by Cynthia Webb
The world was spinning around me. I’d done it. I’d seriously underestimated both George and Forrest.
George was struggling to raise himself up to unzip his pants. “Any man in there would love to help me fuck you senseless. Who the hell do you think you are? You think I don’t know all about you? Walking your pussy around town half-undressed like that. You were a goddamned divorcee before you were twenty. Hell, you were a whore before you were sixteen. Only reason men don’t jump you in the street is out of respect for your daddy and your momma.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t hurt me. One more guy won’t make any difference. I’ll cooperate. Just don’t hurt me.”
“It’ll make a difference. I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You won’t even know those tiny-dicked Yankees are there next time they stick it in you.” He was yanking at my blue-jeans. I lifted my hips to help him pull them down.
He had let his own pants fall, and I reached around with my left hand and squeezed his ass. Then I reached into my backpack with the other and pulled out my Swiss army knife. I fumbled with it for a moment, praying he wouldn’t notice, sucked hard on his tongue to try to ensure he wouldn’t.
I murmured, “Stick it in me now,” and he pulled his body away from me to accomplish that task.
But I was quicker. I had the knife up, with the point against his testicles.
“Shit,” he said.
“Not in my car, you don’t. One move, and you’re a eunuch.”
I sat up and scooted back across the parking brake into the driver’s seat, still holding the knife against him. I pressed it gently against his purple, shriveled scrotum to let him know I was serious.
“I’ve seen chickens with bigger gizzards,” I said.
He was staring at me wild-eyed, crazy with fear, fully dressed except for his pants around his knees. I was thrilled at his humiliation, and sick that I felt that way. I hated him, and I hated myself.
“Get out.” He didn’t move.
I pushed the tip of the knife a little harder. I didn’t think I was cutting his flesh, but I wasn’t sure. I wondered how it would feel if I did.
“Get out,” I repeated.
“Just let me pull my pants up,” he pleaded.
“No. Get out. “ I applied a little more pressure with the knife.
He started to turn to unlock the door.
“No. Back out,” I said. “I’m with you all the way.” I made circles on his flesh with the knife.
He reached his hand behind him and felt for the lock. He pulled it up, and then moved his hand down to the door handle.
“Now back out slowly. Real slowly.” I scooted across the car seat with him, keeping my knife right where it frightened him most. When he was almost out, I pressed the heel of my right boot into his balls, pushing him out the door. He collapsed on the ground, writhing with pain. The two gate guards headed over towards us.
I’ve never moved as fast as I did then, pulling the door shut and locking it. Then I scrambled back behind the wheel, started the car and took off with the gas pedal pressed full against the floor, spewing sand and grass in every direction.
I was out of that parking lot and down the road like a race car driver. Although I don’t think most drive with their pants down around their knees—which was what I was doing. I was hoping to God I didn’t meet another car on that narrow, winding path.
I didn’t. And I didn’t even slow down where the road ended at Highway 17. I just pulled out, fishtailing so hard I almost lost control of the car.
It was late, and the highway was empty. I was going as fast as I dared. Well, actually, faster.
In the rearview mirror was just what I didn’t want to see. A car pulled onto the highway after me. It was a big, dark car, and it was going fast.
I pushed harder on the pedal, and managed to maintain the distance between us.
I turned off the highway onto the Main Street of Port Mullet. The town was dead. Nothing was open. No one on the streets.
I slowed some for the red lights at intersections, but I sure as hell didn’t stop. I crossed my fingers and counted on all Port Mullet residents being home in bed. The ones that weren’t back at the Klan rally, that is.
The dark car was still behind me. My numbness was wearing off to the point I was really scared. I turned off Main Street onto another road that followed the curves of the river. They turned behind me. They were right on my tail now. In my rear view mirror I could see the angry faces in the front seat. I didn’t recognize any of them.
They pulled in the other lane, trying to force me off the road.
