Dead South (Mattie O'Malley FBI agent)

by Daniel Adams

  “No, she’s unconscious.”

  Rafe had lucked out again, the Sheriff thought. If she had told Mattie who beat her, Mattie would have called the Bureau for back up and the town would have been flooded with agents.

  “Who found her?”

  “I did—on the road south of Doctor Flint’s place.”

  “Did Doc Flint tell you about her?”

  “Said she was a whore who ran the local whore house. He said she worked for Rafe Cummings. Sounds like her pimp to me. Do you know this Rafe character? Could he have done it?”

  “Don’t think so. Not his style.”

  “Doc Flint said he’s a psycho,” she ventured.

  “In some ways I guess he is.”

  “Doctor Flint said he’s the local crime boss. Says he runs the whole county.”

  Sheriff Wilks laughed. Rafe had really shit in his own nest this time. It would be all he could do to keep the incident from careening out of control.

  “I think the Doc was exaggerating a little bit. I run the county not Rafe.”

  “If it wasn’t Rafe, who else would want to harm her?”

  Sheriff Wilks finished dressing. He pulled on his boots, jammed on his hat and headed into the living room.

  “Drifter…drunk…a John…Hell, it could be anybody.”

  Mattie looked him right in the eye.

  “Sheriff, you’ve been holding out on me.”

  He wondered how much she knew.

  “No I ain’t.”

  It gave Mattie no pleasure to throw Libby in his face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Noonan and Paxton were fighting over Libby Kirkland? You’ve known all along. If I had known it would have changed my whole investigation.”

  The Sheriff strapped on his gun belt. She noticed his pistol had what appeared to be hair and blood on the butt. She wondered who had run afoul of him.

  “There weren't no reason to drag Libby into the investigation. She's just a kid. Like I told ya before, if they didn't fight over Libby, it would have been somethin' else. They was always feudin’ about somethin’. Libby just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Has anyone talked to her, made sure she’s ok?”

  “Ok? Why wouldn’t she be ok?”

  “Because she saw one of her suitors gunned down right in front of her. Do you know if she’s ok?”

  The Sheriff made sure the bullets in his ammo pouch were there.

  “You don’t get it. She’s not upset, she’s happy as a dog in fresh hog shit. She’s the talk of the town. Everyone knows about the shooting. She couldn’t have got more attention than if she was the homecoming queen. She handles this right, she’ll get back in with the Coach which, by the way, is why she played off Noonan against Paxton.”

  “Do you know how twisted that is?”

  Sheriff Wilks shook his head. “I don’t make the rules, Hon.”

  “She shouldn’t be having sex with old men. She should be having fun. Thinking about boys her own age. Buying a new dress. Going with her girlfriends to the mall. Going to the drug store for a malt. Studying her lessons. This is wrong in so many ways,” Mattie lamented.

  “You’re welcome to preach a sermon about it Sunday. Course half the men in the congregation have underage girlfriends.”

  Mattie shook her head. It made her crazy. She needed to get back on track.

  “Libby’s dad, does he have a temper?”

  The Sheriff scratched his head. “I guess so. I’ve had to run him in a couple of times for fighting. Come to think of it, last time, I had to knock him out with my pistol.”

  That explained the hair and blood on his pistol butt.

  “What would you do if you found out a couple of old geezers were fucking your daughter?”

  “You think Gus killed Paxton?” he asked.

  “It's a possibility. I don't know he did, but he sure has motive, doesn't he? You know those panties I found in Paxton's truck? Bet you a hundred bucks they're Libby's. Gus has a lot better motive than Noonan. What’s Gus look like? Is he strong?”

  “He’s a diesel mechanic. I guess he’s pretty strong.” He pointed his finger at her. “But there ain’t one shred of evidence that points to him.”

  “That's because you haven't looked for any. You've got your mind made up that Noonan did it, and you aren't going to change it.”

  “Noonan done it. Ain’t no other explanation.”

