Still staying in the shadows, Benjamin moved away from the house and back down the road to where he’d hidden his own truck.
The Whitewall
The lamp was still lit when Benjamin arrived home, and the moment he walked in Isaac came running to him. It was obvious the boy had been crying. Benjamin pulled him close and asked, “What you crying about?”
“I ain’t crying,” Isaac answered indignantly. He hesitated a moment then added, “I just been worrying.”
Benjamin squeezed him a bit closer. “You got no need of worrying. I’m your daddy, and I’m gonna take care of you.”
“But what if that man what runned down Mama runned you down too?”
“That ain’t never gonna happen ’cause I found who done it. It was just as you said, Isaac. One big ole whitewall tire on the back end of that truck.”
“Did you fight him?”
Benjamin chuckled. “Fighting ain’t no way of settling things. I’m gonna tell the sheriff and let the law handle it.”
“The law ain’t gonna arrest no white man!”
“It sure enough will,” Benjamin replied. “Sheriff Haledon done said.”
Isaac shook his head doubtfully. “I ain’t so sure.”
The next morning Benjamin was scheduled to finish tar-papering Sam Preston’s shed, but instead of going there he went directly to the sheriff’s office. Deputy Moran sat at the front desk. He looked up and gave an exasperated groan. “What now?”
“I come to see Sheriff Haledon,” Benjamin answered.
“He ain’t here.” Moran went back to the paper he’d been reading.
Benjamin didn’t move. He stood there with his head slightly bowed and a weathered straw hat held loosely in his right hand.
“I said he ain’t here,” the deputy repeated.
“You know when he’s coming back?”
The deputy didn’t bother to look up. “Not ’til next week.”
This was something Benjamin hadn’t expected. He stood there wondering if it was better to wait or go ahead and tell Moran what he knew. It was a risk either way. Moran had a mean streak a mile wide, but waiting meant there was a chance the bearded man would leave town. As far as Benjamin could tell no one else lived there, and if so the man was a loner. No ties. The house didn’t have the look of a place someone cared about, so he could be a squatter. Squatters came and went like the wind. They picked up and moved on whenever they had a mind to.
With the responsibility of caring for Isaac and working Benjamin couldn’t keep a sharp eye on the man, so he had to trust Moran. Unpleasant as he could be the law was the law, and he was obligated to do the same as Sheriff Haledon.
“I can see you’re real busy,” Benjamin said, “but, sir, I got to report I found the man what killed my Delia.”
Moran looked up. “You did, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” Benjamin replied. “I ain’t got knowledge of his name, but I can say where he lives.”
“And exactly what do you want me to do about this no-name man you think killed your wife?”
“It ain’t what I think, sir, it’s what I know for sure. He’s just as my boy said.”
“Oh.” Moran cocked his mouth to one side. “And I’m supposed to take it as gospel ’cause a kid thinks he saw something?”
“The night they was hit, Isaac saw that blue truck with one whitewall tire on the back. That ain’t something a kid can make up.”
“There could be a dozen trucks fit that description. You got a license plate number or any real evidence?”
Benjamin shook his head. “It was dark, but Isaac saw the man driving had a beard.”
Moran laughed out loud. “Beard, huh? Half the men in town got beards!”
“Maybe so,” Benjamin said, “but this here’s the only one driving a blue pickup with a whitewall tire on the back wheel.”
“That still don’t prove—”
“Sheriff Haledon said if I seen this guy, I was to let him know and the law would take care of it.”
“Okay, okay.” With an annoyed yank Moran pulled a notepad from his desk. “What’s the address?”
“It ain’t a town address,” he said. “It’s a dirt road what runs off Cross Corner. About four miles past my place. It’s the only turnoff on the right.”
