Summer of the Guns

by Justin Daniel Herman

  We put the ring and all the papers back in the box, then we walked outside. “I need you to give me back that money, Oaf,” I said. “It’s evidence.”

  He didn’t answer. He just stalked off into the darkness. I started to leave, then went back into the clubhouse to stomp out the fire. It was nothing but smoking embers but I covered it with dirt anyway.

  When I got back home, Ace was sitting on the front porch waiting for me. “Kelly got back an hour ago,” he said. “What happened to you? There was a lot of coming and going down at the Wells place tonight. I saw Tommy and Lenny.” Then he looked down and spotted the lock box I was carrying. “Is there something about that you want to tell me?” he asked. “If there is, it better wait ‘til morning. I’m on my last legs after a day like this.”

  I started to tell him what Oaf had said about Jack Wells and Lacy Horne knowing who I was, but he cut me off. “Go to bed,” he said angrily as he walked toward his bedroom. “I’m too tired to hear what mischief you’ve got into. From here out, I don’t want you anywhere near Oaf. Cut him loose. I mean it, too, Billie. You hear me?”

  I nodded silently, then went to my room.

  13

  The next morning, I awakened to the scream of sirens. Ten minutes later came a loud knock on the front door. I was sure that the Lacy Horne had sent the police to take Sara and me back to juvenile detention.

  There wasn’t any use for me to try and run, I figured. I walked into the living room and pulled the curtains back to see who was there. Sure enough, it was a uniformed policeman. Ace came up behind me, still buttoning his shirt, then walked over and opened the door.

  “There’s been two murders across the street at the church tent,” said the policeman. “Two women, a Mrs. Muir and a Mrs. Crouder. Did you know them?”

  “Oh my God!” Ace cried out. Then he started to wail, over and over again. “Oh my God, oh my God!” Ace unhooked the screen door and let the policeman in, then he sat down on the couch. Just then another man in plain clothes came up on the porch, flashing his badge.

  “I’m Detective Riggs,” he said to Ace. “Are you Alton Kelly?”

  Ace was still on the couch, his head in his hands. At first he didn’t answer. When he looked up I could see he was teary-eyed. “Yes,” he said, “I go by Ace.”

  The detective, a slender, brown-haired man with thick glasses, squinted at him, then took a notebook out of his shirt pocket and opened his fountain pen. I noticed he had sweat stains under his arms. His white shirt was wrinkled and his tie pulled loose. “I have some questions for you,” he said, taking a chair across from Ace.

  The uniformed cop continued to stand as the detective leaned forward and spoke. “We have a witness, a friend of yours, who claims to have seen you over there with the victims late last night. She wasn’t sure of the time, but she thought it was around ten. She said you carried something back over here.”

  “That had to be Mrs. Botts,” Ace replied slowly. “We ain’t exactly friends but, yeah, I was over there. They were kind enough to loan me an electric fan. I carried it back here, all right, but I don’t remember the time.”

  “Mr. Kelly,” the other policeman interrupted, “do you own a hunting knife?”

  “No, I don’t,” Ace said. “I don’t hunt. Are you accusing me of being a murderer?”

  “Does anyone you know own one?” asked the detective.

  “Hell if I know,” answered Ace. “They’re not exactly rare.”

  “Not ones with notches carved into the handle,” said the detective.

  “You mean you found the knife they used?” I asked, feeling sick in the pit of my stomach.

  “We think so,” answered the detective. “It’s a six-inch hunting knife. We think it might belong to someone local. Someone who had a grudge.”

  I stood mutely for a minute, my mind churning. “I think I know who it belongs to,” I said. The two policemen looked at me intently. “Oaf—I mean Earl Smith—said his father has a knife like that,” I went on. I didn’t tell him that Boomer had given it to Oaf. I knew Oaf wouldn’t kill anyone. It had to have been his father.

  “You mean Boomer Smith’s son?” the detective asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

  “Let’s head to Shanty Town,” he said as he turned to the other policeman. “I think we’ve got our suspect.” Before they left the house, the detective glanced back to us. “Don’t either of you be going anywhere,” he said. “We’ve got more questions for both of you.”

