by IGMS
"If you can," I said. "You ever say anything to him anymore?"
She shook her head. "Been a while, Daddy." She looked at Theresa. "Now, Reese, she was friends with Elmer too."
Theresa, my youngest, practically tripped standing up in a huff. "Last time I saw Elmer he crossed the street 'fore I could say good day."
"In my day that was a sign of respect from a Negro to a white woman," I said.
"Daddy!" Susie and Theresa shouted together. By the time they were done telling me that I sounded ten different kinds of ignorant, and this was the seventies now, for heaven's sake, and Doctor King had been the Lord's man, they'd made up their minds to convince Elmer to help us out. I grinned on the side, where they couldn't see it.
"I got it," Theresa said. "We can ask Elmer to dinner. A proper bit of Southern hospitality. Don't nobody say no to dinner at the mayor's house."
It was a good idea, but Lordy, could it go wrong. "What if he asks about his daddy?" I said.
"You'll say you don't know who killed Elmer's daddy," Susie said.
"Better yet, you can find out," Theresa said. "You, of anyone."
"It's best left alone," I said. We had poked around a bit when it happened, but the mountain families keep quiet. This town's got a million old grudges, you see, and the Devil's grudge ain't got a hair compared to some of them.
"Oh, Daddy," Reese said. "Don't be a fool. You knew someone was gonna have to answer to that eventually."
"Watch your lip, girl," I said sharply. "You can talk about Doctor King all you want, but Wadesville don't change like that."
Reese stormed off in a huff.
"I'm gonna go ask Elmer and his mammy to dinner," Susie said in the awkward silence that followed.
After they left, I went into the kitchen to think and ate me a couple of olives. (I got this terrible disease with one hell of a name, but what it boils down to is I can't taste much of anything -- 'cept olives. Go figure.) I took myself a little drink of moonshine, too. I can taste moonshine, when it's brewed real strong, but don't go spreading that around. Wasn't no devil had Elmer's heart, but the old black man's burden. If there's one thing bigger than race in North Carolina, it's what's in that Bible. I had to make Elmer see that.
Devil was waiting on Main Street when I took my morning walk. I just about jumped out of my skin when he came strolling 'round the corner.
"Mayor Fletcher," he said, with that shiny old smile. "I've heard such things about you. Why, I was just talking to old Kevin Dodgson."
"You stop right there, Devil," I said, backing up and crossing myself like a Catholic. "I want nothing to do with you."
"Maybe I can ask you the same question I asked Kevin. Tell me, you think Job deserved it? Even a little?"
"I . . . Devil, you know the Bible better than any man. Out of my way, in the name of the Lord Jesus."
Devil laughed. "You do throw his name around. If God's a just God, then Job had to deserve it a little bit, don't you think?"
I don't know why, but I done rose to the bait. "Devil, I believe you just annoyed him 'cause you liked to, and it's beyond me why the good Lord didn't put a stop to it."
He laughed at that, the Devil did. "So you think I'm just bothering you for the, heh, hell of it?"
"Just about."
"Seems that a mayor who lets most of the bootleggers slide wouldn't know much about punishment."
I brushed on past the Devil and kept on my walk. He was laughing again. I made sure to go the long way 'round to get home. I could hear him hollering as I went on my way. "Anyone spare a bite to eat? Trade it for a nice family Bible. I got plenty of 'em. Or maybe some dirty pictures? Come on, where's your Christian charity?"
When I got home Reese was in the kitchen and Susie was on the couch talking and laughing with Jon Jefferson.
"Girls, what's going on? You talk to Elmer?"
"I did, Daddy," Susie said.
"And?"
"Elmer didn't say much." She looked over at Jon. "But Grace said they'd love to come up for dinner tomorrow night."
"I got to get everything ready," Reese said, rushing out of the kitchen to stick a list in my hand. "Daddy, you best head to the grocery store 'fore it closes. I need all this stuff."
She had a list could make a man's mouth water with anticipation -- leastways a man who could taste other than olives. Collards and pork, fatback, fresh corn and chicken and eggs. Course, wasn't no way I would go to the grocery for it. "Girl, I can get all this from Ted Grimsby tomorrow for half the price at the farmer's market."
