by G. Neri
On the other end of the line was a man with a voice like gravel. Nelle claimed it was Boss’s daddy, Catfish Henderson, a scraggly bootlegger who was in jail more often than not.
“Meet me this afternoon at the snake pit,” Catfish said. “Indian Joe done got a king and a moccasin goin’. We gonna make enough greenbacks to cover my hooch costs. And bring my hood, boy. We got fireworks tonight.”
Truman and Nelle could not believe their luck. As soon as Boss and his daddy hung up, they both shouted: “Meet me at the secret headquarters!”
Nelle ran outside and made her way up to their treehouse. When she poked her head inside, Truman was already there with his fixed-up deerstalker cap on.
“See, we were right!” he said, out of breath. “It sounds like there’s some kinda secret snake society! Maybe the sign on the chalkboard and the stolen snake-cameo brooch were some kinda warning to others: the Snake Gang was here!”
Nelle considered it. “Maybe they sacrifice snakes to their pagan god and then Boss’s daddy makes moonshine liquor from ’em.”
“I know that Indian Joe fella makes whiskey—Sook buys it from him for her fruitcakes,” said Truman, rubbing his chin. “Any way you figure, we got to go to that snake pit and find out more. You think you’re up for that?”
Nelle sighed. “Do you even know where this snake pit is?” she asked.
“No.” He brooded over it. “Maybe we can just follow Boss there.”
“This is the same Boss who kicked you around like an old tire, remember?”
Truman nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” He thought some more, then snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet Little Bit knows.”
“Your cook? Why would she know?” asked Nelle.
He looked around and whispered, “Because she uses snakes for her voodoo.”
Nelle did not like the sound of that. Little Bit worked in the kitchen alongside Sook. She was not little at all. She was huge. She was part black, part Cajun, and part Indian—“Little bit of everything,” she’d say, and that’s why they called her that. Nelle knew she had a dark past—she bore a thick scar down her face from ear to chin but never said how she’d gotten it.
One time, Nelle watched her tie empty bottles to the ends of the branches around their treehouse. “What’re you doin’ that for, Little Bit?”
Little Bit looked around, worried. “Spirits in the air, Miss Nelle. I puts a special potion in each bottle and it sucks the evil right up. Then I cork ’em and throw ’em in the river!”
Nelle did not like dealing with evil spirits. She sent Truman in alone to talk with Little Bit.
Truman wandered casually into the kitchen, where he found Little Bit frying up some catfish on the giant black and copper stove she called Ol’ Buckeye. She was singing to herself while tending to the pan.
“What do you want, child? Little Bit is busy, cain’t you see? And why you wearing that funny hat?”
He hemmed and hawed. “Well, you . . . use snakes, don’t you, Little Bit? Do you know anything about the snake pit?”
She stopped poking at her fish and glared at him. “You been sneakin’ Miss Sook’s hooch, boy? Whatchu wanna know ’bout a snake pit for? An’ what makes you think I know anything about that?”
“Sook says you’re a voodoo priestess or something—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Hush yourself, boy. If Miss Jenny heard you—”
“I won’t tell anyone, Little Bit, I swear. I just wanna know is all.”
She looked around to see if anyone was listening. “It’s true, I’m a direct descendant of Dr. Yah-Yah, a famous voodoo doctor down in the delta lands. He were possessed by Damballa, the serpent god, who’s the protector of the helpless. An’ Little Bit knows what it is to be helpless,” she said, feeling her scar. “Now, what do you wanna know, child?”
Truman gulped. “I’m trying to solve a case,” he whispered. “I just want to know about the pit.”
She shook her head. “I can see you one of the helpless. Is that for one of your crazy little stories? ’Cause a snake pit ain’t for no kids.”
Now Truman was getting scared but he was still determined. He knew she had one weakness. “Please? I’ll take you to the picture show next week if you tell me.”
She mulled it over in her head. “I don’t like it, child, but I know if I don’t take you to the pit myself, there’ll be trouble for sure. I’d be fired if Miss Jenny found out I sent you to the snake pit alone . . . so I’ll take you, but I won’t be happy about it.”