  I knew that if they questioned Oaf, he might tell ‘em about us breaking into the Jack Wells’ house. Not only that, but he’d tell ‘em who I was. Only they’d find out anyway, since Lacy Horne already knew. It was just a matter of time before they came back for us.

  After they left, Ace just sat where he was and sobbed. I left him alone and went into the bedroom where Kelly and Sara were. Sara was sitting up in her bed. She smiled as I came in, then her face turned blank when she realized something wasn’t right.

  “We’re both awake,” said Kelly as he threw off his covers. “I’m scared, Billie. Do you think Oaf did it?”

  “I doubt it,” I answered dejectedly. “But I wouldn’t put it past his old man.” When I sat down on Sara’s bed, she seemed to relax a little. She looked over at Kelly and signed that she was hungry. She winced as she tried to move the arm that was in the cast. None of us had eaten since breakfast the day before.

  Kelly came over and started signing to her about what had happened at the hospital. He didn’t say anything about the murders. Sara had enough to worry about. After that, Kelly helped Sara get out of bed. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door, then I heard the bath water come on. “Don’t get the cast wet,” I called out.

  “She can’t hear you,” Kelly said, “why don’t you go in and help her?” Kelly’s rebuke was somehow comforting—the only normal words I’d heard since I awoke. I went in and helped Sara undress herself, then sat on the toilet seat waiting for her to finish her bath.

  Just then I heard Ace’s voice boom. “Kelly and Billie, get in here now. I wanna know what happened last night and I want it straight.”

  I signed to Sara that I’d be back, then walked into the living room. Kelly was already in there. “Billie and Oaf broke into Jack Wells’ house,” he reported. “I stayed outside and yelled when I seen someone coming. It wasn’t Jack, though—it was Lenny and the guy he runs with, Tommy Sykes. They were in that Model A.”

  Ace’s face got red as he stared at us. Then he turned to me. “I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid. What happened inside? Did they see you?”

  “No,” I replied. “We hid in a bedroom and listened to them. They were looking for that metal box I brought home. We found it under Lenny’s bed.”

  “Oh, God!” Ace said. “What else can go wrong today? Now you’re telling me you stole that box and you were with Oaf Smith when you done it. Don’t lie now!”

  “I’m not,” I protested. “We didn’t have any choice! Oaf told us Lacy Horne knows I’m a girl. Oaf overheard him and Jack Wells talking about it at the political rally.”

  Ace glared at us. “Then why didn’t you come back here right away and tell me?”

  “Because Oaf said he’d been in Jack Wells’ house. He said there was something there that would help us prove that Tommy and Lenny killed Tommy’s girlfriend. We were trying to help you!”

  “All right, now listen up,” said Ace. “You and Sara are stayin’ in the house from here on out. No more going out. If the cops come for you two, I can’t stop ‘em. But at least we can keep Lenny and Tommy from getting you first. They won’t dare come in here. I told Lenny I’d use a gun on him if he ever touched Kelly again. I don’t have no gun, but he thinks I do.” He lit up a cigarette and puffed nervously. “Did you look inside the box?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer him. I just ran back into the bedroom, then came back out with the box and held it out. “See for yours
elf,” I said.

  He set it down on the kitchen table, then opened it. He studied the contents for a moment, then picked out the newspaper clippings and thumbed through them. He read the clipping about Jessie Atkins, then he picked up one about Jenny Garcia being missing.

  “Oaf said Lenny wrote a confession about killing her,” I said, “but we couldn’t find it in the box.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “How the hell would Oaf know?”

  “Because he’d broken into Jack Wells’ place before. He saw the note in a drawer, but he didn’t want to give it to the cops because he was afraid he’d get in trouble. That’s why we went over there. Only we couldn’t find it.”

  Ace furrowed his brows, then stared at the box again. When he saw the handkerchief, he lifted it carefully out of the box and unfolded it. “It’s got blood on it,” he said as he held it up to the window light. “Looks like they wiped their knife on it.” Then he looked at the little wallet with the claim ticket for the cleaners in it. “That’s a woman’s wallet,” he said quietly, “and I’ll bet I know who it belongs to. The newspaper said Jessie Atkins was coming in from California on the day she was shot. What do you wanna bet this cleaning ticket is hers?”

