Dark Places

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  A radio blared with colored music. Ned remembered that Cody called it Motown once when they were talking about modern music.

  “I’m Sheriff Cody Parker.”

  “I know who you are.” A barrel-chested man stepped around a jacked-up International pickup and through the open doors of the shop, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “We do somethin’ for y’all?”

  As Ned turned toward the voice, a figure standing in the drizzle at the outside corner of the building seemed to evaporate behind a car on blocks.

  Cody nodded toward Ned, letting him take the lead, since the hit and run happened in his precinct. Ned leaned against the garage doorframe, stopping under the eaves to stay out of the water dripping from the roof. The strong odor of old grease, gasoline, and mildew boiled out the door. “You’re Malcom?”

  The man stuck the rag in one pocket of his overalls. “Yessir.”

  “I knowed your daddy. Henry.”

  “He was.”

  “Henry was a good man.”

  “He was.”

  “We had a hit and run out toward Center Springs a day or so ago. A man was killed.”

  Malcom’s experience with the law leaned more toward jailed kinfolk and friends than visits from the sheriff’s office. “Was he colored?”

  “No, white, and we don’t know who did it.”

  One of the loafers raised his voice. “So y’all come out here to see if it was one of us done it?”

  The man in his twenties, wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt wore the biggest, bushiest head of hair Cody’d ever seen outside of television or the newspaper. “No, not the way you put it.”

  “How come it’s always a nigger done it?”

  Ned felt his face fill with pressure. “You didn’t hear that from us.”

  “I see the two of y’all standing here.” He rose with two others of similar age. One bumped a cane-bottom chair as he stood and it fell with a clatter against a stack of car parts. The man’s voice grew louder. “Y’all don’t have no business accusin’ any of us for runnin’ anyone down.”

  Cody slipped both hands into his pockets of his khakis, hoping the move would show he wasn’t aggressive. “We haven’t accused anyone of anything.” He dismissed them to address Malcom. “Has anyone come in with a dented fender, or hood? Maybe said they run over a cow or a deer or something?”

  The angry young man tugged at his t-shirt, as if to give his chest more room to puff out. “How about y’all takin’ this somewheres else to in-ves-ti-gate?”

  Ned’s eyes grew cold, and his head felt as if it would pop from the pressure. He was suddenly aware of water splashing off the tin roof into a nearby catch barrel. Malcom remained still, waiting to see what might happen.

  Ned raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “You got a name?”

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

  “I always like to know who I’m talking to.”

  “You’re talkin’ to me.”

  Thunder rolled over the shop, vibrating deep in their chests. Malcom’s eyes flicked to the man. “Dee-wight. We ain’t doin’ nothin’ but talkin’.”

  “Yeah, and so’m I.”

  Cody met Dwight’s gaze and held it steady. “We’re checking all the shops, to see if anybody came in for repairs. That’s all.”

  “I believe you’re here trying to pin a killin’ on somebody that don’t look like you. That’s it, ain’t it? It’s easier to convict one of us than it is one a y’all.”

  “You’re wrong, Dee-wight.” The deep rumbling voice sounding like it originated from deep inside a 55-gallon barrel came through the open back door of the garage. It for sure didn’t belong to the slender black man who stumbled through the door, propelled from behind. Deputy John Washington pointed toward an overturned bucket beside an engine hoist. “Spec, you sit down right there. What’chu runnin’ for?”

  The gangly man who’d earlier ducked around the corner hung his head. “Nothin’.”

  “Not for that warrant for assault, or the one for suspicion of armed robbery outta Dallas? Your brother’s name came up on that one too. Hubert Geroid, weren’t it?”

  “No suh. You got the wrong man for that, and I ain’t seen Hubert in months.” Spec rested his elbows on his knees.

  John gave him the eye. “Uh, huh. You and me’ll be talkin’ later.” He raised an eyebrow at the young man who’d been arguing with Ned and Cody. “Dee-wight White, why you squarin’ off with them lawmen?”

