Bill smiled, “I remember mother”
She continued, “Bill you go shut and lock my hen house, and fence gate. I ain’t going to make it easy for those chicken steeling gypsies. Then I want you to go down to the creek and tell those chicken robbers and chair murderers to get off my property or I’ll call the sheriff on them and swear a warrant.”
Given his directions, Bill turned to his assignments, while the rain started to come down heavily. Looking over his shoulder, Bill told his mother “I’ll go first thing in the morning after the rain ends. I’ll lock up the chickens and gate now.”
Bills mother having her anger regenerated started in on Bill again. “You will not wait till morning! You will get that gypsy trash off my property now.” The rain continued, and Bill resigned himself to his chore. As much as he did not want to, he headed out in the rain to clear out his mother’s gypsy visitors. Arriving at the camp Bill found the man he had observed walk away from his mother’s yelling. Calling the man over to him he explained that his mother wanted them to leave.
Even though he was older than Bill, the Gypsy leader called Bill sir, “Sir, if it would wait till morning we would be very appreciative. One of the children is sick and we’re waiting on the Doctor to arrive. If we move he may not be able to find us. The boy is very sick and moving him in the wagon may only make him worse.”
Before Payne could answer he was startled by an old woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere. With a thick accent and few teeth, she attempted to explain the boy needed a Doctor. She had done all she could and could do no more or him. The similarity of this woman to his mother and his normal lack of patience pushed Payne over his limit. His answers were definite and loud.
“I told you to leave, if you ain’t gone in an hour”! Bill yelled, after consulting his pocket watch. “I’ll call the sheriff and have the lot of you locked up. I’ll tell the Doctor I don’t know where you went.”
As Payne turned and walked away, the old gypsy woman spat on the ground behind him saying “Beng Arioch wira czijaw tu I distrugere tu trajo I vurdon tu use mulo” then made a gesture with her left hand in Bills direction.
Zindelo was shocked by the actions of the old lady and it showed on his face in fear. Yelling out commands in the Romani language, he turned to seek out his brother in laws to immediately begin the disassembly of the camp. To move on away from what he thought would be an oncoming evil.
Bill Payne heard the commotion behind him as he walked away in the rain. Wondering to himself if the gibberish he was hearing behind him was a language. Bill headed to his own small wood frame house for supper.
That Evening
Bill Payne attempted to reach sleep, but kept finding himself in that part of your mind where you’re half awake and half asleep. In the half conscience part of a dream Bill suddenly found himself face-to-face with the old gypsy woman. He knew he was taller than her in real life but found himself shorter than her in his dream, and had to look up at her. He also found he could understand her very clearly as she stood above him. “you should have done the right thing, and let the caravan stay for the Doctor, Lucas died before we could get to the next town. You caused this! And as such you must be punished. Vengeance will be done.”
Still staring at the old woman, Bill heard another voice filling his mind saying, “Bill, it’s a pleasure to meet you, we’re going to have some fun together. You just rest back and let me take care of everything.” The voice sounded like somebody speaking with a large smile on their face confident about the future. It reminded Bill of a traveling salesman he once met who sold him a pocket watch that would not keep correct time.
He awoke the next morning feeling strange. Not bad, just different. He decided not to go to work at the mill that day. Bill’s friends and family noticed a change in him that came about suddenly. He became a shell of his former self. He became unnecessarily mean and cruel. Two days later Bill robbed his first bank in Mount Airy NC.
Bill was 25 years old and inexperienced in his new profession. He was caught, tried and sentenced to 3 years in the state penitentiary. This the only time Bill Payne served full punishment in prison for his unlawful activities. Quickly developing new skills as if he had a hidden tutor, Payne escaped from prison a total of eight times in his new career.
