The Rock Hole

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  “Y’all are going straight to Hell!”

  Ned walked into the light spilling from the open door. “Who’s that?”

  Isaac Parker, Neal Box and James chuckled.

  “It’s Irwin Jackson.” James nodded toward the small porch and the girls bike leaning on the peeling wooden post. “Brother Ross is down in his back so Irwin showed up tonight to take his place. He rode that there bicycle all the way from Grant.”

  “That’s ’cause he’s crazy as a Bessie bug,” Ned opined, thinking about the distance from Grant, Oklahoma. “I believe I’ll go in and listen for a spell.”

  Removing his Stetson, Ned stepped through the open door and quietly took a seat at the end of the empty rear pew.

  “It’s a world of sin!” Irwin shouted, his oiled hair springing up with a mind of its own. His dingy white shirt was wet with sweat and he jumped up and down like a jack-in-the-box. “This whole county is full of sin, and you’re all sinners! Hallelujah!”

  Ned looked around. Nearly thirty of the most devout citizens in Lamar County sat upright in shock. Miss Becky and the kids perched together on the third row on the right with Miss Whitney.

  “There’s no hope, no hope a-tall!” Irwin bounced on his toes, slapping the well-worn open bible in his left hand. “Look around you! Leviticus seventeen tells us that nothing but a blood sacrifice will cleanse the soul! Amen-uh!”

  Ned leaned forward, listening intently.

  Irwin read from the bible. “And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying bring forth him that cursed throughout the camp, and let all who heard him lay their hands upon his head, and let all the congregation stone him. Hallelujah!” Irwin slapped his bible closed for emphasis. “He wouldn’t have been brought to trial if his crime had been secretly committed within the walls of his own house. There, no one knew of his sorrowful sins.”

  Is he trying to tell us something, Ned wondered. Is this the man I’ve been looking for, delivered right here to me?

  “But we’re all outside our own walls brothers and sisters. Amen-uh. We are all naked and ashamed in the eyes of the Lord! That’s why I’m here tonight, to tell you the truth. And the truth will set you free!”

  His voice lowered.

  “You have no hope, because we are all sinners. Yes, I’m a sinner too! You’d be dumbfounded by the sins I’ve committed, yet tonight I stand here before you washed in the Blood. I’ll sin again, but the Lord will cleanse my soul, if I just ask him. No matter how badly I sin, I’ll be forgiven and you, Robert Barley, you’re a sinner too, both in public and behind the walls of your house.” Irwin raised his voice for emphasis. “You’re going to Hell if you don’t accept Jesus into your heart!”

  Never one to argue, Tom stared down at his new shoes, which quite honestly pinched his feet.

  Is he telling us he’s the one I’ve been chasing? That’s a pretty clear statement. Ned changed his mind. No, this want-to-be preacher in baggy black trousers was nothing but a possessed zealot. But then again, who else would have the time to wander the country on both sides of the river? Preachers didn’t watch the clock, and their comings and goings would be familiar as they visited the houses of the old folks and shut-ins.

  “You, Joyce Etta Foster, you know your sins!”

  Too bad, Ned thought. Joyce’s husband Willard wasn’t there to hear his wife’s name called in public.

  Irwin jumped the short six inches off the stage and pointed his finger toward the back of the church. “Ned Parker! You are a sinful person! The good Lord is about done with you!”

  The entire congregation turned to look at the constable on the back row. Ned didn’t change expression, but he felt his neck began to redden. Although he had a lot to be sorry for, this little banty rooster was irritating him. The frustration and worry of the past few months was beginning to fuel his anger.

  Maybe I’ll just take him in and let O.C. have a go at questioning him.

  Missing the dangerous spark in Ned’s blue eyes, Irwin turned his verbal attack to his next target. “Sister Jean Whitney, y’ain’t safe! You’re going straight to Hell!”

  Then, as if Ned possessed Top’s insight into coming events, he knew without a doubt what Irwin was going to say next. The stress of the past few months washed over Ned like a tidal wave. The old constable saw red. He rose and charged up the hardwood aisle like a mad bull.

