Vengeance is Mine

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Ten minutes later, Nicky sat forward and spoke over the seat. “The next street is Buckner Boulevard. Hang a right. You were right, Johnny. It adds up to about an hour and a half, depending on traffic.”

  “There won’t be any traffic after we get out of the city.” The Machine glanced toward White Rock Lake as they passed. Sailboats tacked across the small Dallas water source. Closer to the bank, two men fished from a V-hull aluminum boat.

  Michael turned at the light. “The place we’re looking for is tiny, at least that’s what Mr. Best says.”

  They drove in silence for fifteen minutes, until the Machine couldn’t take it anymore. He had no idea why they were heading for a small town in northeast Texas. “Are you going to tell us our orders?”

  “Relax.” Michael slowed for a stoplight. “We gotta good opportunity here. We do something for Mr. Best, and he takes care of us, right?” The light changed before the car came to a complete stop, and they passed through the intersection. The four small shopping centers at each corner were roofed in red Mexican tile. A red Pegasus glowed atop a corner gas station. “Casa Linda. What’s with that stupid flying horse everywhere?”

  “Mobile stations are popular around here…uh, oh. Everybody sit tight. A cop’s behind us.”

  “Relax. We ain’t wanted for anything.” The Machine didn’t like cops either, but he knew better than to catch their attention by watching through the back glass. He shifted so he could better see the side mirror. “But I don’t like cops.”

  Michael grinned. “How do you feel about sheriffs?”

  “Don’t like ’em either, why?”

  “We’re going to meet the town sheriff in Chisum.”

  The other two perked up. “What for?”

  “Because Mr. Best said so, that’s why.”

  “Left here.” Nicky resisted the impulse to check behind them. “This is Highway 66. It takes us halfway there, and then when we’re way out in the sticks, Tighway 24 takes us to Chisum.”

  The police car continued straight down Buckner. The Machine sagged back into the seat. “Mr. Best didn’t fly us all the way out here just to talk with a local sheriff.”

  “That’s right. When we leave, he won’t be sheriff no more.”

  “Will he be breathing?”

  “Nope.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we call Mr. Best and tell him it’s finished.”

  “These are the kinds of jobs I like,” Johnny Machine said. “Quick and easy.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ned Parker opened the screen door busy with flies. Frenchie’s Café smelled of frying onions and bacon. Since O.C. Rains wasn’t in his office, Ned knew he’d be in the back booth he used as an office away from the courthouse. As he’d suspected, the judge was there, facing the door.

  He walked the length of the café and slid into the booth across from his old friend. He put his Stetson on the counter beside O.C.’s hat to keep anyone from sitting there. “Don’t you ever stay in your office anymore?”

  “Too many federal agents in the courthouse, working on the robbery. They make me nervous, and you know I get edgy when I get that way, so I thought I’d come over here and maybe eat a bite in peace…and then you show up. How’s Hootie?”

  “He’ll live. We weren’t sure at first, but he’s come through all right.”

  “Top?”

  “Dog huntin’ again, I imagine.”

  “Figured. You making any headway on your killing?”

  “Working on it. Nothing smells right about it.”

  “You ever see a murder that did smell right?”

  “Nope, and that’s a fact.”

  Frenchie slipped a daily menu between them, set a cup of coffee in front of Ned, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. He absently took the mimeographed sheet. “I’ll probably never figure this one out. It reminds me of when we found Dev Hardin laying in his chicken house. I still don’t have any idea how he got a twenty-two bullet in his head, and that was five years ago.”

  “I remember that one. I always figured somebody might have shot at something else and missed, and it wound up in Dev.”

  “I’ve heard of that happening, but not while somebody was inside of anything. For that to have happened, the bullet had to have flown through the window, without hitting the chicken wire.”

  Always a lawyer first, Judge O.C. sipped his coffee. “Well, from what I remember, the evidence showed that open window in the chicken house is in a direct line with that road.”