“That’s Luke Garrett’s place.” Moran shook his head dubiously. “That man come home from the war half-crippled, it ain’t likely he—”
“Excuse me for speaking, sir, but my boy saw what he saw and he got no reason to lie, ’specially about a man what served his country.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Moran grumbled. He scribbled a few lines on the notepad then said he’d look into it. The truth was if he wasn’t certain Benjamin would keep coming back until he got to Sheriff Haledon Moran would have tossed the note in the trashcan, but jobs like this were not easy to come by so he’d take a leisurely ride out there and that would be the end of that.
As Benjamin disappeared out the door, Moran pushed the notepad aside and grumbled, “Niggers gonna take over this town if we ain’t careful.”
~ ~ ~
Moran waited until after lunch to drive out to Luke Garrett’s place. He’d seen Luke in town and pretty much knew that’s who Benjamin was talking about. As soon as he turned down the dirt road he saw the blue pickup sitting in the front yard. Sure enough, it had a whitewall tire on the rear wheel.
“Aw, shit,” Moran mumbled as he climbed out of his sheriff’s department car.
Luke Garrett was still asleep when he heard the banging. Scrambling out of bed, he pulled on a pair of jeans and flung open the door. “What the hell…?”
“That your truck out front?” Moran asked.
“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “But it got license plates.”
“It’s also got a whitewall tire on the rear wheel,” Moran said. “You know what that means, asshole?”
“I come by that tire honest,” Luke replied. “You got no gripe with me.”
“I ain’t here ’cause of you stealing no tire; I’m here ’cause somebody driving a blue truck with a whitewall tire run down a nigger woman and her kid.”
“That’s it?” Luke smacked his hand against his head. “You’re hassling me ’cause of bumping a nigger woman?”
“She’s dead.”
“I’m real sorry about that,” Luke said sarcastically, “but it ain’t my fault. She was standing out in the middle of the road. How’s anybody supposed to see a nigger woman at nighttime?”
“Whether you seen her or didn’t seen her ain’t the issue,” Moran replied. “Her kid saw you, and he also saw that damn whitewall you got.”
“Jesus!” Luke dropped into a chair and cradled his head in his hands. “That was the day my Sally left.” He looked up at Moran. “You ever have a woman leave you?”
The deputy gave a halfhearted shrug.
“Man, let me tell you, it tears up your insides. You ain’t got mind enough to know if you’re dead or alive.”
Moran’s expression softened slightly. He’d never had a wife leave him, but his mama had walked off when he was five years old. He could still remember the way his daddy sat at the table and cried night after night. Before six months had gone by, he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Luke noticed the change and slid into the opportunity quick as an eel.
“When Sally left I was near crazy. All I could think about was having a few drinks to get me through that day.” Putting a pitiful moan in his voice he added, “I loved Sally with all my heart, but she left me ’cause of this bum leg and run off with a man half my age.”
“Whew.” Moran gave a sad shake of his head and lowered himself into the chair opposite Luke. “A woman like that ain’t worth crying over.”
Luke went on and on about how he’d given Sally all he could afford, pampered her like a princess, and didn’t deserve the treatment he’d gotten.
Moran continued to bob his head in agreement; of course, he hadn’t seen Sally’s black e
ye and the missing front tooth.
“Now this.” Luke sighed. “A nigger woman’s gonna do me in. It’s more than a man can stand.”
“Well, maybe if you was to get rid of that tire…”
The start of a smile curled the edge of Luke’s mouth.
“And shave the beard…”
When Deputy Moran sat at his desk and wrote out the report, he stated that after a thorough investigation he’d found the only similarity between Luke Garrett and the boy’s description was that both drove a blue pickup truck. While the truck had a slight bit of damage on one side there was no whitewall tire, he said, and the man in question was clean-shaven.
He left a copy of the report on Sheriff Haledon’s desk, then locked the office and headed for home.
A False Truth
When Benjamin left the sheriff’s office he wanted to believe Deputy Moran would do something, but one small spot in the back of his brain argued otherwise.
Twice he waited until Isaac was sound asleep, then slipped out of the house and drove back to Luke Garrett’s place. He parked his car behind the same thicket, walked up the dirt road, and peered through the window.