  Then he picked up the box again and turned it over, shaking it vigorously. Suddenly a little flat piece of wood fell on the table, along with an envelope. “FOR THE POLICE” it said. “I used to have a box just like that one,” said Ace matter-of-factly as he picked up the envelope. “It’s got a false bottom.” He opened up the envelope and held it close to his eyes. “This is my confession to murdering Jenny Garcia,” he read. “Tommy Sykes didn’t do it. I did it. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill her.” Ace smiled down at me and laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Hell, Lenny even signed it. Tommy probably forced him to write it to keep him from ratting on him.”

  Ace put the note back in the box, then sat down at the table and opened up the balled-up papers I’d crumpled around the diamond ring. “Good Lord,” he blurted, “that’s almost as big as the one the queen wears.”

  “I guess that’s the ring they took off Jessie at the road stop,” I said.

  Ace grinned at me. “We’ll get ‘em for sure when the police see this stuff. I’ll bet they killed the sisters last night, the sons of bitches. Oaf wouldn’t have done that in a million years, and if Boomer did it, he wouldn’t have left any knife behind.” He kept shaking his head over and over, as if he couldn’t believe what we’d found. “We’ll have to hide the stuff,” said Ace as he went into the living room.

  “There was something else in that box, too,” I said. I figured I’d have to tell him.

  “What do you mean ‘there was something else in that box’?” asked Ace. “What was it?”

  I looked down at the floor as I answered. “A hundred dollars. Cash.”

  “Then where is it?” he asked.

  “Oaf took it,” I replied. “I told him he shouldn’t take it, but he wouldn’t listen. He just walked off with it.”

  Ace stared at the ceiling and shook his head again. Before he could say more, there was a knock on the door. He quickly stuffed everything back in the box and shoved it under the couch.

  No sooner had Ace opened the door than Detective Riggs walked in and sat down on the couch right where Ace had hidden the box. He had a pained look. “The Smiths aren’t there,” he said. “I suspect they’ve hopped a freight, but we’ll get ‘em down the line. I’ve already called ahead. I put a guard at their place, too.” Then he looked over at me. “I want you to tell me more about your friend Oaf Smith and his father. How do you know them?”

  I explained how I’d met Oaf a few weeks before. He’d told me about his father’s knife, I said. I didn’t say anything about Boomer coming after Sara in the box car. If I did, Detective Riggs might make me come to the police station to give a full report, then they’d find out who we were.

  Detective Riggs asked me a few more questions about Oaf, then turned toward Ace. “Your neighbor, Mrs. Botts, said she saw the Smith boy around last night after you came home, Mr. Kelly,” he went on. “You’re not on our suspect list, but I might need to question you again after we get the coroner’s report.” He got up to leave and Ace followed him out on the porch.

  “How’d they die?” I heard Ace say. “I feel like I have to know. They were good people, those two women.”

  “Same as the others,” said Riggs flatly. “They had their throats slit. Just like the ones at Shanty Town.”

  14

  Later that evening, Ace came back from the grocery store with a sour look. “They’ve got Oaf cornered in his shack,” he said, “only it ain’t the police. It’s a bunch of no-goods who are shouting about burning him out.” We didn’t have a phone to call the police with, but he went next door and used the neighbor’s. I thought we’d hunker down after that and let the police take care of it, but Ace headed up the street at a fast walk. When I realized he was going to Shanty Town, I flew out the door and took a shortcut to get there ahead of him. I knew he wouldn’t let me go if I asked him, but I figured I needed to help Oaf.

  When I got to Shanty Town, there were four police cars parked almost bumper to bumper, plus a motorcycle right behind them. The motorcycle cop turned out to be Jimmy Parsons, the same guy who had led us to the hospital.

  “Stay back!” he commanded me. “That guy in there is shooting.” Then he jogged over toward a group of cops who’d taken cover behind their cars. I could hear them talking from where we were crouched behind a brick wall.