  Caught up in the rapture of his belief, Irwin had turned his attention to the second pew on the left where Miss Becky sat with the children. He danced a little jig and leaned over, pointing his finger directly at Miss Becky’s nose.

  Frightened, Pepper heard heavy footsteps on the hard floorboards and looked over her shoulder at the wrath roaring down the aisle behind them. Top stared at the preacher with open-mouthed shock.

  “And you, Sister Ruby Becky! You may believe you live the Life of Christ, but unless you dig down deep in the dark places of your soul and confess the festering secret we all know is in there, you’re going straight to …”

  Irwin’s words suddenly choked off when Ned’s fist grabbed the lay-preacher’s soiled white collar and drew it tight around his neck like a roped calf. Miss Becky had lived a good Christian life since the day Ned met her and no one, especially not some scrawny little weasel from Oklahoma, was going to speak out against her.

  Irwin’s soft hands grasped the strong wrist as Ned nearly yanked him off his feet. Giving the skinny preacher a good shake, he headed for the door, Irwin stumbling along behind, choking and gagging.

  The congregation was shocked to their feet at Ned’s actions in the house of the Lord. They exploded through the open double doors like a bullet shot from a gun, startling the men outside. Ned took two steps to the edge of the porch and like cracking a whip, yanked Irwin forward and into the darkness. He landed on his knees in the dirt coughing and gagging, trying to get air past his damaged throat.

  Ned couldn’t resist the sight of Irwin’s butt up in the air and in his anger stepped forward and gave him a good kick in the seat of his shiny pants, sending the man scooting forward on his chest. “Now, you can go straight back across the river before I work you over with this here sap in my back pocket!”

  Shaken, Irwin showed some sense and without a word, stumbled toward his bicycle to pedal away in the darkness as fast as his legs could pump, away from irritable constables.

  James worked at his teeth with a toothpick. “Disagree with Irwin’s sermon, Ned?”

  The group of real sinners hanging around the cars laughed at the show. No one knew what had gone on inside, but to a man they knew if Ned threw someone out of the church house, he deserved what he got.

  Isaac Parker was clearly surprised to see someone ejected from a place of worship. “Listen, I never heard of such a thing.”

  Breathing hard, Ned was planted on the porch, solid as an oak tree. Miss Becky left the kids at the door and watched Irwin pedal away from the circle of light for a moment, then took her husband’s arm. She knew what had happened and why he’d lost his temper. It wasn’t all about Irwin’s verbal attack, though Ned had taken care of her all their adult lives. “Ned?”

  Her soft voice took the anger from her husband, as it had countless times throughout their marriage. He took a deep breath, looked at his strong Choctaw bride, and nodded toward her as if she’d said something profound. “Y’all get in the car.”

  Showing uncommon sense, Pepper hurried off the steps without a word. Top followed. Ned started to apologize to the pale faces around him in the yellow light, but he changed his mind and turned toward the car to go home.

  Isaac Parker mouthed a home-rolled cigarette and lit it as if nothing had occurred. “Ned, listen, I intended to tell you before you went inside. I heard a nigger boy was killed tonight down on the river.”

  Shocked, Ned stiffened. He hadn’t heard anything. “What happened? Did he drown?”

  “Nope. Walt Simms was down there trapping and found him. Listen, he was all cut up and it scared Walt so bad he drove straight to Chi
sum and got Sheriff Griffin. I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything about it.”

  Ned was surprised also, and angry. He glanced down the oil road, hoping to see Irwin and maybe kick him a little more to make himself feel better, but the preacher was already gone.

  Ned started to ream Isaac about why the hell he’d waited to tell him, but he realized it wouldn’t do any good. “You sure it was Walt Simms who found him?”

  “Yep, sure as shootin’.”

  “James, take them home. I imagine I’ll be gone a right long spell tonight.”

  James walked over and leaned into Ned’s open passenger window. “Y’all need to come with me.” Not surprised by his announcement, Miss Becky and the kids changed cars.

