by Donis Casey
“Well, I’m afraid enough for both of us, Shaw.”
“I know, honey.”
“I fear for all the children. For Charlie and Ruth. For poor Mary. I fear for you, and for Robin. The world has gone mad, Shaw, and there isn’t anything I can do about it.”
Chapter Fifty-three
“There are citizens of the United States, I blush to admit, born under other flags…who have poured the poison of disloyalty into the very arteries of our national life.”
—Woodrow Wilson, Address to Congress, 1915
Trenton Calder came across the damage at Khouri’s market while making his early morning rounds. It was so early that objects were just dark shapes against a lighter sky, so he was carrying a lantern. The first thing he noticed was that the front door to the market was open. It occurred to him that perhaps Mr. Khouri was attending to something in the shop, but there was no light coming through the windows. He drew his sidearm and slipped inside.
A foul smell nearly knocked him over. He held the lantern up high, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The place was a wreck. Every single piece of merchandise had been taken from every counter and cabinet and piled in the middle of the room, and a load of manure had been dumped on top of everything. The miscreants had smeared manure all over the walls, the shelves, the counters. Trent couldn’t stand the stench and stepped back out onto the sidewalk, eyes watering. The sky was just lightening, and he could finally see that the vandals had taken a handful of dung and written JEW, and ONLY AMERICANS WLCOM HERE on the front window.
He stood there a while, stunned. The Khouris lived in an apartment over the store. Why had they not heard the ruckus? It struck him that perhaps the culprits hadn’t stopped at vandalism, and he ran up the stairs at the side of the building like his feet were on fire and pounded on their door, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Trent nearly fainted with relief when Mr. Khouri threw the door open, a look on his face that was half terror and half like he could skin whoever had roused him. Mrs. Khouri and all the little ones were pressed up against his back. Trent could barely see old Grandfather Khouri standing in a bedroom door at the back, holding a wicked, curved knife in his hand, as though he intended to skewer the knocker if he turned out to be a threat.
Five minutes later, Trent, Aram Khouri, and his father were all downstairs inspecting the damage. The Khouris were still in their nightshirts.
“But why, Trent?” The younger Mr. Khouri had a handkerchief pressed to his nose and tears in his eyes as he took in the ruination of his business. “We’re not Germans, or Turks, or anarchists! We’re all natural-born Americans, except for Papa, here, and he’s been a citizen for forty years! We’re not foreigners.”
Trent had no answer to that. The Khouris had a funny name. Grandfather Khouri spoke with an accent. Whoever was doing these ugly things didn’t seem to care about what was true, only how things looked.
Grandfather Khouri shook his fist at the writing on the window. “We are not even Jews! We are Syrian Orthodox Christians.”
This did surprise Trent. Because they came from the Middle East and didn’t go to church in Boynton, everybody in town thought the Khouris were Jews. Not that anyone had ever asked. Of course, now that Trent thought about it, they did close the market every Sunday and drive off in their buggy. He had never heard of Syrian Orthodox. He wondered if there was such a church in Muskogee, or anywhere else in Oklahoma?
The sun was coming up. People were beginning to stir. One man wandered over to see what the rumpus was, then another. Trent sent a passerby to rouse Scott.
A crowd began to gather and Trent had Khouri lock the door. He sent Mrs. Khouri back upstairs to wait, then asked all the gawkers if anyone had heard anything during the night. If anyone had, he wouldn’t admit to it. Trent caught sight of Billy Claude Walker standing across the street with Victor Hayes. And behind them a man in a bowler hat with a little scar beside his eye, watching the action. When Billy Claude saw Trent give him the once-over, he smiled and nudged Victor in the ribs. The man in the bowler hat melted into the shadows. Trent was sorely tempted to go over there and knock that smirk off of Billy Claude’s face, but he mastered the urge and posted himself in front of the doors of the market to wait for Scott.
He hadn’t seen it the first time, but written on the boardwalk with coal were the words KNITES OF LIBTERY.
Trent forgot his intention to remain at his post. He stomped across the street and grabbed a startled Billy Claude by the collar. Victor Hayes decided he had business elsewhere and disappeared.
Trent nearly lifted Billy Claude off the ground by his collar. “What do you know about the nighttime activities of the Knights of Liberty around here?”
A sneaky look came over Billy Claude’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Deputy. And besides, it’s a good thing there’re some patriots around here to keep the enemy in his place.”
“If I ever find out who’s dressing up like a bunch of haints and scaring the tar out of good honest folks, I’m going to see they go to jail for destruction of property, malicious mischief, disturbing the peace, threatening bodily harm, and anything else I can think of, right after I kick their asses clean to Montana.” He gave Billy Claude an angry shake. “So if by any stretch you have an idea who’s causing all this folderol, you’d better let them know that they’d do a heap better by joining the Army and fighting the real enemy.”
Nick had slipped into the alley when Trent crossed the street, but he watched the exchange between Billy Claude and the red-haired deputy with interest. The local law knew very well who their troublemakers were, but as long as Billy Claude and his cronies didn’t do something as blatant as sign their names to their handiwork, Nick knew it was going to be hard to prove that they were the vandals.
