by Mark Slade
“Why didn't you tell me about the money?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The money you found,” Scratch said. “Three stacks of 20s, held together with paper bands.”
“I don't know what you're talking about!” Lilly protested. Her hands immediately went to her waist. The torn collar fell, and showed even more of her cleavage and brassiere. As a matter of fact, the erect nipple of her left breast was out from the top of the cup. That top lip curled up once more.
“The money.” Scratch stood. Lilly took a step back from him. “The money you found behind the bed, in the upstairs bedroom on the left. The bedroom you tossed, looking for that money. The money. I know you have it. Where is it, Lilly?”
“I don't have any money!” she said, voice strained, higher pitched, through clenched teeth.
Scratch pushed Lilly on to the couch. They struggled as he fell on top of her, his hands all over her, searching, her hands swatting his away. He pushed her skirt up and saw the bills tucked away in both of her stocking tops. One stack inside her left stocking, two stacks in her right. Lilly dug her nails in his hand, tried to keep him from her legs. It didn't work. Scratch was determined to take the money, no matter what. Her high heels fell from her feet. She unsuccessfully kicked at his face, missing when he dodged from side to side. He finally held her legs down, palms pressing her thighs to the couch. Lilly squealed and gave Scratch a left hook, connecting to his chin. He fell on the floor, touching his agonizingly painful chin.
“Damn,” Scratch said. “You pack a wallop!”
“And don't forget it, buster!” Lilly screamed, fixing her skirt. She sat up on the couch, snarling at him. She found her heels and stepped in them. “I'm going to go now.”
“Wait,” Scratch begged her, touching her leg. “Please… I need your help.” He massaged her ankle, moved up to her knee under the skirt. “I need your help.” She let out a small sigh. “You obviously know every inch of this house,” he said. “Please help me find that hatbox. I can't go back to Spiff without it.” His hand moved up her thigh and to her panties, gently rubbing. A longer sigh came from her parted lips. Her eyes became glassy, looking past Scratch. Scratch's fingers kept rubbing, quicker and quicker until Lilly cried out, spread her legs and moaned.
After a few minutes, she got herself together and caught her breath. She swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yeah.” Lilly breathed out. “I'll help you.”
* * *
Lilly helped Scratch look for the hatbox. They turned over every room. The hatbox was in the bathroom. Under the sink. It was black, but no gold trim, and no initials, especially SS. Lilly was overjoyed. She cried out and ran to Scratch. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Scratch was confused. That was not the hatbox Lowery or the old man described. This hatbox was old, the black vinyl faded and chipped.
“We found it!” Lilly gushed. She kissed Scratch, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She pulled away and said: “I plan on sharing the money with you.”
Scratch smiled. He appreciated the gesture, but knew more than likely she would hang on to it for him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I'm… just going to hold on to your share. OK, baby?”
Scratch laughed. “OK.”
Lilly was a little perturbed that Scratch found the offer humorous. That top lip started to curl up.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Scratch said. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. She pulled away.”
“No. There is something.”
Scratch kissed her again. Lilly gave in. Her anger subsided. After the long kiss, Lilly rested her head on Scratch's chest. They walked out the bathroom like that, hand in hand, to the front door of the house. Lilly moved snuggled to Scratch, moved her head to his shoulder.
“Let's go to my place,” Scratch said. “Get some rest.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Scratch saw a young, light-skinned black male at the window. He was short, wore a checkered button-down shirt and dungarees. His hair was light brown and a little kinky, but relaxed. There was no expression on his haunted face. His eyes looked dead, hollow. By the time Scratch turned to get a full view, the man was pointing a Saturday night special at Lilly.
The barrel of the gun was bigger than the man's head. Scratch pushed Lilly to the floor just as the gun discharged.
“Get out of the way!” He screamed and jumped toward the couch.
Lilly fell on her back. The bullet zipped past both of them and struck a lamp, tore a hole in the shade and burrowed into the wall. Scratch jumped to his feet. He flung the front door open and ran after the young man. In his younger days, Scratch had been fast, but not as fast this little man.