"That won't work, Pa. I need to get started tonight." Reese leaned against the wall and fanned herself. She wasn't a pretty girl, my Reese, not like Susie. Thick around the rear end and horse-faced, but the girl could cook corn muffins and pot-likker like a lost art. "I need to mix the biscuits so's they can rise. I need to bone the chicken and pound it and I need to marinate the pork. And there's the cornbread."
Jon Jefferson whistled. "Reese, you could kill me with hunger just talking."
I said, "Jon, if I didn't know better, I'd think you was courting both my daughters." They laughed a bit, but there was too much truth to laugh for long -- Reese was half in love with Jon Jefferson herself, and Susie couldn't cook a lick, so Jon was always showing up at mealtimes.
"That grocery store's criminal," I said to Reese. "You know they get their watermelon from Mexico? What kinda man sells Mexican watermelon in North Carolina?"
She put her hands on her hips. "You want some of this dinner or not?"
"I ain't gonna taste it."
"That hasn't stopped you from putting it all away before," Susie laughed.
"You two are like old mean cats," I said as I turned toward the door. "How do you stand it, Jon?"
"The good Lord protects me," Jon said, "most of the time." I saw him looking between Reese and Susie and again I wondered which one the boy might really take, if he got to choose.
On the way to the grocery store I saw Pastor Tucker walking down the street. I pulled the car over and said, "Pastor, it ain't safe to wander around at the moment. Hop in here."
The pastor took himself a minute to get settled, muttering, "Thank you."
"Pastor, you all right?" I asked. "You know who I am?"
He gave me a look fit for a hornet's nest. "Course I do, Hal Fletcher."
I drove on in silence and pulled into the Food Lion parking lot.
"He's got you," Pastor Tucker muttered. "He's got us all. You know what we've got to do," Pastor Tucker continued, working up just like he was giving a sermon, "I've been saying it for years. We got to clean up this town, finish what I started all those years ago. We got to stop forgiving adultery and thievery and bootlegging." He looked right at me. "And we can't let the sheet-heads get away with what they did to Elmer's daddy. We need to give that boy the man that done it."
"Pastor," I began, "it ain't as simple as all that. There's a lot of old grudges and it don't do no good to stir them up --"
"It is simple!" Pastor slammed his hand down on the dashboard hard enough to make me jump. "It's as simple as sin and righteousness, and you know it!"
"Pastor, by now whoever-it-was has kids and grandkids and are bound to be real sorry they ever cut holes in that sheet. It's only going to make trouble to push it now. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."
Pastor glared. "I hear the Devil quoting scripture at me all week, Hal Fletcher. Every time I walk up and down Main Street, he trails after me with a bit of Leviticus or Romans. Sometimes he quotes the Song of Solomon fit to drive the ladies inside."
"Uh . . . sorry."
"You just ask yourself whether your soul is clean before the Lord," Pastor Tucker said as he got out. "You just think on that."
That man could lay the guilt on like butter on bread.
"Damn it, he's right," I said, though no one heard but the Lord.
Grace and Elmer knocked on the door at seven sharp the next night. I answered the door in my favorite suit. "Grace Thornton! It's
been too long, now. How are you? And is that --" I craned my neck. "Elmer?"
I couldn't see Elmer on account of him standing down in the driveway, the only light the spark of his cigarette.
"Won't you come in?" I called.
He finished that cigarette slow as you please and headed up the steps, coming into the light. That boy was even bigger than the last time I saw him. He coulda passed for some man-version of the Big Bad Wolf -- crooked nose, iron-black jaw, big black eyes. I expected Grace Thornton to say a few words. She wasn't one to tolerate rudeness. But she just looked from me to Elmer and smiled. "So nice of you to have us over."
After they'd set in our living room for a bit, I was sure things couldn't've got more awkward. Jon, he shook Elmer's hand and Elmer pretty much crushed it. Susie, she said, "Howdy Elmer. How's the logging going?" and he just shook his head. Boy, it was like having a mean old coon -- I mean a raccoon -- in the house, and a handful of dogs that were trying to be on their best behavior.
