by R. P. Wolff
“So, Deron, is Leon your younger brother?” asked the Sheriff.
“Yes, he is three years younger.”
“Who’s tougher?”
“Me, of course.”
The Sheriff continued with the small talk, which seem to work as Deron appeared to be more relaxed. There were literally no cars on the road as it was almost one in the morning.
Finally, the Sheriff pulled slowly up to the secluded warehouse and parked the car. The facility, which included three other buildings, used to be ammunition plant for World War II. It closed shortly after the big war, but then reopened for the Korean War but on a much smaller scale. It closed again about one year earlier in 1953 after the Korean War ended. The three other buildings served as the actual manufacturing plants, but the finished ammunition was stored in the warehouse, a massive facility.
Deron was getting fidgety in the back. “What are we doing here?” Deron asked nervously. “I thought you said that we were going to the crime scene.”
“Well, actually there are two crime scenes. I’m going to take you to both. We think your brother was brought here before they brought him to the woods. We want to see if you can identify some items in here to see if they are Leon’s.”
“Why didn’t you just bring Leon here for that?”
The Sheriff ignored his question and got out of the car, walked around to Deron’s side, and opened Deron’s door. He gently grabbed Deron’s arm. “Okay, come on this shouldn’t take long.”
Deron resisted and would not get up. “Sir, I don’t want to go in there. Please just take me back to jail.”
“Deron, it’s no big deal. I just need to confirm a few things, and then I will release you if everything checks out. I promise.”
Deron hesitantly got out the car. The Sheriff opened the warehouse’s screechy door. He led Deron into the warehouse, turned on a light switch by the door, and simultaneously a few low wattages, dimly-lit bulbs illuminated above a rectangular table. The dim lights could not reveal the vastness of the warehouse, but the Sheriff knew the layout well. The warehouse was the size of two football fields with rows of empty shelves, hundreds of empty pallets, and other miscellaneous boxes and old equipment. Also, Cueball should have already parked his car inside as cars or even semi-trucks could drive straight in from the back.
There were several chairs positioned around the table. The Sheriff needed to keep Deron calm.
“Okay, Deron, come over and sit over here by the table.”
Deron sighed in what the Sheriff thought was in fear, but Deron did not say anything. He obeyed and sat at the table. The Sheriff took the chain that was bolted to the table and connected it to Leon’s handcuffs, essentially securing him to the bolted table.
“Okay, so what do you want me to look at?” asked Deron. “You said you wanted me to identify items.”
“Oh yeah, I have to get something from the squad car. Hang on a second.”
“Wait a second. I thought you wanted me to identify items from the warehouse. Why do you have to go to the car?”
“Look, I’ll be right back. I have to actually get something from the other crime scene that I forgot?”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right back—just hang tight.”
“Wait a minute. How long do I have to wait here? Why can’t you just bring me with you? I don’t want to stay here by myself.”
“Look, I’ll be right back, and then I’ll let you go if everything checks out.”
“Okay. … I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, that’s right. You don’t have a choice.”
The Sheriff left and closed the door behind him. He was relieved that his part of the plan was done, and it went fairly smoothly.
Bye, bye, Deron, he thought.
~~~~
Deron sat defensively at the table shivering. He wasn’t sure if he was shivering because it was a chilling autumn night or if he was scared. Nothing added up for Deron. He felt like they were setting him up. Why didn’t they just interview him at the police station and show him the items in question? He asked himself. Deron may have sounded tough in front of the police earlier and in front of his family, but Deron was terrified of the white man. Not that he was scared of them physically. He felt that he could beat all of them up if it was a fair match, but it wasn’t fair in Dodge County. The police and the white man controlled everything. A Negro could not fight a white man without severe consequences.
But Deron did feel a glimmer of hope that the Sheriff would release him.
After about what seemed like a long time, the hope vanished as Deron heard the sounds of footsteps approaching from behind him. He turned his head and peeked to the back. Out of the darkness, between the shelving, appeared three white men. Deron did not recognize them, but they had guns.
Oh no, Deron thought. This was a setup after all. They were going to kill him just like they tried to kill his little brother. How could he be so stupid to agree to come with the Sheriff, he thought. Of course, he probably didn’t have a choice.
A bald man strolled around the table and faced Deron. Two other men flanked Deron on each side.
Deron spoke first. “Hey, I’m waiting for the Sheriff. What do y’all want?”
“What do we want?” the bald man said, like he was momentarily confused. “Your name is Deron, right? Deron Brooks, right?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“Deron, I hear that you killed my friends: Lucky Bennett, John Favors, and Tom Jenkins.”
“No, no, no, no. It’s not me. I did not kill them. I was nowhere near there.”
“That’s not what we hear, boy. You have killed them, and you have to pay for that, boy. You can’t be killing white people.”
“Look, man, I did not do that. Um, the Sheriff is going to be right here. He says he’s going to let me go tonight. He’s done some investigating.”
The men chuckled in unison.
“Look, motherfucker, he has done the investigation. He has told us that you killed our friends. And now, you must die.”