  “They here accusin’ us…”

  “Naw, you’re talkin’ to hear your head rattle on that one. I don’t believe they here to accuse anybody about nothin’. They askin’ questions is all.”

  Ned shifted his position to regain Malcom’s attention. “Malcom, we’ve already been to two other shops in town. Now, all we need to know is if you’ve had anybody come by with body damage, like they might have hit something.”

  “Nossir. No body work. Most of our folks don’t have money for such things, dents and all. We try to keep the motors runnin’, that’s all.”

  Cody stepped close to Malcom and extended his hand. “Since I’m sheriff, I’ll be around every now and then to check and make sure everything’s all right. Y’all need anything, you don’t have to just call Deputy Washington anymore. The sheriff’s department works for the whole town.”

  Malcom relaxed and returned the firm grip. “That’d be fine.”

  Cody smiled. “Ned, you ready to go?”

  “I ’magine we better.”

  John cleared his throat. “Mr. Ned, if you don’t need me to go with y’all, would you mind if I hung around here for a little while?”

  Both he and Cody were grateful for the opportunity to back out gracefully before things escalated even further. “You go ahead on. I’ll talk to you back at the courthouse.”

  “I’ll see y’all in Mr. O.C.’s office if I get done here in time.”

  It galled Ned to leave, but staying and arguing wouldn’t do any good with men already angry and itching for a fight. Rubbing his belly, he followed Cody to the sheriff’s car.

  Cody slammed his door and narrowed his eyes. “We’re going straight to the doctor’s office.”

  “No we ain’t.” Ned put his wet hat on the seat between them and slammed the door.

  Cody tilted the rearview mirror toward Ned. “See how red your face is? That ain’t a mad you got on there. It’s something else.”

  Ned adjusted the mirror and sighed. “All right.”

  Chapter Twelve

  James and Pepper were on the way home from her Grandpa Ned’s house when he remembered Ida Belle’s order to pick up a loaf of Ideal bread. He pulled into Oak Peterson’s gravel drive and left the engine running while he went in.

  Arms crossed in her usual aggravated posture, Pepper stiffened when she caught sight of John T. and Freddy killing time with the Spit and Whittle Club that had migrated from Neal’s place. She didn’t expect to see them, even though Freddy was local. John T. periodically attended the Center Springs school when he was a kid, but they’d moved away during his junior year and he seldom hung around either of the stores unless Marty was with him.

  Pepper’s heart jumped when Freddy glanced in her direction. She slumped down in her daddy’s car like a rabbit in a briar patch, hoping John T. didn’t recognize her.

  Cale saw the car from the domino hall and came up on it from the off side. He spoke softly so the men nearly thirty feet away couldn’t hear. “Hey, girl. I have the money to go.”

  Pepper kept her head down and didn’t pay any attention to Cale. Her thoughts were on the two young men sitting in the middle of the farmers staying dry under the overhang. She knew almost everyone in Center Springs and wished she was more like Top. He wouldn’t have recognized John T. that night, and he for sure wouldn’t have known who Top was. Top wouldn’t have been in
the middle of all this.

  Cale tapped her shoulder with his finger. “Hey, Earth to Pepper.”

  She had to bring herself back. “Huh?”

  “I have the money. We can go.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Stole it.”

  She pushed him. “No you didn’t.”

  “I did.” He grinned and puffed up his chest. “I take care of my woman.”

  “So when are we going?”

  “Uh, later, I guess.”

  Frustrated with the answer, she frowned and stared forward, refusing to further the conversation.

  Half-listening to the story Frederick Winters was telling there in front of Oak’s store, Freddy hadn’t been able to take his eyes off James’ car from the moment it pulled up, sure it was Pepper’s white face he saw on Friday night as they flashed by on their way to the bottoms. He was wishing Marty was there, so he could ask him what to do, but since that night, Marty kept making up excuses to stay home and take care of his mama.

