A Little Sin

by Sionnach Wintergreen

  “She always has mastitis. I should feed her to the crows.”

  “Are you milking her with dirty hands? Are you keeping her udder clean?” Garland stood up and turned toward the petulant farmer with his full height. “Mastitis is painful. She’s not doing this to spite you.”

  Melford, a short, rickety man with a pot belly and bird legs, glared up at him. “I wash up every Saturday.”

  “Wash your hands before you milk these cows.” He let his military experience seep into his voice. He had issued a command and expected it to be followed.

  Melford shrank back a bit, then shambled away, muttering, followed dutifully by a skinny, fleabitten cur. Not for the first time, Garland wondered at how animals could love the most unlovable people. He scratched the cow’s bony withers and behind her ears. His thoughts, as they had so often that day, turned to Avery. He ached to see him again. He couldn’t stop thinking of his clean, musky taste—the little sounds he made—those cornflower blue eyes. He wanted to feel the prickly tickle of that beard against his neck.

  He heaved a breath. “Daisy,” he whispered. “I’m done for.” He hoped, with all of the same golden energy he drew from inside himself when he treated the animals, that Avery would want to spend the night again. He knew they couldn’t be together every night, but he hoped beyond hope that Avery would want to see him this evening.

  ***

  Home of Rufus Larson

  Avery followed Rufus Larson, owner of the timber mill, into the parlor. Rufus, a broad, pasty man with a horseshoe of silvery hair, motioned him to a violet wingback chair. He took a tin of matches out of his breast pocket and lit a cigar, then sat down in the matching chair opposite Avery.

  “In your message,” said Avery, “you said Dr. Watkins had some gambling debts. What can you tell me about those debts?”

  “We were friends. Had been since he married my niece. He always gambled some. It became worse, recently. He had to borrow money from me. Said he’d gotten in over his head with some fellow.”

  “You don’t know the man’s name?”

  “Obadiah Clark. You should know him.”

  Avery certainly did. Clark had run a gin joint before Prohibition. He ran bootleggers now. The man always had his mitts in something dirty. “What was he doing with a man like Obadiah?”

  “Gambling and drinking, most likely.” Rufus puffed his cigar. “Truth be told, Sheriff, Hiram always had a wild hair. Irish blood, you know.”

  Avery, who was Irish on both sides, could only stare at Rufus for a moment. Finally, he blinked. “Half the county is Irish. They aren’t all gamblers.”

  Rufus shrugged, puffing smoke. “A third of the county’s Negro. They aren’t all layabouts and thieves, but some are. It’s in the blood.”

  Avery coughed. “Uh…how much money did Dr. Watkins borrow from you?”

  “Six hundred dollars. He asked for two thousand.”

  “Two thousand dollars! That’s enough for a car!”

  “It’s a tidy sum, that’s for certain.”

  Avery drew a deep breath. He felt like he was finally getting somewhere. He could start seeing the puzzle now, how the pieces fit together. “What was his state of mind when he asked you for the money?”

  “I’m no mind reader.” Rufus laughed smoke.

  “No. I’m sure that’s true. What did he sound like when you talked to him? Nervous, cheerful, angry?”

  “I would say nervous. He seemed very nervous.”

  “And when was this conversation exactly?”

  “I don’t remember when exactly. It was about a week ago.” He squinted over Avery’s shoulder. “Friday, maybe. Last Friday.”

  Avery thanked Rufus and left without shaking hands. Didn’t want to get his Irish on him, after all. He knew who he needed to talk to now. Obadiah Clark. He just had to find him.

  Chapter Eight

  Cross Fox Way

  Sands’ Farm was not on Avery’s way home. It was out of the way, in fact. But the sun was dying over the hills, smearing the sky with blood and fire. It was too late to look for Obadiah Clark today. And he wanted to discuss his new lead with Garland. True, he now had a deputy, Burrell Dawson, who was watching the Johnson house tonight, but he didn’t want to talk to Burrell. He wanted to talk to Garland.

