Final Justice

by Patricia Hagan

  "I'll get them for you," he whispered, his grip on the edge of the coffin growing tighter, his hands shaking harder. "I'll see that justice is done, Momma."

  * * *

  Out in the parlor, Norma asked Alma, "How is he doing?"

  "Not too good. I think he's sort of in shock."

  "Well, he wasn't in shock when he asked Sara Speight to make all the arrangements, was he? I tell you, Alma, you ought to raise hell with him about that. You know how folks talk, and everybody is wondering why he did it. It was your place, not hers."

  Alma gave a dismal nod. "I know. I tried to tell her that, but she doesn't care. I've always hated her," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  "Well, if I were you, I'd keep an eye on them two. They were sweethearts back in high school, remember?"

  Alma didn't say anything. She didn't like being reminded.

  Norma sighed. "So when's he going back to California?"

  "He hasn't said." She was not about to confide how Luke was giving her the silent treatment.

  "Well, it might be best if he went to get him away from her."

  "He said he wanted to move me and Tammy away from Junior Kearney's. He'll do that before he leaves."

  Norma patted her hand. "Well, you do like I told you and keep an eye on things. She's after him, for sure, and, speak of the devil..."

  Alma saw Sara and was annoyed that she was wearing a black skirt and blouse like she was in mourning. She wasn't family, for God's sake, but she was sure trying to act like it. Alma had rushed out the day before and bought a black cotton dress to wear, but she had the right. Sara didn't.

  Sara glanced around, spotted Alma, and hurried over. She gave Tammy a quick hug, then asked in the soft, patronizing voice Alma despised, "Is Luke in there with her?" Without waiting for answer, "How's he doing?"

  Eyes glittering with anger, Alma snapped, "Don't you worry about how he's doing, Sara. I'll see he does all right."

  Norma snickered, and Sara, red-faced, walked away.

  * * *

  Afterwards, they left her on the outskirts of the village by the railroad track, which divided it from the rest of the town. She stumbled along in the depths of night, bruised and bleeding, barely making it home to her bed before anyone woke up.

  As Buddy shoved her out of the car, he warned her again that if she ever told anyone, he'd see to it that her family lost their jobs, their home in the village, everything. Who would believe the word of a mill girl over a Hampton, anyway, he had taunted.

  So she never said a word, not even when she realized she was pregnant. Her father had beat her senseless as he tried to make her name the boy responsible. Finally, he kicked her out, her family abandoning her for all time.

  The pictures of his mother's attack became more vivid in Luke's mind. Suddenly it was as though he had actually been there, all those years ago, to witness the heinous violation of his mother.

  Sara knocked, and when there was no answer, she hesitantly opened the door. "Luke? Is it okay if I come in?"

  She gasped to see how he was holding onto the coffin, which was teetering precariously to and fro. It was sitting on a folding table, the legs of which looked none too sturdy.

  She hurried to grab his wrists and try to pull his hands away, but he held tight. "Luke, let go. Please. You're going to make it turn over. Now come with me. It's time for the funeral. Please, Luke..." She began to cry.

  He held fast, his face as frozen as his mother's.

  Sara turned and ran back into the parlor and beckoned to Kirby, who was standing nearby. He saw her expression and came at once. Speaking so others could not hear, she told him in a rush, "It's Luke. I'm afraid something awful is going to happen if you don't get him away from that coffin."

  But before he could act, something awful did happen. The table legs buckled and collapsed, and the coffin tipped over. Luke came alive at the last second and tried to right it, but he was not quick enough. Kirby tried to help but stumbled into Luke, causing both of them to fall to one side as Orlena tumbled out of the coffin and hit the floor with a dull thud.

  And then she began to roll...

  Like a log, over and over she went, limbs still stiff from rigor mortis, which had not yet dissipated in the thirty-four hours or so since her death. She hurtled down the slanting floor toward the parlor, which had become a scene of bedlam as the hysterical mourners scrambled to get out of her way.

