“I forgot my gun,” he said.
“Leave it,” A.J. replied, but it was too late. He watched in irritation as Eugene ran back to the campsite. He turned his attention to his remaining companion while waiting for Eugene’s return. He hoped she was going to be all right. For that matter, he held similar aspirations for himself. There were serious explanations due regarding the mountain man he had shot, and even if he could avoid too much trouble with the law on that score, there was still Maggie to deal with. She did not condone killing in any form, save a selection of flowering plants twice a year, and he was going to be hard pressed to explain the pile of victims, particularly the one he had diced with the automatic rifle.
Eugene came hustling back up the hillside, panting. “Got it,” he said. They resumed their journey to the land of the relatively sane, walking in silence for a while. Then Eugene spoke again.
“That was wild,” he said from his position on the rear. “I thought you were a bad son of a bitch that night in Sand Valley, but that was nothing. I am going to have to keep a closer eye on you. We don’t want this John Wayne shit to get out of hand.” It was one of Eugene’s most annoying habits to talk about subjects best left alone. He could home right in on the last thing in the world a person wanted to discuss and linger there indefinitely. It was a knack.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” A.J. replied.
“Took out three armed men with a ball bat,” Eugene continued with an admiring tone in his voice, oblivious to A.J.’s wishes. “Went through those boys like Sherman went through Georgia. That last one would have had you if I hadn’t distracted him.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” A.J. repeated, wishing he had gone to Atlanta for participative water sports. A question occurred to him. “And what took you so long getting down there? Did you stop for a smoke? Maybe take a leak?” These were ungracious questions, but the niceties were temporarily beyond him.
“Everybody’s a damn critic,” Eugene responded. “What do you mean, what took me so long? I had to run down the back of the ridge, get the gun, run back up the ridge, and then come down to where the action was. You were supposed to wait. You almost got killed.”
“I couldn’t wait,” A.J. said.
“Yeah, I know you couldn’t wait,” Eugene replied. “But you should have waited anyway.”
“Quit talking,” A.J. said. They walked on in silence while he mulled what he intended to tell Slim. He was mentally reviewing and rehearsing, editing the story to its most explainable form. He was from the old school and deemed it important to present multiple murders in the best possible light.
“Bad son of a bitch,” Eugene muttered every so often, mostly to himself, replaying in his mind the charge of the bat brigade.
Upon reaching their vehicles, they decided to split forces; one would take their ward straight to Doc Miller while the other went to fetch Slim.
“Take her to Doc,” Eugene said. “I’ll go get Slim and meet you there.” It didn’t matter to A.J. A cloud of doom had engulfed him during the trip home. Any way he cut it, he knew he was screwed. He would go to jail, where he would have to kill some big, lonely felon named Sonny or Lukey in defense of his honor in the showers, and then he would never get out. He would lose his wife. She would divorce him and in her shame marry an insurance agent or an accountant, a city boy with soft hands and pale, bony legs who would move her to Atlanta and frown at her in rebuke if she ever exceeded her grocery budget.
They placed the woman into the cab of A.J.’s truck. She stayed put. Her catatonia had not improved appreciably, but there seemed to be a little more expression in her eyes. A.J. climbed into the driver’s seat and motored in the direction of the local equivalent of civilization with Eugene following along in his Jeep. When they reached town, A.J. made a beeline to Doc Miller’s. Doc practiced out of his home, and as A.J. pulled into the drive he turned and spoke gently to his passenger.
“I’m going to leave you here for about two seconds while I step in and get the doctor. Don’t get excited. Everything is going to be fine.” A.J. realized the words were ludicrous. It would be a long time before everything was fine for her. Still, he meant well, and that ought to count for something. He patted her leg in a reassuring manner and reached for the door. She grabbed his arm and held it tight. The move surprised him. He looked over at her. She held him in a hard stare, her brown eyes tearful and intense. The bruises on her cheek and jaw were livid.