  He wanted to do more than talk. He hadn’t let himself think much on Garland all day, but now, riding into the sunset, Garland was all he could think about. He wasn’t simply excited to tell Garland about Doc Watkins’ gambling debts, he wanted to see Garland’s face, to run his fingers through his corn silk hair, to kiss his soft lips and feel his strong body against his own.

  Everything he wanted now was wrong. He had spent his entire life believing it. He had prayed for God to take his unclean thoughts away, and he had felt great shame each time he had been with another man. He wasn’t the most pious man, but he was a believer. He knew this was wrong.

  But Garland was also a believer. And he said Jesus loved them as they were. Garland was no pastor. Avery didn’t really believe him. But he wanted to.

  He thought of Garland’s hips knocking into him. How his cock had gone so deep, pounded him to his core. They had become like a single beast. Something glowing and glorious.

  He hadn’t felt like that since he was a small boy singing hymns in church. The one that had filled him with that light, the one that turned his arms to gooseflesh, was Come Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy.

  I will arise and go to Jesus

  He will embrace me in His arms

  In the arms of my dear Savior

  Oh, there are ten thousand charms.

  The lyrics rang through him and mixed with thoughts of Garland. Garland had a way about him that reminded Avery of Jesus. No, Garland wasn’t a pastor, but Jesus shown out of those silvery eyes and that radiant smile. And when they were together, Avery felt mysteriously closer to Him. Maybe Garland was right, after all. Avery wasn’t sure. All he knew for certain was that he craved Garland’s touch.

  He clucked Bluebird into a gallop.

  ***

  Sand’s Farm

  They kissed in the darkness by the light of the lantern on the back porch. Avery liked kissing Garland almost as much as he liked everything else they did. Garland, clean and daisy-fresh, scrubbed Avery’s head between kissings. He washed Avery as if he were a prince, even dipping a washcloth between his toes. The first time, all of this fuss over getting clean had seemed silly to Avery. Now, it felt like some majestic ritual.

  “We’re getting the day off of us,” said Garland, as if reading his mind. “We’re getting ready to consume each other.”

  Avery laughed. “I’m going to eat you alive.”

  “Fine. But I’m eating you first.”

  As Avery stepped out of the washtub and began toweling off, Garland grabbed him and kissed his throat. It tickled. Avery writhed beneath Garland’s kisses and rubbed his back. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was even less sure when Garland pushed him against the back door, nibbled down his chest, and began sucking his nipples. The sensation was ticklish and odd. It sent waves of pleasure rippling through his stomach and made his cock feel full. “What are you doing?” he managed, trying to hold back a moan.

  “Trying to see if you have sensitive nipples.” Garland rolled the nipple around with his tongue. Avery couldn’t help himself and whimpered. Garland laughed. “And you do!” His breath blew against Avery’s awakened nipple. Avery thought he might go crazy.

  “I didn’t know they could do that,” said Avery. His cock felt so thick and heavy; he didn’t know how much more of this teasing he could stand.

  Garland sucked his nipple hard. Avery gasped. He could feel the thing swelling and elongating. His head swam. He had barely caught his breath when Garland started in on his other nipple. At the same time, one of Garland’s hands caressed his ass. The other tugged his shaft. Ecstasy swarmed through Avery’s body. He panted with excitement and need.

  “We’re lucky,” said Garland, his voice
husky with desire. “Some men don’t seem to have any feeling there.” He took one of Avery’s hands and placed it on his own naked, muscular chest. He aimed it over one of his own nipples. “Mine are sensitive, too,” he whispered.

  Tentatively, Avery stroked Garland’s nipple.

  “Don’t be shy,” said Garland. “Pull it. Think of them as tiny pricks.”

  As Avery pulled Garland’s nipple, Garland’s breath hissed against Avery’s slick nipple. Pleased with the reaction, he used both hands and rolled each of Garland’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Garland moaned softly and sucked Avery’s nipple deep.

  They traded sucks and tugs until Avery couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled Garland’s head up. “I need you,” he murmured into Garland’s neck. “I need you inside me.”

