Pop. 1280

by Jim Thompson

  The plain fact was that no one much gave a good god-dang about either one of ’em. It was a plain case of good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Tom was concerned; and who cared about one colored fella more or less, unless it was some other colored folks, and who cared if they did care?

  But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself a little…

  I dropped the shotgun between Tom and Uncle John. Then, leaving John’s horse and wagon where they were, I plodded back across country to the Hauck farm.

  It was pretty late by that time, or pretty early I should say. An hour or so short of dawn. I hitched up, without going to the house, and headed for town.

  The livery stable door was open, the hostler snoring like a buzz saw up in the hayloft. A lantern stood burning in a tub of sand, casting a flickering light along the row of stalls. I put up the horse and buggy without hardly a sound, and the hostler went on snoring. And I went out into the dark again, the dark and the rain.

  There wasn’t no one on the street, of course. Even without the rain, no one would have been out at that hour. I got to the courthouse, took off my boots and sneaked upstairs to bed.

  The dry-warm felt awful good after them wet clothes, and I guess I was plumb wore out. Because I went to sleep right away, instead of tossing around fifteen, twenty minutes like I usually do.

  Then, just about the time my head touched the pillow it seemed like, Myra started yelling and shaking me.

  “Nick! Nick Corey, you get up from there! My goodness, do you want to sleep all night and all day, too?”

  “Why not?” I mumbled, hanging on to the pillows. “Sounds like a danged good idea.”

  “I said to get up! It’s almost noon, and Rose is on the phone!”

  I let her get me up, and I talked to Rose for a minute or two. I said I was sorry to hear that Tom wasn’t home yet, and I’d probably get out and take a look around for him, even if I wasn’t sure that the sun would stay out and it wouldn’t start raining again.

  “I’ll prob’ly do it, Rose,” I said, “so don’t you worry none. I reckon I’ll prob’ly start lookin’ for him today, even if it does start raining again and I spoil my clothes like I did last night, not to mention catchin’ an awful cold. Or if I don’t get out today, I’ll sure do it tomorrow.”

  I hung up the phone and turned around.

  Myra was frowning at me, tight-mouthed and disgusted-looking. She pointed to the table and told me to sit down, for pity’s sake.

  “Just eat your breakfast and get out of here! Start doing your job, for a change!”

  “Me?” I said. “I do my job all the time.”

  “You! You stupid silly spineless fool! You don’t do anything!”

  “Well, that’s my job,” I said. “Not doing nothing, I mean. That’s why for people elect me.”

  She whirled around so fast her skirts spun, and went out into the kitchen. I sat down at the table. I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost twelve o’clock, practically dinner time, so I didn’t eat much except some eggs and ham and grits and gravy and seven or eight biscuits, and a bitty bowl of peaches and cream.

  I was having a third cup of coffee when Myra came back in. She began to snatch up the dishes, muttering to herself, and I asked her if they was something the matter.

  “If they is,” I said, “you just tell me all about it, because two heads is better than one.”

  “You miserable—! Aren’t you ever going to get out of here?” she yelled. “Why are you still sitting at the table?”

  “Why, I’m drinking this here coffee,” I said. “You look real close an’ you can see that I am.”

  “Well—well, take it with you! Drink it somewhere else!”

  “You mean you want me to leave the table?” I said.

  “Yes! Now, go on and do it, for pity’s sake!”

  I said I plumb liked to be obliging, but if she studied it over she’d see it didn’t make much sense for me to leave the table. “I mean, it’s almost time for dinner,” I said. “You’ll be bringin’ it in any minute now, so why for should I leave when I can set right here an’ be all ready to start eatin’?”

  “Y-You!” Her teeth gritted together. “You get out of here!”

  “Without no dinner?” I said. “You mean I got to work all afternoon on an empty stomach?”

  “But you just got—” She choked up, and sagged down into a chair.