The man was several blocks ahead of Scratch, leading the way down Main Street, past all the shops, Mildred's hair shop and Gus's barber. The man took a right down an alley just off Smith lane that led to the back of Hamilton's greengrocer. Scratch hung in there, still far behind the man, until the chase led to a path and a hill to the park. Scratch's knee gave out.
He found himself lying on wet grass, staring at the bright yellow moon, trying to catch his breath. He lifted himself up and watched the young man sprint into the woods that led to Jennings Farm, then disappear into the darkness.
“Son of a bitch.” Scratch huffed and puffed. He lay there for several moments.
When he was ready to stand, he used the dead roots of a long-gone tree to prop himself up. He hobbled through the park, on to Main Street and back to Horace Hammock's house, where Lilly was waiting nervously on the couch. Scratch limped inside, holding his knee.
“What happened? Did he shoot you?” She trotted to Scratch, her heels clicking repetitively like bongo drums. She helped him to the couch, her hands on his waist and back, his resting on her shoulders.
“No,” Scratch shook his head. “I chased him all the way to the park. My knees gave out on me. Don't worry, Lilly. I'll find him. He was aiming for you. At first, I thought it was me. But chasing him, thinking about it, I realized he was gunnin' for you.”
“I don't know, Scratch,” She eased him on to the couch and sat beside him. “Maybe we should let it go.”
“I'm not going to do that,” Scratch said.
Lilly sighed. “I think its best you do… at-at least for now. So, uh, why don't we go home – you go to your place, and I'll go to mine. I'm awful tired, Scratch. I need a bath and to – you know – relax in my own… space. Oh, don't look that way. Please.”
“No, no. I should be around to protect you in case he tries again. I'll go with you…”
“No, Scratch!”
He stared at her.
“Hey,” Lilly rubbed his hand. “I'll be OK. That guy is more than likely hiding out somewhere and won't try again. Ever.”
“I don't know about that,” Scratch said. “He had a look of determination on his face. Why would anyone want to kill you, Lilly?”
“I don't know, Scratch,” Lilly said. She ran a hand through her hair. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm dog tired.”
Scratch nodded. “Yeah. Sure. We can talk tomorrow. Where? Your home? Hammock's office?”
“No, not my home. Nor Horace's office. That's been closed. Sheriff's orders. How about Jesse Fulton's diner. Out by Newberry.”
“On route 10?”
“Yes,” Lilly stood. She was in a hurry to leave. Her steps quickened to the front door. She turned the knob, and said: “Is 11am OK? I'm going to sleep in. Hope you don't mind? Me leaving?” Lilly flashed a smile.
“No. I don't mind. You need me to drop you off..?”
“I have my car.” She stepped out and, just before she closed the door, she said: “I'll see you tomorrow.”
Will you? Scratch asked himself. He looked at the coffee table. The hatbox was gone. He realized Lilly had taken it. “Son of a bitch!”
10
Scratch was tired. He sat in his '48 Dodge for a half hour
or so, tried to get himself motivated to drive. First he had to decide where to go. He wanted to go home, to his bed. Fix something to eat. Then he would be fresh in the morning to meet Lilly.
“Ah, who am I kidding?” he asked himself under his breath. “She won't show up tomorrow.”
He turned the key in the ignition and the engine started up. The moon was so bright. So yellow. It was like a spotlight. Scratch wished it was all darkness so he could hide. He looked up, watched the stars and that bright moon dance around each other.
He decided to go to the Primrose first. It was on his way to Mrs Howard's house, where he rented the basement.
“No sleep tonight,” he said and put the car in drive.
Suddenly, a man ran across the road and slammed into the car. He didn't fall down or scream. Anyway, the car didn't hit him very hard. He just stood there, both hands on the hood. Scratch realized it was the short, light-skinned black man who had shot at Lilly and him. They locked eyes and Scratch rose from the car seat, but a flash of flames caught his eyes.
In the distance, a car radio could be heard playing Why Do Fools Fall in Love?