“No, man, please!” Deron begged. “Please, please. They just tried to kill my baby brother. Please don’t kill me. Please. I got a lawyer.”
The bald man chuckled. “You’re going to try to pull a lawyer on us at this time. You must not know what the fuck you’re talking—”
“Bang!”
Deron heard a gunshot from behind. The bald man stopped speaking because he was shot in the chest. He instinctively grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. Deron shuddered because he was sure he would be next in the shootout that was quickly mounting.
The other two men turned towards the back where the shot came from.
Another shot was fired and hit the guy on Deron’s right, closest to the door. He immediately fell to the ground. The other guy, who hadn’t been shot at, fired two shots with his gun back into the darkness. He then ran towards the door. Deron could hear the shooter reloading his weapon.
Another shot rang out at the man running away, but it missed. Deron glanced over his shoulder and could barely see an outline of the shooter moving closer from the darkness. The shooter reloaded his weapon again, aimed, and fired again.
This time it hit the man as he was opening the door, but it looked like it only got his left shoulder. The man shouted in pain, but ran out the door.
The shooter emerged from the darkness. He was wearing a white hooded mask, overalls, gloves, and completely covered with clothing—just like Leon described the man who saved Leon. The shooter darted towards the door and started chasing the other man who got away.
The door remained open about half way. Deron was still cuffed to the table. He could hear moans from one of the men on the ground, but the other one was silent.
Deron froze.
What was going to happen to him?
~~~~
After an antagonizing few minutes, the shooter reappeared in the warehouse and closed the door behind him. Deron noticed that the shooter
appeared flustered and panicky. Amazingly, Deron did not feel any fear. He felt that the shooter would have already harmed him, and this guy was the guy who saved his brother—he was a good guy, or so he hoped.
The shooter pointed the rifle at the two men on the ground. He kicked away one of the revolvers and picked it up. He momentarily pointed it at Deron. Deron stared at the shooter, holding his breath, not knowing what to do. He could see that the man had a black mask on underneath the white hood around his eyes.
To Deron quick relief, the shooter turned the gun away from Deron and pointed it at the man that was moaning.
The shooter shot the man moaning. Then the shooter pointed it at the other guy and shot him too.
Deron could barely breathe. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Would he be next? The shooter had already pointed the gun at him.
The shooter searched one of the two men and took out the person’s keys. He tossed the keys to Deron then ran away into the darkness. After a short while, Deron could hear a door from the rear open and then close. Deron figured that the shooter escaped through the back.
Deron quickly, with shaky hands, used the key to free himself from the hand and leg cuffs.
Deron sat there momentarily not knowing what to do. Where could he go? The police were just involved in trying to have him killed. Who knows where the other guy was hiding or whether he was still alive.
He couldn’t stay in the warehouse with two dead white guys and another injured white guy nearby. If he went to his house, the cops would find him. He would have to find a safe haven in his neighborhood … somewhere.
Chapter 12
The Sheriff waited patiently by the phone at the police station. It was half past two a.m., about an hour after he dropped off Deron. The Sheriff figured that Cueball wouldn’t be finished with the job for about another hour. Nevertheless, the Sheriff told them to call him by three a.m. no matter what the status was.
To the Sheriff’s surprise, the phone rang early. “Hello,” said the Sheriff.
“Sheriff, this is Paulie.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” asked the Sheriff.
“Oh my God! I’ve been shot. I think my brothers have been killed. Things went bad. Things went terribly bad.”
“What do you mean? Wait … wait … stop. Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital. I’ve been shot in the arm. It’s killing me. They’re ready to work on me. I hitched a ride to get here.” Paul started weeping. “My brothers, I think they’re dead. They’ve been shot.”
“Who shot them?”
“Someone … someone was at the warehouse. I think they had a rifle. They shot Cueball … and then they shot Stevie. I shot at him and started running. He missed me on his first try, but got me on the way out on my arm, by my shoulder. It’s killing me.”
“Wait a second. What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. I really couldn’t see him. He was in the darkness. I could only see an outline of him. Then I ran, and he chased after me, but I was able to get away from him. He only chased me for a short while.”
“What was he wearing?”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff, I couldn’t see.”
“How tall was he?”
“He was about average height. He wasn’t tall—he wasn’t short.”
“Was he a nigger?”
“Sheriff, I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”
The Sheriff paused. “Holy shit! Where’s Deron at?”
“Um, as far as I know he is still at the warehouse. He was cuffed to the table.”
The Sheriff was silent for a moment. “Oh no, hang there by the hospital. I’ll get someone to pick you up after the doctor is done with you. Oh my God, I’m not sure what we’re going to do. This is terrible. All right, hang in there. I’m sorry about your brothers. I hope they’re okay. We’ll check them out right away.”
“Be careful, Sheriff. There’s a fuckin’ killer out there.”
~~~~
Deron cautiously studied the two men on the ground. They were not moving, and they appeared dead. For his self-defense, he took one of the revolvers that lay by one of the men and stuffed in his pant pocket.
