Long Holler Road - A Dark Southern Thriller

by Malone, David Lee

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was an awful hot day and Sheriff White had decided early on that he was not going to be guilty of doing too much physical activity. He never had been one to overly exert himself anyway, but today he was going to be extra careful. A man could have a heat stroke as hot as it was today.

  He had gotten an anonymous tip that either Hugh Williams or Jack Bynum might be operating a still. Their land joined at Big Wills Creek, so whoever the source of the tip was, didn’t know which man was guilty. The sheriff doubted seriously if either of them were. Hugh had to work from sunup to sundown to cut enough pulpwood to keep his family fed and his belly full of liquor. He didn’t have time to run a still, and even if he did, he would drink up all the profit. Jack Bynum was known to take a little nip every now and then, but had always been a church going, law abiding citizen.

  Sheriff White figured it was just some old biddy that didn’t like any man who took a drink, or had any fun at all, for that matter. They probably told another old biddy, and then it spread like all rumors do in small towns and communities. Like a fire in a dry brush pile. But he didn’t want to be accused of shirking his duties by those who kept electing him. It was just going to have to wait until late in the evening after it had cooled off.

  “Man, I hate not bein’ home for supper,” he said to himself, but loud enough that his secretary heard him.

  “What was that, sheriff?” she asked.

  “Oh, nuthin’ Kate. I was just thinkin’ out loud. I gotta go check out a rumor I heard about a still today and I didn’t wanna go ‘til it cooled off. I just hate missin’ supper with my wife and kids. I had to work late last night. Those kids are gonna be gone before I know it. Time goes by in a hurry.”

  “Well sheriff, you have twelve full time deputies and four part timers. Why don’t you learn to delegate more. You don’t always have to be in the middle of everything, you know.”

  The sheriff let what Kate said sink in for a minute. “By golly you’re right, Kate. That’s what them boys get paid for. I’ll just send a couple of ’em down there in a little while. I don’t figure there’s anything to it anyhow.”

  Ben Goodman and Wally Yates were the two deputies that were not out serving papers or on a call, so the sheriff had the dispatcher get them on the radio. Both of them knew Hugh Williams and where he lived. Old Hugh pretty much stayed to himself and around home when he was drinking, but occasionally got adventurous and would take off in his old log truck. They had both pulled him over a couple of times and taken him home. They never put him in jail because they felt sorry for his wife and boys. He had never hurt anyone and his old log truck wouldn’t go fast enough to pose much of a danger to other cars. Hugh barely crept along when he was sober and drove even slower when he was full of liquor.

  The two deputies turned their car down the dirt road beside Hugh’s house. There were a few other people who lived on the road and the squad cars had been down the road several times, so the men didn’t think anyone would think anything of it. They pulled their car into a little side road that led into one of the neighbor’s pastures and got out. There wasn’t a house in sight where they had parked and hoped no one would notice. They were wrong. As soon as they had gotten out of the car and were about to cross the pasture fence, two pick-up trucks pulled up. Both were farmers who lived nearby and one had his wife with him.

  “What seems to be the trouble, boys?” J.F. Baxter asked in an excited tone.

  Yates answered, “Nuthin’ to worry about. We’re just stoppin’ to stretch our legs a little.” The two deputies could tell J.F. wasn’t buying it, though. Mack Simpson, the other farmer, got out of his truck and walked over to where J.F. was sitting in his truck, his wife at his heels.

  “Reckon what’s a-goin’ on, J.F?” Mack asked.

  “They said it wasn’t nuthin’. Said they was stretchin’ their legs. Sure picked a fine place to do that.”

  Deputy Goodman wanted to be nice, but he didn’t want the whole neighborhood knowing what they were doing, either. “You men need to move along now. We are here on business for the sheriff.”

  “Thought you was just stretchin’ your legs,” Mack retorted, spitting a stream of snuff on the ground.