A good-sized crowd had gathered on the street by now. Half the citizens of Boynton were gawking at the mess in Khouri’s market or expressing their outrage to Mr. Khouri himself. The other half was eagerly watching Trenton Calder read the riot act to Billy Claude, hoping that fists would fly.
Nick watched the chaos for a good long time before he noticed someone standing silently amidst the mobs of people in front of the market, emanating waves of fury. Nick sensed something else besides simple anger, too. Murderous intent.
He cocked his bowler with his thumb, touched his scar for luck, and made his way quietly across the road. He was able to slide in behind his quarry without being seen. He leaned in close. “I can help you,” he whispered.
Chapter Fifty-four
“Patriotic ardor must not be allowed
to become a license for lawlessness.”
—Oklahoma Governor Robert L. Williams
Billy Claude Walker had lived at Mrs. Worley’s boardinghouse for going on three years. His room was small and cramped, but the food was good and he liked the fact that his room was located at the back corner of the first floor. He liked his privacy.
Billy Claude kept his space neat, for a bachelor. He didn’t own much. A couple of personal items, a few pieces of clothing, and one black robe with matching hood. His life revolved around work and the pool hall, so he never had occasion to entertain visitors. He only used the room for sleeping.
He had left the window open when he went to work that morning, since it was hot and he hated coming home to a stuffy room. Besides, he had been staying out a lot later than usual over the past weeks, and found it more convenient to slip into the room through the window rather than rousing Mrs. Worley or one of the other boarders by coming in the front door after ten.
It had been a long day at the brick plant, and a longer evening with his compadres at the pool hall, planning a few more patriotic nocturnal adventures. Billy Claude was tired and half-drunk when he raised the sash on his window and slung a leg over the sill to crawl inside. Otherwise he would have seen that someone was waiting for him.
&nbs
p; His friends were worried when he didn’t show up for work the next morning. When the noon whistle blew, Victor Hayes took it upon himself to go by the boardinghouse to check on Billy Claude.
Mrs. Worley had not seen him. No, not since yesterday’s breakfast. Victor was welcome to knock on Billy Claude’s door but she doubted he was there. He never missed meals.
There was no response, which gave Victor a very bad feeling. He tried the door handle.
Even before he saw Billy Claude’s body lying on the floor in a pool of blood, Victor knew something very bad had happened. He recognized the smell of a violent death when it hit him in the face.
Chapter Fifty-five
“Organization to resist draft law thought
to exist in several counties in Oklahoma.”
—Ada Weekly News, August 2, 1917
Now Scott had two murders on his hands. Both were Council of Defense officers and both had had their throats slit from ear to ear. It made illogical sense to Scott that someone had such strong anti-war convictions that he would kill in the name of peace.
He was receiving daily bulletins from Sheriff Barger about gatherings of slackers and unionists in several rural areas between Muskogee and Oklahoma City. Infiltrators were reporting that there were a thousand or more Working Class Union and I.W.W. agitators camped in the Seminole hills. They had taken to destroying bridges, telephone wires, and pipelines in an armed protest against the Draft Act, trying to incite young men to resist the call to arms. With violence, if necessary.
It was bad enough that the United States was at war with Germany. Scott feared he was going to have to deal with a civil war right in his own town. He met with the mayor and town council to determine a course of action. Until now, Scott had not gone out of his way to enforce the Espionage Act. Like it or not, forbearance wasn’t possible anymore.
The council resolved to issue a statement declaring that anyone espousing anti-government sentiment would be arrested and clapped in jail. Things being what they were, no one had a better idea.
After the meeting broke up, Scott buttonholed Emmanuel Clover on his way down the stairs.
“Emmanuel, if I was you, I’d get out of town for a while, at least until we find out who’s doing in CD men.”
Clover seemed grateful for Scott’s concern. “Mr. Tucker, don’t think I haven’t considered it. I’d hate for Forsythia Lily to be an orphan. But I have sent her and her grandmother to stay with my wife’s sister in Krebs until I think it’s safe for them to come back.”
“Wise move. But I’d feel better if you’d go with them.”
“I know you don’t need the bother of watching over me while you’re trying to find a killer and keep the peace at the same time,” Clover said. “But don’t worry about me.” He pulled back his suit coat to reveal the handle of a brand-new .45 caliber M1911 semi-automatic pistol protruding from the waistband of his trousers.
Scott gave a low whistle. “That’ll sure put a hole in anybody who gets in your way. Just don’t blow your foot off with it.”
Clover was mildly affronted. “I’ve been practicing, Mr. Tucker. I know how to defend myself if I have to.”
“All right, then. If you aim to stay in town, watch your back. In fact, why don’t you take up residence in my wife’s hotel until I arrest the culprit? There’s a vacant room right next to the one where my deputy lives. You can stay for free.”
“Thank you, sir, I appreciate it.” Clover was touched. He leaned in confidentially. “You know as well as I do who is behind all this trouble, Sheriff. It’s that loudmouthed traitor Dutch Leonard, as sure as I’m standing here. He’s had it in for our CD representatives ever since you arrested his friend after that altercation with Mr. Avey at the house of ill-repute. And you saw for yourself how he behaved at the Liberty Sing. You know it was him who killed Win and Billy Claude.”
