by Glenn Trust
“How ya doin’. Why don’t you set right here at the counter.”
“Thanks,” Lyn sighed as she pulled herself up on the swivel stool dropping the small canvas bag she carried on the floor.
“What can I get you?” The smiling waitress looked closely at her, making Lyn uncomfortable.
“Just some water, ma’am, thanks.”
While the waitress moved off, she looked around trying to be discreet, but wanting to see who there might be to give her the next ride up the road. It was two in the morning, but a twenty-four hour diner on the interstate like this would always have someone moving in her general direction. North.
She avoided eye contact with the few patrons. A couple of young men, rough looking, were huddled at a table next to the window. They looked at her occasionally, and their glances made her uncomfortable.
A lone man, probably a trucker, sat at a booth under the window. He was large and heavy, wearing a tee shirt, but his face didn’t look unkind. It was even a little grandfatherly. She had never known either of her grandfathers, but this could have been one of them. He had the look of a family man.
Loud talking at the other end of the counter caught her attention. A middle-aged couple was arguing. It wasn’t clear what about. It seemed plain that they were both drinking. Lyn gave them another glance. If she got a ride with them, having another woman there could be a help. The arguing got louder, and the man raised his fist as if to strike the woman who raised her hand in threatened retaliation.
“Just do it, you piece of shit. Just do it! I’ll have you in jail!” The drunk woman’s voice shrieked at the man, who lowered his fist.
The waitress walked over to them, two cups of coffee in her plump hands and a stern look on her face.
“That’ll be enough of that, or you can get out. Y’all just sit here and drink your coffee and let things settle. You hear?” Her voice was firm, and there was no doubt that she had run more than a few drunks, out of the diner.
Lyn was startled at the touch of a hairy arm brushing up against her bare skin. The large truck driver man was sitting on the stool beside her. He leaned over close and smiled.
“How ya doin’ tonight, sweet thing?” The man’s voice was thick and deep, like the black oil that leaked up through the ground under Daddy’s tractor in the shed. On a hot day, you could smell the oil, pungent and thick, wafting in the air. This man’s voice reminded her of the black oil and thick smell.
Her mouth opened but she couldn’t think what to say. It was clear that he was not the grandfatherly type she had thought him to be at first glance. Her confidence sagged, and she knew that she must have looked like a scared little girl. The look in the man’s eye told her that was what he wanted, and it scared her even more.
“Hey, hon! Sorry I got distracted by them two drunks; had to take care of business ya know.” The plump waitress was back in front of her with a coffeepot and cup. “I sure am glad you stopped by to see your ‘Auntie Kathy’.”
The waitress looked at the big man and said curtly, “Henry, I’m gonna visit with my niece here so you go on back over to your booth and eat your eggs and leave us be.” She just looked at him with no expression on her face at all, and that said it all. The man stood up, shrugged, and ambled over to the booth and sat down. He didn’t look in their direction again.
When he was gone, the waitress looked at her and said simply, “I’m Kathy. Guess you heard that. You need a ride, right?”
Lyn just looked at her and nodded. She was close to tears and trying hard not to show it. The journey, her escape, had just started. She wasn’t even out of Pickham County. How could she be in trouble already? It was too much. She felt her lip start to tremble and her shoulders start to shake.
Kathy put her plump hand out and settled it gently and solidly on her arm. It felt cool and reassuring.
“There now,” Kathy said softly. “You’re alright now. You don’t want to let all them see you cry. You’ll be needing them tears later maybe, but not now.
“Trust me, you don’t want no ride with that Henry,” she continued. “He comes by here few times a month, and he gives me the creeps. He’s not good.”
Lyn managed to squeak out through her tight throat, “You didn’t seem too worried by him.”
“Me?” Kathy smiled. “I ain’t never met the man yet that I’m gonna let have the satisfaction of knowin’ he scared me. Just look ‘em in the eye, and they usually back down. Them big tubs like Henry don’t know what to do when you stand up to them. They ain’t used to it.”
