by Joel B Reed
“No disrespect, but I think you may be outnumbered,” I replied.
Mason laughed. “It sure looks that way, doesn’t it? When you consider the Klan is now connected to the cartels in Asia and Latin America, it’s scary just how outnumbered we are. On the other hand, we’re in the right, and I believe we’ll ultimately prevail.”
That last was said with the fervor of a preacher at a country revival, and I found myself both admiring Mason’s passion and fearing for his disappointment. I envied the passion. I remembered those feelings from when I was a young man, clear in my mission and out to kick criminal ass. Yet, I also remembered the first time I understood how corrupt our criminal justice system can be. I almost quit, and I’m not sure to this day why I didn’t. Maybe I was just too dumb or too pigheaded to let the bastards win.
“I’ll sleep on what you’ve said,” I temporized. “Are you going to be around tomorrow? I’d like you to brief Kruger on your perspective. Why don’t you have breakfast with us? The three of us can talk afterward.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” James asked me. “It might not be too good an idea.”
“Wear your uniform,” I replied. “Everybody will think Tanner assigned you to be our driver.”
“Yazzuh! Sho will Boss!” Despite myself, I laughed. Among other things, James Mason was a first-class ham.
Kruger was back when I arrived at the motel, and I spent the better part of an hour bringing him up to speed. When I was done, he sighed. “Your day was a whole lot more interesting than mine,” he said. He told me about his meeting, and I had to agree.
“What do you think about Mason?” I asked.
“I don’t know. What he says makes sense, but I don’t know if it’s for real. Are you going to call McKee?”
I looked at my watch and shook my head. “No, it’s almost midnight there. I’ll call first thing in the morning. It’s a nice night. I’m going to stretch my legs and think about it.”
* * *
I was up again before the sun the next morning. A front had come in, and the sky was overcast and heavy with moisture. The air was cool, but so thick it felt like I was wading through water. By the time I got to the convenience store, I was soaked with sweat, and I knew if the sun broke through, Nashville would be like a broiler.
Dee answered my call right away. He sounded worried. “When you didn’t call last night, I got concerned,” he told me. “So I called Tanner. He told me you were out with his best deputy.”
I told him about James Mason and our visit with Albert Jones. I also told him about the McKee connection. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t like it. Sounds like McKee is playing things awfully close to his vest.”
“I know, but you can’t blame him,” I answered. “No one knew about the James Smith connection until Mason sniffed him out. I’m afraid the days of the old Klan are over. That was simple and pretty direct. This new strategy of theirs is pretty sophisticated. If it’s true, that makes them a lot scarier.”
“No shit!” Dee exclaimed. “Next thing you know, they’ll be into major corporate takeovers. If they’re not already.”
When I asked about Posey’s military records, Dee uttered a harsh laugh. “What else is new? I got two responses back. One told me the records I want are classified. Then another one came in telling me the man never served. On a whim, I called Arlington Cemetery. they told me the only person by that name who was buried there died in 1944. He was killed on Saipan.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I answered. “Assuming he was killed and his body brought home, he may have been buried in another national cemetery. Or even a private one.”
“Or maybe he never died. I called all the national cemeteries I could think of within five hundred miles and no Wilbur Edward Posey. I tried plain Edward and Edward Wilbur Posey, too, but no soap there, either. Then I checked with the state burial registry here and in Texas. I got nothing.”
“So you think he’s alive?” I asked.
“Not really. That would be too easy. I think the records got screwed up, and he’s rotted away in some jungle in Vietnam. Or maybe Laos or Cambodia. I think Posey was working for the CIA and never came home.”
I thought about that a moment. “Well, one thing’s for sure. No one missed him when he dropped out of sight. He was perfect for black operations from that point of view.”
“I think the word is expendable,” Dee replied. There was ancient anger in his voice. “There was a lot of that going around back then.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me, or is this a gut feeling?” I asked.
“Just a smell,” he replied. “Too many things lining up in a strange way. I think we’re chasing a dead man, but someone is trying to cover their ass thirty years too late. It’s just a hunch.”
“Well, I think you’re right about the cover-up. It may be a loose end we never tie down. I guess this means we focus on Slide. Kruger and I will pay him a visit this morning.”
When I got back to the motel, there was a message waiting for me. I saw it was from McKee, but I didn’t feel like swimming back to the convenience store to call. So I walked down to Kruger’s room to borrow his cell phone. Someone at the other end answered on the second ring, but it was a woman’s voice, and I hung up right away.
I was handing the phone back to Kruger when it rang. He answered, then gave it to me. “Jazz?” came McKee’s voice. “Sorry I missed you. That was my wife who answered.”
At the time, I thought it was strange McKee’s wife would answer his work phone, but I later found out he was her deputy and only acting as head of agency while she was on family leave. McKee’s bunch was sounding more and more strange all the time.
I admitted it was me he was talking with, and McKee went on. “One of my friends told me about your visit with him last night. I wanted to let you know he’s one of mine. Anything you can do for him, I would appreciate.”
“Seems like a good man,” I replied. “He seems well trained.”
“He also grew up around there, which made him particularly useful to us. He said he told you who we’re after and why.”