They shook on it.
She told him she’d meet him after supper down by the drugstore when she was done cleaning up. “And don’t say a word to no one!” she hissed. “You always getting Little Bit in trouble. I just wish I didn’t love them picture shows so much . . .”
23
The Smoking (Rubber-Band) Gun
The sun was setting behind the courthouse, casting an ominous shadow over the town square. All the stores on the square were closed for the night. Dr. Fripp’s general store and Miss Jenny’s hat store were dark and lifeless. Most folks were at home, sitting on their porches, reading the evening paper, or planning Halloween get-togethers. But not Truman. He’d told his cousins he was headed to the fields to collect fireflies.
The autumn chill was settling in; it was going to be a cool night. Truman drew his jacket tight and his cap down low as he hid behind one of the old oak trees across from the drugstore. When Nelle showed up carrying a couple of Mason jars, Truman made a quizzical face.
“To catch fireflies with,” she said, like it was obvious.
“Don’t you know we’re on a mission?”
Nelle stamped her foot. “I ain’t fibbin’ to A.C. He asked where I was going and I told him we was getting fireflies like you said, so I’ll do whatever you want, but after, we’re gonna go to the field and get us some glow bugs!”
“Fine,” said Truman. “But we’re looking for snakes first.”
Nelle spotted red-haired Ralph sweeping out the doorway of the drugstore and crouched down behind the tree. “When’s Little Bit getting here?” she asked. “If Ralph spots us, we’re cooked.”
“She’s coming. She was still cleaning up when I left.”
“Why didn’t you just come together?” she asked.
Truman frowned. “Any good detective knows you shouldn’t be seen with your confidants. It’s suspicious. Didn’t they teach you anything in detective school?”
“Aren’t we being seen together?”
“Stop asking so many questions,” huffed Truman.
Nelle grunted and stared up at the tree. After a few moments, Truman saw Ralph go back into the store. “Whew, he’s gone.”
Nelle stared at the tree for a few more seconds, then glanced at the drugstore. After a beat, she looked back up at the tree again.
“Quit fidgeting, Nelle. People will notice.”
“Don’t you always say the answer is sometimes staring you right in the face?” asked Nelle.
“I guess so. Why?”
“Those rocks you picked up at the school and here by the drugstore? I think I know how such small stones could break such big windows.”
Nelle pointed up into the tree branches overhead.
Truman squinted and saw a small wooden handle with a rubber cord attached to it. “A rubber-band gun?”
She nodded. “They musta been hiding up there when they done it.”
Five minutes later, Nelle was hanging on to a branch about ten feet over Truman’s head.
“You’re almost there,” he hissed.
Nelle was afraid of heights. “How come you ain’t up here?”
“You’re always saying you’re a better climber than me—now, just inch out a few more feet . . .”
“There’re ants up here. I hate ants—oh! I see it now.” She pulled herself along on her belly until she was eye to eye with the slingshot. It hung off a smaller branch to her right.
Truman was keeping an eye out for passersb
y when he felt something small pelt him in the head. “Hey!” He looked up right as another hit him in the forehead. “What the—”
“Pecans! Someone was chewing pecans up here. I think we got our man. And from here, it’s a straight shot at the broken windows.”
She stretched her arm out with all her might and still couldn’t reach the slingshot. “I can’t get it.”
“Well, try shaking the branch or something,” whispered Truman.
She tried but that was hard to do lying down.
“Put some muscle into it. You’re supposed to be the brawn, remember?”
“Easy for you to say . . .” Nelle got up on her knees and steadied herself.
“Careful,” said Truman.
“Here goes nothing.” She started bouncing on the branch, harder and harder. “It’s moving!”
Suddenly, the branch snapped, and Nelle and part of the tree came tumbling down—right on top of Truman.
Nelle and Truman lay in a heap of branches and leaves on the dirt.
“Got it!” Nelle yelled, her fist popping through the leaves, slingshot in hand.
