Violent Saturday

by W. L. Heath

Boyd was the first to enter the bank – no one else seemed able to think beyond the man lying there in the rain. It was dark and gloomy inside, and there was a smell of exploded powder still in the air. Emily was the only person he saw, and the instant he saw her he knew he was too late. She looked dead already. She was sitting in the center of the tile floor. Sitting there like a child, very erect, with her legs straight out and her head turned oddly to the side. One of her shoes had come off and was lying in front of her on the floor. There was a great dark egg-shaped blot of blood coming through the back of her yellow raincoat, and by the mild look in her face, he knew he was much too late.

  Chapter Eight

  If I break a leg now I’m a goner, Shelley thought. Those men will kill me in a heartbeat when they see what I’ve done to their driver.

  He was working his way carefully around the edge of the loft to a place where he could drop down to the barn floor. The man was lying at the foot of the ladder, beside the two bales Shelley had pushed off on him. Shelley was afraid he might land on him or hit one of the bales if he jumped from the top of the ladder, so he was edging around to the other side.

  I’ve got to try to land on my feet, he told himself, and when I hit I’ve got to roll with it. If I break a leg I’m out of luck. They’ll shoot me just as sure as the world. The one with that thing in his ear; he’d blow my brains out for me just on general principles. I don’t like the looks of that one. I don’t like any of them’s looks. When they see this Negro I better be gone from here. I guess I’m too late to do anything else. I don’t know. If I could get to a phone it might not be too late. Now then. This is about right. It’s a long way down. Jesus! But that ground is soft and I’ll try to roll with it when I hit. Here goes.

  He swung his legs over the edge and in one motion shoved with his hands and arched his back. He dropped clear and clean, and hit the cushiony dirt with his knees flexed. It was a fifteen-foot drop, and it jarred him in every bone and joint. He had forgotten to close his mouth, and when he hit, his teeth snapped together so hard he thought he had broken them off. He pitched forward and slightly to the side so that his shoulder dug into the manure and dirt, and then his cheek and his ear scraped, and his ear felt like it had been ripped off. He lay there for a minute, numb and tingling, but he knew he was all right. He hadn’t broken anything, at least. The feeling came gradually back into his feet, and his ankles began to burn. They were lashed together tightly and when he struck the ground they had bruised against each other. But what bothered him most at the moment was his ear. It felt like it was gone, scraped clean off the side of his head, and he had a sudden, violent urge to raise his hand and feel it to see if it was still there. But he couldn’t reach it with his hands tied, so he arched his neck and shook his head and then rubbed the ear against the ground again. It was still there all right. It began to burn and tingle, so he forgot about it and began testing his teeth with his tongue to see if they were chipped.

  What really mattered, though, were the legs. As soon as the feeling returned to them he sat up and began the hitching-sitting movement, edging across the barn floor to where the man was lying. He lost his balance once and toppled over, but he struggled up into a sitting position again and kept going. His ear was ringing and his ankles burned, as if they were completely raw.

  I wonder if he’s dead, he thought, looking at the man. Jesus, I hope not, but I had to do it. For all I know, they’re in that bank right now and Helen’s in there too. No telling what could happen. I had to do it.

  Looking at the man he felt a little sick at his stomach. He was wearing green whipcord coveralls with Tate’s Florist stitched in longhand across the back, and under the coveralls he had on a clean white shirt and a black leather bow tie. The tie had come loose at one edge of the collar, and it was clinging to the other edge like a big butterfly. His cap, which had a white visor and matched his coveralls, was lying partly under one of the bales, squashed and twisted with just the bill and one edge of the crown sticking out. Shelley could not see the man’s face. He hitched himself around and looked. He had smooth caramel-colored skin and a very narrow mustache, hardly more than a black line, across his upper lip. His eyes were closed and his nose was bleeding, and there was a long clear string of saliva hanging from his mouth. He looked awful and Shelley felt weak and sick, looking at him.

  I’ve killed him, he thought. Just as sure as the world I’ve killed that man. But I had to do it. It was all I could do. No, wait a minute, he’s not dead. He’s sweating. Look at the sweat on him, that man’s not dead. Not yet, he’s not. He’s in bad shape though. I imagine his neck is broken. That was a hell of a load and it must have caught him square on the head. What about that shoulder? That shoulder is broken too. It’s bound to be. He couldn’t lie that way. One of them must have caught his shoulder. Well, I’m sorry, but what else could I do? I had no choice about it, and he asked for it, didn’t he? He would have done the same to me. He’s a crook isn’t he? He’s an outlaw. Well, it’s done anyway, whether I like it or not, and I’ve got to get busy now in a hurry. I haven’t got long. In fact, I’m probably too late already. Why the hell did this have to happen to me?