McKee was being very circumspect, and I guessed he knew he was talking on an FBI line. Remembering what I had read about FBI ties to the Klan, I knew why and responded the same way. “It sounds pretty nasty. I’d like to know more about it.”
“Willie will fill you in. These phones are supposed to be scrambled, but I don’t trust anything more complicated than a number two pencil. I just wanted you to know we’re all singing from the same page. There doesn’t seem to be any overlap between our separate investigations. On the other hand, we’ll do what we can to help you all you can stand.”
“All right,” I said, chuckling. “There’s something you could do that might help me with my case. One of the suspects I would like to clear from my list is a veteran named Wilbur Edward Posey. From what I’ve found out here, he was drafted and served in Special Forces. He’s thought to have been killed or to be missing in action in Southeast Asia. Yet, I can’t find any record of it, not even his name on the Memorial Wall. We got one call back saying there was no record of him and then another telling us his military record is classified.”
McKee laughed. “Sounds like the standard Washington run-around waltz. Let me see what I can find. If there’s anything, I’ll send it along with Willie.”
I got off the phone with a deep sense of foreboding. This case was getting ever more complex, and it felt like I was getting farther and farther out of my element. There are exceptions to the rule, but things are fairly clear cut in basic police work. Sometimes the cops turn out to be robbers, and there can be shades of gray in the choices we make. Yet, most of the time the boundaries are fairly clear. To this policeman, the wonderful world of spooks seemed to be composed in subtle shades of black.
Once again, I considered turning it over to the FBI and bowing out. Were it not for Kruger and the prospect of going after criminal corpora
tions with McKee, I think I might have done so. There comes a point where I get tired of running in seemingly needless circles, and the closer I get to the sunset, the less willing I am to tolerate foolishness. What keeps me going is the memory of just how tired I got of fishing and puttering around the house after the first six weeks of retirement. When I mentioned going back to work again, the way Nellie lit up with a smile told me her prayers had been answered.
Kruger sensed my mood and asked about it. When I told him what I had been thinking, he nodded. “Law enforcement is getting that way, too. At least, it is in the Agency. The rule these days seems to be that politics comes first.” He grinned. “Of course, some of the lifers tell me it was worse under Hoover.”
“Well, then maybe we should do something radical, like solving this case like a regular crime,” I answered. “Let’s go talk to Slide Jones.”
The road between Nashville and Hot Springs is not the best in Arkansas, but we made good time and were there by ten thirty. I called ahead and asked the local officers to keep an eye on Slide’s car and to pick him up if he left home. I gave them half an hour to get in place before I called Slide and told him I was to talk on my way over to him. I told him I would be there soon and to wait for me. Even though I woke him up, he was polite and told me he would be there when I arrived.
Kruger smiled at me when I was done. “Very interesting,” he said. “Quite sneaky, too. Even if he goes out to buy a paper, you can claim he was running.”
I shrugged. “He’s probably too old a dog to fall for it, but who knows? He may try to run. It would simplify things if he did.”
“Yes, but would that satisfy, Jazz ?” Kruger murmured, surprising me. We had only been working together three days, and he had me pegged.
Slide Jones met us at the door, freshly shaved and dressed in dark slacks and a dress shirt with vest and tie. There was a delicious aroma of fresh coffee, and when he invited us in, he offered us some. “I’m afraid it is chicory,” he told us. “But if you can stand that, it’s not bad.”
That was an understatement. The coffee was excellent, ever though I don’t normally like chicory. Once we had sipped and made appreciative noises, Slide leaned back and smiled. “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “As good as the coffee may be, I don’t suppose you drove all the way over here to discuss chicory. Do I need to have my lawyer present?”
I decided to play it straight. “I have to tell you, Luther, you’re the most likely candidate we have.”
“Luther,” he said softly. “Thank you. Very few people call me that besides Albert Jones. So you’re here to build a case against me?”
“My preference would be to clear you,” I told him.
Slide laughed. “I bet you tell all the girls that. On the other hand, I may be able to help you do just that.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He was holding it between his thumb and a forefinger along one edge. “Please be careful handling that, if you will. I don’t want to destroy any finger prints you might find there.”
I pulled out a plastic case and opened it for him to drop the slip of paper. I looked at it once he had and saw it was a Texas lottery ticket. “I found that in my vest pocket after I talked with you,” he told us. “At the time it skipped my mind. I believe you’ll find it to be my winning lottery ticket.”
“You didn’t turn it in?” Kruger asked.
“No, the numbers were all wrong,” Slide laughed. “I swear, I could make a living telling people what numbers to not buy. Of course, the numbers that will matter to me on that ticket are all right.”
Kruger frowned and shook his head. “I don’t follow you.”
Slide smiled again. “Look at the date and time it was issued. I believe those numbers will clear me.”
Kruger looked and nodded. “Yeah, they might. How do we know you got this yourself and not from someone else?”
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Slide told him. “When you run it for latent prints you should only find two sets. One will be mine and the other will be those of the store clerk. To my knowledge, no one else has touched it.”