  “You know Noonan's in bad shape. How do you think he got from Doc Flint's place to Paxton's?”

  Paxton sat down in a chair. He was tired of the conversation.

  “Drove, I guess.”

  “Whose car did he use?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “He didn’t use his own truck cause his wife had it at home.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Sheriff Wilks didn’t like where things were headed. She had taken a simple case and turned it into a mess. Women!

  “I talked to her. You know what else? She asked me how Noonan lifted Paxton into the baler. Good point, huh? I can't see Noonan lifting three hundred pounds in his prime let alone with three bullet holes in his stomach.”

  Mattie too was tired of the conversation. Sheriff Wilks was so damn pig-headed there was nothing she could do to change his mind. It was like prying open a big oyster with a toothpick.

  “Maybe he used the overhead winch,” Sheriff Wilks offered.

  She felt like hitting him with his own gun butt. How narrow-minded could he be?

  “I doubt it. He can hardly lift his fork to eat dinner. You know what else Noonan's wife told me? She said that a Black man named Deacon Boggs might have killed Paxton because Paxton stole two loads of moonshine from him. We know where one of those loads is, don't we?”

  How much did she know, Sheriff Wilks wondered. Had she been watching him?

  “Not any more. I dumped it in the swamp.”

  He watched her eyes to see if they narrowed. They didn’t. He was safe.

  “It looks to me like we have a whole lot of suspects besides Noonan,” she suggested.

  She saw his eyes suddenly focus on hers. What was he hiding, she wondered. Maybe not all of the booze had made it to the swamp. That made sense.

  “Let's sort this out tomorrow. I'm too damned tired to think about it tonight,” he said.

  She was more than happy to go along with his suggestion. She had had enough for one day. She so wanted to feel the hotel’s rough pillowcase against her cheek.

  “I’ll come by here first thing in the morning,” she responded.

  “Wait until noon,” he said. “I’ll be lucky to get to bed by dawn.”

  Mattie started for the door then stopped.

  “I’m curious about something, Sheriff. How many underage girlfriends do you have?”

  “Don’t have any,” he grimaced. “I only date one woman and she makes my life miserable enough by herself. She don't need no help.”

  In spite of herself, she laughed. She couldn’t imagine what the woman would be like who gave Sheriff Wilks his marching orders. She made a mental note to meet her. It would be an interesting meeting.

  “See ya tomorrow, Sheriff,” she said.

  It was only five minutes to the hotel. Absolutely nothing was going to keep her from being in bed in ten minutes. Or so she thought.

  CHAPTER TEN

  On the way back to the hotel, Mattie thought about everything she had learned that evening. If her hunch was right, Sheriff Wilks had either kept the whole load of moonshine, or part of it and he was feeling guilty about it. She wondered how upset Deacon Boggs would be if he knew the Sheriff had stolen the load that Paxton had stolen from him. In her estimation Sheriff Wilks was too powerful for Deacon Boggs to mess with so probably the Sheriff was going to get away with it. She didn’t know what a load of moonshine was worth but it had to be worth at least $500. If that was the case, Deacon Boggs would probably forget about it. His cost into the booze was probably a lot less than
$500. All in all, it looked like Sheriff Wilks had made himself some money.

  At the hotel, she found all of the parking places full so she had to park on a side street. She didn’t like leaving the Bu car on the street. Other agents had had their cars stripped or stolen, which was not something the Bureau took lightly. One agent had left his Bu car on the street loaded with weapons and ammunition because he had to teach firearms the next day. When he went to leave the next morning the someone had broken into the car. Two machine guns, some pistols and a crap load of ammo were gone. Working with the local police, agents had managed to find the two teens that had stolen the guns and recovered them. No matter how you cut it, the agent who had lost the guns had been at fault. He should have taken all of the guns and ammunition inside for the evening and carried them back out the next morning. Faced with such clear-cut negligence, the Bureau had responded with a Letter of Censure, a demotion and an opportunity for the agent to visit Puerto Rico for several years. Sort of like a vacation but without any of the good things.

