“Don’t I know. And I’ve heard every single one of them more than once. Between us, I think your woman needs to occupy her time some other way besides minding other people’s business.”
“She does like tellin’ folks what to do. And she spends a heck of lot of time minding my bizness, that’s for sure.” They reached the last house and he opened the rickety gate that separated the yard from the dirt-packed road. “I don’t know the family living here. Do you?”
“While back it belonged to the Basteen’s, but they couldn’t keep up the payments. I never heard who took it over from the bank.”
“Well, from the looks, they ain’t got much pride in the place.”
She agreed. The house badly needed painting and the yard wasn’t anything but a pile of dirt. Come the first hard rain, and the whole thing would turn into a mud hole. A couple of scrawny chickens pecked at the ground, but she doubted they would find anything to eat. Bugs liked to live in green grass, not brown dirt.
Taxi stepped onto the tilting porch just as someone shoved the screen door wide open, nearly knocking him to the ground. He regained his balance and politely removed his hat.
“Get the hell off my property, nigger,” the obese man standing in the doorframe ordered. A mean junk yard dog scowl covered his face. “And take the bitch with you,” he said, pointing to Lettie Ruth.
“Sorry to be bothering you, boss.” Taxi backed down the steps, his eyes glued to the ground. “Friends of ours used to live here.”
“Cain’t you see this ain’t no nigger’s house, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Taxi mumbled. “I can see it sure ain’t.”
“Then git!” Having said his piece, he turned and re-entered the house. A second later the door slammed.
Lettie Ruth and Taxi didn’t linger. They hurried down the road and several minutes passed before either spoke.
“That cracker jackass back there is named Louis,” Taxi whispered, then glanced over his shoulder as though he feared the man could overhear them.
“You say Louis?” The name sounded familiar and Lettie Ruth frowned. It took her a second to make the connection. When she did, a shudder ran through her entire body. Kat had said the one doing all the biting was named Louis.
Taxi nodded. “Yep. I heard him and the other two bragging down at Bubba’s. The fat one back yonder,” he jammed his thumb over his shoulder, “is a real mean sumbitch.”
Lettie Ruth stopped and turned back to face the house. “You got any names for the other two?”
“Honey, you and me both know you ain’t gonna be able to do nothin’. They is white. Nobody never pays no mind to what they do, least not in this town.”
“Maybe it’s time someone paid some mind,” Lettie Ruth said.
“You’re startin’ to talk like Dreama and that kind of talk always kicks up a whole mess of trouble.”
“Trouble or not, I don’t see myself letting this one pass. No woman should be thrown in with a pack of worked up males like a bitch dog.”
He glanced nervously at the house, then tugged on her arm. “We can’t be standing here gawkin’, he’s bound to be watching us out the window.”
Lettie Ruth sighed. “I know, Taxi, I know,” she said sadly. “I’m just so tired of the way things is down here. I’m beginning to think Dreama’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“About changin’ things in Maceyville. About it being time for us Negroes to get treated like human people.”
“It’s been that time for a long time, Lettie. But if Dr. King can’t keep folks worked up, you and me ain’t gonna see nothin’ new.”
“You know those protests planned for Birmingham? Alvin told me he personally signed up more than fifty from Webster Avenue Methodist alone.”
“Yeah, I’m planning on goin’ to one or two myself,” Taxi said. “You on the list for Palm Sunday?”
“Dreama took care of that.” She shielded her eyes and pointed at the dust cloud down the road. “Somebody movin’ our way mighty fast.”
Taxi didn’t hesitate; he grabbed Lettie Ruth around the waist and flung her into the drainage ditch. Half a beat later he flopped beside her. They ducked as the white stake-bed truck rumbled past sending a storm of pebbles and dirt raining down on them.
Lettie Ruth peeked over the edge of the drainage ditch. The pickup skidded to a halt in front of the last house. Two men got out and stomped up the porch. After a second the door opened and they went inside.