  “We are,” Goodman said. “We’re gonna walk across this pasture here and give them a good stretchin’. We don’t need any help doin’ it either, so just go on about your business.”

  Mack walked back to his truck, his wife following him like a little puppy. J.F. told the deputies if they needed any help to just blow their horn or shoot their pistols in the air and he and Mack would be there in a minute. Goodman told him he would do just that. That seemed to satisfy him and Mack and they drove away slowly, looking back the whole time.

  The deputies crossed the pasture and entered onto the back corner of Hugh William’s forty acres. Hugh’s pasture was all grown up from years of neglect. The only exception was the few places his two milk cows had grazed it down. There were also a few of Hugh’s hogs that had rooted out from under their pen running around. Yates kept a close eye on the old sows. They were known to bite once in a while. They finally made their way down to where Hugh’s pasture joined Jack Bynum’s property, Big Wills Creek being the dividing line. From there they walked along the creek bank to where an old road ran from Hugh’s house down to the creek. If there was a still it would most likely be near the creek, close to the water source.

  They decided to walk up the road a ways before exploring the creek to see if there were any fresh tire tracks. When they had gone maybe fifty yards, Yates spotted two barrels that looked out of place. The lids were sealed tight and someone had used a lot of tape doing it.

  “Do you think there’s ‘shine in them barrels?” Yates asked Goodman.

  “Ain’t but one way to find out,” he answered, pulling out his pocket knife.

  “We need a warrant, don’t we?”

  “Do you wanna walk all the way back to the car, as hot as it is, drive to the courthouse to get a warrant, and have to walk all the way back out here?”

  “I guess not. But what if it’s not ‘shine and we ruin somethin’ that belongs to Hugh?”

  “We’ll just tell him the county will reimburse him for it. You worry too much.”

  Goodman took his knife and started cutting the tape away. It proved to be an arduous task. The tape was the thickest stuff he’d ever seen and there were several layers of it.

  “Hell fire. It’s gonna take me a half a day to get all this shit cut loose,” Goodman exclaimed, wiping sweat from his forehead and eyes with his shirt sleeve. “I wish I had a bigger knife.”

  The two men took turns sawing away at the thick layer of tape until finally they got enough cut loose that they could start tearing it with their hands. When they finally had gotten down to the lid, they saw that the metal band around the top was bolted on.

  “Shit. We ain’t got a wrench or nothin’,” Goodman said. “Run up to old Hugh’s house and see if you can find one layin’ around.”

  “What if they see me?”

  “Ain’t nobody home but his wife and she don’t get around good. Got rheumatism or somethin’. Just look around where he works on those old cars.”

  Yates slowly and reluctantly started toward the house, then decided he’d better pick up his pace. He didn’t want to be caught out there if Hugh came home early. Even if he was a lawman, he didn’t have any right to go pilfering through someone else’s stuff without a warrant. He finally made it up to Hugh’s yard and the old cars and after looking all around them, saw nothing but some old beer cans and other trash. Then he bent over and looked under one of them. He spotted an old rusty, adjustable wrench that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. But luck was on his side. He had spotted an oil can sitting on the edge of the front porch. If he could only be fortunate enough for there to be a little oil left in it. He walked quietly up to the porch, trying to stay low and out of sight of anyone that might be looking out the windows. Just as he reach
ed the porch, he heard growling coming from somewhere underneath. He grabbed the can and took off like an Olympic sprinter, the dog chasing him and barking like he was going to eat him alive. He was afraid to look back at the beast. Then he remembered he carried a gun. He kept running, at the same time fumbling with the holster, trying to get his .38 caliber pistol free. When it finally was free of the holster he turned quickly, hoping he could get a shot off before the dog jumped him. When he saw the ancient canine, he almost laughed out loud. He would have if he hadn’t been so terrified. The old dog stopped as soon as he turned around and started wagging his tail. That old dog couldn’t bite a pork chop, Yates thought to himself.

  Goodman was waiting impatiently when Yates walked up with the old wrench, dripping with oil.