  Garland left him momentarily and returned with a jar of petroleum jelly. He suckled Avery’s ear as he opened the jar and scooped out a hunk of colorless gel. With a wicked grin, he attacked one of Avery’s pert, swollen nipples with his strong mouth while greasing his hole. Avery felt as if his bones were dissolving. He stood on trembling legs, grasping Garland with a frantic grip as fingers invaded his hole and his aching nipple stretched in Garland’s sucking mouth.

  That’s how it began.

  Mosquitoes chased them inside. They ended up on the living room floor with Avery on his hands and knees on the big braided rag rug. He balled his fists and clenched his teeth. It didn’t matter that Garland had stretched him; that cock was big—especially when it was burrowing inside him. He could feel Garland’s warm fingers brush his ass cheek. His touch was so gentle.

  The cock pulled out partway, then dove back in like a pendulum swinging. Avery could feel the thing in his guts. It withdrew, then thudded deep inside him. Avery’s head felt like it rattled. His body screamed with pleasure and pain. When Garland retreated again, Avery pushed back to find him, to keep him, to suck him back in.

  Garland pounded him quick and deep in a steadily building rhythm. Avery moved with him, no longer savaged by his cock, but riding it. They moved together, one man, one beast. One. One. One!

  Avery came in a flood of cum. He wasn’t sure if he moaned, but he thought he did. He could feel Garland’s cum hurling against his walls. The sensation felt so wonderful—like fat raindrops falling on your head in May.

  He wanted to turn around and gather Garland in his arms, but Garland stayed inside. He let Garland grow flaccid and slide out. Garland was on the ground beside him before he could turn around.

  “Good Lord almighty, you’re an angel,” Garland panted, raking his fingers through Avery’s hair.

  Avery giggled. He didn’t know what to say, so he kissed Garland’s silly face. “I missed you,” he said finally.

  “I thought about you all day.” Garland’s eyes turned glassy. “I,” he swallowed. “You must think me so feeble sometimes.” He blinked his eyes quickly. “Sorry.”

  Everything slowed down. Avery felt like a fly caught in molasses. He brushed his fingertips over Garland’s beautiful eyes. “I don’t think that at all. You’re strong, Garland. That’s what I think. You’re a survivor.” And I think I’m in love with you. He thought the words. They crept up from his throat and perched on the tip of his tongue.

  But his tongue wanted only to tango with Garland’s. They kissed again in long, thoughtful strokes of flesh. Avery ran his fingers through Garland’s silken hair. Garland’s stomach rumbled.

  Avery laughed. “Let’s make some dinner!”

  They shared a smoke while frying up okra and tomatoes. They ate their bounty with some cottage cheese from the icebox and the lima beans Garland had simmered that day. When they were done feasting, they sat around the kitchen table and smoked.

  Avery told Garland about his visit with Rufus Larson. “So, tomorrow, I’m gonna find this Obadiah Clark and get to the bottom of all this.”

  Garland looked like he’d found a stink bug on his corn cob. “What about the girl? Why kill her? What does she have to do with the doctor’s gambling debts?”

  Avery felt like Garland was ruining this for him. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe she was seeing Obadiah. Maybe he got a taste for killing people.”

  Garland shrugged. “Maybe so.”

  “You do the medicine business. Let me handle the policin’ business.”

  A smile spread across Garland’s face, replacing the worried expression. “Right now, I’d like to do the gettin’ you into bed business.”

  “I’ll stay the night tonight, but I have to sleep at my place tomorrow night.” Avery sat up slightly, squaring his shoulders.

  Garland reached over and covered his hand with one of his big mitts. “I’d love to see your place.”

  “You can see it sometime during the day. We can’t do this all the time, Garland. People will notice. People will talk.”

  “Nobody noticed us last night.”

  “No, but if we keep doing it, it’ll happen.”

  Garland sat back, pouting. He stayed silent for a bit. He rubbed a finger down his glass of buttermilk. “Confronting Obadiah could be dangerous. Let me go with you tomorrow.”

  “No. As in hell no.” He looked into Garland’s quarrelsome face. “You have to see to your practice. What if someone’s horse gets colic? No. It’s too dangerous. You’re staying right here and doing what you do—healing and all that.”