  As she walked to her room she thought about Doctor Flint. There was no doubt he was a man of strong character. Why no woman had snapped him up was beyond her. He was pleasant on the eyes, witty, honest, romantic, and certainly not a racist. He cared about people to the point where he had evidently moved to Kingswood to practice when he could have opened up a far more lucrative practice in a far nicer place. She knew it was very doubtful anything would work out between them. As soon as she wrapped things up on the Noonan shooting she was headed back to Jackson. After that, there was no telling where she would be assigned next. She couldn’t quit to stay with him and he couldn’t give up his practice to go with her. Not good odds for a relationship.

  As she passed the motel office, she didn’t see anyone behind the counter. Probably gone to bed, she thought. She had met the manager the first day and not been impressed. He was sort of what she imagined when she thought of someone who had given up on life. His name was Lars, which was ok if he was a Swede but he was Black. He was the first Black Lars she had ever met. She guessed him to be around sixty although there was really nothing to base it on. He was five feet eight inches tall, around one hundred and sixty pounds and his head was shaved clean. His daily wardrobe consisted of old, green, paint spotted sweats, worn, dirty bedroom slippers and a wife-beater undershirt that had once been white but now was a dirty gray color. Apparently, he was like many of the other Kingswood men who were scared to death of bathing. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t taken a bath since the Clinton Administration.

  She stopped at the soda pop machine to get a soda. She had just enough change for the machine. After feeding it the coins, she was rewarded with an empty can that had lipstick smudges around the drink hole. Probably the manager’s, she thought. She was too tired to go to the office to complain. With dragging feet, she headed for her room. A glance at her watched showed it was just after three o’clock in the morning. She wondered if it was even worthwhile going to bed. She thought about Doctor Wilks’ offer—the nice bed in the back room. She wished she had stayed with him rather than going to the Sheriff’s home. They would have had a lot more fun and she would be asleep instead of walking to her motel room.

  Her key was loose in the door lock, which was worn so badly that it wiggled in her hand. She had to hold the doorknob up as she turned the key to get it to work at all. Swinging open the door, she flipped the light switch on the wall next to the door. Click! Nothing. No light. She flipped the other switch. Nothing. She tried to picture the room in her mind. With her hands in front of her, she stumbled across the floor to the bed. Feeling her way to the head of the bed, she switched on the bedside lamp. Nothing. Anger rose in her chest. There was no excuse for the lights not to work. She considered going back to the office to read the manager the riot act but she was just too damn tired. She felt her way to her suitcase. Fumbling through it, she found her nightgown. She kicked off her shoes, glad to be rid of them. Problem was, her feet were now directly on carpet that had more dirt in it than the flower planter outside her room. And what else? She didn’t want to know. On tiptoe she walked to the bed. Laying the nightgown on the bed, she began to undress.

  As she started to undo her bra, two dark figures suddenly loomed out of the darkness. With lightning like reflexes, she kicked the closest person as hard as she could. It was like kicking a side of beef. Two sets of hands grabbed her. A towel wrapped around her neck. Without conscious thought, she swing her elbow in a tight arc, hitting one of the men in the gut. He doubled over. She snapped her knee up, aiming for his chin, but hit ribs instead. She whirled, swung her locked fists at where she thought the other man’s head was. WHAP! Her fists connected with a chin. The man stumbled backwards. She kicked a hardened heel at where his crotch should be but missed. The first man grabbed her arm. Big mistake. It gave her his coordinates. She butted him on the side of the head. She heard him hit the floor.

  A huge arm wrapped around her neck, cutting off her air. She stamped down on his foot at the same time wishing she still had on her high heels. Regardless, her foot mashed the man’s foot and he let go of her. She heard the man on the floor, stirring around so she snapped a kick toward where she thought his head was. Instead, she hit soft flesh and brought an “ooffff” from her target. She spun around and swung a powerhouse right toward the big man’s face. Only her blow hit him in the chest. He was huge. Like a fucking gorilla, she thought. She whipped up her knee, aiming for his crotch but hit a knee instead. Out of nowhere, the second man tackled her onto the bed, trying to pin her arms against her sides. Wrong move. She drove her knee upward, connected with his groin.