  It didn’t help Pepper’s disposition any when she stepped into a puddle of fresh tobacco juice and got it all over her shoes, but it beat walking home across the pasture and dodging cow pies in the moonlight. “Shit.”

  Miss Becky obviously heard her for once and cracked her in the back of the head with her big hand. Top grinned at the sight, glad she’d finally gotten caught.

  “Y’all be sure and lock the doors,” Ned told her. He shifted his weight from side to side until they left. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do, whether to go home and protect his family, or pursue the lead.

  He left the group of men and settled into the front seat of his car. He keyed the Motorola’s microphone and called for Big John. He had to repeat the process several times before John answered.

  “Ned, something wrong? I was in the church house and one of the kids outside heard you calling on the radio. I believe I might need to wear him out for not being inside listening to the preachin’.”

  “Yeah, something’s bad wrong.” He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “I just got word Walt Simms found one of your young people dead down on the river. You know anything about it?”

  There was a long, silent pause on the other end. “No. Gimme a few minutes.”

  Ned stayed behind the wheel as he waited.

  Fifteen minutes later Big John was back on the radio. “Ned?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “It happened all right. Sheriff Griffin took the report and sent the state law out there. I’m not sure right now why he didn’t tell me, but I intend to find out.”

  “Meet me at the river bridge.”

  “On my way. I’ll call Raymond, too.”

  ***

  They met Raymond Chase in the darkness on the Texas side, near the stone welcome marker. While cars whizzed past on the highway, he related the story, what he could get out of Sheriff Griffin. “According to Walt Simms who was running his traps not far from the river dump, he came across a little nig…” He flicked his eyes toward John, who seemed impassive. “Uh, colored kid who had been skinned and hung over a fence not far from here. He said in his sixty years on the Red, Walt helped find the bodies of more than two dozen people who had drowned in the river, but he vowed this one was the worst he’d ever seen.”

  John kept shaking his head at the news. His hands trembled and he fiddled with some change from his pockets to give them something to do.

  Ned knew the party lines in town would buzz for a week with the horrible news about a boy draped over the top wire of a five-strand barbed-wire fence. The killer had finally graduated to children. “Was there an advertisement or a picture this time?”

  “The sheriff didn’t say. According to what I found out, though, someone who likes to hurt took his time. They found a knife, several big screwdrivers and a fire. Looks like he enjoys poking people with hot screwdrivers in places you don’t want to think about, before he field dressed him.”

  John looked as if he could barely contain his emotions. “That poor little baby.” He sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “Ned, this stinks to high heaven, and Sheriff Griffin ain’t talking much to any of us about this. It’s like he’s trying to keep us away from something or another. He’s as sorry as Poole ever was.”

  “Careful talkin’ ’bout folks.” Raymond leaned against Ned’s car and crossed his arms. “Everybody seems to be kin to everybody else around here.”

  “Well, you know how Ned and I feel about Poole. He weren’t much punkin’ as a sheriff and as far as I’m concerned, him and Griffin are both just alike. You reckon this one is connected to Mr. Ned’s troubles and all them animal killings?”

  Raymond shrugged. “It looks like it to me. I believe he’s been gigging Ned for some reason or the other, and I bet this one is either for fun, or because he wants to scare the whole damn county.”

  “They’re scared all right, and this might cause someone to get shot.” Ned rubbed the back of his neck where it ached from tension.

  People were still carrying guns wherever they went. There wasn’t a man in the little community who didn’t have a pistol on his belt, or one in his pocket. Doors that hadn’t ever been locked were fitted with bright new brass hardware, and no one traveled late at night. The horrific display on the fence was sure to cause a panic throughout the community. It was only a matter of time until vigilante talk was sure to come up at the store.

  “He’s scaring me for sure.” Ned stared at the moon rising from the river. It bathed the bottoms in a thin, pale light. “Think there are any tracks we can compare to the one under Top’s window?”

  “Probably were.” Raymond toed the dirt as if to demonstrate. “But all these yahoos walking around here have trampled most of the evidence.”

