“My boy?”
“Your nigger. Joshua, ain’t that his name? Don’t usually see you go out without him.”
Paul bit his lip. “He isn’t feeling well today.”
“Don’t want to go out in the heat, probably. Either that or he’s got a stomachache from raidin’ somebody’s watermelon patch.”
“What can I do for you this morning, Chief?”
Chief Ryles settled back and rocked comfortably. “Love these rocking chairs,” he said. “Ain’t a front porch without one. Tell the truth, Paul, I ain’t sure you can do anything for me. But I thought, Paul Devlin. Now, if any white man in Macon has an ear in Niggertown, it’s him.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Well, see, we’ve been getting some pretty disturbing reports over the telegraph lately. Took a while to get to us, but they’re spreadin’ on down the line.”
“What sort of reports?”
“Been havin’ a lot of trouble with the niggers lately in Mississippi and Alabama. Just one incident wouldn’t have made it over here but damned if these things don’t seem to have a pattern.”
“Mississippi and Alabama are pretty far away, Chief.”
“Yeah, they are. They are at that. And it don’t seem widespread, these things happening a good distance apart, but damned if they ain’t unusual. Seems like whole damn towns been going up in flames. That’s after most of the white folks already been butchered. And I mean butchered. Like cows.”
The low wave of apprehension in Paul’s stomach moved up into his chest.
“Where?”
“Well, first one was just this little farm community over in Mississippi. Name of Tonka Creek. It was bad. I mean, it was damn bad. So the neighboring town sort of sent out an alert for folks to be on the lookout for trouble. And the same thing happened over in Alabama ‘bout seven months later. Little place called Seven Cedars. And then again in another little spot. Tarper, Alabama down on the gulf coast. And see here, the thing is, these places are too far apart for it to be just a general wave of nigger trouble. More like maybe there’s some troublemaker moving around. See what I mean?”
Paul saw, all right.
“Macon’s a long way from Alabama, Chief.”
“It is,” the Chief agreed. “It is at that. But see here, the thing is, I’ve had the damndest reports lately. And not just me, either, Hank Eason’s ‘bout to pull his hair out.”
Hank Eason was the Sheriff of Bibb County, the law enforcement official charged with overseeing the peace of the sprawling mid-Georgia county.
“How so?”
“Livestock’s been disappearing. At first, it was just one or two incidents, but lately? Hank, his farmers ‘bout to drive him crazy. Somebody’s been raiding their herds.”
“Always been cattle thieves,” Paul observed.
“That’s so. But usually, folks that steal stock want it ‘cause they’re hungry, like vagrants on the move and all, or they want it to resell. And to do that, they got to herd ‘em out of the area. And to herd cattle, they got to be big enough to walk a good distance. These boys, they’re losing all their new calves. Now don’t that beat all?”
“Well, it’s odd. But I don’t see what that’s got to do with these other things,” lied Paul, who saw the connection very clearly.
“Thing is, Paul, there was one or two survivors from Seven Cedars. Folks out of town that night, visitin’ relations. And there were three from Tarper. Tarper was the biggest. Now, damned if those folks don’t say pretty much the same thing happened over there. And they also say the local niggers, they changed a good bit in the month or so before the big blood baths. Seems like they started, well, disappearing at night. Nobody knows ‘xactly where to. And they also say—hindsight being the best sight, like my Granny used to say—they also say seems like they recollect a new nigger being in town. Big man, real big. Who seemed to have just a deal of influence with the locals.”
Paul felt a sudden uplift of his spirits. Cain wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, not as careful. Maybe he could just dump this in Bobby Ryles’ lap and the whole thing could be over and done with.
“What sort of influence, Chief?”
“Let’s put it this way. There’s been a considerable amount of hanging over Mississippi and Alabama way. Guess you can imagine. But not one of them niggers, not one, even about to have his neck stretched, will breathe a word about that man. ‘Cept one of ‘em. And all he said was, he’d rather face the white man’s god than the dark ones. Fancy that.”
Paul fancied that with no trouble.
