by Rhett DeVane
Hank stood up and took a deep breath. “All right. Here’s the deal. I’ll pick Tameka up around 4:30. She thinks she’s coming to tidy up the house, so I’ll let her work for an hour.”
Hank smiled as he paced the room. “It’s beautiful, really. The idea came to me after the terrorist attacks. We can use her innocence and patriotism to coax her into helping us make a film about…” He twirled around and spread his hands as if he was a big time director. “…a young girl in love with her police officer rescuer. The girl’s apartment’s close to the World Trade Center. There’s danger everywhere! I’ll get her to scream and act terrified. Then, you come in, and she’ll fall into your arms. You can take it from there. The rest doesn’t matter. No need for a plot, for your acting anyway.”
Alfonso shook his head. “I still don’t think I can do no eight year old girl… the others, they were older…” He grinned. “Some of them told me later they liked it.”
“Yeah… well, lover boy, you find a way! No Tameka tape, no equipment for you. Just think, you can make your own name in the wonderful world of video porn.”
Alfonso stared at Hank, a mixture of excitement and disdain playing across his dark features.
“I don’t much care if you fake the sex, as long as it looks convincing. If that will make your conscience feel better, since you’re feelin’ so got-damned virtuous all of a sudden!”
Steel cold hatred flashed in Alfonso’s eyes. “What time you want me here?”
“That’s more like it! I’ll have her in the room by, say, 5:30. Your police outfit’s behind the door.” Hank hooted. “You as a policeman! Now, there’s a stretch for you!”
Alfonso ignored the jab. “What ’bout Moses?”
“His grandma said he’ll be at some youth thing at their church. He’ll be tied up all afternoon after school doing yard work at the spa, and then he’s supposed to go directly to the church from there. He won’t know Tameka’s been here ’till after the fact. She’ll be on her way home, little Miz Red Riding Hood comin’ back from meetin’ the big, bad wolf, her little basket of goodies…all gone.”
“You got it all worked out, don’t cha?”
“Remember one thing, Alfonso, when you look back on all I’ve taught you. Success lies in the details. It’s the small, seemingly unimportant shit that’ll nail your ass to the cross every time.”
There’s a calm before any storm. If I let myself, I get to where I worry when things are going too smooth.”
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Twenty-four
Moses
“You can just drop me off here.” Moses pointed to the corner of Lincoln Drive and Wire Road.
Jon Presley slowed the 4Runner before pulling to the curb. “You sure, Moses? I don’t mind taking you on to the church.”
“I want to stop by May-May’s and get Tameka to go with me, first,” Moses said as he opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I’ll see you at the memorial this evening!” Jon called from the window as he U-turned back toward town. The final two Hospice calls for the day were to a young breast cancer patient across the river in Sneads, and to an elderly cardiac patient near Grand Ridge. If everything clicked, he’d barely make it back to the river park by sunset.
Moses took the front steps in one bound. “May-May?” he called out. “Tameka?”
“Back here in the kitchen!” Maizie’s voice rang out from the rear of the small house. She wiped her hands on the worn dishcloth hanging over her shoulder. “I didn’t ’spect to see you ’till the service.”
“I wanted to stop by here on the way.”
Moses grabbed a warm teacake and wolfed it down in one bite.
“Lawsy, son! Did you even chew that cake?”
He wiped the crumbs from his lips with the back of one hand and gulped down a tall glass of water. “Hungry, May-May. Been puttin’ down pine straw at the spa so the plants won’t freeze this winter. It’s called beddin’ them down.” Moses smiled, proud of his growing knowledge of landscaping jargon.
She patted her grandson on the back with a gnarled hand. “That’s good, honey pot. You want me to fix up a warm biscuit with a piece of ham and wrap it up in a napkin for you to take? Ain’t you due at the church?”
“Yes’m, I am. I’ll get somethin’ to eat after the singin’. They gonna have some food for us. You comin’?”
She nodded. “Miz Lucille’s gone stop by and pick me and Tameka up and carry us to the park.”
“Where’s Tameka? I’m gonna let her go with me to the church.”