  I said that was fine, she should set down and rest herself up a little, and it didn’t matter at all if dinner was maybe a minute or two late. And she said—

  I don’t know what she said. We just went on talking back and forth for a while, neither of us really listening to the other. Which didn’t bother her any, since she never paid any attention to me anyhow, and to tell the truth I never actually paid a lot of attention to her, anyhow. Anyways, I couldn’t have done it today even if I’d wanted to, because I was too worried about what would happen when Tom and Uncle John were found dead.

  That’s why I’d been pestering Myra, I guess. I didn’t want to get out and face up to whatever was going to happen, so I’d start gigging at her. That was kind of a habit with me, I reckon, taking it out on her when I felt bad or bothered. More of a habit than I maybe realized.

  “Where at is Lennie?” I said, picking up the conversation again. “He don’t hurry up he’ll be late for dinner!”

  “He’s had his dinner! I mean, I fixed him a lunch before he left!”

  “You mean he’s outside when maybe the sun will stop shining pretty soon and it’ll start raining to beat heck, and he’ll probably spoil his clothes and get himself an awful cold?” I said. “Now, that ain’t takin’ very good care of your brother, honey.”

  Myra’s face began to swell, kind of like she was blowing out her cheeks. She stared at me, her eyes popping, and god-dang if she didn’t sort of tremble all over.

  “Why for did Lennie go out in the daytime, anyways?” I said. “He can’t peek in no windows when it’s light.”

  “You!” Myra said, pushing herself up from the chair. “Y-You—” She pointed toward the door, her hand shaking like a leaf. “You get out of here, you hear me? GET OUT OF HERE!”

  “You mean, you want me to leave?” I said. “Well, you should’ve said so sooner. Maybe given me a little hint.”

  I put on my hat, and told her to be sure and call me when dinner was ready. She made a wild grab for the sugar bowl, and I got on down the stairs pretty fast.

  I sat down in my office. I tilted my hat over my eyes, and put my boots up on the desk. It looked to me like it was a good time to take a little nap, because people still weren’t getting around much on account of the mud. But this was one day I just couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

  Finally, I stopped trying. There just wasn’t much point to it with me so scared-worried. I figured the best thing I could do was to get things over with; get some fellas together and start the hunt for Tom. Then, whatever happened, I’d know what it was, at least, and I wouldn’t have to fret myself anymore.

  I got up and started for the door. The phone rang, and I went back to answer it. And just as I did, Lennie came busting in.

  He was waving his arms, burbling and spitting all-the-heck over everything with excitement.

  I waved him to simmer down, and spoke into the phone. “Just a minute, Robert Lee. Lennie just came in, and it looks like he wants to tell me somethin’.”

  “Never mind. I know what he wants to tell you,” Robert Lee Jefferson said, and he told me what it was. “Now, you better get right down here and take charge.”

  I said I’d do that, and I did.

  It was Henry Clay Fanning, a farmer who lived a couple miles south of the Hauck place, who’d found the bodies. He’d been out cutting cordwood at the time, and he’d just pitched ’em up on top of his load and brought ’em on into town.

  “Didn’t waste a minute,” he said proudly, spitting snuff into the mud. “You reckon the county’ll sort of take care o’ me for my trouble?”
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  “Well, I’m not real sure they will, Henry Clay,” I said, noticing how Uncle John’s head was crushed between the wood and the wagon bed. “After all, you was comin’ to town anyways.”

  “But what about that nigger?” he said. “A white man ought to get some kind of ree-ward for handlin’ a nigger.”

  “Well, maybe you will,” I said. “If not in this world, the next one.”

  He went on arguing about it. Some of the people in the crowd picked up the argument, debating it back and forth between themselves. They were about evenly divided on the subject, one group claiming that Henry Clay was entitled to a reward, and the other saying that a white that was fool enough to bother with a nigger didn’t deserve nothing but an ass-kicking.

  I grabbed hold of a couple of colored fellas, and told ’em to carry Uncle John’s body back to his folks. And they kind of dragged their feet, but of course they did it. Then, me and Robert Lee and one of his clerks carried Tom into Taylor’s Emporium, Furniture and Undertaking.