“So’s the way we tend to figure it, this upstart nigger’s pulling out some of that jungle horseshit, you know, the spells and the mojos and such. Fits right in with the missing livestock. Sacrifices and all. You can take the nigger out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the nigger. Hell, can’t tell me you ain’t got niggers go straight from your office to the damn root doctor, Paul. I swear, sometimes I don’t know why you bother.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Paul. He regretted the sarcasm immediately, but it was lost on Chief Ryles.
“Anyway, since we been having such a sudden incidence of missing stock, Hank and I just thought we might oughta do some checking. And you know what? I’ve had a couple of hysterical mamas the past couple of weeks. Seems like their boys all of a sudden ain’t coming home when they’re supposed to. And just in talking with folks here and there, seems like a lot of folks been noticing a change in the niggers. ‘Course, at first, they just shrugged it off but putting all this together—”
“Yes, Chief, puttin’ it all together, why are you talkin’ to me?”
“’Cause, Paul, like I said. Any white man in town knows the heartbeat of Niggertown, it’s you. And the way I figure it, if this troublemaker has ended up here—and really, I think all of this is probably just coincidence, after all, Macon? Surely ain’t no rogue crazy enough to take on this big a town, but just say he has. Then I’d guess he’s holding meetings somewhere. Not in town, ‘course, out in the woods someplace. Anybody wants to make blood sacrifices and God knows what all else, town ain’t the place to do it. And if I could find out where—if, mind you, there’s anything to find—well, I could just nip this thing right in the bud. And if you got wind of any such goings on, then you could let me know. Know you ain’t heard nothing yet, you’da told me.”
Paul whipped several scenarios through his brain at the speed of light. If he told Chief Ryles where to find the circle by the river, there’d be a big crowd. And people might get hurt. But if he gave the Chief Cain’s identity and location, that might work.
“Suppose I do some digging, Chief. And I get wind of some stranger in town might fit in with all this. If I can find out where he is for you, you could bring him right down to the station, couldn’t you? No need to put a crowd of folks in trouble.”
“Wellll,” the Chief drawled. “I could, I ‘spose. But I don’t really think that’d do much good. What I’d like to do is follow this joree out to one of those meetings and catch him in the act. Wouldn’t have no evidence otherwise.”
“You really care about evidence, do you, Bobby"?”
“Well, no, but got to observe the protocol, don’t you know?”
“But if it’s out in the country, that’s not your—”
“Oh, Hank and me, we don’t pay much mind to that jurisdictional horseshit. We figure all the folks our responsibility. He’ll be right there with me.”
“Oh. I see. But Chief, any man that’s capable of something like you’ve described, suppose he—what’s the phrase? Resists arrest?”
Chief Ryles smiled. Like a predator. Like a lean and hungry gray wolf.
“Now wouldn’t that be just my luck?”
“But if he has a following, people he’s using because they’re scared of him, they could get hurt, too.”
“With any luck, Paul, they’ll rush right to his defense. And we can take care of the whole lot of ‘em
at one time. Save everybody a lot of time and trouble, don’t you think?”
“Or even if they don’t. Come rushin’ to his defense. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Damn, Paul, I misjudged you. Didn’t think you had it in you. Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“I see,” said Paul.
“So if you should hear of any strange doins’ on the grapevine, you just trot on in and we’ll get this wrapped right up.”
“I’ll be sure you hear about anything you need to know, Chief.”
Because what the Chief needed to know and what he wanted to know were two entirely different matters. And what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be hearing from Paul Devlin.
The Chief rose and strolled leisurely back to his horse. Paul headed back out to attend his house-bound patients. At least one thing Paul intended to do that afternoon was out of the way. And at least one thing was crystal clear. Going to the law wasn’t an option. Paul was on his own.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Paul made Reverend Isaiah Gorley the last call of his rounds. Nona Gorley pulled Paul inside the trim little house that stood near St. Barnabas on Congress Street.