Maizie plopped down on a worn kitchen stool. “Whew! My old legs just won’t tolerate me standin’ up much. Your sister’s over at Mr. Hank’s.”
Moses felt his insides go stone cold. “What?”
“Mr. Hank called this mornin’ askin’ after her, to clean for a couple of hours.”
“But…she just cleaned that house last weekend when we went over there together.”
Maizie swatted the air with one hand. “He said he was havin’ a little party and needed Tameka to tidy up a little for him. I told him she needed to be home by no later than 6:30, on account of the memorial by the river. He’s bringin’ her home.”
Moses forced his voice to stay even. “I can’t believe you let her go over there without me.”
“Don’t be so worried after her, now. It’s only for a couple of hours. It’s the least we can do for him, seeing as how he was so nice to have a phone put in for us. Makes me feel better to havin’ a way to call out for help in case I turn bad. He even paid ahead on the bill. If we’re careful, we’ll be able to use it for free for six, maybe seven months!”
Moses kissed his grandmother on the cheek. His heart beat wildly with fear, but he tried to remain calm. No need to upset her. “Gotta go, May-May.”
“I’ll see you later on at the service. You sing good, now. Make me proud, you hear?”
The slamming of the front screen door was his reply.
Moses raced down Wire Road. Near the intersection of Lincoln, he spotted Malcolm Edwards and his older brother, Javon, pedaling their bikes up the hill toward the church.
“Hey, Moses! Where you headin’?” Malcolm called as he came closer. “Church’s the other way!”
“Lemme have your bike!” Moses spat out between gasps for air.
Malcolm swatted the air with one hand. “Get outta here!”
“No man, I mean it! I need your bike! It’s an emergency!”
Malcolm turned to his older brother.
Javon climbed off his bicycle. “Here, take mine. His is brand new, and Mama’d fry us if anything happened to it.”
Moses mounted the bike. The frame was too large, and his feet barely tipped the pedals. “Thanks, man. I promise I’ll get it back.”
Malcolm watched Moses wobble for a few minutes before he gained control of the bike. “Wonder what’s up with him?”
“Dunno. But, if he misses the service, Miz Lucille gonna be hot!” Javon motioned toward Malcolm’s bicycle. “Lemme pedal, and you can ride on the handlebars.” The boys took turns pushing the bike to the top of the hill, then doubled up for the remainder of the way.
Moses pedaled furiously. He flattened his body over the handlebars like he had seen the racers do on the sports network and took the route with the least amount of hills. Hank Henderson’s Mercedes was not in the garage when he reached the attorney’s house.
“Oh, man! Where’s he taken Tameka?”
He threw the bike down next to the garage and ran around to the back yard. The sedan was parked out of sight of the road next to the back deck. Alfonso Williams’ battered motorcycle leaned against a tree.
Moses let himself in through the side entrance with the key Hank kept hidden from view. His footsteps echoed in the dark, silent house. A quick search of the study and guest bedroom held no clues. Moses stood in Hank’s bedroom, his hands propped on his hips. They had to be here somewhere! The scent of cleaning solution wafting from the mast
er bathroom caught his attention. Tameka had been here. Hank Henderson wouldn’t lower himself to clean a toilet.
One possibility struck him. Moses had been curious about the large room off the garage. Though the exterior dimensions indicated a good-sized space, the washroom was cramped, big enough for the washer, dryer, and a set of storage shelves. Once, when he’d gone in search of cleaning rags, he’d spotted a small door partially blocked by the shelves. He assumed it was a little-used storage room.
Moses ran to the washroom and tried the knob. Locked. A muffled scream emanated from behind the wall. His heart raced. Tameka! Tameka was behind the door!
Moses struggled to strategize. He glanced around for an axe or crowbar, anything to pry the door open. The keybox! Moses rushed back into the house to the study. A small wooden oak cabinet hung on the wall by the locked gun cabinet. He’d seen Hank retrieve keys to the outdoor storage shed from behind its doors.
