by Daniel Adams
“No, they’re in it.”
Mattie looked at him to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.
“You don’t see a problem with that.”
The Sheriff didn’t. Matter of fact, he hadn’t ever thought about it.
“They got just as much right to join the Klan as you do to join the NAACP. Ain’t no law agin’ it.”
“So, when the Klan goes to torch some poor Black family’s home, your men go along to make sure the Black family burns peaceably?”
“Ain’t you a corker? With a mouth like that you gotta be from New York.”
“Can we cut the chit-chat? I want to know about the shooting last night.”
“What shooting?” the Sheriff asked, a big dumb look on his face.
“Don’t play dumb, Sheriff, you’re too good at it. You know which shooting—the one at Willow Bend.”
“Now why in the world would the FBI care about that little two bit shooting?”
Mattie slowly shook her head. She was getting tired of his bullshit.
“Because that little two bit shooting happened on a United States Air Force Base. Get it?”
The Sheriff glanced nervously around.
“We better go inside. Too many ears out here.”
She went through the door first, letting it slam in the Sheriff’s face.
“Ain’t she something?” he grinned.
At the Town Square, the parade got underway. With the clowns in the little cars leading the way, the Klansmen spread out across the street and walked away from the square. It didn’t look like a parade. It looked like a mob on their way to a lynching. The boisterous crowd cheered and clapped as the 200-odd men passed by.
Across town, at the Kingswood Fair Grounds and Race Track, a White stable boy named Dewey Young watched a White, fat, hairy, ugly man named Jubal Flatt rub down a race horse. Dewey wasn’t much to look at. His white, sallow skin was peppered with acne and his greasy hair hung down in his eyes. He was twenty but looked forty. Guys joked with him that if he turned sideways they wouldn’t be able to see him. At five feet nine inches tall and one hundred and thirty pounds, he was certainly skinny which wasn’t good for a stable boy who was supposed to pick up 50 pound saddles and 90 pound bags of grain dozens of times a day.
Jubal stopped rubbing the horse with a gunnysack and looked at Dewey.
“Have you been rubbin’ him down twice a day like I told you,” he demanded.
Dewey shuffled his feet and avoided eye contact with Jubal. He might as well have said he was lying.
“Twice a day,” he said.
“I ever find out you ain’t been rubbin’ him down, I’m gonna scalp you and put that hair on your ass.”
“I could rub him all day and he’d still lose. My sister’s pony can outrun him.”
Jubal put a big fist under Dewey’s nose.
“You keep your opinions to yourself,” he ordered. “I hear you badmouth Dusty in public, they’ll find pieces of you all the way down to the bay.”
“Why don’t you buy another horse?”
“Cause I ain’t got the money right now.”
Jubal pulls a little glass bottle out of his pocket. He hands it to Dewey.
“You got down to Big Blues stall and put this in his water.”
Dewey looked curiously at the bottle. He held it up to the light.
“What is it?”
“Don’t matter. I told you to do it.”
“It’s poison, isn’t it?”
“Boy, you do what I told you or I’m gonna stick my boot up your ass.”
With the bottle in hand, Dewey scurried out of the stall like a rat on a mission. He was glad to go because he was afraid of Jubal. He had seen Jubal knock out a horse with a single punch.
Sheriff Wilks sat down at his desk, opened a drawer and took out a bottle of whisky that he offered to Mattie who shook her head.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
He poured himself a stiff drink. Aware of her eyes on him, he gulped it down then put away the bottle.
“Look, Honey, I know you got jurisdiction cause of the Base, but you're wasting your time. It was nuthin' but two old boys drinkin' too much and things gettin' out of hand.”
“Who shot who?”
“Paxton Flatt shot Noonan Duff.”
“Pistols—rifles—shotguns—What?”
“Forty-five—three times in the guts.”
Mattie looked around the office. It was sparsely furnished almost like Sheriff Wilks wasn’t there. No pictures. No trophies. Nothing personal. It told her a great deal about him. He wasn’t somebody to take lightly. He saw her looking around.
“What do you think?”
She studies his face.
“About what?”
“I saw you lookin’ at my office. I can tell by your face you thought something. You psychologically analyzing me?”
“A little. It’s part of the job.”
“What do you think—about me? And what do you base your conclusions on?”
Mattie hesitated. She knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say.
“You’re a loner. You were in the military. You don’t like this job. You aren’t married. You live by yourself. You don’t have any children. You do have a dog.” She hesitated. “You are a dangerous man.”