  Norma Breedlove fainted as Orlena's eyes popped open, the cheap glue Hardy had used unable to keep them shut as she rolled. Her mouth, also glued instead of the gums having been wired together, gaped open as though in a silent scream of protest over such indignity. She continued across the now empty parlor, finally coming to a stop when she hit a row of metal folding chairs, knocking them over with a loud clatter.

  For a few moments, nobody made a move or sound as they watched warily from the hall. Finally, wordlessly, Kirby and Luke simultaneously started toward her.

  Hardy ran to right the table, and, with Preacher Dan's help, lifted the coffin and put it back in place, then stood back as Kirby and Luke positioned Orlena inside. Luke, carefully and reverently, tucked in the satin border of the lining, then closed the lid with a finality so fierce it seemed to echo not only throughout the funeral home... but all of Hampton, as well.

  * * *

  It had finally stopped raining. Luke was soaked, but he didn't mind. He was at his mother's grave to say good-bye before taking the noon bus to begin his journey back to California. The funeral was two days ago, and he had managed to get Alma and Tammy settled into an apartment. Alma said folks would talk about his leaving so quick. He told her, not for the first time, he didn't give a damn. That made her mad, and she told him to get the hell out. So he had done just that, walking all the way to the cemetery, but he hadn't minded.

  It was going to be a long bus ride all the way to California, but he didn't care about that either. He needed the time to think about whether he wanted to reenlist. The army offered a pretty good bonus, but some really big money was being dangled under his nose like a gold carrot. The CIA agent he had met with secretly had made him a real tempting offer. All he had to do was work as a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, hiring himself out as a paid killer and helping to smuggle illegal arms to guerillas in places like Laos. It was dangerous, but he was well-trained, and, besides, he didn't have much to live for, and sometimes wondered if he ever had. He felt real guilty about not fulfilling the promise he'd made to his mother to take revenge. The truth was he still couldn't think of anything short of murder.

  "I'm sorry, momma," he whispered.

  He threw his duffle bag over his shoulder and turned from the grave and was surprised to see Matt and Kirby walking up the hill with Clyde Bush, Ben Cotter, and Jubal Cochran following. Matt waved, and when he got closer, called, "Hey, Luke. I'm glad we found you. We went by the apartment, but Alma said you headed off in this direction, so we figured you'd be here."

  Luke frowned. "Something tells me you didn't come to give me a ride into town."

  Matt didn't mince words. "Lily Rhoden got beat up real bad last night, and a cross was burned in front of her house."

  With an angry oath, Luke slung his duffle bag to the ground.

  Matt continued. "She was out of town Friday when all that bull happened at the five and dime with her kid, so when she got home yesterday and heard about it, she went tearing off to the sheriff's department to raise hell. She said Howie had no business treating her kid like that. The sheriff told her she was lucky the thievin' little pickaninny didn't get locked up and next time he'd personally see to it she was."

  Kirby jumped in to add, "That's when Lily got really pissed. She said she had some friends in the NAACP who would be real interested in hearing how black kids are treated in Buford County and maybe the sheriff might just have a civil rights march on his hands before long."

  Matt related how the Ku Klux Klan, in white robes and hoods, had descended on the Rhoden shack
around midnight, carrying torches and the cross, which they set afire. When Lily had run out the front door swinging a broom, things got worse. A few of the Klansmen knocked her around, and she wound up battered and bruised, both arms broken and her nose smashed.

  Luke was having trouble hearing over the roaring in his ears, but it got through to him that Patti Sue had also been dragged into it. The gutless cowards had taken the doll he had bought for her and made her watch while they tied it to the cross and burned it. When she wouldn't stop screaming, one of them had slapped her and busted her mouth open. It would probably have got worse but somebody had the courage to declare enough was enough, and they finally left.

  Ben spoke for the first time. "I marched right over to the courthouse as soon as I heard about it, Luke, and asked the sheriff what he planned to do about having Klan trouble here. He said they weren't locals, and as far as he was concerned, there is no trouble."

  Clyde joined in. "Yeah, right. He also said none of it would've happened, anyway, if you hadn't butted in when Howie was trying to arrest the kid for shoplifting. He said if anybody's to blame, it's you, and he's damn glad you don't live here because you're nothing but a troublemaker."