“Ooohhh . . . ” groaned Truman.
Nelle crawled out from under the canopy of leaves that, along with Truman, had cushioned her fall.
She followed the groans and found Truman’s face looking up at her. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Next time, make sure I’m not standing underneath you.” He groaned and struggled to get up. Nelle gave him a hand.
When he finally made it to his feet, Nelle showed off her prize. “Look what I got!”
“Let’s see,” he said, brushing himself off.
She held it up, trying to catch some of the distant light from the drugstore. They both peered at the slingshot. “Oh, my word, look!” Someone had carved a snake into the handle! The snake was shaped like an S.
“Hmm . . . just like the chalkboard. Whoever owns this sure likes snakes,” said Truman.
“Who likes snakes?” a voice barked behind them. They jumped into each other’s arms.
24
Into the Snake Pit
Little Bit had herself a good laugh. “You two got the fear in ya tonight.” She cackled.
Truman tried to act like he wasn’t scared but Little Bit could see he was shaken up. “Don’t worry, Mr. Tru, ain’t nothin’ gonna befall you now that I’m here.”
“You just scared us—” Truman stopped. “I mean, you surprised us.”
Little Bit eyed the broken branches. “What in the world have you two been up to? No good, I suspect.”
“We been detecting,” said Nelle. “Look what I found—”
Truman stepped in front of her before she could show off the slingshot. “What are we doing here anyway, Little Bit? There’re no snakes in the middle of town,” he said.
“Plenty of snakes here, if you look hard enough,” she said, reaching in her bag and pulling out some herbs. She stuffed them into Truman’s pockets.
“What’s that for?” he asked, trying to get away from her.
“Redroot and peppermint. Keeps the evils away. Something tells me you might need it tonight.”
Nelle looked worried. “Can I have some?”
“Of course, Miss Nelle. Coming up.”
Once she was done stuffing their pockets, Little Bit announced, “Now, come on, follow me and do as I says.”
They moved quickly past the drugstore. Red-haired Ralph was cleaning the window from the inside and stopped to watch them go by. Little Bit ignored him and hustled the kids down the alley behind the store.
When they turned the corner, they came to a fenced-in area that used to be a stable. They peered into a hole in the fence and saw a crowd of men. They looked like escaped convicts from the chain gangs they’d seen along the roads to Montgomery. Hardened and shifty, they all smoked as they stood around an oversize dry-goods box.
“Stay close,” said Little Bit as she herded them around back to the stable gate. Truman blanched when he saw who was manning the entrance: the bully Boss Henderson and his daddy, the notorious Catfish.
He pulled his cap down low, hoping the three of them wouldn’t be noticed, but that was unlikely, considering he and Nelle were the only kids there and Little Bit the only black person.
Boss grinned at him; Truman didn’t know if it was out of respect for their showing up or because he had it in for them. Either way, it didn’t make them feel welcome.
“Nice hat, shrimp,” said Boss, cracking his knuckles.
“We’re here to see the fight,” said Little Bit. Truman and Nelle exchanged glances. Fight?
Catfish stepped in front of them as they tried to enter. “You ain’t allowed in here, auntie. No Negros, you know the rules.”
“What about Indian Joe? He’s as dark as me and you letting him in.”
“He’s got the snakes. You got snakes?” said Catfish, whose handlebar mustache, beady eyes, and sunburned skin actually reminded Truman of a catfish. “What would people say if they saw us cavortin’ with the likes of you?” He hooted.
Little Bit scowled and turned to the children. “You still want to go in? You’ll have to go without me.”
Truman nodded and stepped up to the gate. Boss grabbed Truman’s collar with his giant hand. “Ain’t it past your bedtime, midget?”
Truman’s voice was strained. “I go to bed when I please. Besides, we’re here to see the pit. How much is it?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter; Boss immediately let go and snatched it from his hand.
“That much. Each.”
Truman dug his hand into his pocket again and produced another quarter. Catfish grabbed it. “That’ll do, boy. Just don’t get too close now, ya hear?”
