Yardbird

by Mark Slade

  “Yep.” Scratch sat back down, popped a few more Bennies. The bottle was getting empty. He was more pissed off about that than Betty's house and the film burning up. He shoved the bottle in his coat pocket. “Your house is on fire. Now do you believe I spread evil?”

  “How about we forget you for a moment and think of what I'm losing.” Betty started to sob.

  One thing Scratch couldn't stand to hear was a woman crying. Made him feel guilty when it wasn't his fault. This made him doubly guilty, since he felt all this was his fault. He threw his arms around Betty. She laid her head on his chest and wept quietly. Thank God she's not a screamer, Scratch thought. I'd melt in her arms.

  When she was almost done, Scratch coaxed her to switch seats. He put the Dodge in gear and drove to her burning house. The firemen were working tirelessly to contain the blaze. Scratch and Betty stood with the other neighbors, watching the house crumble. Scratch moved his eyes to the onlookers' faces. He spotted someone familiar.

  Dan Lowery was moving along quickly, looking behind him, trying to create a path through the crowd. An elderly woman tugged on Lowery's arm and he turned as if he was going to strike her. His expression changed and he plastered a fake smile on his face. He cordially greeted the old woman and spoke to her, even though his eyes were roaming nervously.

  “Now what's Spiff's lawyer doing out here?” Scratch murmured to himself.

  Felix was standing behind a huge tree, trying to conceal himself. He was taking a huge risk, a black man in the white part of town. Lucky for him, this neighborhood backed on to a wooded area that led into Darktown, albeit a six- or seven-mile walk. Still, if Felix got a good sprint on Scratch, he could hit the woods and not be caught. He had to be desperate to do that. Most of the firemen were in the Klan and if they spotted him, it was all over for Felix. They'd take him for a ride in the fire truck and he'd never be seen alive again.

  “I have to dip out for a few minutes,” Scratch whispered to Betty.

  “Wait-why? My house is on fire,” She tried to block him from leaving her side.

  Scratch kissed Betty on the forehead. “I know, honey,” He gently nudged her out of his way. “I think I see the person who did it.”

  “What?” Betty exclaimed. “Scratch! Get back here!”

  Felix saw Scratch. He started to sprint but then Shep showed up. Felix tried to run to his left and Ralph appeared. He stopped and looked at everyone.

  “I ain't do nothin',” Felix said calmly.

  Shep put his hands out in front of him as he approached Felix slowly. “Take it easy, son. Nobody's gonna hurt you.”

  “I ain't do nothin',” Felix back-pedaled. “I aint do nothin'!” He screamed as he ran right into Ralph.

  Ralph took him down immediately. That cowlick on Ralph's forehead twirled around and the long strand smacked him in the nose when he grabbed Felix by the arms and threw him violently to the ground. Ralph jammed his knee into Felix's back. He then rolled those wiry arms across Felix's back and handcuffed him. Ralph jerked Felix to a standing position.

  “I ain't do nothin'!” Felix bellowed, sobbing hard. “I ain't do nothin' wrong!” Piss ran down Felix's pants leg and leaked on Ralph's left boot.

  Ralph gasped. His dark, furry eyebrows arched down. “Son of a bitch! Those are new boots! I ought to bust your head in, boy!”

  “Calm down, Ralph. The boy's scared,” Shep said. “Put yourself in his shoes.”

  “I'd rather put him in my shoes so he could walk around in hundred-dollar custom-made boots with nigger piss on them!”

  “I said stand down, Deputy!”

  Ralph had never seen Shep angry. Scratch saw it once. At the Blue Room a year or so ago. An old adversary of Shep's had just finished a five-year sentence at Oklahoma state farm for armed bank robbery in Odarko. Words were exchanged, insults hurled at Shep's mother. Shep shot the man dead in the Blue Room. No one said a word, no one moved. Shep asked Scratch to help him throw the dead man in the swamp 60 miles away in a small Texas town whose name neither of them could pronounce.

  No one was sad the man was dead and no one spoke of the incident. Ever.

  Ralph thought of his future actions. He thought of what Shep might do. Ralph took a deep breath, and nodded to Shep. “Yes sir.”