“Where is…?” She didn’t finish but kept her gaze focused on her savior. A.J. had participated in some tough conversations in his time, but he figured this one was going to win, hands down. He wanted to avoid it altogether and had thought to leave her with Doc, who could break all the bad news in his own good time. Doctors were trained for that sort of task; it was why they got the big slice of pie. And A.J. knew he needed to be getting about the business of hiring a lawyer or fleeing to Mexico.
He sighed. Why, after all, should this part of the day be any better than the rest of it? It was not a reasonable expectation, and he knew he had been foolish to hope for respite from the fishing trip from hell.
“My name is A.J. Longstreet,” he began slowly. “My friend and I found you in the woods. I have brought you to the doctor to get checked out.” She continued to stare at A.J.
“Where is… Kenneth?” she asked quietly. She seemed to be missing some facts, and A.J. wondered if she had amnesia. He assumed the dead boy was Kenneth. Maybe he was her beau. A.J. was on ground he did not want to plow.
“Is that the guy you were with at the campsite?” he asked. She nodded. A.J. knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable. “I am sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s dead.” The words ricocheted around the truck cab like shrapnel. The girl blinked and recoiled as if slapped. A.J. watched her closely, wondering how much detail of the morning’s events would return to her now. His first concern was for her well-being, but running a distant and nearly inconsequential second was the flickering thought that a little friendly testimony couldn’t do him any harm.
“I remember… those men. Then Kenneth tried to run…” She whispered before stopping abruptly. “He tried to run,” she said again. A.J. had saved her honor and her life and had dressed her and hauled her down a mountain, but he really couldn’t say he knew her well. He could, however, identify pissed when he heard it.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” A.J. advised. “You ran up on three really bad guys. He never had a chance.”
“He tried to run,” she said, reemphasizing a point that was a kernel in her craw. “He was going to run off and leave me. To them. They shot him. Then someone tore my shirt off… and hit me.” Her hand strayed up to her bruised face and she winced when she touched it. “Then you told me we were at the doctor’s.” She spoke slowly, piecing the puzzle as she went. She seemed to be missing the big part after the backhand but before Doc’s driveway. A.J. supposed that the less she remembered, the better it would be for her. He would just have to rely on Eugene to back up his story.
“Let’s step inside and see Doc,” he suggested. Her face was turning an ugly shade of purple, and he was aware of several scratches on her chest that needed attention.
“I don’t feel like I’ve been raped,” she said, almost vacantly. She pulled the front of her shirt away from her body and briefly inspected her chest. “All bruised up and scratched,” she said, as if she were commenting upon apples down at the fruit stand. She looked over at A.J. “My shirt was ripped off. Now I have this one on. I should have been raped, but I’m not. I should be dead, but I’m not.”
“You’ve had a rough time,” A.J. said. “I think you were in shock. We should go on in and let the doctor check you out.” He had done his duty and was ready for the handoff. But she wasn’t moving. At least before, he could put her where he wanted her, and too much gab had not been an issue.
“Someone knocked those men off of me. My shirt was ripped. There was shooting. Then… then you and some other guy dressed
me.” She was still looking his way, but he could not meet her gaze. She had been in need of clothing, and he had taken the chore as a matter of mercy. He had thought nothing of it then, but now it seemed a little personal. He was embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, but…”
“Sorry? Are you kidding? You saved my life. Thank you is not enough, but thank you.” She paused. “Those men are dead?” she asked. A.J. nodded.
“Yes, they have passed away,” he said, not prompting her.
“Good. I hope it hurt,” she said simply. A.J. suspected it probably had, especially the last one, but he did not enlighten her. “Where’s that other man, the one who helped you?” she asked. “And which one of you killed those men?” She hadn’t talked a great deal when they first met, but now she seemed committed to making up lost ground.
“We need to go on in,” A.J. said. “Your face is really bruised.” He got out of the truck and stepped around to open the door for her. She got out slowly and tested her legs. Then they walked up to Doc’s door and entered. His living room had been converted into a waiting room, and Doc was sitting in a Naugahide chair by the wall reading a medical journal disguised as Field and Stream. He looked up as they entered.