  He hitched himself around to the man’s right side again, turned his back and with his hands behind him felt over the man’s pockets for the knife. He knew there had to be a knife, because the man had used a knife to cut the ropes when they tied him up. The knife was there all right. It was in his pocket with half a dozen more shotgun shells. Shelley took hold of the edge of the pocket and ripped it open, feeling the shells spill out on the ground behind him. He groped around until his hand touched the knife, and then, perspiring and grunting, he set to work getting the blade open. It was ticklish work, because he couldn’t see what he was doing, and once he dropped the knife and had to feel around for it again. But finally he got his thumbnail under the blade and got it open, and then, holding it backward with the back of the blade up against the heel of his right hand, he began sawing at the ropes. He knew it would take a long time, because in that position he couldn’t exert any force against the blade. He just had to saw, lightly, and hope the blade was sharp enough to slice through under its own weight.

  He worked and sweated with his tongue in the corner of his mouth. Now and then the man would moan and his hands would twitch, but Shelley knew he had nothing to worry about from him.

  He’s in bad shape, Shelley thought. I imagine I’ve killed me a man today. But I had no choice about it. God Amighty, I wish I’d stayed at home today. I wish I’d never heard of a goddam TV set.

  Overhead the rain drummed steadily on the tin roof.

  It was a long time before the first ambulance arrived, and when it did, there was another one right behind it. Both Reeves and Emily had been rushed to the hospital in private cars, and since they were the only two wounded, there was no one for the ambulances to pick up. They wailed around the square in confusion, followed by so many cars that finally there was a bad traffic jam, and people were running everywhere in the rainy streets trying to find out what had happened. The town was full of excitement. Those who had arrived early on the scene knew what had happened, and a horde of them had followed the victims to the hospital. Now they were milling around on the hospital porch and in the yard, jabbering and calling to each other as they waited for word from the emergency room. More people hurried down the street toward the hospital – shop girls, barbers, grocery men, butchers, mechanics, men, women, children and dogs.

  Sid Rayburn and two men from the poolroom had brought Reeves to the hospital, and Sid’s car was parked in front of the hospital now with the rear door still hanging open. There was a cluster of people around it, looking in at the blood. One woman held a little boy up to the window so he could see too. Emily had been taken in at the side door, and no one knew exactly who it was that brought her, whether it was Boyd in his own car, or some other car. It was a terrible thing, they all agreed and several people wanted to know where the hell the Law was. Tom Ed Harris, the
circuit clerk, explained it for them.

  “A call came in to the sheriff’s office about fifteen minutes ago about a car wreck out on highway eleven. They said the police was needed and naturally they went. I don’t know if it was so, or if it was some scheme to get them out of town while this was happening. They’re not back yet.”

  “What about the town officers?” someone asked.

  “They both went with the sheriff.”

  “Ain’t that a hell of a note.”

  “Did anybody see which way the robbers went?”

  “They went out highway thirty-two, toward Birmingham,” someone said. “They were driving a green fifty-three Ford.”

  “Didn’t anybody follow them?”

  “Luke Sawyer’s boy did, but he turned back when they taken a shot at him. He had two girls in the car.”

  “Somebody ought to at least followed them.”

  “Listen. You follow them. I ain’t mad at life.”

  “How much did they get?” someone else asked.

  “Around a half a million was what I heard. They took it all.”

  Another man spoke up. “Aw, you’re out of your mind. There’s wasn’t no half a million dollars in that bank.”

  “I wonder if they got my money,” said a little man wearing overalls. “My money was in there.”

  “Don’t get excited, all the money’s insured. You start that kind of talk and you’ll cause a run on the bank.”

  “I still say somebody ought to made a try at following them.”

  Everyone was talking at once.

  “Boy, won’t old Hobbs’ face be red about this? Him out of town when the bank is robbed.”

  “Something worse than his face will be red. Elections come up in September, don’t forget.”

  “Brother!”

  “We ought to kick him out of office right now,” said a bald-headed man. “Those fellows made a clean getaway. He better start checking up on these calls that come in about a wreck on the highway.”

  “Well, boys, let’s not be hasty in our judgment,” Tom Ed Harris said. “Give a man a chance. He’s doing an honest job.”

  “Honest, hell.”

  “What I can’t see is why somebody didn’t follow them to see which way they went.”

  “I told you they went down thirty-two.”

  Several more joined the group.

  “Was Reeves dead when they brought him in?”

  “We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “How about the Fairchild girl?”

  “That’s something else we don’t know. She was sitting up in the car when they brought her in though.”

  “No, she wasn’t exactly sitting up, Joe. Her husband was bolding her up. That was her husband that carried her in.”

  “Whose car was it?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “I believe that fellow Reeves is dead, myself. Did you see him?”

  “We had us a good sheriff once. Dan Birdsong. We ought to kept him.”

  “Hobbs is all right. He does the best he can.”

  “Trouble is, his best ain’t near good enough. Why don’t he check on those calls before he runs off up the road and leaves the town unprotected.”

  “Jesus Christ man, he can’t check all the calls that come in that office.”

  “Dan Birdsong is a nitwit.”

  “How many times did they shoot old Reeves?”

  “Nobody seems to know, but I saw three holes in the door.”

  “All those didn’t hit him though. I heard somebody say two bullets hit a car out front.”

  “That don’t mean anything. A bullet can go right on through a man and still hit a car.”

  “All I know is he was shot enough to bleed like a stuck hog.”

  “Whose car did they hit?”