  “Yep, and everybody in the country owns a twenty-two, and none of ’em admitted shooting that day.”

  “Didn’t expect they did.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a long minute. O.C. squinted at the little menu while Ned wiped at an invisible crumb on the table with a calloused hand. On the opposite side of the booth, softer hands belied a life of intellectual work. “What do you hear on your bank robbery?”

  “It ain’t mine.” O.C. shrugged. “Nothing. Some folks keep pointing at your new couple there in Center Springs, because they ain’t from around here, but no one has brought any evidence to support the theory. The FBI has the police and sheriff’s department looking everywhere but under Miss Ida’s dress, but they can’t find hide nor hair of the two that done it. The money and the robbers are gone.”

  Ned leaned in. “I imagine they were out of town ten minutes after the robbery. But here’s the thing, I believe they were after my deposit box there in the bank. Now, I don’t know how they found out about it, but I have a sneakin’ suspicion Griffin’s in on it.”

  O.C. rested his elbows on the table and lowered his head, eyes flicking around to see if anyone was paying attention. His voice lowered. “Did they get it?”

  “Nope. There’s two boxes, one in my name, and one in Cody’s. But they didn’t know enough to look for Miss Becky under her maiden name. My empty box and Cody’s was took, but not hers.”

  “Somebody wants them pictures that Top shot?”

  While playing spy one snowy day less than a year earlier, Top snapped a photo of a drug dealer named Whitlatch passing a mysterious packet to Sheriff Griffin. It was obvious the pictures were incriminating, but not enough to proceed with formal charges against Griffin.

  Ned laced his fingers. “He wants ’em bad, ’cause he knows I got him by the short hairs, and I’m waitin’ for that last piece of the puzzle to put him away.”

  “What is it?”

  Ned shrugged. “I don’t have any idea. I’ll know when I see it. But even then I ain’t telling you. I don’t want you to have any reason to recuse yourself when a certain person comes to trial.”

  “That’s a mighty legal term for a country constable.”

  “I learned from you.”

  They chuckled.

  Ned cut his blue eyes toward the other customers and lowered his voice. “I need to do something about Griffin, for sure.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s almost killed me, Cody, and John, and he’s ruining this county, but I can’t get enough on him other than them pictures.”

  “I know, but this ain’t about vengeance, Ned. It’s about right and wrong. You’ll get what you need soon enough, and then you can turn it over to me. But remember, Ned, vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.”

  “Yeah, I keep hearing that.” Ned motioned for Frenchie. She saw him and raised a finger in a silent ‘wait a minute.’ “Pepper’s started listening to that hippie music and I keep hearing her talk about California and the war, and peace signs, love, and happiness.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they don’t live in the real world. I’d like peace and love too, but I doubt it’s gonna come to a bunch of raggedy ass dope-head kids sitting in
a circle somewhere. Wait a minute, you know, they may have something. They’ll have peace and love until they have to work for it, then things’ll look different.”

  They paused again. O.C. squinted at the typed menu for a long moment. He angled it to better see by the schoolhouse lights hanging overhead. “I believe I’ll order the chopped steak.”

  Taken aback at the sudden change in subject, Ned frowned. “I thought we were talking about them long-hairs and their music.”

  O.C. didn’t raise his eyes from the menus. “We were, but I’m hungry.”

  “You just ate a piece of pie.”

  “I know it, but I’m still hungry.”

  “You know chopped steak ain’t nothin’ but hamburger meat mashed into a patty.”

  O.C. grunted. “Why wouldn’t I know that?”

  “Well, if you want a steak, you oughta order one that ain’t all mashed up.”

  “I want a hamburger steak. Look, it ain’t but sixty-five cents.”

  “You can get a hamburger for that price, and it comes with everything on it.”

  O.C. poked at the menu. “This comes with a side salad, and that’s more than a leaf or two and a mushy tomato slice, besides, if you’re right, hamburger meat is the same thing.”