“We jest finishin’ up dinner, Mist’ Paul, you stopped to eat yet? No, you ain’t,” she said, answering her own question as she directed him to the table. “But you in de right place, I been puttin’ up vegetables. Din’ bother to fix no meat but I’s got plenty of butterbeans and corn. Look at dis okree, ain’t seen none better in I doan know when. And de ‘maters dis year! Red as fire engines.”
Paul’s stomach rumbled at the aromas wafting from the back of the house. He took the plate piled high with the bountiful plenty of the Southern summer and sighed in contentment.
“Isaiah, don’t know how you keep from being big as a barn, way Nona cooks.”
“Dat’s a blessin’ from de Lord, Mist’ Paul, and dat’s de truth. None of my folks run to fat.”
Reverend Gorley leaned back in his chair and sipped from his tea glass, watching Paul eat.
“Ain’t dat I ain’t glad to see you, Mist’ Paul, doan take no ‘ffense, but why you ‘cide to stop in?”
“Oh, I just thought it couldn’t hurt to take another look at your eyes, Isaiah. You know me, can’t leave nothing alone.”
“You worry too much. Jest saw me yestid’y and I doan think my eyes goan show much more today den dey did den. Dat’s a little mo’ caution den even you usually show. Doan you think?” Reverend Gorley raised his eyebrow with the question.
Paul laughed. “Alright, alright, you caught me. I do want to keep an eye on you, Isaiah, but that ain’t why I’m here now. I got somethin’ I need to talk to you about.”
“Well, we both here. Talk.”
Paul finished off the last of his buttered cornbread stick and pushed his plate back.
“Nona, that was wonderful.”
“You best say so,” she declared, picking up the plate.
“Isaiah, Sadie tells me a new man came into St. Barnabas end of the winter. Says his name is Cain.”
Reverend Gorley’s mouth tightened. “Dat’s so,” he said.
“What do you know about him?”
“Know we doan need him in our church!” declared Nona Gorley in a firm voice.
“Nona, now dat’s not a Christian thing to say. Church belong to everybody.”
“Doan you try and fool me, Isaiah Gorley! Lived wid you for thirty years, birthed and raised yo’ five chillun! You can’t stand de man!”
“Ain’t required to like everybody, woman, but it be our Christian duty to love ‘em anyway. Can’t turn nobody out of my church and still call myself a man of God.”
“Ummmp!” snorted Nona. She turned on her heel and departed to her kitchen, muttering under her breath about the stupidity of men in general and her man in particular.
“Nona doan like him,” said Isaiah with a grin.
“Neither does Sadie,” said Paul. “Do you?”
Reverend Gorley frowned. “No. I doan. Dat’s de pure-de-truth and I can’t ‘xactly say why. I hopes it’s not ‘cause I be jealous. See, de young folks, dey always comes to me wid dere problems. I been real proud of dat over the years, real proud. An’ dere’s always been fo’ or five young ones hangin’ ‘roun de house any given time, even after ours growed up and gone. But de past few months, dey seem to be hangin’ ‘roun dis Cain fellow an’ it got my nose out of joint. But dat’s a failin’ in me, hurts my pride which we ain’t ‘sposed to have an excess of anyway, you know, ain’t his fault.”
Paul leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Isaiah, I have to tell you about this man. His faults you can’t even imagine.”
Some time later when Paul finished, Isaiah sat quietly.
“Isaiah?”
“He usin’ my chilluns.”
“Yes.”
“Joshua goan be alright?”
“I think so. I hope so.”
“Lord, my God, the trials he sends his people! Now, I gots to tell you, I doan hold wid all dat soothsaying and such, but I do know dere’s folk what do. An’ de Bible, it do speak of demons though in my ‘sperience, mos’ demons, dey mo’ rightly got another name, an’ dat name, it be an evil man. An’ no matter whut, we got us an evil man now, sho’ ‘nuff. Whut you want me to do, Mist’ Paul?”
“Do you know where this man stays, Isaiah?”
“Doan’ know nuttin’ ‘bout him. Seem like he take care I doan. So whut’s we goan do?”
Paul still didn’t know. Not exactly. He felt himself edging towards an irrevocable decision he still wasn’t ready to make. Not quite. Not just yet.
