“Daddy! How could you?” Patsy pulled a dishcloth off a peg by the sink and wiped her nose.
Carol looked at the reverend in disgust. “And not one of you was man enough to defend that poor kid.”
Michael Russell seemed tired. “Brewster reminded us that it was in all our best interests for Thad to plead guilty on Wednesday, not just his.”
Hick shook his head. “Tell me, Russell, what kind of miracle cover-up did Brewster perform for you?”
“Not me,” Reverend Russell said. “My son, Bob, God rest his soul.”
Patsy gasped. “What are you talking about?”
Russell looked at his daughter, sadness was written across his face. “I had four children,” he said. “Patsy here is the youngest, by far. My three older children are all boys and Bob was the second. My other two, they always seemed to do the right thing. They got good grades, went to church. They never gave us a minute of trouble. But Bob was different.”
“I assume Bob was not a model citizen?” Carol asked.
Russell shook his head. “Bob was a good kid, but he was stupid and reckless. He got in with the wrong crowd. He and some friends broke into the General Store some years back and hurt the owner pretty bad.”
Hick remembered his conversation with Willie Taylor at the moonshine still. “And you let Hap Taylor take the blame.”
Russell’s eyebrows shot up. He was speechless for a moment, but finally nodded. A defiant glimmer came into his eyes and his lips thinned into a bitter line. “It’s not like Hap was an innocent lamb. He was bootlegging his daddy’s moonshine and driving like a maniac through town. It was just a matter of time before he killed someone.”
“So to your way of thinking, you were doing the public a favor by protecting your boy and letting Brewster arrest an innocent man?”
“In a word, yes. The town was better off with Hap behind bars and Bob had so much potential—so much to live for.”
“Why Hap?” Hick asked. “Why didn’t Brewster just bring in Willie?”
“Because Willie performs a service for the town and Brewster gets a cut of every jar of moonshine that degenerate sells. Arresting Hap was just Brewster’s way of reminding Willie who’s in charge.”
“What do you mean Brewster gets a cut?” Hick asked.
“Earl Brewster won’t go near Willie and for good reason. I think Willie would kill him on sight. But Brewster sends his deputies out to see Willie every month or so and Willie hands them some cash … just enough to keep the law from bothering his still or shutting down his operation.”
“His deputies?” Hick asked, casting a glance at Patsy. “Royal Adkins one of these ‘bill collectors?’”
“Royal for the last month or so. Before him Mitch Lackey, before him Bud Gibson. The practice has gone on for years, since Earl was a deputy and his brother was sheriff. The difference now is our previous Sheriff Brewster and Willie were on friendly terms. Donald Brewster is not quite the power monger his brother Earl seems to be.”
“Son of a bitch,” Hick grumbled. “That damned kid lied to me.”
“Who? Royal Adkins?” Michael Russell asked. He looked at Hick with a sneer and said, “Royal Adkins wants to be the next sheriff of Broken Creek, Arkansas. There’s nothing he’d like better than to take Brewster down.”
Hick’s mind reeled as he recalled Royal coming to him for help. Was there more to Royal’s request than just wanting to help Thad? Troubled, he turned to Michael Russell to finish the story. “So what happened to your son? Where is Bob now?”
The Reverend’s eyes hardened. “Justice was served. Bob died of pneumonia less than a month after Hap went to jail.”
“Yeah, life’s tough,” Carol said with no sympathy. “And that doesn’t excuse your current behavior one iota.”
The reverend wearily closed his eyes. “I would describe my current behavior as ‘inexcusable.’”
“So what about the others? What’s Brewster got on them?”
Michael Russell stared at Hick in silence. Glancing at his daughter, he finally said, “I don’t know what Brewster has on them. That is a subject we never discuss with one another.”
“Is there anyone in this town that’s honest?” Hick asked in aggravation.
“You’d have to look high and low,” Russell admitted.