  “Put him in the car, Ralph. I'll pay to have your boots cleaned,” Shep said.

  “Yes sir,” Ralph walked to Felix to the police car, opened the door and eased him in the backseat, then slammed the door shut. He stood at the car with his back to Shep and Scratch, trying to get himself together and be less aggressive.

  Shep turned to Scratch. “You OK? You look a little rattled?”

  “I'm OK,” Scratch said slowly.

  “I've noticed something,” Shep said.

  “What's that?” Scratch rubbed his aching forehead.

  “You don't like that word.”

  “What word?”

  “Nigger,” Shep replied with a grimace.

  Scratch remembered when he and Immy were walking home from school one day in Oklahoma City. Some white boys gathered around them, throwing pebbles and taunting them. Saying: “Why are you walking with that nigger girl?”

  He also remembered a neighbor boy who was sweet on Immy. They played together in that run-down building where they lived with a cousin for a short period. The boy's father forbade him ever to play with that “nigger girl”.

  Scratch never had any racial problems, unless Immy was with him.

  “No,” Scratch admitted. Their eyes locked. Burning embers in Scratch's pupils. “I've always hated that word. Hear it so much, it shouldn't bother me. But it does.”

  He wanted to confide in Shep. Tell him about his family history. But the trust level in Odarko, even between friends, was very low. If they knew anything about you, it came from rumor.

  “I don't either,” Shep lit a cigarette. “I'm hoping for change for his kind,” Shep nodded toward Felix. “I don't anticipate any for the better. I hate to say.”

  Nothing else was said.

  Shep finished his cigarette, tossed it on the ground and stamped it out. “We have a witness to the fire.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Old woman next door. She saw him,” Shep nodded toward the police car. “Running away from the house on fire. I understand the woman you were with owns the house?”

  “Yes,” Scratch said. “Betty Klein. She's a photographer. Used to work for Horace's paper. She was in his house when I went to look around. We've partnered up some since.”

  “Is that so?” Shep asked with even more interest than before.

  “We found a hatbox. It belonged to Gardner. A small film camera was inside it. I think he was making blue films. He may have even starred in some. Betty developed the film, but we didn't get to see much of it, just whatever developed on the negative.”

  “This case is all tangled up,” Shep said. “I'm getting' too old to do Spiff's bidding.”

  “I have to tell you something,” Scratch said. “Harry is involved with Gardner with pornography. The old man might be, too.”

  “The old man isn't involved,” Shep said. “Not directly. Harry pays Spiff for protection. Just in case anyone tips off the Feds about his little pornography business. Harry thought he was protected by the Chicago mob. Spiff bought Harry from the mob.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Harry anyway,” Scratch said.

  “That will be difficult, Scratch.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Harry is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah,” Shep confirmed. “Shot to death in his drugstore.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Yes and no,” Shep sighed. He removed his trilby hat, ran a hand through the few strands of hair on his bald head, and placed the hat back on his head. “It was made to look like a robbery. Witnesses saw a Red Fury drive away. Before that Fury drove off, it stopped to pick someone up.”

  “Let me guess,” Scratch said, pointed to the police car. �
��The car picked up Felix?”

  “How'd you know?” Shep asked.

  Scratch smiled. “I've had a run-in with that Fury, as well as Felix.”

  “That's his name, huh?”

  “Yes. Felix Crump,” Scratch said. “You mind if I talk to the woman who saw Felix burn Betty's house down?”

  “I didn't say she saw Felix set the fire,” Shep said. “She only saw him run away from the house. I don't mind at all. We work for the same man. As a matter of fact.” Shep walked over to the police car. He leaned in the passenger's open window, spoke to Ralph. Ralph started the engine, put the car in gear and drove off, trailing a cloud of dust. Shep ambled back over to Scratch. “I want to talk to her again. Let's go.”

  “Mind if Betty comes along?”

  Shep glared at Scratch.

  “No,” he said, his face contorted painfully in a moment of confusion. “I guess not. Was her house after all.”

  “Good.” Scratch walked off. “I'll get her and we'll meet you over there.”