She chuckled in a superior way at her own knowledge of men and their ways.
“Of course, the good ones ain’t trying to scare you. Most of them are just tryin’ to get over bein’ scared themselves before they talk to you. Just have to learn the difference.” Kathy chuckled again.
She continued, “Now, you’re gonna set here a bit, and I’m gonna get you a ride. Which way you headed?”
“North, Savannah I guess. Then further. Canada if I can get there,” she replied a little embarrassed at how silly it must have sounded.
“Canada, huh? Long ways from here.” Kathy shook her head and put her hand on Lyn’s.
“I know,” Lyn looked her steadily in the eye. “That’s why I’m going.”
“Okay. Good. You see them two boys over there?” Kathy nodded towards the two rough looking young men seated at the window table. They saw her nod in their direction and stared down at their plates, shoveling food into their mouths as fast as they could. Clearly, they were as intimidated by the plump waitress as was Henry.
“Those boys are headed to just outside of Savannah,” she continued. “They can get you that far. Then you can take I-16 over to Atlanta and go north from there, or head north up the coast on I-95. Me, I’d take the Atlanta road. Goin’ up 95 takes you through all them big cities. Philadelphia, Washington, New York, Boston. Different people up there. I’d stick to the smaller places. Go up through Tennessee and Kentucky, that-a-way. ”
“But,” Lyn started “they kind of scare me, they looked at me…”
Kathy laughed outright this time, “Them boys? That’s Cy and Clay Purcell. Harmless as pups. They work construction in Savannah and come home for the weekends. They’re headed back to the city this morning, back to work.
“If they looked at you it was ‘cause they ain’t seen a girl pretty as you. Trust me, they come from Pritchard, down on the Florida line. Prettiest girl there gets milked every morning before sunup.” Kathy paused to give a deep-throated laugh at her own coarse joke. “No, they’re good boys. They’ll get you that far safe and sound.”
Before Lyn could say anything else, Kathy called out, “Cy! Clay! Come over here for a minute.”
The two stood up and walked over to the counter, flustered to be summoned by Kathy in the presence of a girl. Lyn didn’t know why she had felt threatened by them a few minutes ago.
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the young men said as they walked up.
Lyn could see that they were both dressed in jeans, blue work shirts, and brown work boots. Though they were a little threadbare and ragged, and their hair was a bit long and shaggy, they were clean.
Kathy took immediate control, “Boys, this is…” She looked at Lyn.
“I’m…uh, my name is Lyn”. She thought of telling them she was from Judges Creek, but then thought better of it. No need to let out too much. Never knew what Daddy would do when he found her gone, and there was no sense in leaving a trail if she could avoid it.
Kathy continued, “This is Lyn. She needs a ride up I-95 to Savannah, and I want you to take her. When you get her there, you take her to the big truck stop on the west side of the city, and you help her find another good, safe ride in the direction of wherever she’s going. North she says. Okay?”
The ‘okay’ wasn’t really a question about whether they were going to take her. It was more a confirmation that they understood her instructions and would follow them to the letter.
The two young men muttered simultaneously, “Yes, ma’am.” They were waiting, somewhat anxiously, to be dismissed back to their table.
“Thanks, boys. Say hey to your uncle for me when you see him,” she said smiling flirtatiously and touching her pulled up hair a bit. “Now go back to your table and finish your coffee. Me and Lyn are gonna talk for a spell and then you go. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They turned away, bumping into each other as they tried to escape as quickly as possible to their table. The younger one caught Lyn’s eye and smiled. She couldn’t help a small smile back, but took it off her face as soon as she realized it.
Kathy gave a short laugh, “That’s Clay, the younger one. Good lookin’ boy. Lot like his daddy was.” She laughed again and walked away calling over her shoulder, “Set right there, hon. I’m gonna bring you some breakfast.”