"Elmer," I said. "Susie told you 'bout our predicament up at the church."
Elmer looked away. "I been going to Faith Bible Flock in Franklin with my cousins, actually."
I turned again to Grace. Like I said, she was a proper woman, but she just sat there.
"Boy . . .," I started. "You know why you're here --"
"Dinner!" Reese called from the dining room. We all got up and headed in.
And that's when Elmer cracked. "Hot damn," he said.
"Elmer! The Lord hears," Grace said.
I couldn't blame the boy. Reese had done up a mean table. Pork chops, fried chicken cutlets, cornbread and biscuits, gravy thick and white with cream. On the side she had collard greens, corn fried with bacon and green onions, fried squash, and a mound of coleslaw.
"I don't want no leftovers now," Reese said, and for the first time she looked at Elmer. "Eat up."
Elmer, polite as you please, replied "Yes, ma'am."
We set in. I got to say, Reese's cooking always looked so damn good it almost made me forget I couldn't taste it. Elmer, big as he was, ate like he was twice that size. Grace Thornton even forgot herself and took God's name. "Good Lord. This is amazing."
"You oughtta taste her Christmas ham," I said around another bite of cornbread, "or that sweet potato pie. Reese, tell me you made that sweet potato pie."
"Didn't make none for you, Daddy," she said, and poked me in the stomach.
Elmer perked up from his plate. "Sweet potato pie, y'say?"
Reese smiled at him. She had a nice smile, at least. "Long as you don't leave me no leftovers, Elmer."
I had a few more biscuits and a dollop of gravy left on my plate when Elmer said, "I believe you got something to ask me."
Everyone stopped eating. "I believe you know what I'm going to ask you," I said.
Elmer had a big bite of fried squash, hanging orange and stringy against the dark skin of his jaws. Covering his mouth while he chewed, Elmer said, "I'll tell you, Mayor, I always thought this town'd be better off in Hell."
"Elmer," Grace began, but Elmer turned and said, "Momma, I've been waiting for justice my whole life. This here's the man who could get it. But he ain't said a word about Daddy."
Everyone was looking at me. They looked surprised as a cat seein' a yard full of dogs when I said, "I'll get you a name. That's it. Just the name. You do with that as you please."
Elmer cracked a big, wicked smile looked half like the Devil's. "Then you got your wrestler."
"All right."
"Mighty easy, I must say."
"Easy said, anyway," I muttered.
"Who's ready for pie?" Reese called.
Next day I nursed my coffee at the diner until I saw Rich Evans come in.
"Over here," I said.
Rich Evans was what we called a Flor-Idiot. He started out spending summers here and winters in Florida. Someone made the mistake of involving the man in local politics after his wife died and now he was dug in, a fixture of the town. He had ran me a couple of good races, winning once, but I was going to whup him this time. Last time we'd gotten a little nasty, with a bit of name-calling in the local paper -- but it was clean now, and it would stay clean.
He spoke in that Yankee accent, flat as a sheet of tin and with about as much music as a dial tone. "How are you doing, Hal Fletcher? I brought you a jar of olives. Kalamata, my favorite." He had picked up a bit of Southern hospitality, I can say that.
"Thank you much," I said, and took the olives.
He sat down. "I've been working on my speech for my rally on Saturday, so I don't have a lot of time."
"Why, Mr. Evans, I finished my speech for my rally on Saturday a week ago. But that ain't what this is about."
"What is it then? Jon talked to me," Rich said. "I told him I was running a clean race."
"I said the same."
"I certainly hope so," Rich said.
I did not rise to that, praise the Lord. "I need your help on something here. I figure there's something to be done, and I can't do it by myself." It ain't safe, I almost said.
"What are you talking about, Hal Fletcher? What on earth would you need me for?"
"I'm heading out to Bill Weaver's place in an hour to talk to him about Elmer's daddy. I would get old Sheriff Doby to come, but he's just retired up to Brevard. I need someone to show them Weavers we're serious." These were the old mountain families, the ones most folk in Wadesville kept on the good side of, less they wanted the sheet-heads to turn up.
"You want to know who killed Elmer Thornton's father."