I took the plastic bag, dated it, and put it in my pocket. I looked at Kruger. He shrugged, and Slide laughed. “Forgive my enjoyment, gentlemen. It’s not often one is able pull a rabbit out of the hat like that.”
“You do understand that this takes away any reason you might have to keep silent, don’t you?” I asked casually.
Slide nodded. “As it pertains to the murder, I agree. However, this does not give you license to fish other waters.”
“Fair enough,” I told him. “Why don’t you tell us about when you left Oak Grove? “ Slide started to object, but I held up a hand. “Suppose for a moment that Smiley was not the target. Suppose you were. Suppose someone mistook him for you. You looked enough alike to fool Luther Anne. Who might be out to kill you, Luther?”
The smile left his face. “Most of those people are dead now. The rest are in nursing homes or soon will be. The young ones have moved away. I don’t think you’ll find much there.”
“Do you owe them any loyalty?” Kruger asked. “They were out to kill you, weren’t they?”
Slide nodded. “Yes, and rightfully so. I’m afraid I cheated them rather badly. Were they honest people, I would feel awful about it. As it was, I took from them what they gained from the pain of others.”
“Sounds like a strong motive to me,” Kruger said.
“We reached an understanding,” Slide replied. “I documented quite a bit of dirt against several of them and made sure they knew exactly what I had. We reached a truce. They left me alone, and I stayed out of their territory. I was very careful not to cross their paths again.” He shook his head. “My, some of that’s been more than forty years ago.”
“I’d like to see your documentation,” Kruger said.
“That would be my death warrant. Even though the statute of limitations has long passed, it would embarrass some powerful people.” Slide pulled a pack of long, dark cigarettes out of his vest. “Would you gentlemen mind if I smoke.”
I could see Kruger start to object, but I jumped in quickly. “Of course not, Luther. It’s your house.”
“Yes, but you’re my guests.” Slide lit a cigarette and took a deep pull. “It’s a dreadful habit. The problem is, it’s one of the few vices I have left.” He smiled. “That and Louella.”
An idea began forming in my mind. I asked a couple of questions and Slide answered them at length, lighting another cigarette when he was done with the first. The information wasn’t new, but it confirmed what we had heard earlier.
“Tell me about when you were with the carnival,” I said. “How did you happen to end up with them?”
Slide smiled. “I knew them from the circuit. They used to come through from time to time, and I had done some business with them.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to be more specific than that. They moved around quite a bit over a large area, and that was useful to me.”
“So they were your suppliers,” Kruger said. I could have kicked him for the way he said it. There was no misunderstanding the contempt in his voice.
Slide did not respond in kind. “I am who I am, Agent Kruger,” he said so softly I had to strain to hear. “Not all of us are fortunate to be born white and in the Midwest. I was supporting myself and a rather large family, and I did what I thought I had to do. I might not make those same choices today, but I refuse to condemn myself. Some of my suppliers, as you call them, are your masters now. I don’t serve them any more. You do.”
A deep flush moved up Kruger’s neck, but he had the grace not to respond. “I see how your insurance could be embarrassing,” I said. “I don’t think we need to get into that. Tell me, what did Wilbur do at the carnival when he came to you for help?”
“Well, for a while, he helped me out at the shooting booth. He never had to work as a roustabout like I did when I first got there. He did n’t like the guns, but he had that beautiful smile, a
nd that drew the ladies like a magnet. Not many of them cared to shoot, but their boyfriends did, and business was good while he was helping me. Then one of the musicians ended up in jail, and Wilbur started filling in as a vocalist. I think he saw the light then, so to speak, because the next thing he did was teach himself to play the guitar. He was far enough along by the time the circuit got to Baton Rouge to make his break and head to New Orleans.” He chuckled. “He never repaid me the three hundred dollars he borrowed to do it, either. Once he got famous, every time I showed up it was ‘Who you?’ It’s too bad that article writer didn’t talk to me, isn’t it? Not that he would dare publish what I had to say.”
“So you ran the shooting booth.” Tuner observed. “You must know your way around guns. Are you a good shot?”
“I was one of the best in Howard County,” Slide answered evenly. “And I do know my way around firearms. I’m always very careful with them, and I always have been, even before Goodie was shot. Had that rifle been in my hands, he would not have died.”
“So you held that against Luther Adams?” Kruger persisted.
“No,” Slide said quietly. “That was a terrible accident which should never have happened, but there was no fault in it. Nor did I punish Luther for it. Over the years, he punished himself far more than I ever could. I hope he’s at peace.”
I picked up my coffee cup and drained the last few drops. “I don’t suppose you have any more of this?” I asked. “It’s very good.”
“Of course,” Slide said, stubbing out his cigarette and getting to his feet. “I get to running on like an old man and become remiss in my hospitality. Agent Kruger?”
Kruger shook his head, and Smiley took his cup and mine and headed for the kitchen. When he was gone from the room, I reached for the ash tray and retrieved the last two butts. I replaced the ash tray and sealed the butts in a plastic evidence bag. Kruger looked at me curiously but said nothing.
Slide was back with our fresh coffee a moment later. “You know, I’m still curious who might want you out of the way,” I told Slide. “What about enemies you might have who were not connected to business.”