  “Owwww.” He slid off of her. She didn’t know where the huge man was. She tried to see him in the pitch-black room. WHAM! A fist glanced off her head, bringing a shower of dancing lights in her head. Instinctively, she rolled toward the headboard. Just in time. He dove on the bed where she had just been. She knew because it felt like the bed broke in half. Damn! The son of a bitch had to be 300 pounds. She dropped to her hands and knees on the floor and crawled toward the door. She was close to making it when her hand hit the second man.

  “Here she is!” he bellowed.

  The big man dove on top of her. She didn’t consciously select her punches or kicks. They just happened. She had spent ten years in karate and now those years were paying off. She slammed her elbow into the big man’s head. She felt his ear crush flat against his skull. He reciprocated with a hard fist to her side, knocking the air out of her lungs. In the moment it took for her to get her breath back, he pinned her on the floor.

  “Got he---“

  She head butted him—a glancing blow—to his temple. Knocked him off of her. She slashed him across the face with her elbow—jammed her knee in his balls. He couldn’t help it. He rolled off of her. She scrambled toward the door. Just as she reached it, she felt his huge hands wrap around her ankles. He pulled her back into the room. Before he could grab any higher than her ankles, she kicked backwards with all of her might—hit something soft—twisted around—rolled toward him—clobbered his head with her knee. He let go of her ankles.

  She was beginning to tire. She had been going full blast for at least five minutes—all out as her karate instructor had said. It was something she had practiced over and over—at his insistence—going all out for as long as she could. He would put up a heavy bag—one she could barely lift and then have her hit it with jabs until her arms felt like they were going to fall off. She needed to end the fight and end it as soon as possible. To that end, she kicked straight out from her as hard as she could. She had no idea where the second man was but her foot connected with something human.

  “Uhhh!”

  She had to put the big man down. Now. She heard him breathing—cocked her head to one side until she was sure where he was then dove at his head with her elbow extended.

  It was a direct hit. Her elbow caught him in the neck just below his ear. He went flat on the floor. Wobbling to her
feet, she started toward the door.

  “BAM!”

  She heard a shot and felt a sting in her back followed by an electrical shock that jolted her to the floor. Junior Barnes had shot her with a stun gun. Her body shook uncontrollably as Junior Barnes hit the trigger again.

  “Take that, you stupid bitch!” he yelled.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Leroy snarled.

  Mattie was helpless. Her arms and legs wouldn’t do anything but shake. She clamped down her jaws so she wouldn’t bite her tongue. There was nothing she could do but ride it out.

  Leroy closed the door.

  “Wait until I blindfold her.”

  Leroy used the towel to make a makeshift blindfold around Mattie’s head.

  “Turn on your light,” Leroy ordered. “And quit shocking her.”

  She stopped shaking but her muscles were hit by tremors. She felt like throwing up.

  Leroy looked in the mirror. His face was battered and bruised and he had several cuts on his face and arms. Junior Barnes had fared no better.

  “She really did a number on you,” Junior Barnes whispered.

  “You ain’t no better,” Leroy replied.

  Leroy knelt beside Mattie. He was amazed at how hard she had fought. He knew that if Junior Barnes hadn’t shot her, she would have walked out the victor. No woman had ever beaten him in a fight. Never. And what was astounding was, she had beaten two big men. Junior Barnes tied her feet together then her hands. He didn’t do it gently. Before she could close her mouth, he stuffed a dirty rag between her jaws. He leaned down close to her ear.

  “You kept us waitin’ a long time. We was beginnin' to think ya weren't comin', that you shacked up with that nigger-lovin' doctor.”