by Lila Beckham
“We’ll see what we can do about it, but ain’t much we can do to keep them boys from hating one another,” Joshua said, then he told Cook that he was headed into town to talk to the people at the tattoo shop.
Joshua hung up the phone and then headed out the door. As he got behind the wheel of the new patrol car, he sighed. He would have to see about getting his 8-track player installed so he could listen to his music.
Joshua drove out of his driveway and headed toward Mobile. As he neared Big Creek, he saw Junior Cobb standing alongside the road. Apparently, his old truck had broken down. Most folks took an immediate liking to Junior. Junior never met a stranger and he could talk the horns off a Billy goat, once you got him started talking.
He lived in a tarpaper shack next door to his mama.
Junior was a little slow in learning and he had never gotten married. Most women liked to talk to Junior and dance with him, but that was as far as it went; he was not husband material.
Joshua had learned a long time ago that when women were looking for sperm donors to father their children, they tried to get the strongest, best looking, and smartest they could find, just like with most animal species.
Junior was none of those, but he was a good soul. Joshua was not going to leave him stranded on the side of the road. He flipped on his blue lights and bumped his siren once just to get Junior to laugh.
It worked, Junior went to laughing and pointing at Joshua and saying “now Josh.” Joshua laughed too. He could not help it; Junior had that effect on people. He was always smiling, no matter how bad things seemed; but Stokes could tell that he was worried about his truck.
“What happened, Junior?”
“My truck done quit on me. I reckon it jumped time, this time.”
“You need me to carry you somewhere, or call somebody?”
“If you can call one of my brothers for me, either Charlie or William, one of them can come help me get it to the house.”
“Now, Junior, I don’t mind running you somewhere. All you got to do it lock it up,” Joshua told him, but he could tell when Junior went to gnawing on his thumbnail, that there was no way he was going to leave his truck.
“Don’t worry Junior. I will get a hold of one of them and send them on their way. Do you need anything before I go?”
“I just don’t know what I’m gonna do without my truck. I hope its not broke too bad to be fixed.”
“Don’t worry, that brother of yours is a pretty good mechanic, he’ll get it going for you. I’ll see you later, Junior.” He hated to leave him standing there, looking like a lost little boy, but he needed to get on down the road.
Joshua stopped at Tommy Creighton’s in Semmes and called Junior’s brother William. He had William’s number because he used him to mechanic on his personal vehicles for the last five or six years.
He did not know much about Charlie, just that he stayed close to home and was not much of a conversationalist. Joshua drove to Dauphin Street, parked in front of the tattoo parlor, and then got out and walked in.
The buzz of conversation immediately ceased when they looked up and saw him standing there.
“Can I help you, Sheriff,” Todd Jenkins, the owner and head tattooist asked.
“I have a picture of a tattoo that I’d like you to look at, see if maybe you recognize the artwork or the artist,” Joshua handed Todd the picture.
Todd did not look at it no time before he said, “I can tell you that I didn’t do this, nor did any of the artists who work here, but, you know, it looks a lot like Skip Normand’s work. His place is out there off Highway 90; you know where I’m talking about, don’t you.”
“Yeah, I know Skip. I had not thought of him though.”
“Why don’t you just ask the girl where she got the artwork done?”
“Well, I would if I could, but she’s dead. We are trying to ID her. All we have is her body.”
“Damn!” Todd exclaimed.
“Don’t call Skip and warn him that I’m coming; he’s not in trouble,” Joshua stated. “If he is the artist, hopefully he can tell me who the girl is.” Todd nodded affirmation.
On the drive to Skip Normand’s shop, Joshua thought of all he needed to do. Suddenly, he felt a bit overwhelmed. Of course, he could have sent someone else to talk to Dotty, but felt that he could best get through to her and accomplish more than any of his deputies could.
He could have sent one of them to make the rounds of the tattoo parlors too, but that too, he felt he needed to do. Trying to do everything on his own, had always been his downfall, but it is hard to turn loose the reins and give control to others. He knew that he was a control freak, but at his age, he was not likely to change.
On the drive to Grand Bay, Joshua decided that as soon as he got through talking to Skip, he would drive straight to Dotty Reston’s house.
When Joshua drove up in front of Skip Normand’s shop, Skip was standing in the doorway as if he was waiting on him. Right off, Joshua figured that Todd had called ahead to give Skip a head’s up that he was coming.
20
Slither
Emma could not stand the thought of being back at the mercy of the two lunatics standing over her. She turned loose the roots and vines that supported her weight and began flailing her arms in an attempt to ward off capture.
Immediately, she began to slide downward.
As she did, hope surged through her veins and she fought even harder, pushing herself backward, crawfishing away from them.
It was so dark; all she could see were the lamps they held in their hands.
Emma had fought so hard to get safely on the banks of the river, now she pushed with all her might to get herself away from the muddied haven.
She could feel the vines and briars tearing at the flesh on her legs as she slithered backwards, or it could have been snake fangs, she was not sure, but, it did not matter, she would rather die of a snake bite than at their hands, and as long as she distanced herself from Earl and Vernon she had a chance for survival.