Rows of gold and silver keys of assorted sizes hung in the cabinet. Moses heart sank. How could he ever find the right one? He read the tags hanging from each set. None were designated for the extra room off the garage. Only one key was unmarked.
Moses grabbed the unlabeled key and said a silent prayer. God, please let this be the one.
He was halfway through the dimly lit living room when a thought stopped him cold. Alfonso. Hank. If both of them were with Tameka, that was a big problem. He wasn’t large or strong enough to overpower either of the men. Moses spun around, dashed to the master bedroom, and jerked the drawer open on the bedside table. Hank’s SigSauer pistol glinted in the low light.
Moses’ hands shook so badly, he dropped the key twice before fitting it into the keyhole of the partially hidden door. He heard the tumblers click as the lock disengaged. The handgun weighed heavy in the sweaty palm of his left hand as he turned the knob.
The door opened into a musty, narrow hall stacked with cardboard boxes. He picked a path through the clutter to a second door that stood slightly ajar. Moses held his breath and listened. His heart pounded wildly.
Muffled screams emanated from the other side. Hank barked an order in an angry, frustrated voice. “Go on! Let’s get this over with!”
Moses closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Please help me, Jesus.
He lunged at the door and flung it open, the handgun firmly planted in two hands as he had seen numerous times on television police dramas. The scene before him made his stomach lurch. The part of Tameka’s dress that wasn’t in shreds lay across her face. Alfonso straddled her supine figure. He was naked from the waist down. A navy police uniform shirt gaped open on his torso. He had one knee wedged between Tameka’s tightly clasped legs.
“Get off her!” Moses shouted. He aimed the gun at Alfonso.
“Hey, man!” Alfonso yelled in surprise. He threw up his hands and dismounted, easing slowly to the edge of the bed.
“Tameka! Get up and get out of here! Run home to May-May!” Moses yelled.
His sister gathered her torn clothing and inched off the mattress. Huge gasping sobs shook her bare shoulders. “Moses?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Go! Now!”
She scuttled past her brother, and then cowered in the dark corridor behind him.
Hank assessed the situation. The gun was loaded. He kept it that way on purpose. But, it would take more hand strength than the boy possessed to pull the trigger. After the first shot, it would be a different story. Moses would never get that far. In fact, this little drama could actually add spice to the video, if he worked it right. He discreetly bumped the camera in an approximation of the developing action.
“Now, Moses…,” Hank said as he left his post behind the video camcorder tripod. “This isn’t what it appears.”
Moses swung the gun barrel toward Hank. “Don’t you move! I mean it!” His index finger tightened on the trigger. The Angel of Death’s chilled breath tickled his neck, and he shivered involuntarily.
“Take it easy. Let me have the gun before anything unfortunate happens here. I know you’re upset, but we can talk this out.”
Hank stepped toward him. Moses finger squeezed with greater force than he realized. He felt the gun discharge and recoil in his hands. The deafening shot echoed in his ears. As the bullet struck his left shoulder, Hank spun around and fell face down on the concrete floor. A puddle of blood formed in a glistening halo around his upper chest and head.
Frozen in the aftermath, no one spoke for a moment.
“Lord almighty. You kilt him. You kilt Hank Henderson,” Alfonso whispered.
Tears formed in Moses eyes. “What I’m gonna do?” His voice was that of a young child who’d broken the cookie jar.
Alfonso ran his fingers through his hair. “This is bad. This is real bad. Black boy shootin’ a white man. You in a heap of trouble!”
Moses heard the snuffled cry behind him. “Tameka! I told you to get on home! I mean it! Go!”
His sister fled the storage room.
Alfonso grabbed his blue jeans and T-shirt. “Give me the gun!” he ordered. “I’ll get rid of it. We gotta get the hell outta here! If we’re gone, they’ll think someone just broke in and shot him.”
In the haste to escape, Alfonso forgot the one thing his mentor had tried to teach him: pay attention to the details. It’s the simple stuff that’ll get you nailed every time. When he and Moses fled the storage room, the video tape rested in the camcorder, its ongoing recording providing an accurate, irrefutable account of the afternoon’s heinous events.