“A.J., how have you been?” he inquired.
“Been better, Doc. This lady needs some attention.”
Doc stepped up close and viewed the facial contusion.
“Yesss,” he said absentmindedly as his expert fingers gently felt for broken bones in the area of the bruise. “Mrs. Jackson,” he said loudly, calling the woman who had been his landlady, nurse, and companion for many years. When they were alone he called her Minnie, but this was business. “Let’s get this young woman ready for a complete medical exam.” Doc’s trained eye had also noted the deep scratches that began at her throat and disappeared under her shirt.
“What is your name, dear?” Mrs. Jackson asked as they left the lobby, but the door swung shut before A.J. could hear the reply. He supposed he should have inquired before now, but the opportunity had not presented itself, and she hadn’t volunteered. Doc and A.J. were left in the lobby.
“What’s the story, A.J.?” Doc asked.
“Eugene and I found her in the woods. She hasn’t been raped.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know. Eugene is on the way here with Slim. When he gets here, we’ll tell the story. Go check her out in the meantime. I think she was in shock when we found her.” Doc was looking at A.J. hard. He knew that an abundance wasn’t being said.
“I’ll be wanting some answers soon, A.J.,” he said.
“You’ll have them. Oh, and Doc? When you get through with her, get your coroner stuff ready. The woods are full of dead people.” Doc was on the way to the examining room. He stopped and slowly turned.
“I assume you are speaking euphemistically?”
“Nope.”
Doc just stared.
“A.J., what in hell have you and Eugene gotten into?”
“We have wandered into a metric ton of shit,” A.J. replied, and he meant every word. The old physician shook his head and left to tend his patient. A.J. stepped outside and waited for Slim and Eugene to arrive. His heels weren’t kept cooling for long. The pile of cigarette butts at his feet had only grown to three when he heard the siren on Slim Neal’s cruiser. Slim was usually as subtle as a B-52 raid and did not disappoint on the current occasion. He came sliding down Doc’s driveway with all four wheels locked and leaped out. Eugene, A.J. noted, was sitting in the back where the prisoners go.
“Where is the girl?” Slim asked, excited and out of breath.
“She’s in there with Doc,” A.J. replied. Slim made to brush past A.J., who did not move from the door. “They won’t be long,” he continued. “Let’s let them have their privacy.” He couldn’t precisely explain it, but he had become a little protective of her. The idea of Slim shining his flashlight at her private parts while looking for clues was unacceptable. Given Slim’s history, it was not inconceivable that whole sections of her body would end up roped off with yellow tape, and A.J. wasn’t going to have it. “Why don’t you take my statement?” he suggested to Slim.
“I don’t need your statement. Eugene has confessed. I know everything.” Knowing Slim as he did, A.J. found that hard to believe.
“What, exactly, has Eugene confessed to?” he asked, looking toward the backseat of the police car. Eugene shrugged.
“To killing three men up on the mountain, of course. Said he beat two of them to death with your bat and shot a third one.” Slim oozed exhilaration. “He says it was self-defense. Sure sounds like it was to me, but I’ve got to talk to that girl and check it out.” Slim spoke proudly, unaware that the biggest case he had ever unraveled was solved incorrectly.
“Slim, that’s not what happened,” A.J. said. “I killed those men.”
“A.J., A.J., A.J. Everyone knows Eugene is your buddy, and everyone knows you’re going to stick up for him. Hell, even Eugene said you’d try to take the blame. Said you told him to just shut up and let you do the talking. I understand these things, but if you try to lie to the county sheriff when he gets here, you’re going to get into trouble.” Slim was patting A.J. on the shoulder and speaking in a tolerant tone.
“Can I talk to Eugene a minute?” A.J. asked tightly.
“Well, I don’t know.” Slim thought about the idea. “I guess it would be all right, but I’d have to put you in the backseat.” He led A.J. to the car and shut him in. Eugene was sitting there, wearing handcuffs.
“What are you doing?” A.J. asked, getting right to the issue.