Bill’s list of illegal achievements in between his short stays at various prisons included, robbery of the Bank of Candor, the Bank of Montgomery in Troy, the Commercial State Bank in Laurel Hill, the Waccamaw Bank & Trust at Clarkton and many other Banks throughout the south. Payne was also linked to uncounted business holdups and safe burglaries. Not to mention kidnapping and larceny of 20-30 cars.
Payne had a reputation as a sharp dresser. The press spent large sections of copy dedicated to his attire, as if it were some sort of social occasion. Payne was also known for using his quick wit and cleaver statements during his robberies, telling one teller, “I am taking the money across town to get a better interest rate on a savings account.” Many of the witty statements the product of the newspaper writers to sell more papers, but Bill Payne was more than happy to take the credit.
After the last escape from prison, Bill Payne and partner Washington Turner, began a robbery spree that lead the two to Asheville NC in June of 1937.
At the time, Payne and Turner arrived in Asheville, 22-year-old NC Trooper George C. Penn had been with the NC Highway Patrol for two years. On Sunday, Aug. 22, the Highway Patrol set up a checkpoint at U.S. 70 and U.S. 74 in Asheville. At 6 p.m. Payne and Turner left the campground they were hiding at to visit a local diner. On the way, they encountered Patrolman Penn at the road check. Turner made an abrupt U-turn away from the officers. Trooper Penn gave chase. The pursued blue Ford heading along U.S. 74 toward Lake Lure.
At one-point Bill Payne crawled to the back seat during the chase to shoot at the following trooper. Near Biltmore Forest the two felons drove across a shallow creek beside the highway and stopped beside a barn. Taking cover, a gun battle began. While the NC Trooper was reloading his revolver, Bill Payne seeing this stepped from cover and shot Penn above his left eye. The Officer down, the two men ran, leaving Penn to die near the creek bed. Returning to Asheville and hiding their guns in the woods of Biltmore Forest, the pair kidnapped a pair of female teenagers holding them until they could escape in Morganton NC.
Patrolman George Penn’s death only intensified the hunt for Payne and Turner. FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover placed Payne and Turner among America’s Top Most Wanted.
Like John Dillinger and other notorious felons, Payne and Turner were betrayed by a pretty woman and arrested at gun point on Jan. 3, 1938, in Sanford NC. The murderous duo was tried and convicted after five days of evidence and testimony with 90 minutes of deliberation. The jury handed down the verdict of guilty to the charge of first-degree murder among a host of other crimes. Bill Payne made no statements to investigators or in open court.
On July 1, 1938, Turner and Payne were executed. William Bill Payne entered the gas chamber wearing boxer shorts. He was strapped into the death chair and forced to breath in the poison cyanide gas, burning his lungs from inside. He convulsed for five minutes, gasping for air, and was not pronounced dead for another 17 minutes by the prison physician, Dr. Felda Hightower. It is recorded as the longest death ordeal in North Carolina execution history. Payne’s typed death certificate states the cause of death as “asphyxiation pursuant to court order.” But someone, wanting to make matters clearer, hand wrote “Legal execution” beneath that. Dr. Hightower’s personal journal documents his part in the legal execution of William Payne, noting at the end of the entry he had heard faint laughter as the condemned prisoner died, writing that he had filed a complainant with the Warden over the unprofessional activity, but no one could be located who admitted to or saw anyone laughing.
CHAPTER 5
MOUNTAIN COVE NEAR FLAG POND TENNESSEE 1988
The mottled brown copperhead lunged at the young man, aiming for a sockless ankle poking from a
pair of muddied Converse. Its head struck the side of its Plexiglas-paneled terrarium with an unceremonious thunk. The kid ignored the wall of boxed serpents as he trailed behind his mother and father toward a bowed wooden pew in the center of the timeworn church, which had seen many faces over the years.