“Thank you, ma’am… ‘Aunt Kathy’… but I’ll just have some coffee,” Lyn said timidly.
“You sure? It’s on the house.”
“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t eat right now.”
‘Aunt Kathy’ nodded with understanding. “Ok, hon. Coffee it is.”
Henry watched the exchange from the booth. He couldn’t quite hear what was going on, but he knew he would get no further chance to get close to the pretty, little thing sitting at the counter. He snorted and walked to the door. As he pushed it open, he saw Kathy walking back towards the counter.
“Bitch,” he muttered, aiming it at Kathy, but being very careful not to say it loud enough for her to hear.
Kathy brought coffee and some toast for Lyn. When Lyn had finished it, Kathy nodded to the two young men, Cy and Clay. They stood up and waited while Lyn gathered up her few things. Then all three went outside to an old pickup in the parking lot.
The younger brother, Clay, opened the door for Lyn. She climbed onto the bench seat in the old truck. The brothers sat on either side of her. Cy, the older, drove.
The lights of the I-95 Diner faded as they pulled onto the empty interstate. The truck steadily picked up speed, putting distance between Lyn and her past life. An uncertain future loomed ahead.
17. A Search
Turning off the pavement, George followed the dirt drive up to the house and pulled beside Deputy Sandy Davies’ Ford Explorer. He waited for the dust to settle and then opened the door and walked to the front porch. Sandy looked up from the small notebook he was writing in.
“Hey, Mackey, glad you could make it.”
“What’s up, Sandy?” George asked, nodding politely to the elderly woman on the porch.
“Mrs. Sims here says her husband went through the woods to check out sounds at the A.M.E. Church on the other side. Never came back.”
“Anything else on the description?” George asked.
“Nope. Nothing,” Sandy said, and then added, as an afterthought, “Oh, Mr. Sims had a gun with him.”
“What kind?”
“She’s not sure. Just a small handgun. Revolver she thinks.”
The old black woman stood, hands clenched nervously in front. The veins in her thin arms pulsed with each squeeze of one hand on the other. The look on her face was one of embarrassment, to have troubled the sheriff with her missing husband.
George smiled up at her from the bottom of the porch steps. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll find your husband. What’s his name, by the way?”
“Harry…his name is Harold Sims. We all just call him Harry. Told him to just call the sheriff and let ya’ll check it out. The old fool, he just had to go his self.”
Deputy Davies reached out and patted her arm. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll go see if we can find him. He couldn’t have gone far. It’s a dark night and in the woods, it’s even darker. He probably got lost or confused a little. We’ll bring him home.”
“He’s awful scared of snakes and gators. Not like him to stay out in the woods in the dark like this,” Mrs. Sims, said, more to herself than to the deputies.
Sandy turned and walked down the steps, his brow furrowed in serious concentration. He wasn’t all that fond of snakes and gators himself.
Before he could say anything, George spoke, “Guess, I’ll head back out to the main road and come around the front of the church. Why don’t you go through the woods and check it out from that direction. I’ll pick you up at the church.”
Grinning, George climbed into the F-150. Deputy Davies shot him a look that said, thanks a lot, asshole.
Pulling down the drive, he could see in the mirror of the truck that Mrs. Sims was pointing across the yard to a dark patch of woods where, presumably, there was a path leading to the church.
Sandy nodded and plodded across the yard towards the woods examining the ground before him with each step. Snakes, he thought. Mackey knew damned good and well he didn’t like snakes.
George turned onto Power Line Road, unimaginatively named for the high voltage power transmission lines that ran alongside the road. Sandy stood at the entrance to the path as if he were trying to negotiate his entrance into the dark, closed world of the woods.
While Sandy took his first tentative step into the black woods, George raced down Power Line Road to the main highway about half a mile away. It was called the Jax Highway, short for Jacksonville Highway. It was a two lane country road here, but as it crossed the state line and neared the Florida urban areas, it increased to four lanes.