  “What kind of gun is it?” Parsons asked just as another shot came from the window of Oaf’s shack.

  “A twenty-two,” one of the cops replied. “He’s just firing rounds in the air, but we’re going to have to bring in the sharpshooters if he won’t give himself up. Only first we’re going to have to clear all these people out.” Off to one side was a big crowd from our neighborhood. Jack Wells was standing in front of them like he was their general. On the opposite street corner was another crowd, this one made up of raggedy looking people from the Hoover Camp. I could see more of them coming out from their shanties. I stayed back in the shadows so that Wells wouldn’t see me.

  “Go ahead and burn us out!” a woman screamed. “Oaf’ll shoot half a dozen of you before you can light a match! And we’ll be coming for you right behind him!”

  Just then I saw Mrs. Botts jump out from behind Jack Wells. She jogged over to Officer Parsons. “Whatever Oaf did, that negro boy he’s got livin’ with him was in on it. You should arrest him and his uncle, too. I saw him with those ladies that were murdered. If he wasn’t in on it, he sure as hell knows all about who was.”

  Officer Parsons looked at Mrs. Botts, then shook his head. “Go back home!” he commanded. “This is a police matter. You have no business here.”

  Just then one of the policemen held up a bullhorn. “Earl Smith,” he boomed, “put down your weapon and come out of the house. You won’t be harmed. Do you hear me? You won’t be harmed. That’s a promise.”

  “I ain’t givin’ up,” Oaf shouted. “You’ll have to kill me. You will anyway when you get me to the police station.”

  “Stick to your guns, Oaf,” shouted the same Shanty Town woman we’d heard before. “We know you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. They’re just usin’ you for an excuse to burn us out!”

  “Please stay out of this, ma’am,” the policeman with the bullhorn pleaded. “If you’ll let us handle this, no one will get hurt and there’ll be no burning. I promise you!”

  “You can’t promise nothin’,” yelled Mrs. Botts.

  Right beside her stood a man in his undershirt, waving a lighted torch and screaming at the top of his lungs. I realized it was her husband. “I say we burn ‘em out now,” he yelled. “The police here ain’t gonna protect us. They’re protectin’ the goddamned squatters. Five women killed in the last three months and right there’s the killer. It’s Oaf Smith! Him and that no-good
father of his! I say we lynch ‘em!”

  “We’ve had enough of this scum around here!” yelled someone else in the crowd, aiming his voice at the cops.

  On the other street corner, I could see one of the Shanty Town men wave a shotgun in the air. He appeared to be drunk. Suddenly his shotgun boomed as he pointed it in the air. “This ain’t no pop gun like Oaf has,” he screamed. “I’ll kill the first man to come in here, cop or not!”

  The neighborhood crowd screamed back insults and waved their torches, then one of them fired a rifle into the air to quiet them. It was Jack Wells. “Quiet it down,” he yelled. “I can take care of Oaf myself. Then you can burn ‘em out if you want to.”

  “Kill him, Jack!” Mr. Botts spouted. “We don’t need no police sharpshooter. You can do it, Jack! Take him out!”

  I watched as Wells walked over to the knot of policeman. When he got almost up to them, he came to a sudden stop. “This is an Army carbine,” he called out, “accurate at a hundred yards, and I know how to use it.”

  “Put that thing down,” one of the policemen commanded. “You’ve got no authority to be here with a weapon.”

  “I certainly do,” Wells responded as he walked closer to the cops. “I’m deputized. The county attorney gave me written authority to use a weapon in case of emergencies around here. You guys haven’t done anything to protect us.” He pulled out his wallet and handed one of the officers a folded paper, then he flashed a badge around for everyone to see.

  Just then, Oaf stuck his rifle out the window and fired again.

  “Give me the bullhorn,” said one of the policemen. He walked over to the officer with the bullhorn, who handed it to him. When I saw his face, I realized it was Detective Riggs. “Oaf Smith,” he shouted, “I’m giving you one minute to come out of there with your hands up. If you don’t, we’ll shoot to kill. We have a sharpshooter here. Do you understand?”