  “Goddamnit O.C., sometimes you’re so bull-headed you make me want to dip snuff. I’m sayin’ that a good steak beats chopped up meat any day.”

  “I know it.” O.C. looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention. “But I got a tooth that’s sore as the dickens. I can chew chopped steak easier, at least until I get Doc Bryson to pull it.”

  Ned cleared his throat. “Well, why didn’t you say so, then, instead of arguing with me?”

  “Because I like to get your goat, that’s why.”

  Frenchie finally came by with a fresh pot of coffee.

  O.C. slid his mug closet to the edge. “I believe I might, and bring me the chopped steak special.”

  She rubbed a strand of stray hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “All right, hon. Ned, you want anything to eat?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, bring me that little lunch sirloin.”

  O.C. glowered at him. As their coffee cooled enough to drink, three men in a rented Ford cruised slowly past the courthouse, and then Frenchie’s place. They parallel-parked on the street and took their time coming through the café’s screen door.

  “More foreigners. They don’t know no better than to hold the screen open and let all the flies in. We don’t need no more flies in here.” O.C. waved his hand at one that had been particularly annoying. “We already got enough.”

  Ned threw a glance over his shoulder. “They sound like Yankees to me.”

  “Like I said, foreigners.”

  The trio took a booth beside the front window. Frenchie joined them and answered a dozen questions about her menu. They finally settled on hamburgers, fries, and when they couldn’t get shakes, ordered Cokes.

  All through lunch, the strangers talked quietly and kept watch through the window. Ned and O.C. finished their meal and stood. Ned selected four dollars from his worn billfold, and slipped it under his plate. “I’ll get this. You can get the next one, after you finish paying for your tooth.”

  O.C. grunted in response and, putting on their hats, they waved good-bye to Frenchie and left.

  When they passed the stranger, the bald man stiffened at Ned’s badge. He caught Ned’s cold blue eyes and nodded. His friend with snake-dead eyes didn’t change expression. The third man concentrated on his plate. Instead of stopping to talk, Ned left, knowing many people responded strangely to the sight of a badge or holstered pistol.

  On the sidewalk, they strolled down to the town square as the three men watched until they were out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “We bought a Curtis Mathes television set.” Miss Sam took the tiniest bite I’ve ever seen by an adult. “Color.”

  In the living room, Pepper leaned over close to me, careful not to knock over her TV tray. “Do you think they’ll let us come over and watch ‘Bonanza’? I’m so damned tired of fuzzy black and white pictures I can’t stand it.”

  Grandpa was at the head of the table, and Miss Becky was in her usual place on his left. Hootie dozed on a pallet beside the cold space heater. He was getting better, day by day, but it still hurt to look at him, all shaved and stitched up like he sat.

  Pepper was furious at being so far away. Miss Becky’s new hand-me-down chrome-trimmed table was smaller than her old one, so me and Pepper ate in the living room. “I hate it when they treat us like kids.”

  “We are kids.”

  “That don’t mean they can stick us off at the other end of the house.”

  It always tickled me when she got mad and said things like that. “It’s a small house. We can spit from one end to the other.”

  “I’d like to spit all the way in there and see what happens.”

  “We might find out what happens if you’d shut up.” I didn’t much like it either, and wished we were in the kitchen with the adults. It was hard enough to hear their conversation without Pepper’s grumbling. I’d gotten up once to lower the volume on the television. There wasn’t much to watch on the snowy screen anyway, except for a boring Saturday baseball game.

  Somebody said something funny and everybody around the table laughed.

  “Cattle rustling?” Mr. Tony leaned back in his chair. “There are still rustlers out here?”

  I could see him and Miss Sam from where I ate in Grandpa’s rocker.

  “Cattle rustling ain’t only in the movies.” Uncle Cody was facing us, so his voice was a lot clearer than those of Miss Becky, Uncle James, and Aunt Ida Belle. “We deal with it all the time. Someday I’ll introduce you to Lee Berry, and you can meet a real stock ranger.”