Little Bit frowned at the kids. “Go on, children,” she said. “I’ll be waiting here. But hurry back as soon as y’all are finished with your foolishness.”
Right then, there was a sudden commotion. “Indian Joe is here,” someone said. Nelle and Truman were shoved aside as Catfish and Boss and a few of their good ol’ boys rose up to greet the man.
Indian Joe rode up on a black horse that had seen better days. Joe was tall and dark, with leathery skin that looked like it hadn’t spent a day indoors. Truman had never seen an actual Indian before, and Joe appeared to be the real deal. Strapped to his horse were two large cloth bags, both of which were squirming.
Joe surveyed the crowd silently, raised his hand, and said, “How.” Then he burst out laughing. “How y’all doing, you crackerheads!”
Everyone let out a big cheer as Indian Joe grabbed the bags and slid off his horse. Catfish slapped him on the back, “’Bout time ya got here, Joe. Folks is real eager to get going.”
Joe paused when he saw Nelle and Truman. He held up a bag in front of Nelle. “You kids like snakes?” Nelle covered her eyes, and Joe and Catfish burst out laughing again.
The mob crowded in as Joe and Catfish moved toward the big box. “Keep your eyes open,” Truman whispered to her. “Maybe this really is some kind of secret snake society.”
Joe handed one sack to Catfish and held the other one high for all to see. He then dramatically dumped its contents into the box. Truman and Nelle squeezed through the crowd so they could get a better look.
“A cottonmouth,” whispered Nelle as it coiled itself into the corner. It was a big one, maybe five feet long. Just like the one that bit her.
“And in this cornuh”—Catfish held up the other sack, which was almost jumping out of his hand—“the meanest king snake ever to slink upon this earth. Now, who’s gonna lay some bets?”
Hands shot up, coins and bills were exchanged, some folks shouting for the king, some for the cottonmouth. After Catfish’s pockets were sufficiently full, he dumped his sack into the box and backed up a step. Everyone hushed up and leaned in.
Five minutes must have passed with both snakes coiled and eyeing each other from opposite corners. Finally, the cottonmouth made a move and the king rose up, swaying back and
forth like an angry cat’s tail. They stared each other down for the longest time, flicking tongues and hissing.
Indian Joe shouted “Wooeee!” and everyone jumped, including Truman, who almost fell into the box. The snakes suddenly lunged at each other and wrapped themselves into a squirming snake ball so tight, Truman couldn’t tell which snake was which.
After a minute of tussling, there was an audible snap. Nelle gasped. The cottonmouth twitched and flopped around for a few seconds and then finally stopped moving. Half the crowd roared as the king unfurled itself from the other. It had broken the cottonmouth’s spine.
Truman felt sick to his stomach. “Let’s get out of here,” he said as Catfish handed out money to the winners. Nelle saw him give a bundle of cash to Indian Joe and say, “See you after the meeting tonight down at the field behind the school. I’ll be up for some drinkin’ after some good fireworks.”
Little Bit stood there shaking her head at the kids as they came out. Nelle looked white as a ghost. “Happy? Did you find what you was looking for?”
“That was horrible, Little Bit. Why’d you let us see that?” asked Nelle.
“Sometimes, taking foul medicine keeps you from getting sick,” said Little Bit.
“What does that mean?” asked Truman.
“It mean, you shouldn’t go looking for troubles when you ain’t got none. Now let’s git back home.”
Truman nodded and took Little Bit’s hand, but Nelle stood her ground. “What about the fireflies?” she asked innocently.
Truman sighed. “It doesn’t really matter,” said Truman. “Besides, it’s too cold, isn’t it?”
Nelle crossed her arms. “It’s not cold. We got to go to the fields, Truman.” Something was different in her tone.
“Come on, childs, let’s get moving,” said Little Bit.
Nelle grabbed Truman’s hand and pulled him aside. “That man said there’s gonna be some kind of meeting in the fields behind the school tonight,” she whispered. “I think it’s part of their secret group.”