“Well, ya’ll preachers are sure doing a fine job teaching the golden rule,” Hick said with a dark frown. “So everyone is in on this scheme?”
“Not everyone,” Russell said. “Not everyone has something to hide. But if you have a secret, Brewster’s like a bloodhound. He’ll find it and he’ll use it against you.” Russell shook his head. “Those of us who owe him, we sat in that room like mindless buffoons and each agreed to do our part.”
Carol turned to Hick. “So what do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Hick said with a shake of his head. “It’s clear Brewster’s got his boot on the neck of a lot of folks in this town. We can’t beat them all into confessing.”
The sound of the front door opening carried into the kitchen and Royal burst into the room. He stopped when he saw the Reverend Russell. “Reverend,” he said in a cold voice.
“Hello, Royal,” the reverend replied with equal coldness.
Royal turned to Hick. “Thad’s in town. Brewster’s got him in a holding cell at the courthouse. He locked up Enos for aiding and abetting.”
“Aiding and abetting?” Hick exclaimed. “Enos was bringing him back.”
Steps sounded behind him, and an older man in a suit appeared in the doorway behind Royal.
“Uncle Arthur!” Carol cried and ran into his arms.
Royal smiled. “Your friend is here.”
Hick did not smile back. “Royal, you and I have some things to discuss.”
23
Tuesday, July 20, 1954
As soon as Hick and Royal were in the small enclosed porch behind the house, Hick grabbed Royal by the collar and gave him a shaking. “I want you to tell me the truth about something,” he said through gritted teeth.
Royal’s eyes widened with shock. “What’s wrong?”
“You ever collect extortion money from Willie Taylor?”
Royal’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by extortion money?” Then his eyes widened and a slow look of realization settled on his features. “I reckon so,” he admitted after a pause. “Uncle Earl sent me out there a time or two to collect Willie’s ‘monthly premium’. Said that’s the way it’s always been done.”
“Dammit Royal, what were you thinking?” Hick said giving Royal a final shake before releasing him. “Your Uncle Earl’s an elected official. That’s a federal offense.”
“It didn’t even occur to me to question it.” Royal sighed. “So much about Uncle Earl bothered me, it just seemed like one more thing I wasn’t supposed to think about. One more thing he told me to just shut up and take care of. You gonna turn me in?”
“I don’t know,” Hick said. “And I don’t know if I can trust you. You told me you wanted to be sheriff of this town. How do I know you’re not using me and this whole situation to get Brewster’s job.”
“I don’t want the job,” Royal said, looking Hick in the eye. “When I said earlier I was done with it all, I meant it. When this is all over I’m leaving Broken Creek.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I’ve been up front about everything but Willie’s money.” Royal said. “You came to me, I didn’t come to you. When we figured out what Brewster was up to, I made up my mind I wanted to get Thad some justice. That’s the truth whether you believe me or not.”
Carol Quinn entered the porch and leaned against the wall. “We may not have a choice, Hillbilly. We need this kid. And, don’t forget, he saved our lives.”
Hick turned a questioning glance on Royal and studied him. “I’m on the fence.”
Royal shrugged. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“Sheriff,” a voice said from the doorway.
Patsy stood there wringing her hands. Her brow was knit and her mouth wore a small pout. “Royal Adkins is an honest man. What my daddy said to you … don’t forget, he’s never liked Royal on account of me.” She paused. “I’d say Royal Adkins is honest to a fault.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Hick returned, unconvinced.
“You don’t know him,” Patsy said, her voice trembling. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Patsy,” Royal interrupted, but she continued.
“You don’t know what it was like for him growing up here in this town without a daddy. You don’t know how hard people were on his mama. Nothing was given to Royal, ever. He worked hard for everything he ever had, and that wasn’t much.”
Hick raised his eyebrows and turned to Royal.