I gritted my teeth and lay down on the horn. Maybe one of the good citizens would hear it and call the cops. I was still driving for everything I was worth.
Up ahead, I saw the brick building I was aiming for.
I pushed the pedal down further, hitting ninety on a curve with the car still beside me in the other lane of the narrow, two-lane road. They stayed right with me. I never stopped honking the horn.
Then I hit the brakes and swerved right into the parking lot of the police station, nearly slamming into a row of parked cars. I was still leaning on the horn.
My pursuers had not turned off at the cop shop, of course. They had continued on until they were out of sight down River Road.
When two uniformed men ran out of the front door and sprinted over to my car, I frantically pulled up my pants. By the time they came to my door I had turned off the car.
“Get them,” I yelled. “Those men, the car following me! They were trying to run me off the road! They were trying to kill me!”
The two officers looked at each other. They were barely out of their teens.
“You come on inside the station with us,” one of them said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Stop wasting time and follow them!” I hollered, even louder.
They both stepped back from me and looked at each other. Great, I thought. First time in my life I go to the police for help and I get the Keystone Cops.
An older man was ambling across the lot.“You fellows go on and catch up with the trouble-makers,” he said, as soon as he was close enough to talk. “I’ll take this young lady inside and we’ll get started on her report.”
“Yes, Sir,” said one of the others.
“Wait a minute, Bill,” said the older one. “Don’t you want to ask this young lady something?”
“Right. What’s your name?”
“There’ll be time for that later,” the older man reproved gently. He turned to me. “Tell me about the car.”
“Dark. Blue, I think. Beat-up, old, four doors. I can’t be more specific than that. At least five men.”
“License number?”
“I was too busy to notice.”
“Okay, fellows, you’re off.”
I got out of the car, moving awkwardly, glad my untucked shirt hid the open zipper. The old guy walked me inside, left me in a plastic chair in front of a desk, and disappeared in an office.
A friendly-looking woman sitting behind the desk asked if I wanted tea or coffee.
“Coffee, please,” I said, gratefully, and she disappeared, too, giving me a chance to zip up and tuck my shirt in.
She returned right away with a styrofoam cup of coffee, adulterated with some powdered “creamer” stuff and a lot of sugar.
I smiled and said thanks, and sipped it. Her simple act of kindness had a calming effect on me.
But she was looking at me funny. I put my cup down on the desk in front of me. Then I stood up and did my belt buckle. I buttoned my blouse and straightened it. Nothing I could do about my ripped bra.
I shrugged and sat back down.
“Should I call the rape team?” she asked gently.
I shook my head, “No.”
“Can I do anything else for you?” she asked. “Lieutenant D’Amato will be right out. He’s arranging for all other units in the area to assist in the search for the car that w
as bothering you.”
I sat there, too tired to be angry and too angry to be tired. My head buzzed with it all. I was angry at Johnny. He hadn’t told me that Forrest Miller was the “local guy” who was a big shot in the Klan. I also had my doubts about how seriously the cops were taking my complaint. I could see that, as far as they were concerned, I was crazy. I wanted to call Johnny on what was going down in the little town he policed, and I wanted to see what he was going to do about finding the goons Forrest Miller and George had sent after me. And if it turned out Johnny’s loyalties were with the bad guys, I planned to write a hell of a story about it, and to make sure everyone in Port Mullet saw a copy of it. If Johnny thought I’d inflicted my worst on him during our marriage, I planned to show him how wrong he could be.
“Where’s Johnny Berry?” I asked.
“Why, home in bed, I suppose,” she answered.
“Please call him for me.”
“We’ll have to let Lieutenant D’Amato make that decision,” she said. “Really, he’ll be right out.” She seemed to regret not being able to do what I asked.
“I’m his ex-wife,” I said.
She looked at me, openly surprised. Her sympathy was still visible, but so was her trouble believing me. I guessed I didn’t look a hell of a lot like someone the police chief would have married.