  21

  Only one light was on in the whole house. A broken lamp with a dim light bulb that kept shorting out. The mood was weird and surreal. The house was cluttered with furniture stacked on top of each other, and pans and dishes hanging on the walls next to framed pictures with people's faces blacked out.

  Betty let Shep enter the house first. She came behind him and Scratch brought up the rear. A large black roach crawled across Betty's shoe. She jumped, muffling a scream with her hand.

  “Mrs Sommers?” Shep called out. No answer.

  “Wait,” Scratch whispered. He tapped Shep on the shoulder. “Saundra Sommers, the silent movie star?”

  “Yeah,” Shep said. “You didn't know she lived here?”

  “No, I didn't.”

  “Been here for almost 15 years,” Shep said. “Crazy as a bedbug. As you can see.”

  “How does a person get this way?” Betty asked.

  “Family tragedies,” Shep said. “On her way back from the east coast, in 1931, her husband was gunned down when their train stopped over here in Odarko.”

  “Train?” Scratch enquired. “I thought the only train running in this part of Oklahoma was in Presscott. We didn't get a train until 1934.”

  “Nope,” Shep said. “That was the new train tracks Spiff and his father built. Much to our governor's chagrin.”

  “The governor opposed a train for voters?” Betty asked and sniggered. “How's he going to reach out to his constituents?”

  “He's not and he doesn't need them,” Shep said. “He buys the votes.”

  “Why didn't he want the train here? I don't understand,” Betty said.

  “He doesn't like anyone other than white people,” Shep said.

  “What's the story with Mrs Sommers?”

  “They took my baby,” a voice rattled from the darkness.

  Her broken English sounded harsh to her new audience's ears. Betty even seemed to cringe at the old woman's voice – it was like something out of a Boris Karloff film. Old age had ravished a perfect speaking voice. Saundra Sommers had been a stage star in the early 1900s, in Berlin.

  Saundra Sommers continued: “They killed my husband – shot him down like a dog. Took my child – drove off…”

  “How many men? Do you remember what they looked like?”

  “No faces. Just handkerchiefs, stockings covering their faces. I dream of those contorted faces every night. Ohhhh…” she cried out as if in sudden pain. “I'll never forget the size of one of them…” She paused. Perhaps recalling the memory of the man took time to dig into a vast bag of yesterdays. “He was a giant. The largest man I'd ever seen. He spoke fluent German.”

  Right away Scratch knew who she was talking about. Pita-Paul.

  Mrs Sommers continued: “The one who shot my Konrad was a negro. He shot him like a dog. I had his blood all over me. I screamed and I couldn't stop. I've been screaming ever since.”

  Oh, now the timeline for Pita-Paul joining Uncle Homer was fudged. Or… Pita-Paul might have gone to Germany or been sent back. Homer took his family in when Pita-Paul returned.

  “You paid the ransom,” Scratch said.

  “I keep paying it,” Saundra said. “They never bring my baby back to me.”

  “Mrs Sommers,” Shep butted in. “I need to ask you about the fire next door.”

  “Oh, God,” she wept. “Hell is coming for all of us!” The old woman screamed and wept loudly. Betty went into the dark room. Shep and Scratch could hear Betty consoling Mrs Sommers.

  When she calmed down, Betty whispered to her: “It's important that you answer the sheriff's questions about the fire. That was my house that burned down.”

  Shep waited to ask his question. Time for Scratch seemed to move the same pace as somebody drowning in quicksand.

  “Mrs Sommers, did you see the negro boy set the fire?”

  “No,” she said. “I saw him run away.”

  “Did you see who set the fire?” Scratch asked.

  “Yes.” She started to weep again. Betty's voice was soft and serene as she tried to comfort her. Mrs Sommers controlled her sobs for just long enough to answer. “My nightmare was coming true. That fiend from hell – he set the fire, as I knew he would.”

  “What fiend?” Shep asked.

  “The giant,” Mrs Sommers said. “The giant burned that house down. He was coming for me! I know it!” Mrs Sommers became hysterical. Once again, Betty calmed her down. Told the woman to fix her mind on nice memories. Scratch doubted Mrs Sommers had any left. She started talking about the first time she met her Konrad. She kept talking, sometimes in broken English, other times in German.