“I know no such thing, Emmanuel. The fool may be after a change in government, but until that happens, a man is still innocent until proven guilty in this country. You stay away from Dutch and his kind. Do your job and let me do mine.”
Mr. Clover took Scott’s warning to heart. “You are absolutely right, Sheriff. I won’t go looking for trouble. But I guarantee that if Dutch or anyone tries to hurt me or mine, well, he’d just better watch out, is all I can say.”
“I appreciate your grit, Emmanuel,” Scott said. “But keep your head down just the same.”
Chapter Fifty-six
“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary
the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about,
seeking whom he may devour.”
—1 Peter 5:8
So many of her friends and neighbors had been suffering in one form or another lately that Alafair packed a straw-lined crate full of food to take to town to parcel out to the wounded and bereaved. After leaving a stew with her neighbor Mr. Eichelberger, she dropped off two loaves of bread and a poke of greens to Win Avey’s mother. She might not have recognized Mrs. Avey on the street, but she had lost children herself and understood a mother’s grief better than some.
She drove into town and headed up Kennetick Street with a chicken pot pie for Henry Blackwood and his uncle. She came up to the house from the back, along the dirt road at the edge of town. As she neared the turn, she could see activity in the backyard of the bawdy house. A wagon was parked at the back door, piled high with furniture and trunks. Rose stood beside the tailgate, directing Dave as he arranged boxes in the back of the wagon. She was dressed for travel.
Dave trudged back up to the house and Rose turned to see Alafair pull her buggy into the back drive and dismount.
Rose did not seem happy to see her. “What do you want?”
“Where are you going?” Alafair countered.
“You and your busybody mother-in-law can breathe easy. We’re being shut down. Emmanuel Clover got a writ.”
“Oh! I didn’t hear that. When do you have to be out? Is there anything I can bring you to help ease the move? Do your girls need some traveling clothes or some food for the trip?”
“You never give up, do you?” Rose’s tone was ironic, but not bitter. “Scott give us a week to be out, but I sold the house yesterday to Meriwether’s law firm, so I don’t see no need to hang around. And we don’t need your cast-offs. I got plenty of money and the girls have already took their cut and gone their separate ways.”
Alafair could barely see one very young-looking girl peeking out from behind the screen door at the back of the house. Rose followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s Lucy. She ain’t a working girl. Not quite right in the head. She’s coming with me. Maybe she can get some schooling in Denver.”
“So you’re going to Denver? Are you going to…?” Alafair hesitated. Never in her life had she imagined she’d be standing in a driveway asking another woman if she was going to open a bordello in Denver. But Rose got the gist.
“The political climate is a mite hot for sporting houses these days. Reckon I’ll have to find myself another line of work. Maybe I’ll open a dress shop.” Rose paused, a sarcastic twinkle in her eye. “Or maybe a bar. I’d make a hell of a lot more money that way.”
Alafair expected that she was right about the bar. Vice was always more profitable than virtue, money-wise. “Miz Lovelock, I want to ask you something.”
Rose looked wary.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t going to ask about your customers. I don’t want to know.”
Rose scoffed. “You worried that your man ain’t getting what he needs at home? Need some tips?”
The uncalled-for snipe annoyed Alafair but she tamped down her irritation and ignored the comment. No use to expect Rose to change her nature. A whipped dog was likely to bite. “I figure you must hear many an indiscreet comment over the course of an evening, once men are in their cups.”
That made Rose laugh. “Don’t hardly hear any oth
er kind.”
“I’m wondering if anybody has let slip something that would give you an idea about who’s committing the awful crimes around here lately.”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I had. Besides, what does that sordid business have to do with you?”
“A lot of the trouble of the last few weeks has had some connection to the brick plant.” Alafair said. “My youngest boy has taken on work there. He’s but sixteen years old. I can’t get him to quit and I don’t want him to get caught up in whatever this evil is. I want to know who’s been damaging the equipment and causing men to get hurt. I want to know who killed Mr. Avey, and if they are one and the same.” Alafair did not voice her suspicion that at least some of the night riders who had terrorized her daughter Mary worked at the plant as well.
As Alafair spoke, Rose’s expression softened into something that resembled compassion. “You’d better get him out of there, Alafair.”
Alafair was so surprised that Rose had called her by name that she almost didn’t register what the woman had said to her. “You know something.” It wasn’t a question.
Rose heaved a sigh. “I’m telling you for your child’s sake that something real bad is abroad in this town. You get that boy away from that place and keep him near home.”
Rose’s tone made Alafair’s skin crawl. “You know who the killer is?”
Rose fell quiet. Dave came out of the house carrying a trunk and loaded it onto the back of the wagon. He did not look at the two women standing in the yard, staring at one another in silence. Once the trunk was tied down, Dave went back into the house.
Alafair did not break eye contact and neither did Rose. Finally Rose must have seen something in Alafair’s gaze that she trusted, for she said, “I do. I know who killed Avey, at least. It was me.”
Alafair blinked. Her face grew hot. “You…”