Deron knew he had to get out of the warehouse quickly. He wasn’t sure if the guy who escaped was still out there and might come back for him. He realized that he had the same dilemma that his brother, Leon, had on how to get home, but his situation was a little better. Deron knew exactly where he was at because everyone knew about the old ammunition plant. It had employed many Negroes.
The warehouse was located to the west of the downtown and residential areas but slightly southeast of the lake, so Deron figured that he was only a couple miles from the railroad tracks—the dividing line between the Negroes and the whites. Deron hoped that no one would notice him if could maneuver his way through the maze of other warehouses and manufacturing plants.
Deron opened the door and peered around to see if anyone was around. He waited but couldn’t hear anything, so he started jogging south towards the railroad tracks.
While he was jogging, he was thinking of where he could go. He definitely couldn’t go the police—they just tried to kill him. The Sheriff dropped him off, and three guys tried to kill him. He figured that the Sheriff was behind the whole thing. Plus, the police would probably blame him for the murders just like they did with his poor little brother, Leon.
Okay, he knew he couldn’t also go home because that would be the first place the police would check. Maybe he should go to the black saloon on Vine Street. No, it would be closed by now, he realized. Where could he go? He didn’t want to jeopardize anyone and make them a target, so he couldn’t go to a friend’s house. He could hide somewhere even from his friends, but he was hungry, very thirsty, and cold. Maybe he could sneak into one of the churches and sleep there. Maybe even wake the Pastor and get some food. He hated the idea of jeopardizing a pastor, but it was probably the best idea. The white man might be hesitant to hurt a pastor. Plus, the pastor would be more than willing to help a fellow Negro. They were leaders in the black community and highly respected. They would help a black man on the run from the Klan.
Finally, Deron reached the railroad tracks. He was breathing heavily as he wasn’t in as good as shape as he used to be. The nearest church was the Southridge Baptist Church. It wasn’t his church, but he was sure the pastor would help. The pastor’s name was Pastor Floyd Bryant. The streets were empty at this late hour, so he darted down the streets and arrived at the church in about five minutes.
The Pastor’s residence was adjacent to the church. Deron didn’t want to draw attention to himself by knocking on the front door, so he snuck into the backyard by hopping over the chain-link fence. To his chagrin, a dog started barking from within the house. Damn, Deron did not want to draw attention to himself. Then, the lights came on from inside the house. Deron ran up the back stairs to knock on the door.
Before he got up there, though, the Pastor opened the door and pointed a shotgun at Deron. “Hold it right there, boy,” yelled the Pastor.
Deron instinctively held his hands up. “Pastor Bryant! Don’t shoot! I’m Deron Brooks from the neighborhood.”
“What are you doing here? What are doing in my backyard?”
“The white man just tried to kill me tonight just like they tried to kill my brother, Leon.”
“Oh, so you’re the family that the police have in jail. How did you get out?”
Deron still held his hands up. “Sir, can I come in and explain everything to you. I was hoping that you would help me. Please, sir, they are probably looking for me right now. Please.”
The Pastor pointed his shotgun down towards the floor, away from Deron. “Sure, sure, by all means, come on in.”
~~~~
As soon as the Sheriff ended his call with Paul Sawyer, he sprang into action the whole police force. Every officer was called and required to meet at the warehouse immediately even if they had to take their personal vehicles. The Sherif
f told them to come armed and be on the lookout for an average-height man on the loose.
The Sheriff and a few officers, who were working the midnight shift, arrived first. The Sheriff waited until the others arrived about five minutes later. The Sheriff instructed Junior and another officer to enter from the rear. Once everyone was in position, the Sheriff gave the signal for everyone to enter.
The Sheriff wondered if Deron was still in there and whether Cueball shot him. Holding a gun with one hand and a flashlight with the other, he opened the door and entered quickly. Deep down inside, he figured that the shooter must have left already, so he wasn’t actually that scared.
The dim lights were still on, and the Sheriff could see that Deron was gone. He then saw the sick scene of two men on the ground motionless and blood spread out over the floor. He studied the men and could see that they were dead.
“Okay, we need to search this whole place to see if the shooters are still here,” the Sheriff ordered. “Then, we need to check the surrounding area.”
The Sheriff could hear cars approaching from the outside. “Who the hell could that be?” asked the Sheriff to one of the officers.
The Sheriff instructed everyone to continue the search while he went outside. He saw a state trooper car and another car. They parked. The Sheriff had his gun drawn because he didn’t know what the other car was doing there. The Sheriff shined his flashlight and could see it was the state trooper from Austin. He was getting out of his squad car, and then he saw that lawyer and the annoying newspaper guy.
Oh, shit! The Sheriff thought. This was the worst time for outsiders to be probing. What was he going to tell them? He wished he could converse with the Judge or Acton to figure out a consistent story. He had to address them, though. He didn’t want his men to speak to them because they might say something stupid.
The Sheriff approached the men. “What are y’all doing here?” asked the Sheriff gruffly.
“I heard the call on the radio, so I came to see if you need any help,” said the state trooper.