Shrugging, Royal said, “My daddy left us when I was two and my mama never found out what happened to him. She worried over him for weeks and finally figured he wasn’t coming back so she went to work in the bakery. She begged Uncle Earl on her dying bed to take me as a deputy. He agreed, but after she died, he made it clear that he only promised to hire me. He never promised not to fire me.” Royal sighed. “It’s on account of I ain’t bright. Uncle Earl likes to point out that only a dumb ass graduates high school when he’s twenty-two. I didn’t graduate until this past May. Mama died the next week.”
Patsy shook her head. “The reason it took you three extra years to graduate is because you worked every day before and after school to help your mama pay the rent.” She turned to Hick. “He’d come to school in the summers hot and sweaty and the kids would make fun of him. They hadn’t done anything all morning but eat their Corn Flakes and get dressed. Royal’d come in and he’d already put in a good three hours work. He never got to play football or baseball like the other kids. He’s worked since he was a little boy.” Patsy held her head high and looked at her father who had joined them on the porch. “Some might call him poor white trash because of it.” She shifted her gaze to Royal. “But I don’t.”
Michael Russell frowned. “Royal Adkins is from the wrong side of town. He’s not the kind of boy for a girl like you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said looking at her father with a quizzical expression. “I doubt everything you ever told me because of what I’ve learned here today.”
The Reverend Russell crossed his arms. “Young lady, you will speak to me with respect.”
Patsy’s eyes filled with tears. “When a boy has a father who can protect him, like Bob had, life is easy. Sometimes it’s too easy. You let someone else’s son go to jail for something Bob did. You’re trying to help the sheriff put another little boy in jail for something he didn’t do. And you ask me to speak to you with respect?” She shook her head. “I can’t. No, sir. I have more respect for Royal Adkins than I’ll ever have for you.” She turned on her heel, pushed through the door and let the screen slam shut behind her.
Reverend Russell, his face worn and tired, sighed and walked back into to the kitchen. Hick watched him lower himself into a chair as if his bones were so tender they might break on contact.
“Sheriff, I want to help Thad for Thad’s sake,” Royal said, drawing Hick’s attention back from the sorrowful man inside. “I grew up on the colored side of town and Thad’s mama done our washing because my mama didn’t have time on account of her job.” His lips thinned into a bitter line. “Colored folks are the only ones in Broken Creek with less than we had. And Ida Burton is a God-fearing woman and a good one. Help me help Thad and when this is all over you can turn me over to the Bureau or do whatever you see fit.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur Vance said, stepping out on the enclosed porch.
They all turned to him. “If you would be willing to testify against your sheriff, I can guarantee you immunity. Let me warn you, though, if you do you’ll be hard pressed to find a welcome anywhere in this town.”
“I’m ready to be shed of it. Never had much of a welcome in this hell hole anyway,” Royal said.
Arthur Vance was soft spoken but intense. Removing his glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief he looked at the faces around him.
“We need to discuss all of the particulars—what charges Sheriff Brewster has brought against Thaddeus Burton, and, most importantly, why.”
Carol frowned and stubbed out a cigarette angrily. “I still don’t have my paperwork,” she fumed, glaring at Royal.
“Uncle Earl must have took your briefcase,” Royal said. “It wasn’t in your room.”
“Well, if you’d given me a minute to get what I needed to have—” She began in an angry voice.
“No matter,” Arthur Vance interrupted as he ushered the group back into the kitchen. “From what Deputy Adkins told me on the way, there is very little real evidence against Thaddeus Burton. The real question here is what Sheriff Earl Brewster is about—he is the reason I’m here and not one of my agents. It is clear we are dealing with egregious color of law violations.” He sat at the table and indicated everyone should do the same. “But, this sheriff isn’t what interests me. I would not have made the trip if we were only dealing with a crooked sheriff. I am very interested in the fact that State Senator John Wesley Richardson is involved.”
“Why is that?” Hick asked.
