, his words falling into the growing stillness of the courtroom. Each statement exploding in him, damage spreading with every word. In agony, flayed from the inside, he had no idea his body was jerking in place, physically flinching with every revelation. Mike’s eyes slid closed partway through his recitation, so he didn’t see the judge’s head slowly sinking to rest on his hand, Zonder’s fingers cupping his forehead, the position hiding his reactions from the gallery of observers there to see the show. Didn’t hear the soft thumps as people’s rear ends found the bench seats around him, any ability to withstand the story exhausted.
When he was talked out, after all the words had escaped him, Mike stood there a moment and then sucked in a hard, hiccupping breath. Holding it for a second, then two, then three, before his body expelled it in a series of sobs so violent they shook the table where he leaned. Head swinging back and forth, forth and back, Mike’s neck straightened, lifting so he could see the judge looking down at him with sorrow, tears running down Zonder’s face, his expression agonized.
In the courtroom, the only audible sounds were women’s soft cries and clearing of throats from hardened men. The bailiff murmured quietly to Zonder, asking if he needed to take a break, then the old man’s voice responded, softly rejecting the idea.
Lifting his gaze to Mike, the judge locked eyes with him, the stare lasting a long time, well past when Mike’s breathing evened out. He hadn’t meant to say what had happened, hadn’t intended to tell the whole of his family’s troubles. The words had just burst out of him, and now he didn’t know what to expect. Now everything was known, the extent of the damage dealt to someone he loved more than life itself. Someone he would protect to the death if only granted the chance. Tabby.
“Son,” Zonder’s voice went ragged and low when he spoke, the pain on his face made audible. “I wish I could make this all go away. Wish like anything…Christ, son, I wish I could turn back the clock.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “But I can’t.” He paused and a stillness filled the room. “Facts laid before this court are clear. You were taken into custody with the blood of the man you nearly beat to death still on your hands, and you haven’t contested that evidence. In fact, you admitted to the assault as you spoke to the court just now.”
The judge drew in a breath, lips pressing into a thin line for a second. “This is the second time you’ve appeared here in front of me, the first scarcely a week ago when you broke into the offices of a church and rifled through private records. We took into account your age and circumstances as they were known at the time.” Zonder paused and swallowed, the clicking of his dry throat audible in the quiet courtroom. “We also warned you what would happen if we saw you again.”
Zonder shook his head, fingers of one hand lifting to press hard against his lips, and then he bowed his head for a moment. Looking back up, his hand dropped as he again locked gazes with Mike. “I can’t set any of that aside, son. It’s my sworn duty to uphold the law, to interpret it as needed. You did this thing, and I can see on your face that you understand you have to pay.”
Mike interrupted, knowing he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t keep his mouth from opening. “I’d do it again, Mr. Judge, sir. Mr. Zonder. I’d do it again. And again. And again. As many times as I could, as long as I have breath in my body. The man deserved every blow, every stroke from my fists. Tabby’s my sister, sir. I was the first one to hold her, outside of the midwife. I’m all she’s got left since everything’s happened. All her little life, she’s had me to lean on. Now, I’m all she’s got, and I’d do it again. She’s my responsibility and”—he leaned forward, fingers tented on the table again, supporting his weight—“I failed her. It’s all I can do, sir. I’d do it again. Preacher or not, he needed to pay.”
Softly, gently, Zonder, his tone flooded with compassion, said, “Mr. Throndell, you should counsel your client that statements such as these are not in his best interests.” Mike’s lawyer jerked his head up and then down, and he leaned over as if to speak to Mike, but Zonder kept talking. “Mr. Otey…Mike. I can’t set aside what the court knows, can’t change the laws as they are written. What I can do is interpret the judgment, mitigate the punishment in a way I think allows us to find a path out of this.”
Zonder leaned forward, one elbow on the stand in front of him, gaze still intent on Mike. “I understand from what you’ve said today honor is important to you. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. An honorable man is one you trust with your life. My pa taught me that.”
Zonder smiled briefly, but no gleam of humor touched his eyes. “Your pa sounds like a smart man.”
Mike said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Judge, sir. He was.”
“Mike, I have leeway in cases such as this. Your age, the crime which occasioned your response, your clear and strong sense of integrity, all of these things provide me with a great deal of leeway. I can make you two offers for punishment, and you should think about them long and hard before you pick either one. Take your time and talk to Mr. Throndell. Let him counsel you. It’s what the state pays him to do. You need to speak to your aunt and uncle, call your brother for guidance if you can. Decide what direction works and then we’ll set things in motion. I can’t hold this offer open indefinitely, but I can give you at least the night.”
He leaned back and his hands disappeared below the top of the bench, the material of his robe bunching at his waist. “Fifteen months in county prison. No picnic, but it’s not federal. County is a better situation than federal by a long shot, son. Fifteen months in county, less than two years from your life. Fifteen months. The day you turn eighteen, you’re released.”
Zonder nodded, took a moment, seeming to consider everything he had said, and then nodded again. “Or, you can join the army. Sign up for a four-year stint, and this goes away entirely. No marks on your record, no need to deal with the fallout from being in prison. I can promise that. I know the local recruiter, and we can emancipate you today, get you signed up and he’ll make it right for us, son. County or army, those ar
e the options available to you.” Zonder leaned forward, continuing, “Think about it, and we’ll meet back here—”
Mike didn’t wait. He again interrupted the judge’s words with a half shouted, “Army. Sir. The army.”
Frowning, Zonder said, “That was not a considered response, son. I’d like you to take the night—”
“With all due respect, sir,” Mike broke in quietly but firmly, “army is where my brother is, and to hear him talk about it, the way they challenge you and push you to be better, the army is where I need to be. So I can learn, sir, not sit around twiddling my thumbs and wait for my sentence to be finished.”
***
Mike cupped the back of Tabby’s neck, feeling her slump into him, resting her head against his thigh. He looked up at Aunt Loretta. They were standing outside the bus station in Lexington. “I’m gonna send money. Much as the army’ll let me. She won’t go without, ain’t gonna be a drain on you.” He sifted his fingers through his little sister’s silky hair. “She gets what she needs, from me.”
“Mikey.” The corners of Loretta’s lips curved slightly. “She’s gonna be okay.”
No, she wasn’t. How could she, after everything. After he let horrors into her world. Look after Tabby, one of the last directives from their mother, and he failed on all counts. He didn’t tell Loretta any of this, just moved away on the sidewalk so he had room to crouch next to Tabby.
She leaned into him, cheek to his shoulder. He circled her with his arms, seeking comfort for himself, pulling her close. Things had moved so fast, it didn’t seem like he’d had a chance to breathe for months, running full tilt against enemies he couldn’t see or put a name to. “Baby girl, I love you.” He fingered the hem of the shirt she wore. One of his hand-me-downs, too large, but the only thing she was willing to suffer on her body. “My little raggedy girl. I gotta go, Tabs. The bus is leavin’ in a minute.” She pressed tighter, and he felt her hand on his back, fingers twisted into his shirt, holding him in place. “I’m comin’ back, soon as I can. Me and Darrie both, we’ll be back so much you’re gonna be kickin’ us out the door, ready for us to get gone again.” Her head shook back-and-forth. “Oh, yeah, you know it. Be so tired of us.”
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