  "We're hoping you'll show him how much trouble you can make," Jubal said. "We want you to run for sheriff. You'll win hands down. Folks are fed up. Don't worry about what it will cost. We're already collecting money. I started off your campaign fund with a hundred dollars," he added proudly.

  "And I kicked in the same," Clyde said.

  Ben assured he was good for a like amount.

  "Well, I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money," Matt said, "but I'll give what I can. So will Kirby. And we'll get out and rustle up from other folks, too."

  "Just say you'll do it, Luke," Kirby pleaded. "We're with you all the way."

  Luke was silent as he turned back to the grave, eyes narrowed, lips a thin, tight line.

  Matt put a hand on his shoulder, "Listen, me and Kirby know how much you hate this place and how bad you want to leave and never come back, but you can still do that once you get things cleaned up around here."

  "That's right," Kirby chimed in, "But another thing you better think about is your own kid, because a lot of what happened last night was to get back at you, the way they burned the doll and all. So who's to say the sheriff won't do something to hurt Tammy?"

  Luke kept staring at his mother's grave. He wished there had been more flowers. Matt and Kirby and their wives had chipped in to buy a nice wreath. Alma's church had sent a small spray. Junior bought a cheap potted plant. If not for the casket piece of pink and white carnations that Sara had ordered and paid for, the raw mound of red clay would be exposed.

  "Luke, we need you," Ben persisted. "Buford County needs you. You're our only hope, the only man qualified who can kick Bo Grady's fat ass right out of office."

  Jubal pointed out, "You'd have the power to clean things up the way they oughta be, Luke."

  Power.

  Luke seized on the word.

  He would have the power to fulfill his mother's wish. He did not have to think about it any longer. "All right. I'll do it."

  As he spoke, Luke felt the ghostly hand that had been squeezing his ankle to urge him on let go and slip back into the grave.

  At last, his mother had begun to rest in peace.

  PART II

  Chapter 8

  September, 1968

  The Bulldog was the only cafe in town. Situated across the street from the main door to the courthouse, the Hampton High School colors were reflected in the red and white awnings hanging over the plate glass windows. Inside, a marble-topped counter ran the length of one wall, with shelves of dishes and glasses behind the soda fountain where Clyde mixed what was considered the best cherry Coke in the state of Alabama.

  Along the counter, covered plates displayed Ardis Bush's homemade bakery specials of the day: pies, cakes, cookies, and muffins. On the other side of the room were the booths, red vinyl-covered benches and wood tables scarred from generations of high school kids' carvings when Clyde wasn't looking. The truth was, he didn't mind the graffiti and wouldn't have refinished the tables for anything in the world. He knew it made the cafe a treasure trove for high school memories.

  Square chrome-topped tables and wooden chairs filled the middle of the room with a small floor space left in front of the jukebox for dancing. Outdated calendars and posters listing the Hampton High Bulldogs' football and basketball schedules adorned the walls. Hanging right next to the cash register was Clyde's most treasured possession, a framed photograph of him with his arm around Lana Turner. She had popped into the cafe one day years ago when the car carrying her from Atlanta to Birmingham had broke down. Clyde had sent a copy of the picture to her in care of her studio in Hollywood, and she had obligingly autographed it to: "My favorite Alabamian who makes the best cherry Coke I ever tasted, love and kisses, Lana Turner," and returned it. Clyde swore he wanted it buried with him in his coffin, but Ardis told him no way.

  Across the street, Luke eased his patrol car into the space marked Sheriff. He didn't think he had ever needed a cup of Clyde's strong coffee more in his whole life. It was Saturday night, still early, and he was already exhausted. He had just left a wreck where three people had been killed, and, since it was the first night of the county fair, he still had to check things out there.

  As always, when he got to the door, his eyes went to the spot where his hand had gone through the glass the night he'd had the fight with Rudy Veazey. Rudy had left him alone after that, except to give him dirty looks from a distance. Eventually Rudy had quit school and bummed around before joining the Air Force to keep from being drafted into the army and the infantry, which would have shipped him to Nam and straight into combat. He was back in town, working at the mill, and Luke was glad he seldom saw him.