  “The fact that it’s dangerous is exactly why you might need me.”

  “I deputized Burrell Dawson just this afternoon. If I need back up, I’ll take him with me.”

  “Is that the oldest Dawson boy?”

  “Second to oldest.”

  “The one who didn’t go to war on account of his flat feet?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” Avery coughed into his hand.

  “That boy has less sense than a chicken with its head cut off.”

  “He wanted it. He’s been around asking about being a deputy before.”

  Garland heaved a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m sure he likes the badge. It’s shiny. And the power. I’ve seen him pretending to be a soldier with the younger boys. He missed out on the war and doesn’t understand anything about war. He’s a dangerous mix of eager beaver and dumb stump.”

  “He wanted it.”

  “So do I. And for better reasons.”

  “Damnit, Garland. Don’t be such a hard head. You have shellshock.” The second it left his mouth, he regretted saying it. But it was too late to take it back.

  Garland looked like he’d been stabbed in the gut. He just sat there for a minute, staring at Avery with a wounded surprise. “So…you think that makes me a coward?”

  “No—”

  “I have a Medal of Honor. They don’t hand those out to cowards.”

  “Garland—”

  “What is it you think? That I can’t shoot? That I’ll freeze up?”

  “It could be a tight spot, that’s—”

  “I can handle myself. I’m a good shot with a gun or a rifle.”

  “I—”

  “Goddamnit, Avery, I’m more qualified to come with you than that wetnosed Dawson kid.”

  Avery lost his patience. “I can’t take anything happening to you! You’ll get in the way. I can’t do my job if I’m worrying about you.” He sucked a breath. “You’re all I’ve got.”

  Garland stood up, pushing back his chair and threw his arms around Avery. Avery stood up and hugged him back. Garland sniffled against his hair. “That’s sweet,” he choked. “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re a bull-headed sonofabitch.” He gave Garland a hard squeeze. “Please, let me handle the policin’ and you handle the doctorin’ bit. I need you here. I need to have something to come home to.”

  Garland sighed. “As long as you come back. In one piece.”

  ***

  Friday, August 3, 1923

  Sands’ Farm

  Garland sat down at the kitchen table to read the morning paper. Avery
sat beside him, drinking coffee. Lucinda sat opposite him, sipping her cup and watching the phone on the kitchen wall behind Avery’s head.

  The first page made Garland’s head spin. “The President died last night.”

  “Poor President Harding,” said Lucinda.

  “So Coolidge is president now.” Avery drummed the table. “I don’t know about that man.”

  “There’s more. The whole bottom half of the page.” Garland didn’t feel like he could convey it accurately. He flashed the paper at Avery. Lucinda stood up to peer over Avery’s shoulder.

  “The Timberland Ripper?” Avery shook his head in dismay. “Are they touched?”

  Lucinda frowned. In a voice clipped with anger, she read, “Sheriff O’Rourke has entrusted the safety of Timberland’s citizens to the town’s veterinarian, Garland Sands, under whose authority the primary suspect, Delton Johnson, a Negro, was set free. Dr. Sands, who employs a Negress as his secretary, appears to be calling the shots in the ongoing investigation into the two gruesome murders. Dr. Sands, we must remind our readers, is not an elected official. Readers should remember that Sheriff O’Rourke, is.” Lucinda sniffed. “Negress.”

  “That damned filly reporter!” Avery snapped the paper. “All this is going to do is rile people up!”

  Garland’s gray eyes couldn’t have looked more somber. “Maybe I should give her an interview. Let her see that I know what I’m talking about.”

  “You’ll do absolutely no such thing! All that harpy will do is twist your words and make you look a fool. It’s not enough that we have some monster out there killing people—she has to scare people into thinking no one’s looking out for them properly.”

  “He’s right, Garland,” said Lucinda, rubbing her arms. “This reporter sounds like a snake in the grass.”

  Avery threw the paper aside. “As if it wasn’t bad enough. I have somebody out there killing people. I have a man who’s afraid the Klan’s after him. And I have some stupid reporter sending the Klan after him.” He looked at Lucinda and Garland. “And after you two.”