  “What took you so long?”

  “Kiss my narrow ass. I was almost ate up by a dog. Next time you can go.”

  Goodman went to work loosening the bolt. It was tight and the threads were covered in corrosion. Yates poured what was left of the oil on the threads and the nut started to get a little easier to turn. Finally, after a lot of sweating and cursing, Goodman got it off. The lid was still sealed tight, however, and they both looked around for something to pry with. Yates found a rock and started tapping the side of the lid to loosen it as Goodman used the handle of the wrench to pry.

  Finally, after using a long pointed stick they had found, they managed to break the lid free. It made a loud sucking sound like opening a huge soda pop bottle. Immediately, the two men stepped back as the odor almost knocked them to their knees. It was the worst thing either of them had ever smelled, including a decomposing body. The smell of decomposition was part of the odor, but mixed with an overwhelming, chemical smell. Yates bent over and heaved, losing the lunch he’d eaten a couple of hours before.

  After they had adjusted somewhat to the shock and horrific odor, they pulled there shirts off and tied their undershirts over their noses. Goodman walked slowly up to the barrel, took his foot, let out a grunt and pushed it over. The sight of what came gushing out, caused Yates to puke again. Goodman joined him this time. The bones were evident. They were bleached white, but mostly still intact. The rest of the contents looked like a combination of dissolved internal organs, blood, and other unidentifiable liquids, which is exactly what it was.

  “I guess that’s some kind of acid that dissolved those bodies,” Goodman told Yates when they were finally able to speak again. “I’m not about to open the other one.”

  Yates looked at Goodman. All the color had drained from his face. If Yates could have seen himself, he would have seen that he was as white as a ghost, too.

  “We better radio the sheriff,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was in the back yard, almost finished with the mowing, when I saw Daddy come driving up the hill to our house like a bat out of hell. He and Paul, one of our hired hands, had just finished the evening milking at our dairy farm. We lived about three miles from the farm at momma’s insistence. She didn’t want to have to walk outside every day and smell cow manure and have to contend with the flies.

  My daddy was about as laid back as any man you ever saw and I figured it must have been something earth shattering for him to drive up like he did and start for the house in a trot. He wasn’t much of a trotter, unless he was chasing an old ornery cow. I shut off the mower and ran inside to see what had happened.

  When I opened the back door, Daddy was about as animated as he ever gets. He was telling momma something and was using hand gestures, something else he didn’t do much unless he was really excited.

  “They were all over the place, Rachel,” he was saying, “sheriffs cars, state troopers, and city police from Collinwood and Fort Kane.” Fort Kane was the county seat and the biggest town in Putnam County.

  “What happened, Daddy?” I asked, beginning to get excited about the prospects of some major crime in our community.

  “It looks like they found two bodies on Hugh Williams place,” he said, never taking his eyes off momma.

  “You mean dead bodies, Daddy?” I asked, my pulse starting to race.

  “What kind of bodies do you think I mean, George?” Me and Daddy were both named George, but I had the honor and distinction of putting Jr. at the end.

  “Did you see them?”

  “No, I didn’t see them. They were decomposed. It seems they had been dissolved in some sort of acid. They found them in fifty-five gallon drums.”

  “Hush that talk, George,” Momma said. “He don’t need to be hearin’ about that sort of thing.”

  “He’s almost fifteen, Rachel. You can’t keep him under your coattail forever, one of these days…..”

  I immediately stopped listening to what Daddy was saying when I heard about the drums. The first thing that ran through my mind was what me and Glenn had seen last Saturday afternoon. The two men loading the barrels in the back of that truck. Could this be the same drums we had seen? I started getting that feeling of what they call “butterflies in your stomach.”

  “Well, Junior. Do you want to ride with me or not?”

  “Ah, yeah…. I mean, sure I do. Can we take Glenn with us?”

  “Call him now and tell him to be ready,” Daddy said. “Him and Roscoe may already be there. About half the people in Long Hollow are.”