  Miss Sam carefully laid down her fork. “I’d like that. I’d also like to see a Texas Ranger.”

  “Hang around long enough.” Grandpa broke a biscuit in half and sopped the gravy on his plate. “There’s a Ranger working over in the courthouse right now on that bank robbery. I’ll take you over to meet him one of these days, if y’ont to.”

  Mr. Tony rolled the sleeves of his shirt in the warm, moist kitchen. “Rustling. It sounds like we live in a western now.”

  Miss Sam laughed and pulled at the collar of her shirt. “I don’t think we’re westerners, even though we look the part. These clothes still don’t feel right.”

  “You look fine,” Miss Becky and Aunt Ida Belle said almost at the same time. Miss Sam wore the same kind of skirt and top the women in Center Springs liked, except her’s was cut lower and more western than most. Mr. Tony was in khakis and a blue shirt with a cowboy yoke on the back. They were both a little hokey, but then again, they weren’t from Lamar County.

  “I have some things that’ll fit you,” Norma Fay said. “If you don’t mind hand-me-downs.”

  Miss Sam laughed. “I’ve never worn hand-me-downs, but I’d like that. Your clothes look so…soft.”

  “They’ve been washed a hundred times. I have a few things that aren’t as worn out. They don’t fit me too well in the…certain places. You come on over and we’ll see what suits you.”

  Miss Sam took a little sip of tea. “After only a few days here in the country, we realized we needed new clothes. We went to Duke and Ayers to buy these, but we couldn’t take the leap and buy dungarees.”

  Pepper hollered. “We call them jeans!”

  They all laughed and Mr. Tony shook his head. “Jeans, then, Pepper. After we changed behind a curtain, we spent the rest of the day shopping in town. The Sears store was interesting, since they mostly carry only washing machines, dryers, and refrigerators. They said we needed to order what we wanted from their catalogue. That thing is thick as a phone book.”

  “Not for Chisum,” Uncle Cody sa
id. “Our phone book’s not much thicker than when the war ended. There hasn’t been a lot of change around here. The square even looks like it did back in the 1930s. Come to think of it, nothing’s changed much since the war.”

  When adults say, “The War,” they’re always talking about World War Two. For the others, they say, “the First World War,” or “Korea,” or “Vietnam.”

  Mr. Tony ticked off on his fingers. “It’s different from where we come from. Let’s see, in Chisum we saw two movie theaters, a five and dime, a drugstore with a soda fountain, three banks, a couple of furniture stores, a hardware store, and a few other businesses. It didn’t take long for us to realize there isn’t much to do in a cotton town. Maybe that’s why they’re rustling cattle, they’re bored.”

  I could tell Mr. Tony liked to say “rustling,” because of the way he rolled the word around in his mouth. It sounded a little different each time.

  Norma Faye shook her head. “This isn’t Las Vegas, is it?”

  “No, and I’m glad.” Miss Sam put her fork down. “It was so nice of you to invite us over, Mr. Parker. Miss Becky, this is the first good meal I’ve had since we left Nevada. I’m not much of a cook, and even Reeves’ restaurant doesn’t come close to this.”

  Reeves’ was the best place to eat in Chisum, and I’d heard them talk about eating there several times since moving to Center Springs.

  Miss Becky waved her hand with nails cut short that had never, and would never, see polish. “Hon, this ain’t much, but we’re proud to share what we have.”

  “We really appreciate the invitation for lunch,” Tony said.

  “Dinner.” Uncle Cody corrected him, but with a smile so it didn’t sound sharp or mean.

  Miss Becky got up and came back to the table with another pan of biscuits. “It’s all right if you call it lunch.” During the meal, Miss Becky was constantly leaving the table for one reason or another. “We’re glad to have you.”

  Eyes bright, Mr. Tony shook his head in wonder. “Cattle rustling, cowboy hats, horses everywhere. This really is the wild west!”