Scratch turned to look, as did the young man. A burning cross appeared about six houses down. That house belonged to a young Mexican family, that much Scratch knew. The young man had come running from that direction. Uh-oh, Scratch thought. The Klan saw him.
Torches were coming toward them. Voices were hurling all kinds of racial slurs and insults. The young man took off in a sprint. Instinctively, Scratch sped off. He almost collided with a familiar car – a red Plymouth Fury. Why Do Fools Fall in Love? was at its loudest. The Fury skidded to the left and barely missed a fire hydrant. The Dodge skidded to the right, knocking over a public trashcan. The driver hung his head out the window. The young blond-haired man had a malicious upturned smile on his thin face. Scratch had seen him driving off from the drugstore the day before. In the passenger and backseat were two women. Scratch couldn't make out who they were, nor did he have time. The torches were getting closer. Scratch hit the gas and the Dodge sped off again.
“Why am I running?” Scratch said out loud. “They're not after me.” He pulled the car over and parked by Nesbit's hardware store.
About 10 men in white robes and pointed hoods, carrying torches, ran past Hammock's house. The embers from the flames surged and left a trail of remnants as the white robes dashed past the Dodge. The man led them by three paces, but that was dwindling with Klansman hot on his heels.
They all whooped and hollered at the young man. He tripped, fell on his side, and quickly hopped to his feet. He removed the pistol from his belt, pointed it at the white sheets. Too frightened to pull the trigger, he dropped the gun and sprinted toward the park.
“You can't run, nigger!” a gravelly voiced man called out.
“The moon is bright tonight, nigger!” A high-pitched voice called. “You can't hide now, shine!”
“You're gonna wish your mama never had you, boy!”
The Fury sped off, tires squealing.
“Shit,” Scratch said. Suddenly, he had a case of the “I cares” and guilt was settling in.
He put the car in drive and tapped the gas pedal. The Dodge sped off and circled in front of the gang of Klansman. The fender struck the gravelly voiced one on his right side. He cried out. The rest of the Klan spread out and Scratch let the Dodge spin around a few times. They regrouped when Scratch stopped, began beating his hood with baseball bats.
Two Klansman men trotted over to help the gravel-voiced one to his feet.
“Get in!” Scratch screamed at the young man.
The man pulled the handle, and the back door on the passenger's side popped open. He dove into the backseat. Scratch sped off, tires squealing. The door, still open, clipped one of the charging Klansman, knocking him to the ground. Scratch's passenger grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut. He lay back down, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh of relief.
Insults, rocks and baseball bats were hurled at the Dodge. Scratch didn't waste any time driving through Odarko. He hurried to route 10, headed to Bucksville. The moon showed the way, and there were rows and rows of trees on the side of the road, along with white lines on the highway, that hypnotized Scratch. He felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and the faces of George Spiff, Shep Howard and Lilly kept invading his mind. The Dodge veered to the right. The front tire nearly hit a ditch. Scratch's passenger was not happy about being rescued, nor his driving ability.
“Hey! Wake up!” The man yelled.
Scratch jerked awake and steered the Dodge back on the road.
“You can let me out here, OK?”
“I'm not letting you out,” Scratch told the man.
“C'mon, now. What are you doing? Kidnapping me?”
“No,” Scratch said. “Just holding you against your will.”
“What?” The man protested, thought about what Scratch said. “Hey, man, that's the same thing!”
“Hmm, is it? Whatever it's called, boy, I'm doing it. You're going to answer some questions, then I'm taking you to see Shep Howard.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“Sheriff around these parts,” Scratch said.
“Hey… I'm-I'm grateful for you picking me up before the hoods could string me up, but I ain't going to no white lawman,” the man said. “I could wind up beat all to all to hell, meetin' Jesus when I wake up. No way, José.”
“You'll be safer in a cell…”
“The hell you say! Look… just let me out.”
“I'll take you to Darktown. How's that?”
“You ain't allowed in there any more than I'm allowed in Odarko,” the man said.
“You'll be surprised when they open the gates to let me in,” Scratch said. “First you're going to answer some questions.”