She turned to Taxi. “Are those the other two?” She didn’t have to hear for his reply, the tight wad in her gut had already answered.
“Uh-huh. That’s Floyd with the black hair. The other one, they call Little Carl. He’s got a strawberry mark on his face.” He climbed out of the ditch first, then reached down and hauled Lettie Ruth onto the hard packed shoulder of the road. “I think we ought to be movin’ along. This road’s a bit crowded,” he said.
“Let me get straightened out first.” Lettie Ruth brushed at her blouse, but the dirt, combined with the sweat soaked fabric had turned her clothes into caked brown layers. She gave up on the blouse and worked on her shoes. Balanced on her right foot, took off her left shoe and shook the gravel and loose soil free. Then reversed the process. Engrossed in her grooming activities, she failed to see the white truck pull away from the house.
Taxi, likewise occupied with the gravel in his shoes, also missed the action at the end of the road. By the time they were alerted by the rattling pickup it was too late for a stealth getaway. All they could do was to jump back into the ditch, then claw and scramble up the other side.
“Gotta get into the corn,” Lettie Ruth panted. If they could reach the field then they might have a chance. It was still early in the growing season, but there’d been enough rain and warm days for the corn to be knee high. And that should be tall enough to discourage the truck from driving into the field.
At the edge of the corn they took off down different rows, running zig-zag patterns. The men would be carrying shotguns or rifles, and they didn’t want to make easy targets.
Thirty yards into the field Lettie Ruth tripped over a rock, sprawling face first on the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of her and it took several precious seconds to get back on her feet. Unable to draw a deep breath, the best she could manage was a slow trot. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The men weren’t far behind. She heard their shouted threats and the laughter.
Three rows over, and several yards ahead, she saw Taxi moving fast. His knees pumped so hard they nearly hit his chin with each step. He had a good lead on the men and with her help could get away. Lettie knew if they caught her she had a fair chance of coming out of this alive. But if they got a hold of Taxi, it would be a death sentence for sure.
So Lettie Ruth stopped running and turned to face her pursuers.
=NINETEEN=
The men surrounding Lettie Ruth were like her daddy’s old hunting dogs. As a girl she’d watched the dogs move in on coons and possums. As a pack, they’d circle their prey, then one at a time they’d dart in and nip at the trapped animal. The prey always lost, but each time the little creatures had impressed her with their courage and fight.
Like a spoke in the middle of a wheel, she slowly turned until she’d made eye contact with each man. She hated the sound of her ragged breathing and tried to stop gulping down the air. These pack dogs were waiting for the first sign she was failing, and then they’d move in for the kill. She allowed herself one last deep lung full of air. She preferred dying from lack of oxygen to showing them any weakness.
She stood erect, her head held high. This time, the coon would be walking away alive.
Little Carl took a step closer and sniffed the air. “This girl smells like something dead.”
“She does put out a powerful stink,” Floyd agreed. He flicked the hem of her pink blouse. “Got mud and shit all over her clothes. Whatcha think, boys, this gal in need of a bathing?”
Louis nodded. “I
got a big ole wash tub up at the house. And some wire scrub brushes.”
“How about we give you a bath?” Floyd asked.
Lettie Ruth pressed her lips together and remained silent. They were already looking to harm her, so why speed things up by shooting her mouth off.
Louis placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed Lettie Ruth to her knees. “Maybe you’ll feel more like talkin’ after you eat something.”
She watched his pudgy hands work the fly on his jeans. When he reached inside, she closed her eyes.
“Looouisss!” The voice carried the quarter mile from house to field without losing one decibel.
Louis jerked as if a jolt of electricity had ripped through his body. He wheeled around and faced the house. A woman in a red dress stood on the porch. “Whaatt?” he hollered.
“Git back here,” the woman ordered. “Got work for you to do.”
“Put yourself back inside your britches before Marie gets a look,” Little Carl whispered.