Moses pedaled hard, harder than he’d ridden before the shooting. There was one safe place he could hide until he had a chance to figure things out.
“Elvina got me started watching them soda-poppers on TV every day. Law, if those folks don’t have some problems, now. Why we need to have such shows is a wonder to me. Alls you have to do is look around – there’s turmoil, pain, lust, and hatred enough – and all without forty commercials! “
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Twenty-five
Hattie
A city-owned river park bordered the west bank of the Apalachicola River less than one mile below the Jim Woodruff Dam. The area provided a landing ramp for fishing tournaments and grounds for local festivities, the most famous being the annual Madhatter’s Festival on the third Saturday in October. The setting seemed mystical, and I could envision Native American tribes holding ceremonies beneath the ancient Spanish moss-draped live oak trees. The air smelled of damp river mud with a faint scent of freshwater fish.
When Holston, Sarah, and I arrived, Jake and Jolene were scurrying around lining up metal folding chairs and putting the final polish on the fern and candle décor. Sixteen chairs, one for each civic or religious leader, formed an arch around the podium at the center of the covered stage. The performance area was flanked by four white iron stands of tall red, white, and blue taper candles and massive Boston ferns in white wicker planters.
Jake shuffled over when he spotted us. “Sister-girl! I’m glad you’re here. Will you make sure the members of the boys’ ensemble get the baskets of small candles to hand out as folks arrive? They’re on the table behind you.”
“Sure.” I studied his attire. “Going with the whole patriotic theme, I see.”
Jake’s dress black pants and white tuxedo shirt were accented by a red, white, and blue bowtie and cummerbund. The cane for the evening was white with an ivory handle and silver trim.
“I had to practically bribe the guy at the formal wear shop in the mall for these accessories. You can’t find a thing in these colors for miles right now! Although, I did spot a fetching red feather boa in the craft shop.” He grinned. “I’d hate to upstage the ladies of the community, so I passed it by.”
“You always were the considerate one.” I looked around the park. “Where’s Shug?”
“He’s working. Should be here by the start of the service, or shortly thereafter. Well, as much as I’d love to stay and shoot the manure with you�
�” He hobbled off, calling over his shoulder, “it’ll be sundown soon, and the whole county’s bound to show up!”
Bobby, Leigh, and Josh arrived with two folding chairs and assorted baby accessories.
“I’m glad you thought to bring the Kiddie Corral,” Leigh said. “Tank’s all over the place, and I’d hate for us to spend all evening fishing him out of the river.”
Holston and Bobby arranged the plastic fencing for the kids and spread an old quilt over the leaf-carpeted ground. Leigh dumped a generous load of toys in the center. We added the kids and arranged the folding chairs in a semicircle for the four adult referees.
The religious leaders were among the first to arrive. Amazing. It took a national emergency to bring the different sects together with a common goal, sans the usual jockeying for afterlife points for the acquisition of converts. The Protestant leaders, being the most numerous in Gadsden and Jackson counties, were out in force. I counted three Methodist pastors, six Baptist preachers, two Presbyterians, one Episcopalian, and a Catholic priest. One Jewish and one Muslim leader had carpooled from Tallahassee. The remainder represented small, independent sects from deep in the backwoods, all dressed in their best Sunday go-to-meeting attire.
A bus from the Morningside AME church deposited its payload of members from the Women’s Faith Ensemble and boys’ choir. After I made sure the boys’ choir members were taking care of the candle distribution, I settled in to watch the swarm of locals arrive. The honorable Mayor Jimmy T. Johnson worked the crowd, pumping hands and slapping backs. Even at such a solemn occasion, I couldn’t help wondering if he was politicking for the next year’s city election.
Our group was soon engulfed in a moat of townspeople from Chattahoochee, Quincy, Sneads, Mt. Pleasant, and the surrounding countryside. The gang from the Triple C Spa arrived and arranged their folding chairs beside ours.
“Where’re Evelyn and Joe?” Holston asked.
“Coming soon, I guess.” Mandy replied. “Evelyn had to go by the house and get Joe. His truck battery was dead as a doornail.”