“Hell, A.J., the man wore me down. Had some of those hot lights shining on me. Beat me with a hose. I confessed. He also made me admit that I was the second man on the grassy knoll and he may have me pegged on the Lindbergh baby.” Eugene had a faint smile on his lips.
“This is not funny. Tell him I did it, and quit playing around.” A.J. was angry. It wasn’t that he wanted to take the blame, or the credit, depending on the point of view. But right was right, and Eugene didn’t do it. “If Slim is eating out of the palm of your hand, why are you wearing the handcuffs? I’m telling you, you’re loading yourself up for trouble you can’t handle.”
“Sorry,” Eugene said. “It’s my word against yours. You are a piss-poor liar, and I’m taking the rap. We were knights in shining armor on this deal, but four guys are dead. The shit heads shot one of them, and the two you brained with the bat were clearly self-defense. That leaves the one you made into dog food. A.J., I know you, and I know for a fact you were going to fuck that one up. You were already starting to warm up to that cold-blooded-murder shit. Now me, I can lie all day. Slim already knows that the man was just about to cut down on me and the girl, but I got him first. You had gone on ahead to find us a good spot to fish. By the time you got back, it was all over. As for the cuffs, do you know how long Slim has been waiting to slap these on somebody? Hell, I couldn’t let him down. How often does he get to be in on a quadruple murder? Have a little compassion.”
“There’s a problem with your plan,” A.J. said. “The girl remembers.” It was a lie, but it might provide the necessary impetus for Eugene to recant.
“No problem at all,” was Eugene’s reply. “She was in shock. You prompted her because you’re a hell of a guy and didn’t want to see your buddy take the fall.” He paused a moment before offering the kicker. “Here’s the deal. You are a prince among men, and everybody knows you’d try to help me out of a jam. It’s just something you’d do. Me, I’m a piece of shit. I’ve never done a noble thing in my life. Why would I start now?”
A.J. mentally acknowledged that Eugene seemed to have thought it through.
“Anyway,” Eugene continued, “I’m a bootlegger. This will be great for my reputation. Might help get some of the larger bills cleared up. Maybe even discourage competition from some of the younger boys just taking up the trade.” A.J. didn’t know what to say. The abnormality of the
conversation dovetailed with the absurdity of the day. They were a matched set, color-coordinated insanity.
“We’ll take polygraph tests,” A.J. offered, stubborn as a bulldog and losing ground. “I’ll prove I did it.”
“Those things won’t stand up in court, and mine will come out better than yours, anyway. I lie better than I tell the truth. It’s one of my strengths.” Eugene was set on his course.
“Eugene, why are you doing this?” A.J. wasn’t giving up, but he had to admit he had lost momentum.
“I’m doing it because I’m your friend. I can get away with this. You can’t.” Eugene was silent for a moment. “Besides, you would do it for me. Who knows? Someday I may need a favor.”
The aftermath of the day’s events was complicated. The girl’s name was Regina Deberry of the Atlanta Deberrys, and she was a senior at the University of Georgia. Her declared major was anthropology, but her long weekend in the mountains had dampened her fascination with primitive cultures, and as soon as she returned to Athens she adjusted her academic focus toward psychology.
But there was one small blemish to clear up before she returned to scholastic life. Found among the ruins of the camp-in Regina’s sleeping bag, to be exact-was five pounds of high-quality black Jamaican marijuana. The cache was discovered by Slim, and Regina’s partial amnesia conveniently extended to cover the origin of the substance. So although she had been almost raped and nearly killed, Slim held her pending investigation of the drug charge.
“Any one of four dead guys he could nail, and Slim tries to hang it on the girl,” Eugene said when he heard the news. He was disgusted. “Hell, I wish I had found it. It damn sure wouldn’t be a problem now.”
A.J. had no doubts on that score, and he found it unusual that Eugene had missed the stash when he had dashed back to retrieve his gun, because he hadn’t overlooked anything else. He had reclaimed his pistol and its spent shell casings as well as retrieving A.J.’s fingerprints from both the bat and the M-16. He had replaced them with his own.
The Front Porch Prophet Page 9