  “We may need some more help,” John finally admitted to the two law officers with him. “Looks like this ox is still in the ditch. All this time, and we ain’t named it yet.”

  Once again Ned wondered if he shouldn’t give O.C. his badge and stay at home. Ned wished he could talk to his old great-granddaddy, John Parker, one of the first Texas Rangers who chased the Comanches through these same bottoms. The old man would know what to do, but Ned was at a complete loss.

  “Well, I know who it wasn’t.” He picked up the microphone and woke the Motorola up. “I’ll call O.C. and tell him Ralston’s off the hook.”

  Constable Raymond Chase studied the muddy river glittering in the moonlight below them. “This time.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  June roared in with a vengeance. Grandpa always said the meanest storms blew in at night. Those scared him worse than anything. Daytime storms didn’t faze him. Once we watched a cyclone touch down west of us, throwing up dirt, trees and pieces of barns. At the same time, Grandpa stepped off the porch to get a better look and happened to glance toward the east where another tornado traveled parallel to the first. Bracketed by two twisters, we had perfect seats to watch them pass, but he only stood there, holding his hat and feeling the wind.

  As I said, darkness was a different story. Lightning woke me up one night and I saw him moving anxiously from window to window to see what the clouds looked like. Lightning told him more than he wanted to know.

  Grandpa rushed through the house. “You and Pepper get up. It’s a bad cloud and we’ve gotta go before the cyclone gets us.”

  He turned on the bedroom light and didn’t wait for an answer.

  It was the first time Pepper had spent the night in over a month. She woke up slow. “What?”

  I heard Miss Becky’s bare footsteps on the linoleum in the hall. Lightning filled the bedroom in stark, white light and damp wind blew the loose screens. Hootie sat at the end of the bed with his ears perked forward, looking out the window. He growled softly, more to himself than aloud.

  Thunder rattled the loose panes and the wind moaned around the eaves. The lights flickered and went out, making the darkness even more sinister. By the time we rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and dressed, Grandpa was back in the hallway with a flashlight in his hand.

  “Y’all come on, we have to get to the storm cellar!”

  Uncle Henry’s cellar, the closest protection from a cyclone, was about a mile away. Grandpa never had any intention of digging his own cellar, a
s long as Uncle Henry was alive. The only drawback was the amount of time it took to drive the short distance in a storm.

  Pepper groaned. “It’s only a damn thunderstorm. He wouldn’t care if it was daylight.”

  I hurried to pull on a jacket to turn the rain. Hootie barked in excitement. Pepper wanted to complain some more as the electricity came back on, and then went out again, plunging the house back into darkness.

  “Shitfire.”

  “Shhh. Miss Becky is gonna hear you again.”

  “No, she won’t, and I don’t care anyway.” Lightning flashed and the stark light made Pepper’s face even whiter. She never woke up in a good mood.

  “Y’all ready?” a voice from right beside us made my heart stop. Lightning struck close by, and Miss Becky handed me a flashlight. Either she chose to ignore Pepper’s language or the thunder muffled our conversation.

  “Let’s go!” Grandpa shouted anxiously. I could see his flashlight beam between lightning strikes.

  Hackles raised, Hootie followed Grandpa as he rushed through the house. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Guess he don’t like storms.” Miss Becky held the screen door open for us with her foot and tied a bonnet under her chin at the same time. “Y’all hurry.”

  Pepper ducked her head and we plunged into the stormy night.

  “Get in!” At the sound of Grandpa’s voice, the yard dog Carlo slipped out from under the car.

  Miss Becky’s bonnet blew off her head and only the chinstrap kept it from flying into the night. Pepper’s hair whipped in the wind and flew in her face. Hootie shot off the porch when something moving beside the back corner of the house caught his attention. He roared a challenge at a dark figure disappearing behind the smokehouse. Carlo joined the chase and their barking was almost drowned by the thunder and wind.

  I cupped both hands around my mouth. “Grandpa! Someone’s out there!”

  Lightning again slashed the sky with a ripping sound, this time revealing a man dressed in dark, wet clothes running across the pasture away from the house. A metallic glint in his hand caught the light.