“Jesus, oh Jesus,” Louis whispered, fumbling with his shriveled genitals.
Floyd shook his head and snorted. “Why are you two morons whispering? That cow’s a good quarter mile away. She can’t hear you.”
“Oh yes she can,” Louis said as he stuffed himself back into his pants. “Marie’s got ears like a goddamn bat.”
“Bats don’t got no ears,” Little Carl declared.
“Do so,” Louis argued.
“Don’t either.”
Thanks to the woman hollering down the road. Most of the danger had passed for Lettie Ruth Rayson. And she was tired of listening to their stupid argument. She looked up at Little Carl and said, “You’re wrong. Bat’s have ears. They can hear, but they’re blind. That means they can’t see.”
“Shut it up, nigger bitch.” Little Carl kicked at her leg. “And get the hell out of here.”
“But plan on seein’ us real soon,” Louis promised as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman still standing on the porch. “Be right there, honey pie!” he yelled.
Lettie Ruth stood and brushed at her skirt. She looked from man to man, memorizing their features. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, then turned and walked toward the road, head held high.
Several feet behind her she heard Little Carl’s whiney voice.
“Did you know bats was blind, Floyd?”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh made her smile.
* * *
Dreama Simms didn’t speak for almost an hour, and Mitch wasn’t sure what to make of her silence. Either she’d decided he wasn’t worth the time of day or she just didn’t have anything to say. Being the eternal optimist, Mitch decided to go with the latter. It seemed plausible Dreama would prefer concentrating on the search rather than engaged in polite conversation.
Feeling momentarily invincible, impervious to her salvos, he tapped her shoulder. “Miss Simms? Looks to me like we’ve run out east Hollow. You plan on canvassing the west side now?”
“I plan on heading back to the clinic,” she said. “We ain’t gonna find that girl riding around in this automobile. I got to get out and talk to people. That’s how you find somebody.”
“You’re right. Nothing better than one on one questioning.”
“Why would she run off like that?” Dreama asked.
For a moment Mitch wondered if she’d spoken to him or to herself. Still wearing his impervious to sharp tongues cloak, he replied, “The same question has been on my mind. Did you talk to her much before she left the clinic?”
“She wasn’t in no shape for conversation when we dragged her out of that field. Then, when me and Taxi came back to the clinic after my show, Lettie said Kat don’t feel up to talking.”
Dreama’s detailed answer surprised Mitch. She’d provided information and been civil about it. The hot anger she’d allowed to simmer all morning seemed to have evaporated. Or at least cooled down several degrees. But he hesitated to make any assumptions with regard her new attitude—civility and trust were two very different cans of worms. For the moment he’d settle for civil. He’d work on the trust later.
“You have any idea what she and Lettie Ruth may have discussed?” Mitch asked.
Dreama glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”
He heard the ice in her single word. What now? No matter what he said, he couldn’t win. “I only asked, because if she talked about a particular place or mentioned a name, it might tell us where to look,” he explained.
“Best I know Kat don’t know nobody in Maceyville, except for you. And I ain’t got any idea about her family ties. Course, you’d be the one knowing the answer to that, seein’ how y’all is such good friends.”
Since he didn’t want to mix it up again, he decided to ignore the last part of her statement. “Her folks are down in New Orleans,” he said, omitting Lettie Ruth and Alvin Rayson. Technically, at this time neither one was related to Kathleen Rayson Templeton, since she hadn’t been born yet.
Dreama tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, if you got any ideas where we ought to be looking, go ahead and speak up.”
Encouraged by her response he forged ahead. “Could we go to the field where you found her? I’d like to check it out. See if I can turn up something to help nail those three bastards.”
“Taxi told me you was a policeman. You gonna investigate?” she asked, almost smiling.
“Yeah, I’m going to investigate.”
And that’s not all, he thought. I’m going to put those boys on trial, tie the noose around their beet-red necks and then throw the fucking rope over the tree myself.