  I told Robert Lee I’d kind of like his opinion on things, and he turned on me, looking sickish. “Can’t you at least let me wash my hands?” he snapped. “Are you in such an all-fired hurry I can’t even do that?”

  “Not me,” I said. “I ain’t in no more hurry than ol’ Tom is, and I sure don’t see him bein’ in one, do you, Robert Lee? Kind of hard to tell which is the biggest, ol’ Tom or the hole in him!”

  We all washed up in the rear of the Emporium, Robert Lee looking awful pale and sickish. Then his clerk went on back to the hardware store, me an’ Robert Lee following him maybe ten minutes later. We couldn’t make it any sooner than that, because Robert Lee had to make himself another quick trip and a long visit to the wash-sink.

  He held himself straight and tight-lipped as we left, still as pale as a ghost. Then, just as we stepped out the door, Henry Clay Fanning latched hold of him.

  That Henry Clay was a real case, what we call a cotton-patch lawyer down here. He knew all the privileges he was entitled to—and maybe three or four million others besides—but he didn’t have much sense of his obligations. None of his fourteen kids had ever been to school, because making kids go to school was interferin’ with a man’s constitutional rights. Four of his seven girls, all of ’em that were old enough to be, were pregnant. And he wouldn’t allow no one to ask ’em how they’d got that way, because that was his legal responsibility; it was a father’s job to care for his children’s morals, and he didn’t have to tolerate any interference.

  Of course, everyone had a pretty good idea who’d gotten those girls pregnant. But under the circumstances, there wasn’t any way of proving it, and with Henry Clay being kind of mean-tempered no one talked much about it.

  So here he was now, exercisin’ his rights again. Grabbing Robert Lee Jefferson by the arm and whirling him around.

  “Now, you see here, Robert Lee,” he said. “Maybe that doggone Nick Corey don’t know the law, but you do and you know god-dang well I’m entitled to a ree-ward. I—”

  “What?” Robert Lee started at him. “What did you say?”

  “County pays a ree-ward for corpses pulled out of the river, don’t they? So why don’t I get a bounty for finding these? I not only found ’em, I haul ’em all the way into town an’ get nigger blood all over my wagon, an’—”

  “Answer me, you incestuous skunk! Did you address me as Robert Lee?”

  Henry Clay said sure, he called him that, and what about it, “What you mean callin’ me a—”

  Robert Lee hit him in the mouth. Henry Clay sailed off the sidewalk, and landed in the mud on his back. His eyes were open, but he didn’t stir. Just lay there, breathing with a snuffling sound because of his bloody nose and mouth.

  Robert Lee dusted his hands, nodded to me and entered his store. I followed him back to his office.

  “Now, I feel better,” he sighed, sinking down in a chair. “I’ve been wanting to punch that dirty cur for years, and he finally gave me an excuse.”

  I said I guessed Henry Clay didn’t really know a lot about law, after all. “If he did, he’d know that calling you by your first name would be laying a predicate for justifiable assault.”

  “What?” He gave me a startled look. “I’m not sure I understood you.”

  “Nothin’,” I said. “You sure gave him a punch, Robert Lee.”

  “Wasn’t it a beaut? I only wish I’d broken his filthy neck.”

  “Maybe you’d better be kind of careful for a while,” I said. “Henry Clay might try to get back at you.”

  Robert Lee snorted. “He doesn’t have the nerve, but I wish he did. That’s one man I’d enjoy killing. Imagine him calling me by my first name!”

  “Yeah,” I said, “just imagine that!”

  “Now, about this other matter, Tom and Uncle John, I don’t see much point in impaneling a coroner’s jury in such a clear-cut case. The facts seem obvious enough, don’t you agree?”

  “Well, it sure is a clear-cut case,” I said. “I don’t know as I’ve ever seen such a clear-cut case of killing.”

  “Exactly. And everyone I’ve talked to has the same opinion. Of course, if Rose should insist on an inquest…”

  “Or Uncle John’s kinfolks…”

  “Oh, now—” Robert Lee laughed. “Let’s not be ridiculous, Nick.”