  He figured Marty was scared, but that was all right with Freddy. It gave him more time to hang out with John T., who made Freddy feel tough, as long as he didn’t have to talk much so’s people would notice his lisp.

  But he felt the bottom of his stomach fall out because Pepper didn’t want to make eye contact, an insult in such a small community. Freddy glanced at John T. who was staring a hole through the car, not paying a bit attention to the lies swapping back and forth between the farmers.

  Pepper’s voice was soft. “In the morning.”

  “That’s too soon.”

  “We have to get out of here.” She pointed at John T. and Freddy, keeping her finger below the window.

  Freddy nearly panicked, convinced that she was telling the boy beside her what she’d seen that night. His face prickled with heat.

  Arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed, Colton Marsh tilted his head. “John T., me and the Wilson boys was trying to remember when y’all moved to Center Springs.”

  John T. pulled his attention from the car and focused on Carlton, wondering why the farmer had any interest in him. “I’s in the third grade. The folks starved out of Tahlequah and had some kinfolk here at the time.”

  “That’s what I was telling them. They remembered your mama and daddy as hard-working people.”

  “They were. Worked themselves to death picking cotton for other men. Their folks died in the Depression of the same thing. I don’t intend to follow ’em. I’ll probably go out behind the wheel of a car.”

  Freddy could tell Pepper was talking about him and let the front legs of his chair down with a thump.

  John T. frowned. “What?”

  The other members of the Spit and Whittle club noticed. “Why, that boy’s white as a sheet.”

  “You all right, son?”

  Freddy shook his head. “We got to go.”

  James Parker came out of the store with a paper sack in his arm containing more than bread. He stopped for a moment to speak with the farmers under the overhang. He also knew Freddy pretty well, and had a good idea of who John T. was, though he didn’t care for the young man who most folks figured would at some point spend the rest of his life in Huntsville Prison.

  John T. gripped Freddy’s shoulder. “I believe I’ll take him home.” He flashed a grin at those around him, quickly making up an excuse. “I don’t believe snuff agrees with him.”

  The farmers laughed. To a man they all knew the results of dipping.

  John T. led Freddy away from the gathering. “Suck it up, stupid. What’s wrong with you?”

  He nodded toward Pepper. “They’re talking about uth.”

  Pepper was pouting when Cale noticed Pepper’s daddy coming toward them with John T. and Freddy following close behind. “Listen, I’ll call you tonight.” He spun on his heel. “See you.”

  James stopped beside the car and handed the sack through the window to Pepper. “Let’s go, girl.”

  Freddy and John T. passed James on the way to John T.’s car and nodded hello.

  “Howdy.” James slammed the door and left without a backward glance. Pepper watched the two young men out the back window until they disappeared from sight.

  She turned back around and shivered.

  John T. and Freddy watched the car disappear. The heavy drizzle caught in their hair like dew on a spider’s web. John T. unrolled a pack of cigarettes from his sleeve. “We might have to do something about her.”

  The pit of Freddy’s stomach fell out. Now he was truly terrified.

  Freddy wished he’d never gone to the movies that night. Hanging out with Marty and John T. suddenly wasn’t worth it, even if they did pay attention to him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Ned and Cody left the garage, Deputy Washington leaned against a rough support post and crossed his arms. “What got into you, Dee-wight?”

  “I’m tired of the white laws coming in here and accusing us of what we ain’t done wrong.”

  “Then you ain’t got no reason to get mad, because you’re innocent.”

  “That’s right. All of us are.”

  “Now you cain’t speak for everybody here.” He grinned at those sitting around. “Not meanin’ any of y’all’s done something wrong.”

  They laughed, the tension broken.

  Dee-wight didn’t laugh, though. “I’m not gonna take any more of this.”

  John cut him a look. “What you gonna do?”