On the first night the house was dark and there was no movement inside. There was also no truck parked outside, so that didn’t prove anything one way or the other. On the second night the truck was parked to the side of the house, and there was lamplight coming from what Benjamin thought was the kitchen. He crept closer and pulled himself up alongside the window. Careful not to move quickly or make a noise, he leaned forward and looked in.
A man sat in a straight-backed chair with a bottle of whisky and a glass on the table in front of him. At first Benjamin believed it to be someone else, but the longer he watched the more it began to look like Luke Garrett. When the figure stood and limped from the room, Benjamin was certain. It was Garrett, but his beard was gone.
A crack of thunder sounded in the distance but still Benjamin stood there staring at the empty chair, knowing what he’d seen but not quite believing it. When the rain began he backed away and started down the dirt road. He got halfway to his own truck when he thought of something and turned back.
This time he didn’t bother with looking in the window; it was the truck he was interested in. He walked the full way around it, but all four tires were black. Benjamin bent and scraped his fingernails against the back tire hoping it was just a thin layer of paint covering the white. It wasn’t. A whitewall tire was worth maybe five dollars. A man like Garrett wouldn’t just get rid of it; it had to be somewhere close by.
Moving to the back of the house and then circling around to the far side, Benjamin searched in back of the woodpile, behind the overflowing garbage cans, under chunks of rusting metal, and even in the wooded areas surrounding the house. Nothing. The whitewall was gone.
Luke Garrett knew. He knew that Isaac had pointed a finger at him and described both man and truck. He knew and he’d covered his tracks. There was no longer a bearded man nor was there a blue truck with a whitewall tire. Now there was only a colored boy’s word against that of a white man. Benjamin turned and started back down the dirt road. He no longer cared about being silent. What more could Luke Garrett do to him?
The rain grew heavy and beads of water mingled with Benjamin’s tears. As he climbed back into his truck he felt the weight of injustice come down on him like the mudslide of a mountain. It was the kind of thing no man survived; once you were covered you no longer had a desire to live.
With rain flooding the windshield of his truck and tears flooding his eyes, Benjamin drove home. He did not go to bed that night. He sat on the porch with water cascading down his back and tears falling from his face. Never in all his life had Benjamin wanted to kill a man—not in the army, not ever—but tonight he wanted to kill Luke Garrett. Sitting there on the porch, he could close his eyes and imagine putting a rifle to the beardless face and pulling the trigger. When the image became so real he could feel the butt of the rifle slam against his shoulder, Benjamin dropped his head into his hands and sobbed. “Lord God, forgive me.”
Before the pale pink crest of morning came onto the horizon Benjamin knew what he had to do. His love for Isaac was greater than the hatred he felt.
For the next four days Isaac was never beyond Benjamin’s sight. When Benjamin trimmed Hazel Fromm’s oak, Isaac picked up the loose clippings and stacked them to the side. When Benjamin painted Herbert Megan’s garage, he did the top half and Isaac did the bottom. It was the same whether Benjamin was hanging a new shutter, fixing a screen door, or patching a water pipe.
Although he’d said nothing about it, Benjamin had grown fearful that Luke Garrett would go to an even greater extent to protect himself. He’d gotten rid of the beard and the whitewall tire. Would he also try to get rid of Isaac? Sheriff Haledon would be back in the office on Monday; until then Benjamin would not let Isaac out of his sight.
On Monday morning when Benjamin walked into the sheriff’s office Isaac was with him. Deputy Moran was at the front desk.
“What now?”
“I come to see the sheriff,” Benjamin replied.
“He’s busy.”
“I ain’t in no rush,” Benjamin said. “I can just wait.”
“Not in here you can’t,” Moran said angrily. “You wanna wait, get your ass out on the street to do it!”
“Yes, sir.” Benjamin nodded. He took Isaac by the hand and stepped outside.