“I ain't answerin' shit,” the man said.
“You'll answer them,” Scratch said. “Or I'll turn this car around and drop you off where those Klansman were having a barbecue.”
The man didn't reply. Complete silence for a bit, until Scratch reiterated his reasons for rescuing the man.
“What's your name?”
The man didn't answer.
Scratch nodded.
“That's OK. I can find that out. Why did you try to kill the woman in that house?”
“Look, I-I didn't want to, OK?” he sighed. “This guy… he came in to Darktown. He…” The man was hesitant, embarrassed. “He wanted some company.”
“Company? What do you mean?”
The man clucked his tongue.
“What do you think I mean?”
Scratch looked over his shoulder at the man. “Oh. Yeah. You look like a sissy.”
“I ain't no sissy! I'm as touch as they come! You saw me with that gun!”
Scratch chuckled. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically and moved his eyes back to the road. “OK, buddy. You're tough. What did this man look like?”
The young man shrugged. “A white man.”
“What did he look like?” Scratch repeated the question with more aggression.
The young man shivered. “I don't know! I-I don't usually remember things like that… especially if I'd been smokin'… You know, been in a cloud…”
“Then what?”
“We did some stuff,” the man said. “Hey… you ain't a weirdo who pulls on himself while I talk dirty, are you?”
“What the hell?” Scratch laughed, looked at the man incredulously.
“Anyways, after all that, the guy gives me a package. A gun, 200 dollars and an address. He says: 'Go to any window, you see a man there, shoot him!' I said: 'I ain't never killed nobody.' It ain't been my chance yet but it… it's comin' up… and I ain't lookin' forward to it. Anyways, he says: 'Do this, and I'll throw in another 200.' Shit….” The man laughed. “I ain't never seen 200 dollars, let alone 400 at one time. I told him I'd kill the mayor for that amount. He said: 'Maybe another time.' Shit… I'll take him up on it.”
“So, you were aiming for me?” Scratch asked.
The man shrugged. “I was aimin' for anybody to collect that other 200.”
“You can't tell me what this guy looked like?”
“No,” the man smiled, showing two bottom teeth that had rotted out. “I can. But I won't. Unless you flash some green.”
“I can pay you,” Scratch said. The man got even happier, danced in the backseat. Scratch hit the brakes and the car came to halt. The man fell forward, his face smashed into the hard vinyl seat in front of him. The man screamed out.
“But I won't,” Scratch said.
Scratch turned the engine off.
“What are you doin'?” The man asked.
“I think I'll just beat the information out of you,” Scratch said calmly.
The man popped the back door open and jumped out before Scratch could open the car door. The man hit the hard pavement and yelped. He rolled off the road and into a ditch. He sprang to his feet and dashed towards the woods. The man disappeared into the dark woods.
“Damn it!” Scratch slammed the palm of his hand on the car roof.
11
He was gone. Nothing Scratch could do about that. But he could ride into Darktown and see Immy and Dobro. Before that, he needed to go back to his place and get cleaned up. His head was swimming. Maybe a shower and some food would help.
Truth be told, Scratch needed some sleep. Only, he was afraid if he laid down, he'd have that nightmare again. He'd wake up out in the streets at two in the morning, that .38 in his hands looking for Korean soldiers. In the last few months, since that incident, Scratch had avoided sleep as much as possible. But there are times a person can't. The body shuts down.
He stood on Mrs Howard's lawn. He saw a light was still on in the ranch-style house. The moon still shining brightly showed the lime green house and white roof. He saw a hand move black drapes and an elderly woman with dyed blonde hair peeked out. Scratch wasn't in the mood to talk to his landlady.
Scratch liked her. He liked her a lot. She was motherly. Sometimes too much to the point it was annoying. He was grateful to Shep for suggesting to his cousin, Lenora Howard, that she should rent her basement to him. But that night, and the time being one thirty in the morning, she needed to go to bed and not poke her nose in Scratch's business, like she normally did. He rushed off toward the steps that lead to the door of his basement apartment.