  “Why I’m…”

  “You ain’t gonna do nothing, because there’s nothing to do. Mr. Ned’s a good man, and he treats ever’body the same, no matter what color they are. Sheriff Cody’s the same. He don’t see no difference. You might try that yourself.”

  “John, it ain’t right how they’re always snoopin’ around here, trying to lay blame on us for everything that happens, from stole chickens to bank robberies.”

  “Layin’ blame and investigatin’s different. What you talkin’ ’bout? The sheriff ain’t never been by here, far’s I know, and Mr. Ned don’t have much business in this part of town. But it don’t matter none. They’re the Law, and when they ask question, you need to answer and don’t give them no lip. It’s the same thing as when I come around.”

  “You don’t accuse us!”

  “Did either of them say y’all was under suspicion?”

  Dwight shrugged. Malcom and the rest watched, waiting. “No.”

  “Then you’re talkin’ to hear your head rattle, like I said.” John nodded to end the conversation. “Now, y’all hear anything about that hit and run out by Center Springs, you let me know. Some of you have family out there that might know something.”

  Malcom picked up a wrench and stared outside at the rain as if it might offer a clue as to whether he should get back to work. “I hear you got a connection yourself out there.”

  John grinned, thinking about his girlfriend Rachel Lee. “We gettin’ connected up all right.”

  “She’s somethin’ else.” Linwood Carter chuckled. “My wife’s second cousin was kin before her old man run off back to Jefferson.”

  “She’s divorced now.” It was the first time John had said the words, though he’d paid the court costs to finish the paperwork. It felt good to tell them she was free from any entanglements with her ex-husband. He headed toward the back door. “And you’re right, she’s a keeper.”

  He stepped outside, and then stuck his head back in the door. “Oh, and Spec, I reckon you oughta get that sorry-assed brother of yours and run over to the sheriff’s office and turn yourself in to get all them troubles of yours straightened out. It’ll go better for you if you do. If I have to run y’all down tomorrow I won’t try to help a’tall.”

  Spec plucked at his shirt and then shrugged. “A’ite.”

  John grinned and disappeared.
They heard his voice through the open door, over the suddenly heavier rain. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day was about done when Ned and Cody dropped by the courthouse to see Judge O.C. Rains. He’d been at his desk all that day, trying to catch up on the mountain of paperwork that continually threatened to overwhelm his office.

  The windows in his office were wide open, since the rain came from the west. There were no screens on the public building and flies buzzed in and out during the summertime without impediment. Fortunately, the rain beat them from the air, filling the room with the damp smell of paper, mildew, and old books.

  Knowing his old friend hated for folks to come busting through the door, Ned walked in without knocking. He slapped his wet Stetson on the hat tree beside the door.

  O.C. glowered upward from under bushy white eyebrows. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Aggravated that it showed, Ned grunted and picked up a pile of papers from a wooden chair. He put them on the worn oak floor and dropped heavily into the uncomfortable seat. “My bullet hole’s hurtin’ me today.”

  Cody closed the door. “Doc Heinz said it could be the weather making his wound act up, or it could be that he has some kind of infection, but this cranky old fart wouldn’t let him do a complete exam.”

  “You ought to listen to him.” O.C. screwed the cap back on his fountain pen. The wind shifted and O.C. twisted around and pulled the window to within an inch of the sill. Water streamed down the wavy glass. “You can’t do much outside today anyways. Go back over there and let him check you good.”

  “Ain’t got time.” Ned shot Cody a couple of daggers. “What about these missing businessmen?” He pointed at the newspaper on O.C.’s desk. The headline in The Chisum News was large enough to read from across the room: Two Disappear, Foul Play Suspected.

  O.C. tapped the paper with a thick fingernail. “Ask the sheriff there. All I know is what he told me, what’s in this rag, and what I might have heard from other unnamed sources.” It felt good to goad Ned with as little information as possible.