  I ran to the phone and dialed Glenn’s number. It rang several times before Priscilla, Glenn’s older sister, picked up.

  “Hey Prissy, is Glenn there?”

  “No, he’s not here, George. Him and Daddy went over to the William’s place. Have you heard what happened?”

  “Yeah, I heard. That’s what I was calling about. Me and Daddy are headed over there now. I gotta go, bye.”

  I slammed the phone down and me and Daddy ran out and jumped in the truck. I thought he was gonna kill us before we got to the William’s place two miles away. Daddy hadn’t exaggerated one bit about the number of cop cars. There were lights flashing everywhere. It reminded me of Pickle Logan’s house in Fort Kane at Christmas time. He went all out decorating and strung lights all over creation. His light bill must have been out of sight in the month of December.

  They weren’t allowing anybody to get close to where the bodies were and there were now people from all over the county. I climbed up on top of our truck while Daddy started talking to some of the other men that were standing around, smoking cigarettes and chewing tobacco. I was trying to see if I could locate Glenn, but it was difficult with all the people that were there. It looked like a crowd you would see at the county fair or a high school football game. After a few minutes I spotted Glenn standing with Roscoe and some other men. I jumped off the truck and pushed through the crowd until I found him.

  I pulled him off to the side, out of hearing distance from Roscoe and the other men.

  “Have you heard the bodies they found were in a barrel?” I asked him.

  “I sure did. Are you thinking what I am?”

  “That was the first thing I thought of when Daddy told me about it. Course that don’t really mean anything. One may not have anything to do with the other.”

  “I bet you it does. That’s the reason those men had those barrels hid. There was dead people in ’em.”

  I should have known Glenn would think the barrels we saw were the ones that had been found on the William’s property. That was right down his alley. Ghosts and goblins and conspiracies were what he thrived on. I knew better than to try and reason with him on something as big as this.

  “I wished we could see those barrels to see if they look the same.” I said. “If they do we need to tell the sheriff about it.”

  “Are you crazy?” Glenn hissed, looking at me like I was an idiot, “They might think we had something to do with it. We can’t say a word to nobody.”

  “We have to, Glenn. Those men might be killers. We can’t let them just get away with it. The cops might try to pin it on old Hugh, since they found them on his place.”

  �
�What if Hugh had somethin’ to do with it?” Glenn was really getting into high gear now. “The men in those barrels might have double crossed Hugh and those men we saw loadin’ the barrels.”

  “Hugh wouldn’t kill nobody, you fool. He don’t even get mean when he’s drunk.”

  “Anybody can kill if you push ‘em far enough. It might be somebody Hugh owed money to he couldn’t pay and they were threatnin’ him or somethin’.”

  “Well, what would those men we saw loadin’ the barrels have to do with it, if Hugh was the one that owed them money. That don’t make sense.”

  “Hugh might have hired them.”

  “Hugh couldn’t afford to hire nobody to do nuthin’. He’s so poor if it cost a quarter to go around the world, he couldn’t get out of sight.”

  The crowd finally started thinning down and the coroner had taken the bodies, or rather the bones, which was all that was left. They would be sent to the state capitol in Montgomery to see if they could be identified by dental records.

  Around eleven o’clock, Sheriff White and some investigators from the state finally made their way up to Hugh’s house to ask him some questions. Hugh had been down at the crime scene all night. So had Snake and Frank, who were excited about all the attention they were getting. This was like a big party to them.

  The sheriff had sent one of the deputies to a café in Collinwood to get enough coffee for everybody. They all got a cup and gave one to Hugh and the rest of his family. Then they took Hugh in a room by himself and asked the rest of the family to wait outside. The sheriff, not believing in the least that Hugh had anything to do with any of this, started the questioning:

  “Alright, Hugh. Did you have any idea these drums were on your property?”

  “Hell no. I ain’t even been down there in that part of the pasture in a week or more. I keep my old milk cows on the other side.”