The white clapboard structure, topped with a tin roof and modest steeple, boasted quite the storied history. It was built after World War II as a Methodist church to serve families in the Tennessee Mountain Cove community, just over the North Carolina-Tennessee state line. After the Methodists abandoned the church in favor of a newer, bigger building, a small Southern Baptist congregation called it home for a short while. Then a family whose house had been lost in a fire moved in to have a temporary place to stay. Years later, Reverend Malakai King of the Gods Mountain Pentecostal Church of Signs finally asked to rent the building. He claimed to be a direct disciple and student of George Went Hensley, who was rumored by some to be the founder of the Churches of Signs and Snake Handlers in the Appalachian Mountains.
The Followers of Sign’s belief comes from the literal reading of the King James Bible passage of Mark 16:17-18:
And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. Though a religious practice found in some parts of the south most states had out lawed the activity.
Willie and his parents had attended many services led by Rev. King. Willie liked him, as did many young people in the community; unlike most grownups, Rev. King neither ignored nor patronized the youth of the church. He seemed instead to be genuinely interested in their views on God and the afterlife. Yet he was nevertheless a traditionalist, expecting children to speak only when spoken to as had been preached in the past. “Kids now’days,” he often said, “should be seen, not heard, until asked to speak up.”
Several of Willie’s friends were also regulars at the church, and this Wednesday evening there was a surprise in store. Every service was preceded by a quick chat in which the boys went over the day’s gossip: who was in trouble and why, which new pocket knives worked best, upcoming movies and games worth catching, and other essential worldly matters. Before the latest meeting of the 10 and 11-year-old young minds could be adjourned on that day, however, Willie and his fellows spotted something unusual: a pale blue pickup bouncing over the grass to park under the longleaf scrub pines that encircled the grounds. Rev. King came down the steps of the church, shooting a smile and friendly wave in the young men’s direction before loping toward the idling truck.
The driver cut the engine and hopped onto the lawn to greet the Reverend with a firm handshake. The man’s passenger, a seemingly frail young woman who could not have been much older than Willie’s mother, followed suit. Willie and the other boys were struck by her pallor: she was pale, but her skin was also yellowed as though with jaundice. She and what the boys figured was her husband spoke with Rev. King at length before signaling for a younger boy to get out of the truck as well. Willie and his friends instantly recognized him—Eddie, an old classmate from elementary school—although he was simultaneously taller, thinner, and ruddier than they remembered. He had gotten into a scuffle after school one day several months prior and was seemingly banished from school, as no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. The situation had been peculiar, though, considering that aggression was completely out of Eddie’s character. He was normally a quiet boy, even meek, who played ball with everyone and had earned himself a reputation as the school’s raven-haired peacekeeper. Even though Eddie had transferred to the school from the prestigious Asheville School private boarding school, everyone liked Eddie… until he changed. The change coinciding with legal and court issues Eddie’s father was having with a squatter he had on his Tennessee farm. An old man who had for untold years lived quietly on the farm when Eddie’s father had purchased the property two years earlier. The old man lived in a shack built into the side of a mountain. Extra rooms had been cut into the dirt and rock of the mountain creating a deceivingly expansive home. It was whispered that the old man was alleged to be a Mulligan Witch who only wanted to be left alone and for years had been. That is until he was discovered by Eddie’s father to be on the property and evicted by force. Eddie’s family’s issues and problems begun at that point. Business problems then out of the norm behavior problems with Eddie.
Out of nowhere, during an otherwise unremarkable spring, Eddie became a shell of his former self: outfitted with a real mean streak, a new penchant for cursing and a generally deplorable attitude. That fight was the last straw as far as the school was concerned; the principal sent him packing and never spoke of him again. Whenever a student was brave enough to broach the subject with teachers, they would only say Eddie was sick and they had no idea when or if he would be returning to school. But today, it seemed he was back in town—or at least someone was who looked like him. Rev. King knelt on the lawn, took Eddie by the shoulders, and spoke to him directly while an unassuming audience looked on.