  Luke sat down in the back booth, which had been his favorite spot since his dating days with Sara. He smiled at "Luke + Sara" scratched into the wood along with the date, "9/12/55," and thought again how she would always have a special place in his heart.

  The cafe was empty, unusual at any time, but especially on a Saturday night. Sally Pope, who had been a waitress there as long as he could remember, promptly brought a mug of steaming coffee. She had grease and catsup stains on the front of her uniform, and strands of hair stuck out from under a net. When she smiled, he could see lipstick smeared on her teeth, and he got a whiff of onion breath.

  "Was the wreck as bad as they say?" she asked, eyes shining with morbid curiosity. "Did they really have to take the bodies out in pieces like we heard?"

  "Not quite." He began stirring the coffee to cool it. Clyde made damn good coffee, and it would be a sin to waste the flavor with sugar or cream. Besides, the stronger the caffeine fix this night, the better.

  "Did the ones who got killed die right quick?"

  "Looks that way."

  She slid into the bench across from him. "And were they really so messed up their coffins won't be open?"

  "I don't know. That's up to Hardy Moon and what kind of job he can do." The wreck had happened when Ronnie Turnage, drunk judging from the liquor bottles strewn around, missed a sharp curve near Sycamore on the Talladega highway and plowed straight into a tree. His wife, Inez, had fallen out when the door flew open on her side. She had missed the full impact, but her legs were broken pretty bad. Wiley and Lorraine Hendon in the back seat had also been killed.

  "Know what else I heard? That Ronnie probably missed that curve because him and Inez were fighting. Somebody who was at the dance in Talladega said Ronnie and them were there, too, and Ronnie was pissed off over how she'd been carrying on with Bobby Ray Walston. It was Ricky Bowden who told me. He and Annie stopped by a while ago. He said Inez was a sight, and the more she flirted with Bobby Ray, the drunker Ronnie got."

  Luke wasn't surprised. He knew just about everything that went on in town, and it was common knowledge Inez fooled around. He'd had her himself, but it w
as only that one time, right after he was elected sheriff in a record-setting landslide when he was sort of full of himself with his badge and patrol car and all, and doing some wild and crazy things. But no more.

  Sally continued, "Well, I'd just like to ask Inez what it feels like to know she made her old man kill himself and take two others with him. I don't see how she can look folks in the eye, the little strumpet."

  "And I don't see how you expect me to stay in business if you don't get to work." Clyde gently pulled her to her feet. "Now how about getting the sheriff a big slice of Ardis's pecan pie?" He sat down and winked at Luke, "I know it's your favorite."

  "Well, I've sure eaten enough of it in the past two years."

  Clyde sighed with satisfaction, "And, you know, Luke, they've been good years, too. You cleaned this place up just like everybody knew you would."

  Luke recalled how the first thing he had done was to come down hard on Junior Kearney and put a stop to the goings-on at the motor court. He'd had enough on him to put him away but that would have been too easy. Luke wanted reprisal in a special way, and if he was patient, he figured sooner or later the right opportunity would come along.

  The same was true with his other targets. He would know exactly when to drop the hammer. Besides, he hadn't wanted to zero in on them at once. It might look too obvious. So he was biding his time and keeping his eyes and ears open all the while.

  He had also made Klan activities come to a screeching halt. The ones responsible for injuring Ocie's wife were never identified, but things had been quiet since. Ocie had been discharged from the army and gone to work at the mill, and all seemed peaceful.

  "That wreck was a bad one, huh?" Clyde probed.

  "Afraid so. It took nearly two hours to pry Wiley and Lorraine out. Hardy was finally getting ready to load them in the hearse when I left."

  The door opened and a crowd of teenagers swarmed in to settle at the front of the cafe. Clyde glanced over his shoulder. "The movie must have let out. Guess I'd better get busy frying burgers. I'll be back in a while to talk some more."