“Isaiah, Sadie saw ‘em. And I think I have to. Maybe his power isn’t quite as absolute as we think. Maybe if I can watch, I can figure something out.”
“I’m goin’ wid you den.”
“I don’t know if you should, Isaiah. I know you don’t hold with soothsaying and all that, but those headaches, the smells you say you smell? I smelled something like that in Tamara’s cottage. If Cain has some means of causing your headaches, it might mean—”
“He have some sort of control over me?”
Paul nodded.
“Might be. But whut we knows for sho’ is, he got control over my peoples. I’m goin’ wid you.”
Paul looked at Isaiah. A man of simple dignity, simple goodness.
“Alright. Come to my house. We’ll leave from there. Right at dark fall.”
* * *
“Doan like dis,” muttered Sadie while they all waited for Isaiah in the front parlor. She’d made that abundantly clear throughout the afternoon.
“Sadie, I don’t know what else to do!” exclaimed Paul, edging close to exasperation.
“You could tell de Chief.”
“No, I can’t. He’d massacre them, Sadie. Everybody. Everybody there.”
“But neither one of my boys would be dere!”
“Sadie, you don’t mean that!”
“I do mean dat! I do! By what right, what justice, do dis land in yo’ lap?”
“Tamara said—”
“Doan give a damn what Tamara say! You my boy! Ain’t I done spent nights sittin’ by yo’ bed when you little, when you runnin’ fevers? Ain’t I kept yo’ clothes clean and yo’ stomach full ever since you tiny? Ain’t I miss you dose years you gone up North and in Scotland, readin’ yo’ letters to yo’ daddy over and over, prayin’ every night you stay safe? Ain’t I grieved and cried for you de days and nights after I watch you bury Chloe? Well? Ain’t I?” Then Sadie did the unthinkable. She dissolved into tears.
Paul pulled her into his arms and stood, holding her for a moment. In a two-day span, he’d seen his brother reduced to mindless terror, watched his father’s irrevocable change to an old man. Now he watched the woman who’d raised him as her own lose control. He’d never imagined he’d see that. Not ever. Oh, yes. This son of a bitch was going down.
A knock sounded on the door.
“That’ll be Isaiah.”
“Doan go, son. Please doan go.”
“You went, and you came back home.”
“Tonight’s different. I feel it. Please doan go.”
Paul kissed her forehead. He looked over at his brother. “Joshua!”
“Yes, Paul?”
“You’re in charge here. You take care of Mama and Papa. You hear?”
Paul walked out the door.
* * *
Sadie’s ground work gave Paul a huge advantage tonight. They knew where they were going. They waited for full dark and rode their horses swiftly toward the river. Teethering the horses, they moved soundlessly into the woods toward the river banks.
Paul’s hand slipped down to check the side holster cradling the Colt .45 that usually resided in a locked drawer in his office desk. Paul only took it with him during late night emergencies to the outskirts of the city. Even then, he sometimes forgot it. This was his town, these were his people. It seldom crossed his mind he could meet with danger.
Tonight, though, danger hung heavy in the air. No longer abstract, it had shape and form. Paul had spent the hours between his return home and Isaiah’s arrival in his office chair, deep in thought, examining the situation first from one angle and then from the other. And he knew what he had to do.
Cain was an abnormality. A rogue, a murderer, a butcher. He’d killed and burned with great pleasure in the past. He planned to do the same here. Then he’d move on and do it again. Again. And again. Until someone stopped him. There was one man on earth with sufficient knowledge and information to do that without unleasing a full-scale massacre. Paul Devlin. And there was only one way to do it.
He intended to place a .45 bullet squarely through Cain’s brain, coldly, with good aim and absolute calculation. No warning. He’d have only one chance. He hadn’t shared his intentions with Isaiah Gorley, man of God. It was his alone, this decision to serve as executor, and the burden of it sat heavy on his heart.
They crept closer. Paul’s blood froze as he heard the voices, reverberating back and forth in the trees. These were the people, the friends, he took care of? The people who always greeted him with warm smiles and genuine pleasure?
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