I pulled my New York driver’s license out of my wallet, and shoved it at her.
“See. That’s my name. Laurie Marie Coldwater.” It was clear that she didn’t see what that proved. I hesitated, and then gave in. “Coach Coldwater, over at Port Mullet High? He’s my father.” It felt like ashes in my mouth to say that.
She looked at my license, looked at me, and nodded slowly.
“Okay, I’ll call Chief Berry.”
She didn’t use the phone on the desk in the reception area. She went through one of the doors in the back. Almost immediately another officer came out to keep me company. He, too, asked if he should call the rape team. Then he asked if I needed any other medical attention.
Thinking of how many times I had screwed up in so many ways that day, I answered, “Just a brain transplant, thank you.”
He looked at me with suspicion. Then he said that Lieutenant D’Amato would be out in a minute.
The nice woman reappeared. “Chief Berry said he’s on his way, Mrs. Berry. He said to tell you to just wait in his office until he gets here.”
The officer looked very confused.
“Thank you,” I answered, “but my name is Laurie Coldwater.”
He perked right up. “Really? Are you related to Coach? Coach Coldwater, at Port Mullet High? I played for him. I was a tight end.”
I looked at the chubby man. Looked him up and down. “Never would have guessed it,” I murmured.
Chapter Nine
I tore into Johnny the moment he walked in. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about Forrest Miller and the Klan? Goddamn it! I had a right to know. I had a right! I almost got raped. I almost got run off the road.” I jumped out of my chair, feeling like an avenging angel standing there, hands on hips, glaring at him in front of his yet open office door.
Johnny didn’t answer me, but his expression told me he was mad as hell, his face red and his jaw tight with tension. He shut the door, walked behind his desk, and sat down.
I collapsed into a chair across from him. I was feeling the superiority of righteous anger, but, at the same time, I couldn’t help admiring the way that Johnny had held his temper. We’d had some first class knock-down-and-drag-outs in our time, but clearly Johnny had learned something in the years we’d been apart.
He said, “I didn’t tell you about Forrest Miller because it didn’t seem relevant. I know you’ve always been real fond of Susan’s daddy, and you spent a lot of time over there when you were growing up. I didn’t see any need to upset you, to tell you something that might make it hard on you to visit your old friends.”
I took a deep breath, trying hard to remain calm. “Do you want to hear what happened to me tonight in your law-abiding little town, or not?”
He looked straight at me. “I certainly do.”
I told him about the rally, Forrest, George, and the car chase. When I was finished, he was looking down at his desk.
“You just asked me about the sign on Night Lake Road, Laurie. I had no idea you meant to take off on an investigation of the Klan. If I’d even suspected that, you can bet there are a lot of things I would have said to you, and Forrest Miller’s position would be the least of it.” His voice gained volume and momentum as he went on, “Dammit, Laurie, there’s lots of agencies that are dying to infiltrate the Klan, but none of them would send you out there half-cocked to do it! Yes, you could have been killed.” His voice cracked there, and he looked down at his desk. “You’re lucky you weren’t.” I could have sworn he was crying.
When he looked back up, his voice was clear again. “When we find this George guy, how are we going to pin attempted rape on him? By your own admission, you tried to turn the guy on. You voluntarily climbed into a car with him and drank bourbon. I want to kill him, but for Christ’s sake, Laurie! Use common sense. How would all that look to a jury?”
I got to tell you, it wasn’t pleasant listening to what I had thought of as brilliant and daring investigative work referred to in this derogatory manner. And the worst part of it was, of course, that he was right.
Besides chagrin, I was experiencing major exhaustion. I’d nearly been shot in my own home, and then nearly raped in my own hometown. I didn’t even want to think about what the guys chasing me had had in mind. Johnny got up and walked around to my chair, then squatted down beside me and picked up my hand. “Laurie, I’ll help you, I swear I will. Unless you don’t want my help. I’ll do what you want. But please be more careful. Don’t get yourself hurt.” His voice was low and husky.