"Yeah. This is before your time, understand. But things get said, and old grudges trickle on down."
Rich nodded. "Hal, you've got a lot more pull with that crowd than I ever would. I get most of my votes from the kids and the retirees."
"That's why I need you," I said. "They know me. They know I been letting their shenanigans go, and they know why. When they see I'm joined up with Rich Evans, they'll know I mean business." I popped the olives' top and put one in my mouth. Boy, Rich liked 'em sour. "Pastor's right. This town's slipped too much since he cleaned it up. We need to crack down, and it starts with Elmer's daddy."
Rich took a bit to think about it -- ordered himself some coffee and a sandwich while we sat there in silence. Finally Rich said, "All right."
"Lord have mercy," I said. "Old Scratch has truly come to town when you'reconceding to me, Rich Evans."
The Weavers had intermarried with the other mountain folk, especially the Hoovers, so much that folk called them all the Woovers. Most of them lived up a criss-crossing road that headed between Coal Mountain and Purdel Mountain, with a passel of kids and twice as many dogs. Folk didn't go up there without a good can of mace for the dogs. I thought about stopping to buy one but figured maybe a little faith in the Lord would do the same.
Dumb idea.
"Now when we stop," Rich Evans said, "this is how we'll do it. I'll press him, you keep him as happy as you can. Good cop, bad cop."
My first instinct was always to go against whatever Rich said, but this time I had to admit that it was a good idea. 'Sides, if Rich Evans was hard on them, I'd get their vote. "All right."
"Now, if you'd see my point of view on the bus routes --"
"Keep the Lord's peace, Rich," I said. My, but the man's Yankee voice did grate.
An army of dogs come flooding out of that house toward us when we stopped -- big mean black things that looked like they could give even Elmer pause. Bill Weaver came out of the main house, his white gut hanging out bare over a pair of stained jeans. "Hal. And Rich Evans?" Bill Weaver was the ringleader these days, since his daddy Tom died. He'd given money to my campaign before, and he was a friend. Much as a Woover can be a friend.
"We're here to talk to you, Bill," I said.
"Down, boys," he called to the dogs. "Come on inside. Get yourself some hospitality."
We followed him in and sat down at the kitchen table. The house was covered in crosses, I must say -- cross-
shaped clocks, crosses that formed picture frames around the giant family pictures of the Woovers. So many crosses on the walls it was hard to see the old wallpaper underneath which had, if I saw right, little crosses on it. Funny. The Woovers hardly ever showed up to church.
He went straight for the cupboard. "You boys want some moonshine?" he asked.
Rich Evans looked at me, and I looked back at him. Finally, I said, "Not now, thank you."
Bill poured himself a little cup from a Mason jar. He took a big drink and laid back in his chair. "How're y'all?"
"Can't taste nothing, and my wound from Okinawa's hurtin' something fierce." Bill Weaver'd been on Okinawa, too. Usually, he'd pop right up and start talking about the war.
Not this time. "Okinawa don't bear thinking about, these days. Whole world's going to Hell. What's this all about?"
I could tell he had heard something. I remembered something my daddy said, back when I was getting into politics. You cross one good old boy, you crossed the whole South. I told him what was going on, and he admitted that he'd heard about the Devil being in town. On the subject of Elmer, his eyes narrowed a bit.
"Elmer's gonna get the name and wrestle the Devil, or nothing," I said.
Bill sipped his moonshine. "That boy's a problem."
"He's the only wrestler we got," I said. "Ain't nothing gonna change that."
Bill sucked in a deep breath with the tang of that moonshine and set down the cup. "Ain't this just like a --" well, I ain't gonna repeat where he went after that for a bit. Used a few words that ain't fit for polite company no more. "Since all that marching and singing and bitching about the buses, they's worse than ever. Ain't enough to eat at our restaurants, they're going after our daughters and our government. I'm just glad someone got that crazy preacher --"
"Well," I interrupted, because I could feel Rich Evans getting restless, "all Elmer wants is a bit of information, now. Don't know what he'll do with it." I cast a look at Rich Evans and wished I could tell him to keep quiet, don't cross him.