“Senator Richardson is an opportunist. Becoming governor would give him just the kind of power he craves, the power to thwart, not only Brown vs. Board of Education, but the power to continue to suppress the colored vote. He’s just the kind of man the Civil Rights section of the Justice Department needs to take down to become a full division of the Bureau.” He looked at his niece who watched every move he made with open admiration. “And he’s also just the kind of man the Civil Rights section was founded to fight against. The kind of man who craves power and runs roughshod over others without a second thought. The kind of man I joined the Justice Department to stop.”
“Getting the boy and his father out of jail will not be a problem,” he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “His arrest seems to be nothing more than Brewster’s way of asserting his dominance over the colored population in town. From what I gathered looking into matters before I left Washington, the arrest of Thaddeus Burton is not an isolated incident. It seems that Earl Brewster has engaged in a pattern of harassment against numerous individuals, both white and colored. But I’m not after a two-bit sheriff in a ten cent town.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at the people gathered around. “In fact, I believe that Brewster is nothing more than a tiny cog in large, corrupt machine. What I want to know is, did Senator John Wesley Richardson make this sheriff any offers or promises.”
“What kind of offers?” Hick asked.
“There are many things a rich, powerful man could do for Brewster. He could offer him money, prestige, a better position. And in return Brewster can help him. It’s crucial I learn if there has been discussion about suppressing the colored vote for the gubernatorial primary here in Broken Creek. That,” he said with a tap of his finger on the table top, “is the matter in which I am most interested.” Arthur studied Royal and Hick. “Perhaps, if you two could bring me the gentlemen Sheriff Brewster has engaged for this evening’s mischief at the jailhouse …”
Hick nodded and glanced at Royal. “We can do that.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair and regarded the two lawmen before him. “This could be dangerous.”
“Just tell us what’s in your mind,” Hick said, holding Arthur’s gaze. “I’d love nothing more than to see Brewster go down.”
24
Tuesday, July 20, 1954
A shed behind the Broken Creek police station contained a canoe for water rescues, a tractor, a lawn mower, snow shovels, and other miscellaneous items that law enforcement in small towns are obliged to use on occasion. After insuring that Hoyt Smith and his two friends remained loitering on the sidewalk in front of the building, keeping busy with cigarettes and trying to drink enough courage to do
Earl Brewster’s bidding, Hick and Royal hid inside the shed and kept watch from a small window.
The sun still lit the horizon, but as the pink glow slowly diminished and the evening deepened, Hick and Royal became more alert. A breeze kicked up and late July lightning bugs rose from the ground near the tree line at the back of the lot. The sound of cicadas was replaced with that of crickets and, finally, when the stars became faint pinpricks in the sky, Hick noticed a shadow move toward the back of the station.
He nudged Royal and they watched the man pour liquid on the ground around the building. He emptied a container and his companion handed him another.
“Only two shadows?” Royal whispered. “I wonder where the other fella is.”
“Maybe he got cold feet,” Hick said. “Keep an eye out.”
Finally, after several containers were emptied, Hick watched as Hoyt stepped back and pulled something from his pocket. He threw it and a wall of flame whooshed bright orange, then quickly died down until only a line of fire surrounded the back of the station. The man with Hoyt tossed brush along the fire line and the air became filled with the choking smell of burning timber. Hoyt stood back and crossed his arms as his companion gave him a celebratory clap on the shoulder.
As the men stood, silhouetted against the growing flames, Hoyt’s companion handed him a jar of moonshine and Hoyt took a long, slow drink. He tossed the jar against the jailhouse and it crashed against the door and shattered. The flames slowly licked at the back porch of the jailhouse, the dry wood succumbing to the flames. An opportune breeze and a rug lying before the door were the last ingredients needed for the porch to collapse. Hick noticed that smoke had begun to seep from beneath the roofline of the jail and realized that the fire had made its way into the evidence room. The amount of paperwork stored there insured that the jail would be quickly reduced to rubble.
Between the Lies Page 16