  “The bullets? Old man George Hall’s, I think it was. Anyhow it was a black Buick.”

  “What year?”

  “Christ man, I never paid any attention to what year.”

  “How come them to start shooting in the first place? Was Reeves trying to run or something?”

  “No, the way we heard it, he was trying to get in.”

  “That’s funny. What on earth for?”

  “Search me, buddy. I wasn’t in there.”

  “And glad you wasn’t, I guess.”

  “Who all else was in there?”

  “Miss Cotter was in there. I think she and the Fairchild girl was the only ones, outside of the regular employees. She didn’t get hurt though.”

  “Bill Cheek’s wife musta been in there. She works at the bank.”

  “Yeah, and Jake Pratt too. I’m kin to Jake.”

  “I understand they locked them all in the vault when they left.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Who got them out?”

  “Tom Huff. They talked to him on the phone and told him how to get it open. There’s a phone in the vault, did you know that?”

  “Wasn’t there no alarm or nothing they could ring when they seen it was a holdup?”

  “I reckon not.”

  “You know, in some banks they have a button on the floor that all they have to do is step on.”

  “If somebody had followed them, we’d have had more a chance to catch them.”

  “I guess you’d of followed, and them shooting out the back window at you.”

  “I’d of done something.”

  “It’s a pity you wasn’t there then.”

  “What I don’t understand is why they shot the girl.”

  “It beats the devil, don’t it – something like this happening here?”

  “I bet the Birmingham papers will eat it up.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to get in out of this rain, or I’ll be dead myself by morning.”

  “Have they found out anything yet? Is Reeves dead?”

  “We don’t know nothing, mister. Your guess is as good as ours.”

  “Any you guys seen Shelley Martin?”

  “Not me. Why?”

  “His wife’s trying to locate him.”

  “I heard some woman say they was going to operate on the girl. She can’t be moved till they do.”

  “Lord, look at the mob down here, would you? Looks like the Fourth a July picnic.”

  “Yeah, rain and all.”

  “It looks to me like those people would have smothered.”

  “What people?”

  “In the bank. The ones they put in the safe.”

  “They never put them in the safe, you dope. They put them in the vault. They’s a big difference.”

  “It’s a good thing they had that phone in there. With Reeves dead, they might never have got out.”

  “Nobody said Reeves was dead.”

  “There’s how your rumors get started.”

  “How much did they get?”

  “I heard it was a half a million.”

  “Boy, you like that figure, don’t you? I told you while ago there ain’t no half million in a bank that size.”

  “Listen, they ain’t nothing in there now. From what I heard they took it all. I mean, cleaned it.”

  “You can hear anything.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Somebody said down thirty-two.”

  “I’m the one said it. I saw them pull out.”

  “Why didn’t you follow them?”

  “Why don’t a frog suck eggs?”

  “I heard three people was killed.”

  “Well, you heard wrong.”

  “That woman over there ought to get her baby in out of this rain.”

  “Every doctor in town’s in there operating, they say.”

  “Two or three must be cutting on the same one, then.”

  “Somebody said Harry Reeves just died.”

  “Somebody’s crazy as hell. I helped carry him in. Here. See this blood on my shirt?”

  “Is Harry Reeves dead?”

  “No, Harry
Reeves is not dead. See this? I helped carry him in. Who starts these rumors?”

  “It came from the porch.”

  “How much did they get?”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Why did they shoot the girl?”

  “Wait a minute,” said the man in overalls. “Is that the sheriff coming?”

  “Where?”

  “I thought I heard a sireen.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “What the hell happened in there anyway?”

  “It’s hard to remember exactly what did happen,” Ted Proctor said. “What I mean, it happened so fast and all. You know how it is in a case like that. You get stunned.”

  He was sitting in the recorder’s office at the city hall, surrounded by half a dozen town councilmen who had assembled there to start an immediate inquiry. Morris Walker, council chairman, had promised an “immediate inquiry” from the courthouse steps, almost before the echo of the guns had died away, and now they were hearing what Ted Proctor had to say about it. The sheriff still hadn’t arrived, and four cars had been dispatched by four different councilmen to find him.

  “It was five minutes till three when they came in,” Ted said. “I remember because I had gone back to the vault for something and when I came out I looked up at the clock to see if it was time to close the safe yet. Mr. Reeves usually does that, but he was gone out to the drugstore, and whenever he’s out, that job more or less falls to me. Well, just as I was walking back to my window, I saw these three men come in, and one of them turned around and threw the lock on the door and pulled down the blind. For a minute I couldn’t hardly believe my eyes. I knew it was a robbery though. Even before they drew their guns I knew it had to be a robbery, just by that fellow drawing down the blind.

  “Well, so then it happened. It seemed like everybody in the bank saw what was happening at once – all but Miss Elsie Cotter. She had come in to make a deposit, and she was standing at Edith Cheek’s window. All at once it was quiet and everybody just froze where they stood except Miss Cotter. She had her back to the door and she didn’t know what was happening. She kept right on talking and it sounded loud as the devil with everybody else standing there frozen in their tracks. I don’t know why I remember that, but I can still hear her voice talking away and the rest of the bank quiet as death.”