  “I say something funny?” I said.

  “Well, uh,” said Robert Lee, sort of clearing his throat. “Perhaps I chose the wrong word. I should have said impractical.”

  I looked blank, and asked just what did he mean, anyways? He snapped back that I knew very well what he meant. “No doctor is going to do a post mortem on a Negro. Why, you can’t get a doctor to touch a live Negro, let alone a dead one.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” I said. “Just in case we had to, though, and I’m just asking for information, do you suppose you could get out a court order t’make a doctor do his duty?”

  “We-el”—Robert Lee leaned back and pursed his lips— “I imagine that’s something that one could do de jure, but not de facto. In other words you’d have a paradox—the legal right to do something that was factually impossible of accomplishment.”

  I said I’d be god-danged, he was sure one heck of a smart man. “I reckon my head’s plumb bustin’ from all these things you been tellin’ me, Robbie Lee. Maybe I better run along before you give me some more information, an’ it pops wide open.”

  “Now, you’re flattering me,” he beamed, standing up as I did, “which reminds me that I should compliment you on your conduct in today’s affair. You handled it very well, Nick.”

  “Why, thank you kindly, Robert Lee,” I said. “How does the election look to you by now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I think you’re a cinch to win, in view of the unfortunate talk about Sam Gaddis. Just keep on doing your job, like you did today.”

  “Oh, I will,” I said. “I’ll keep on exactly like that.”

  I left the hardware store, and sauntered back toward the courthouse, stopping now and then to talk to people, or rather to let them talk to me. Almost everyone had about the same idea about the killing as Robert Lee Jefferson. Almost everyone agreed that it was an open and shut case, with Uncle John killing Tom and then Tom, dead as he was, killing Uncle John. Or vice versa.

  About the only people who didn’t see it that way, or said they didn’t, were some loafers. They wanted a coroner’s jury impaneled, and they were ready and willin’ to serve on it. But if they were that hard up for a couple of dollars, I figured they hadn’t paid their poll tax, so what they thought didn’t matter.

  Rose had heard the news from probably two, three hundred people by the time I got back to the courthouse, and Myra said I had to get out to the Hauck place right away and bring Rose into town.

  “Now, please hurry, for once in your life, Nick! The poor thing is terribly upset!”

  “Why for is she upset?” I said. “You mean because Tom is dead?”

&n
bsp; “Of course, I mean that! What else would I mean?”

  “Well, I was just wonderin’,” I said. “She was terribly upset last night when she thought he might be comin’ home, and now she’s terribly upset because she knows he ain’t. Don’t seem to make much sense somehow.”

  “Now, just you never mind!” Myra snapped. “Don’t you dare start arguing with me, Nick Corey! You just do what I tell you to, or you won’t make much sense! Not that you ever did, anyway.”

  I got the horse and buggy and drove out toward the Hauck farm, thinking to myself that a fella hardly got one problem settled before he had to take care of another one. Maybe I should have foreseen that Rose would be coming in and staying with Myra and me tonight, but I hadn’t. I’d had too many other things on my mind. So now I was supposed to see Amy tonight—I’d just better see her if I ever wanted to see her again. And I was also supposed to stay at home—Rose would think it was god-danged peculiar if I didn’t. And I just didn’t know what the heck I was going to do.

  They were a real problem, Rose and Amy. A lot bigger problem than I realized.

  The farm house was all steamy and kind of smelly when Rose let me in. She apologized for it, nodding toward the black dress that was hung up over the stove.

  “I had to give it a hurry-up dye job, honey. But the goddam thing ought to be dry pretty soon. You want to come into the bedroom, and wait?”

  I followed her into the bedroom and she started taking off her shoes and stockings, which was all she had on. I said, “Looky, honey. Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now.”

  “Huh?” She frowned at me. “Why the hell not?”

  “Well, you know,” I said. “You’re just now officially a widow. It just don’t seem decent to hop in bed with a woman when she ain’t hardly been a widow an hour.”

  “What the hell’s the difference? You slept with me before I was a widow?”