  They left Saundra Sommers talking to herself.

  22

  Scratch had to go back to Darktown. Betty didn't know why he couldn't stay with her and put his business off for a day. He tried to explain, but Betty didn't understand the situation because Scratch was cryptic about the details.

  “Just trust me,” he told her. “Please. Understand I have to take care of this and… I'll be at my place later.”

  “I don't want to understand,” she said angrily. She looked away from his gaze and folded her arms.

  “Get in the car,” Scratch said. “I'll drop you off wherever you want.”

  “No, wait. Please, let me go with you.”

  Scratch thought about it. “I'm going to Darktown,” he told Betty. “Are you sure you want to come with me?” He wasn't sure he wanted her to come with him. She'd learn more about him. She might even learn his secret. All Scratch could think about was how heavy that secret weighed on his shoulders. Maybe he should just let Shaw tell the world. Then he and Immy would have to answer for the killing of their father. All eyes on them, eyes on Immy for what their father had done to her, Scratch killing the man…

  “I've been there before,” Betty said.

  “Oh? When?”

  “Last year,” she said. “Last Christmas. I took photos for the newswire. I'm not afraid.”

  “You went by yourself?” Scratch asked.

  “No.” Betty sighed. “Harry took me.”

  “Harry took you, but you were not taking Christmas photos of children unwrapping presents. Were you?”

  “Yes! Yes, I did…” Betty fell silent. “And some racy photos of negro prostitutes.”

  “You sure you want to come along? I've got something to do. Betty. It won't be pleasant.”

  “I don't care,” Betty kissed Scratch. “I just want to be with you. I'm scared, Scratch. I don't want to be alone. My house is gone. Most of my equipment… my work is burned up.”

  “OK,” Scratch said. He popped a few more pills. Four were left in the bottle. He was feeling drowsy, and he could hear his own heart racing in his ears. He didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to dream about Korea, his father or anything, for that matter. “Wait in the car for me.”

  Betty kissed him again. This time Scratch didn't flinch. He accepted the long kiss passionately, even
placed a hand under her skirt. He didn't care if anyone was watching. He had a knot in his stomach. A bad feeling this might be the last time he kissed Betty. She pulled away and removed his hand from under skirt.

  “Later,” she whispered and went to the '48 Dodge and slid into in the passenger seat.

  Scratch looked in Shep's direction. Shep was enjoying a cigarette and trying not to watch Scratch and Betty. When he saw Scratch coming toward him, he turned away to watch the firemen working tirelessly to contain the fire.

  “Shep,” Scratch called out. “You riding with us?”

  “Don't bother,” he said. “I called Ralph from Mrs Stevens's house. He's coming to come get me.”

  “OK,” Scratch said. “I'll swing by the jailhouse and talk to Felix in the morning.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you…” Shep finished his cigarette, tossed it in the street and stepped on it. “The old man summoned me today,” Shep licked his dry lips. “I need a drink.” He wiped his mouth.

  “What did Spiff want?” Scratch asked.

  “Me to keep an eye on you,” Shep chuckled. “He's concerned you're going to Darktown too much.”

  “He wants me to get results doesn't he?” Scratch said.

  “Well, yes. Of course.” Shep chuckled again.

  “Then he shouldn't care where I'm going,” Scratch said.

  “I think he's upset you haven't checked in,” Shep said.

  “Jesus, we just talked the other day!”

  “You know how Spiff is,” Shep sighed. “He's got to control every damn thing every damn minute. You don't how many phone a day calls I get. Sometimes… sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if he wasn't around.”

  “Just another yo-yo controlling our every move,” Scratch said.

  “Yeah,” Shep nodded. “I think you're right”

  “I'll call him in the morning. Hey, I want to show you something,” Scratch took out a piece of paper and showed it to Shep. “Have you seen any one wearing a ring with this in the stone?”

  Shep looked at the paper closely. “Yes, actually I have.” He examined the paper again. “Governor Adams.”

  “Quincy Adams? He wears a ring like this?”