He slowly sat back in his chair, his eyes searching hers.
“How””
“You aren’t at the parade. Your haircut is strictly military. You liked the military and got this job because it has a little bit of military to it. You aren’t wearing a ring. You have worn that shirt at least a week. Parents always put pictures of their kids on their desks. There’s dog hair on your shirt.” She stopped.
“You’re very smart. But why am I dangerous?”
“Because you’re tired of all the bullshit and you want to check out. Given any chance you’ll shoot it out and hope you die.”
His eyes never left hers.
“How?”
“There’s not one thing in here that is yours. You have stripped away everything that makes you you. You’re ready to go.”
He didn’t answer. She wisely changed the subject.
“Is this Noonan character at the morgue?”
Sheriff Wilks didn’t answer. He was afraid his voice would fail. He swallowed a few times.
“He’s at the hospital. Doc says he’s gonna live.”
“He’s one tough son of a bitch to survive three in the guts.”
“Around here people say he’s too stupid to die.”
“What about the man who shot him—Paxton wasn’t it?”
“I arrested him.”
“He in back. I’d like to talk to him.”
Sheriff Wilks shook his head.
“I let him go. He’ll come back if I need him.”
It was Mattie’s turn to shake her head.
“Where is he?”
“Across the street. He’s in the parade.”
Mattie laughed.
“Sheriff, I have to thank you. Till now, I thought I had seen it all, but you take the cake. Hell, you make Andy of Mayberry look like Elliot Ness.”
“This ain't the big city. We do things different. Not better, not worse, just different. You want some advice? Forget this shooting. Let us handle it. Go back to Jackson.”
She could tell he was pissed. Anger danced in his eyes. He had it controlled but not by much.
“Believe me, Sheriff, the sooner I get out of here the better. I'm gonna look around a little, talk to a few people, and if it's like you say it is, I'm gone. Nice meeting you.”
She left without a word from him.
CHAPTER TWO
Mattie left the Sheriff’s office with a sense of relief. Her encounter with Sheriff Wilks had pretty much gone as she expected it to. She had run across at least a dozen similar men in her travels. In the rural areas of Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and parts of Louisiana, the county sheriff ruled with an iron fist, dispensing his own brand of justice re
gardless of the law. Each sheriff was more or less like a Feudal King who reigned over his subjects and exacted his taxes for providing protection for them. Their word was law and anyone who challenged them was likely to find themselves face down in a deep hole in some nameless swamp. Some were decent men who tried to treat everyone with fairness but others were ruthless tyrants who ruled by fear and intimidation. Sheriff Wilks was more toward the fairness side but she didn’t know him well enough to say it with any certainty.
As she walked toward her car, she saw three young White men clustered near her driver’s side door. She wasn’t sure what they were doing because their bodies blocked her view. When she was ten feet away, she saw one of them held her side mirror in his hand. As soon as he saw her, he dropped it, the glass shattering on the concrete. His name was Wade; he was seventeen, played on the football team and was a master of stupid pranks. Up close, you could see his eyes were slightly crossed and there was a small ridge up the center of his forehead. Wade didn’t know, and his father had never told him, that he wasn’t really his mother and father’s son. The truth was a bit juicier. Actually, he was the product of a one-night stand between his father and a different woman. All things considered it wasn’t a big deal except for the fact the woman was his father’s first cousin. This liaison probably explained the Simian ridge up the center of his forehead and the protruding bones under both his eyebrows as well as his extra long arms and small skull.
“Oopsy!” Wade exclaimed, feigning concern about what he had done. With as much insolence as he could muster, he pushed himself backwards onto her hood, his ass deflecting the metal several inches.
“Get your ass off of my car!” She snarled. Mattie had fought this battle dozens of times. She knew the dance, knew the song and was ready for anything.
“Or what, you’ll spank me?” he crowed.
With a lightning fast move, she grabbed his finger and bent it back.
“Yowl!” he bellowed.
In one smooth motion, she yanked him off of the car and slammed him on to the asphalt. Mattie knew this was a critical moment because if his two friends jumped her at the same time, she would be in trouble. She twisted Wade’s arm, forcing him to stay down.