“Good,” Dreama said. “You investigate. Then when you get all done … tie that rope real tight.”
Mitch could feel his face getting hot and knew he’d turned a nice shade of embarrassed crimson. Apparently Dreama Simms was another Voodoo Woman, capable of reading his thoughts.
Before long they left paved city streets behind and bumped along hard packed farm roads. Mitch rolled the back window down, breathing in the spring air. Varying sizes of green shoots poked through the rich damp soil in the fields on each side of the road. Ragtag scarecrows stood guard, but the crows weren’t intimidated. In fact, most of the straw men only provided the scavenger birds with a place to roost.
The farther they traveled from Maceyville city proper, the bigger the trees. Sprawling canopies of live oak and cypress now shaded the lane. Huckleberry and blackberry bushes crawled over the split rail fences along the shoulder of the road. The clusters of berries were still hard and green, but it would be a good harvest come August and September. In his own time most of the trees and roadside brush had been cleared to make room for television cable lines. No more summer berries
A little way past a recently burned house, Dreama pulled over and stopped at the rutted intersection of two unmarked dirt lanes. She stuck her hand out the window and pointed. “When we come across her, she’d crawled to the edge of that field over there.”
Mitch climbed out and rested his arms on the roof of the car and studied the cotton patch. The recently cultivated soil would make it almost impossible to determine the exact location of the assault. Any blood, signs of struggle or footprints would have been obliterated. Even though he didn’t expect to discover anything, he needed to try.
He’d gone forty or fifty yards into the field when he heard the bleating car horn. Dreama stood beside the De Soto, pointing down the road. The sleeves of her green silk dress shimmered in the late morning sun as she waved her arms.
Mitch stood on tiptoe and squinted, he saw two figures coming toward them. A man and woman. From Dreama’s reaction he decided they were her friends and none of his concern. He resumed his search. A second later she shouted. Mitch glanced over his shoulder and saw her running full speed, her high heels kicking up little clouds of dust. He’d been a cop too long to ignore these actions. First the horn honking, then arm waving, shouting and now the running. It all blended together in a ‘something is wrong�
� stew.
Now it was his turn to run. He reached the car the same time as the trio arrived. The crisp clothes Lettie Ruth and Taxi were wearing the last time he’d seen them, were caked with dirt and mud. Scratches and blooming bruises decorated their faces, arms and legs. “What happened to you two?” he asked.
Taxi and Lettie Ruth exchanged a look. “Took a spill off the road,” Taxi said.
He knew a lie when he heard one and the fact it came from Taxi hurt his feelings. He’d considered the man to be a friend, and now Taxi had shut Mitch out of the secret clubhouse like the new kid on the block. The new white kid, a voice in his head mocked.
“It must have been one hell of a spill,” he said, not caring if he sounded petulant. Taxi twirled his hat around in his hand and nodded. Lettie Ruth wouldn’t meet his eyes; apparently her lying skills weren’t as fully developed. “You spill off that same road, Lettie?”
“Got my good skirt and new pink blouse all dirtied up,” she complained.
“Uh-huh. Where did all this dirtying and spilling take place?”
“Over yonder,” Taxi said, waving his arm in no definite direction.
“Bull shit. This is all bull shit and you both know—”
“Y’all need a cool drink and some food,” Dreama interrupted. “Let’s head home.” She hustled Lettie Ruth into the front seat and climbed in beside her. Taxi slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Climb on in the back, Mitch,” Taxi said.
Mitch was so busy being pissed off that he got in the car without argument. The ‘something is wrong’ stew had turned into a damn five course meal.
* * *
“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Biggers.” Mitch tried to erase the surprise from his face as they shook hands.
Biggers laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, I get that reaction quite often. People don’t expect a white man, seein’ how I live and work in the east Hollow.”
“You did kind of catch me off guard,” Mitch admitted. “And I thought I’d met my quota on surprises already.”
“I think there’s one or two left in the bag.”
Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel Page 17