Turning right onto the Jax Highway, it was about another half mile to the A.M.E. Church. George slowed rapidly as he approached the entrance to the graveled parking lot. Pulling off the highway, he stopped the vehicle for a moment in the entrance and scanned the church and parking lot. There was no movement and no other vehicle was visible.
After getting the lay of the land, he turned on the spotlight mounted to the truck, pointed it at the church, and slowly made a pass from front to back, tires crunching softly in the gravel. The bright light glared harshly off the white painted wooden clapboard siding of the church.
Nothing. No old man. No sign of any disturbance at the church. All was quiet.
George turned the truck and pointed it at the woods directly behind the church, guessing where the path through the woods might come out. The bright illumination made the green canopy appear almost white.
A few minutes later, Sandy Davies stumbled into view, the light from his flashlight washed out by the bright lights of the truck. He brushed something off his shoulder and waved his arm around his head as if trying to clear a clinging spider web.
Looking into the lights of George’s truck, he shaded his eyes and walked towards it.
“How’s that workin’ out for you there, Sandy?” he called from his seat in the truck.
Deputy Davies bent over, brushed at something on his pant leg, and then squinted into the bright light and flipped George the bird. He walked around to the passenger side of the truck and got in.
“Anything?” he asked George.
“Nope. All quiet here, and I didn’t see anyone walking on the highway.”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that about half way through the woods. He might have decided to go back along the road instead of fighting his way through the woods.” Sandy added as a theory, “Maybe someone picked him up.”
“Yeah,” George replied, “or ran him over and knocked him into the ditch. I couldn’t see that on the way over, but I wasn’t looking too close.”
“Well, I guess you better take me back to my car, and we can spotlight both sides of the road. Look for any signs of an impact…or a body.”
“Yeah. Just tell Mrs. Sims we are going to look around some, and we will get back to her. Don’t want to frighten her for no reason if old Harry turns up after being lost in the woods.”
Sandy nodded. “Right.”
The two deputies clearly did not relish the task before them. The possibility of finding old Harry Sims lying in a mangled, bloody heap in the roadside ditch was a distinctly unpleasant one.
George
turned the truck to the right so that it was parallel to the tree line along the edge of the woods. The bright lights picked up a small dark hump in the gravel about a hundred feet away.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t know,” Sandy replied squinting through the windshield. “Get closer.”
The truck rolled slowly forward. The dark hump on the gravel slowly grew in size. Its shape shifted in the glaring light and moving shadows cast by the truck’s high beams. It changed from a shadowy mound and took on an identifiable form.
“Shit,” the two deputies muttered in unison.
18. Roydon
Roydon was considered a small town. Actually, it was no town at all and not much more than an interstate crossroad. It was a settlement, a clustering of people for convenience.
There was no elected mayor or town council, but it did have a hierarchy, its own system of governing. It was the unofficial center of criminal activity for fifty miles in every direction, and the leaders of this activity were the unelected leaders of the community. The only discernible reason for its current existence was the interstate and the community’s various criminal enterprises.
In addition to a very busy bar, frequented predominantly by people seeking goods and services unobtainable elsewhere in rural Georgia, there were two run down gas stations pretending to be truck stops, a couple of dirty motels and a few scattered trailers and shacks where the locals resided. These made up the entire settlement.
At one time, it had been a center of commerce for the surrounding farming community, as many of these rural, small towns were at inception. But the farmers had long since moved away or found other markets and means of transport.
Pickham County was generally considered a moderately low crime area. Except for Roydon. In Roydon, big-time, major felony type criminal activity was the standard, and the settlement continued to exist mostly for the sake of the illegal activities that took place at and around the bar, ‘Pete’s Place’.
The new Sheriff of Pickham County had said he was going to clean the place up and had even briefly involved the Georgia Bureau of Investigation (GBI). But finding witnesses in Roydon was problematic. Talking in Roydon about Roydon or its business enterprises was a dangerous proposition.