When Moran looked up the two of them were walking back and forth directly in front of the sheriff’s office storefront window. He bounced up out of his seat and flung the door open.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
“We’re waiting outside like you said,” Benjamin answered.
Moran, a third cousin of Mayor Wilkes and with much the same attitude, turned red in the face. “Don’t you sass me, boy! Get the hell outta here and—”
He was interrupted by the booming voice of Sheriff Haledon. “What’s going on here?”
“This damn nigger thinks he’s got the right to—”
“Okay, Moran, that’s enough,” the sheriff said. “Let’s take this inside.” He held the office door open and Moran stormed through, followed by Benjamin and Isaac.
Once inside the sheriff closed the door and turned to the threesome. “Okay, now, what happened?”
Moran jumped on it. “I told this nigger you was busy, and he started giving me a bunch a’ nigger sass. Him and the kid got out in front of the office and started parading back ’n forth like they was picketing the place. All I did was tell them to move on.”
The sheriff turned to Benjamin. “What’s your side of the story?”
“I begs your pardon, sir, but I ain’t seeing it like Deputy Moran. Me and Isaac come to speak with you and when we got told you was busy, we figured to wait.” He looked down at Isaac and said, “Ain’t that right, Isaac?”
The boy nodded.
“We was gonna wait here, but Mister Moran told us to do our waiting outside.”
Sheriff Haledon turned to Moran. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, I told them to wait outside, but I didn’t say nothing about parading back and forth like a bunch a’ picketers!”
“We was just stretching our legs,” Benjamin said defensively.
“You weren’t banging on the window or creating a disturbance of any sort?”
“No, sir,” Benjamin answered. “We was just walking.”
“Seems to me,” the sheriff said, “this is a whole lot of commotion about a little bit of nothing.” He turned to Benjamin, “If all you want to do is talk, let’s go in my office and talk.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Moran grumbled. “If this don’t beat all, now we gotta kowtow to a bunch a’ ignorant niggers!”
Sheriff Haledon ushered Benjamin and Isaac into his office, and as he turned back to close the door he gave Moran a warning glare.
Benjamin and Isaac stood, but when Sheriff Hale
don sat he motioned for them to take a seat in the chairs facing his desk. “I’m assuming you want to talk to me about this Luke Garrett thing,” he said. “But I’ve already read Deputy Moran’s report, and I don’t see that there’s much more we can do.”
“I ain’t trying to be disrespectful,” Benjamin said, “but Deputy Moran ain’t saying the whole story.” He told how he’d seen the whitewall tire when the truck passed him on Cross Corner Road, then followed Luke Garrett home and peered through the window to see the bearded man.
“And that’s the God’s honest truth,” Benjamin swore.
“Well, Deputy Moran’s report says Luke Garrett’s truck has four black tires, and the man doesn’t have facial hair of any sort.”
“I gotta believe somebody warned him.”
“Benjamin, I’m hoping you aren’t saying Deputy Moran would do a thing like that. I know he has no love of colored folks, but he’s a sworn officer of the law.”
The sheriff’s words landed with a thud. They had the sound of finality, something impossible to argue against.
“I ain’t blaming Mister Moran,” Benjamin said, “but somebody surely did—”
“Who?” the sheriff replied. “Who else knew? Did you mention this to anyone other than Deputy Moran?”
“Unh-unh.” Benjamin shook his head.
“Then it’s just your word against his.”
“It ain’t just my word,” Benjamin pleaded. “A man what’s got a beard, then don’t got a beard. Somebody’s got to seen—”
The sheriff shook his head. “It’s not gonna happen, Benjamin. Luke Garrett’s trashy as they come, but he’s a white man with friends. He’ll lie, and they’ll swear to it.”
“But if somebody seen—”
“Even if they did,” the sheriff said, “there’s no way to prove when Luke shaved it off. It could have been last week, it could have been a month ago.”
Benjamin just sat there, the muscles of his face hard as cement.
Passing Through Perfect Page 14