A slight girl donning a crisp, winter white dress soon descended the church steps and rang a red-handled brass bell to indicate the start of the service. The reverend stood to address what the observing young men decided were Eddie’s parents, before hurrying back inside. But Eddie didn’t move; he merely stayed where he was, barely blinking, motionless as a statue in the brisk fall air. Willie and his mates rushed into the building to seek out their respective families. They were not yet old enough to sit in the back pews with the older kids, required instead to remain with their parents and keep quiet throughout the service.
Willie couldn’t help himself and tried to ask his mother what was going on with Eddie. She hushed him as quickly as he’d opened his mouth.
“Tonight’s service is special,” she whispered. “You must pay attention.”
“Ma, but wh—” he started to ask, but his curiosity was stifled by a firm finger to his lips.
“The Devil is coming to church tonight,” she said solemnly.
Willie settled back into his seat, not at all satisfied with this answer as the mesmerizing strum of a guitar filled the altar, flanked by chords of a mandolin and electric bass guitar. A pianist keyed the undercurrent to signal that the service was about to begin. Everyone took their seats as Rev. King nearly danced down the aisle in time with the lively gospel tune, which flowed to a stop as he took his place behind the pulpit and opened with a brief prayer. The day’s sermon, powerful as ever, warned of evil lurking behind every corner but assured that pure faith would keep the Lord’s devotees safe. Willie always had to force himself not to fade during this part of the service, but what was to come was his favorite. Once the reverend’s speech concluded, Willie rose from his seat along with the others as music swelled through the eves. Parishioners began to sway to the rhythm and stretched their hands palms-up toward the pulpit.
Rev. King began speaking in tongues. Willie recognized the strange language from having attended a Tent Revival night with his mother. He watched curiously as Deacon Mashburn retrieved a handmade box from the collection along the wall and unhooked the securing latch as he carried the writhing creature toward the altar. The deacon left the snake in its case for the moment but removed the outer wooden chamber, so the congregation could see. Rev. King capped his tangle of words with a throaty “Amen” that was echoed heartily by the crowd in attendance. He then opened a well-worn Bible jacketed in chestnut leather and proceeded to read from the Gospel of Mark:
“And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”
—Mark 16:17-18
A willowy woman wearing a sky-blue dress nodded and said, “Yes, Lord” from the row in front of W
illie. She appeared to be accompanied by a stout gentleman; the color of his button-down matched her dress, and he bobbed his head in time with hers as though on a shared marionette string.
Rev. King opened the box on the altar and pulled out a 2-foot-long timber rattler. He clutched it tightly around its belly, not behind its head as Willie had seen at the zoo. The serpent was raised high into the air as the reverend declared triumphantly, “God is great!”
The squat fellow ahead of Willie slipped out of the pew and marched to the altar, where he reached up and grasped the snake several inches behind its skull. He strode down the center aisle and back again, creature in hand, taking care to keep its head and tail away from parishioners. Before him, the choir band came to a rapid crescendo that compelled the crowd to sing along, clapping to the beat. Willie’s cousin one of the musicians slung his instrument over his shoulder as the man approached the pulpit and took the snake from him with an unintelligible holler that was barely heard over the roar of song. He pounded out a stuttered cowboy-booted step on the old wood floor in concert with the tune’s rhythm.
Rev. King raised his hands, palms up, and motioned toward the excited congregation. Willie, meanwhile, watched with focused interest as his cousin placed the serpent back into its box and latched it tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this sort of electricity during a service. That, coupled with his mother’s comment about the Devil’s seemingly imminent arrival, gave him chills.
The Copper Head snake that had originally lashed out at Willie had discovered a weakness in its habitat. It slithered out of its container and coiled up under the edge of the carpet, away from the booming bass of the band, before slinking up to the pulpit sight unseen once the music stopped. Rev. King motioned to one of his deacons. Mr. Mathews, a lanky man left the church without a word only to return a moment later with Eddie and his parents in tow.
Cop and Call A Novel Page 3