Someone knocked on the door, and he dropped my hand and stood up, quickly. The door opened, and one of his officers stepped in to talk with him.
From what I heard it was clear that the police weren’t going to find the guys who were chasing me. They could have turned down any side street, in any subdivision, and pulled the car into a garage. Hell, they could have left the car on the street. The cops couldn’t knock on doors and question everyone who had an old dark-blue car parked outside.
Johnny sent some guys over to the rally to ask about the men who chased me. The party was just about over by then. Of the few people still around, no one had seen me. No one had seen a car take off after me. Nobody had seen Forrest Miller, nor a man with him named George.
Forrest was home in bed when the officers went by to talk with him. He hadn’t been at any Klan rally that evening. The very idea was preposterous. His wife confirmed they had gone out to dinner, then spent the evening quietly at home before going to bed. He was sorry to hear that Miss Coldwater had been mixed up in some trouble. He’d heard tell that she did drink quite a bit, and a young lady who does that, why she’s bound to get into trouble eventually.
Greg Johnson did admit he’d been to the rally. It wasn’t any big deal. Just went there to see some friends, have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, was there? Sure, he’d seen me. Worried about me, too. A woman alone, with all those men. Asking for trouble, if you asked him. Hadn’t seen Forrest Miller. Didn’t know anyone named George there.
I sat there while Johnny gave me the news. I wasn’t surprised, but it made me burn. “So they just get by with it? He gets by with it? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No. I’m not telling you that. Don’t think it’s over, because it’s not. I’m the police chief around here and I plan to make their lives miserable. Every time they turn around, I’m going to be up their asses. I’ll ask around, I’ll find out who George is, and he and Forrest Miller and Greg Johnson are going to live to regret this.”
I was too tired to think any more about it then, and Johnny looked beat, too. It was three-thirty-five by the clock on Johnny’s office wa
ll. I wasn’t looking forward to walking into my parents’ house. I was sure Momma, at least, would be waiting up for me. One look at the state my clothes were in and she’d be hysterical. I was too tired to fabricate a reasonable explanation, and much too tired to deal with her hysterics if I told her the truth. I just wanted to be left alone, and to sleep. I stood up, swung my backpack over my shoulder.
Johnny said, “Come home with me, Laurie. No use upsetting your parents. I swear I won’t bother you; you can sleep in my guest room. I’ll call your folks and tell them where you are, and they won’t worry. You can get cleaned up and face them in the morning when you’re rested.”
I knew I should say no, but it sounded so reasonable. I had been in a rough spot, and it felt like Johnny was the only person around who was on my side. And I was so drained. I nodded.
Then Johnny said, “You don’t look up to driving. Give me your car keys and I’ll have someone take your mother’s car over to her in the morning. I’ve already got a unit cruising by your parents’ house now and then, just in case your new friends go looking for you there.”
I wasn’t too tired to feel a shiver of fear crawl up me. That possibility had not occurred to me. That they might come to Momma and Daddy’s house. That my parents could be in danger because of me. But no, I thought, nobody would hurt Coach Coldwater, not as long as his football team kept winning.
Johnny drove me to his house. I fell asleep in the car, and he had to wake me up when we got there. I was too tired to notice anything else about it. I went into the guest room Johnny showed me, took off all my clothes, climbed into bed and went right to sleep.
I woke up to the irritating buzz of a lawn mower outside. At first, I didn’t know where I was. A double bed with nice sheets, a beige coverlet, beige blinds, beige carpet. No identifying marks of any sort.
Then I remembered. I knelt on the bed and peeked out through the blinds. Johnny’s place was a condominium in a large development, new, and well-maintained. The grass was short and luxurious, the way grass can be if dosed generously with chemicals and water. The edgings were neat, the common lawns were dotted with small bushes and palm trees. There were tennis courts and a pool.