She would much rather die trying to get away from them, than to surrender without a fight!
She kept pushing until her entire body was underwater. She saw the lamplights moving ahead of her and heard Earl barking orders at Vernon.
Emma tried to turn herself around, but then felt the sticks and cumbersome tree trunks beneath her, hampering her flight. She took a deep breath and threw herself back into the swirling current.
She hoped the current would suck her body underneath the brush and into the beaver dam.
Suddenly, Emma felt something sharp puncture her arm. At first, it burnt as if she had been stuck with a hot poker, then it went numb. A snake wiggled beneath her shirt, trying to get it’s self away from her struggling body, its slithering movement terrified her, but she gained control of her emotions and relaxed.
The rivers suction did its job by drawing her downward; the snake went upward out of her shirt.
Emma could feel the debris at the bottom of the river and almost panicked, wanting to struggle again, because she remembered how hard it had been to get her self out of it the first time.
Thoughts were running through her mind at an alarming pace, so many at once that she could not separate them into any sort of order. Downward she went, her body spinning round and around in the muddied water.
Suddenly her feet hit bottom, but just as they did, her body went sideways, being swept along the bottom of the river. Emma clutched at the only clear thought that came into her mind; she began to pray.
The proverbial devil on one shoulder, saint on the other, plagued her thoughts. The devil telling her that it was no use in praying, because she was going to die and the saint yelling pray, pray, pray, because the Lord was the only one who could help her.
Emma had spent her childhood going to Sunday School, but the only prayer she could remember at that moment was “Now I lay me down to sleep” and the nagging devil was laughing at her for being so stupid. “Go away, D
evil” her mind yelled, followed by a “Please help me, Jesus; make him go away.”
Emma felt herself dragging along the bottom of the river, but there was no pain.
Numbness had settled upon her body and a peaceful feeling followed, causing her to relax even more.
Emma could have sworn that she heard a flute begin to play, its soothing tone drawing her forward through the water. The sound of the flute calmed her thoughts and caused her to think of her great-grandfather, Goyaałé. He was thought by many to have magical powers and that was how he eluded capture for so long.
“Walk the proud land,” a voice said into her ear. It was in the tone of voice and accent, that Emma thought her great-grandfather would have used.
Her forward movement slowed and her body came to rest upon the bottom of the river. The voice repeated the same statement in her ear once again, spurring her to try to stand upon the riverbed.
Once footed, Emma began to take steps. She did not know which direction she was moving, but it did not seem to matter. After a few steps, she felt her head rising out of the water. Emma took in deep gulps of air, while surveying her surroundings.
Day was breaking and the complete darkness she had experienced earlier was tinged with an amber glow.
The sandbar that appeared out of nowhere had a lustrous glow in the waning moonlight and fog hung low over the bayou and across the river.
The air above the river remained fog free and Emma saw what appeared to be the remains of a dock of some sort. Her legs felt leaded, heavy with the earth’s gravity.
She got down on her hands and knees and began to crawl out of the water; the sand cut into her knees and the palms of her hands.
Once seated on the sandbar, Emma studied the wooden relic across the river.
She remembered her father telling her and her brother, that Robert Moffett was a Scottish born Cotton Factor who settled in Mobile about 1849. He owned a manservant and they owned a nanny for the wife and children.
He bought the old Mimosa Plantation there on the Escatawpa, restored and remodeled it, naming it Caledonia, which was the poetic Latin name for Scotland.
Once he settled and established his cotton business, he bought more slaves.
Her father told her that by 1855, the Plantation was flourishing and when the river was high enough, goods, such as cotton, tobacco, and rice were floated downriver on barges from other Southern Alabama plantations and unloaded at the plantation’s dock. From there, the goods would be hauled by mule train to establishments in other towns or cities, such as Mobile, where they were loaded onto ships and shipped to other cities, even to other countries. Moffett also repaired the ferry landing and restored ferry service to cross the Escatawpa and establish trade with small Mississippi Territorial towns.
Could this be the remains of the old Moffett Plantation dock? If so, then she had to be close to Escatawpa Hollow and close to Moffettville.
Emma could not believe that she was almost home.
As she studied the area across the river, a heavy fog settled in, glowing eerily in the faint light. Emma swore she saw it rising into the shape of a woman.
There was a gap in the trees, like maybe a road or pathway once led through them.
Above the fog, against a backdrop of before dawn eastern sky, Emma thought she could make out the shape of a house nestled among the trees. It glowed brightly, when the moon made a brief appearance.
Emma watched the apparition move slowly toward it.
The glowing mist traveled upwards as if it was going up a stairway. After a few moments, it faded away. Emma lay back on the sandbar and closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a tiredness that engulfed her entire being.
She was too tired to try to get to the house right then. She decided she would rest until it was good light and then she would go there and seek help.
21
The Tattooist and the Harlot
Skip Normand was six feet four inches of intimidating flesh as he leaned with his shoulder propped against the doorway of his shop.
Joshua could read people pretty well. Skip’s tattooed, muscular forearms folded across his chest signaled that he was not open to too many questions.
If he had any information on the tattoo, he was not going to give it up easily, Joshua could tell that right off.
“This won’t take long, Skip,” Joshua said, “I just need you to look at a picture, and I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. You’ve done nothing wrong and I am not here to harass you or to cause you any trouble,” he said, looking Skip dead in the eye.
Skip stepped sideways and signaled for the sheriff to go on into the shop. Skip left the door standing open and followed Joshua inside.
“What is this all about, Sheriff.”
“I’m working on a murder case, and I need your help.”
“I’ll do what I can to help, as long as I don’t go to jail or have to testify in court.”
“I don’t put people in jail unless they’ve done something wrong. As far as testifying in court, there is a thing called a deposition; it can be read in court. You would not even have to be present; but I don’t think it will come to that,” Joshua said, taking the Polaroid out of his shirt pocket and handing it to Skip. Skip examined the photo closely then handed it back to the sheriff.
“I put that tattoo on a young black headed chick a few months back. She said she wanted a rosebud tattooed on her hip, but she did not want it to look like everyone else’s rosebud tattoo. She gave me free rein, so I done the tattoo as I wanted.
I have only done one other rosebud that looked like that one, but it was twenty years ago. The flesh around that tattoo appears too firm and smooth to be the first one.”
“Yeah, we think she is young. What can you tell me about the girl?”
“She was a good-looking little gal. Probably 5-2 with black shoulder length hair that blazed reddish in bright sunlight; she had dark eyes. Her hair was the reason I did the rosebud black tinged with red. She came in here with some leg I figure was her boyfriend. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, even while I was trying to work on her.”
“I know it is a lot to ask, but if I sent a sketch artist out here, you reckon you could guide his hand to draw what she looked like.”
“I won’t ask why you need that done, but I can do you one better,” Skip said as he opened a drawer in an old desk. He pulled out a sketchbook and flipped several pages, then folded it back and handed it to Joshua.
Joshua Stokes looked down at the page and into the eyes of a dead girl. Her features were delicate, porcelain like in appearance.
“She looks as if she could have a little Asian influence in her bloodline,” Joshua observed. “Why do you have a sketch of her if I might ask?”
“No problem, Sheriff. Her boyfriend asked me to sketch it when I drew out the rosebud for them. When I finished, he only had enough dough to pay for the tattoo, so I kept the sketch. He wouldn’t gonna get it for nothing.”
“How much you want for it,” Joshua asked, wanting to have it for his investigation. It was not concrete evidence, but it was something he could use internally among his officers, or if a missing person’s report came in, fitting her description.
“It’s yours, Sheriff,” Skip replied pulling a scalpel out of the desk drawer. He cut the page out with one smooth motion and handed it to Joshua.
Briefly, Joshua wondered why Skip kept razor sharp scalpels in his desk drawer, but then figured it had something to do with his being an artist. He took the sketch, thanked Skip for his help, and left.
He drove straight to Wilmer and pulled up to Dotty Reston’s house.
As soon as he drove into her driveway, she came and stood in the doorway.
Joshua got out of his patrol car and began walking toward the door. He could not help but to glance at the bullet holes that dotted the front of the house.
Dotty stood there with her hand on her hip, smiling as if he were an old friend come to visit.
“W
hat can I do you for, Sheriff?” she asked, almost chirping in tone, which immediately aggravated the shit out of him. He hated when people tried to be smart assed or cutesy with him.
Dotty hiked up her skirt as she moved to the top step.
“I come to talk to you about your boys, Dotty,” he answered, thinking to himself that by her actions, she was still a harlot; probably always would be he reckoned.
“What they done this time?” Dotty asked, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder.
“My deputy said they were fighting with the Stringer boys last night. It was also told they have been sending threatening notes to Willie Jr. at school. This kind of stuff will not be tolerated in my county,” Joshua said firmly.
“I don’t know nothing about it, Sheriff, but it is our county too, we live here too you know,” Dotty said, hiking her skirt even further as she sat down on the top step.
“Yeah, I know that, but I am going to be up front with you, Dotty. I know they had to take one of your boys to the hospital, the others scattered and run.
You need to talk with those boys of yours and get this shit straightened out. You and Willie screwed around and Willie was killed because of it. Autry killed him. He also killed Lacey, and tried to kill Hannah. When that didn’t work out for him, he killed himself. He would have probably killed you too, if you had been here.
Autry’s dead, Willie’s dead, that should be the end of it.
You done your time in jail, the Tyson boys are doing theirs. If you let your children keep hating, it ain’t ever going to end.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that Sheriff. I was gone for five years. They was raised hating, but not by me.
Besides, they don’t respect me no more than if I was a dog, and what about them high and mighty Stringers, they are a hating on my boys too. You don’t know all of it, Sheriff. Just what they tell you.”
“I know I don’t know all that has gone on, but it all needs to stop. I am going to Willie’s kin and talk with them when I leave here. You just talk with your boys. I would hate to see a repeat of what happened before. Those boys, your’s and the Stringer’s boys have their whole lives ahead of them, they need to get their emotions under control or they won’t amount to a dime; none of them.”