A.J, and Morris, his two friends started toward her. A.J. was a big teen, standing six feet two inches tall and weighing a solid 220 pounds. He wasn’t especially bright but what he lacked in brains he more than made up for with brawn. He fought a lot because it was the one thing he was good at. During the football season, he was sure to start a brawl after every game, a brawl that usually ended up with him beating some poor idiot with his helmet. Morris was a halfback and a lady’s man who avoided brawls because he didn’t want his good looks marred by a helmet to the face. His was a youthful handsomeness that would not age well as he got older. His narrow face would widen and by the time he was forty-five, he would have jowls that sagged an inch below his chin. He was fast—running the 100-yard dash in 10.6 seconds but he would never make it in college ball because he only weighed 160 pounds.
“Get back!” she snapped. “Or I’ll break his arm.” She tweaked his arm.
“Get back!” he yowled.
“Next time I tell you something, you better listen, dumb shit. That's an FBI car and I can arrest you right now for destruction of government property, got it?
“Yeah!”
“Yeah what?”
“Yeah, Sir.”
“Why don't you take your two inbred friends and go hang around the grade school with your candy bars or whatever it is you do and don't let me see you again today or I'll kick all three of your butts.”
What they didn’t know was that Mattie had the skills to take on all three of them and was hoping they would attack. She had already picked out the spot on A.J.’s leg she was going to break with a snap kick. For Morris she planned to plant her elbow square in the middle of his face and let his teeth fall where they would. A.J. and Morris considered the odds—one Black woman against the three of them and started toward her.
Behind her, the Sheriff stepped out of the door, saw what was happening and let his hand drop to his night stick, a night stick with two teeth embedded in the business end of the wood, teeth that had belonged to suspects who had decided to fight him. Mattie let up Wade who glowered at her.
“This ain’t over,” he growled.
Wiping himself off, he nodded to A.J. and Morris who followed him away.
“Makin’ new friends?” Sheriff Wilks asked.
“You don’t have to protect me, Sheriff. I can take care of myself.”
Sheriff Wilks laughed. “You?” I was protecting them. Wouldn’t want that Irish temper to blow.”
“See you around, Sheriff.”
She opened her car door.
“Say, Sheriff, where’s the Doc live?”
He pointed south.
“Six blocks south and one block east.”
“Thanks.”
Moments later, she drove away.
She easily found the house. It was marked by a plain white sign with black lettering that said “DR. JOHN FLINT M.D. GENERAL AND EMERGENCY MEDICINE. She parked at the curb. As she walked to the house, she noticed the recently mowed lawn and well-kept flowerbeds. Someone, possibly the doctor, cared about his yard. It was a large house that had been converted into an office/hospital. The front porch had been swept clear of leaves and debris—another indication that someone cared about the place.
She stepped inside, expecting to be greeted by a receptionist but no one was sitting at the front desk. Even though the furniture was old and worn, the floor was clean and recently mopped. She counted a dozen seats in the waiting room, all of which were empty. A doorway led deeper into the house.
“Anybody home?” she called.
No one answered, so she walked through the door into a hallway that ran to the back of the house. At least a half dozen doors opened off of the hallway. She had taken a few steps when she heard voices coming from the room to her right. She entered the room.
A White, bearded man in coveralls and boots was sweeping a small office loaded with medical books. He was tall, handsome and had curly brown hair that matched his beard. She guessed his age to be around forty-two—maybe forty-four.
“Hey,” she called.
He looked up and smiled.
“Is Doctor Flint around?” she asked.
The man stopped sweeping and parked the broom against a bookshelf.
“Is it an emergency?” he asked.
“No, but I still need to see him.”
“This is the Doctor’s day off,” he explained. “Maybe you can come back tomorrow.”
She flashed her badge.
“Mattie O’Malley, FBI. I need to see him right now.”
He studied the badge. “FBI, huh. Don’t recall ever meeting an FBI agent before, particularly a beautiful one.”
She blushed.
“Can you call him?”
“I can do better than that. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
She followed him to a much bigger room, equipped with all kinds of laboratory equipment and electronics.
“Wait here,” he said.
He disappeared through a side door. A moment later, he reappeared, wearing a white doctor’s coat.
“Doctor Flint, at your service, Agent O’Malley.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Nope, I’m Doctor Flint. Want to see my diploma?”
She eyed him carefully, hoping to find some clue as to whether he was for real or not.
“What’s the largest bone in the body?” she asked.
“The head,” he laughed.
His laughter was catching. She found herself laughing along.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr Flint.”
“Likewise,” he said. “What’s this about?”
“Sheriff Wilks said you have a prisoner named Noonan here.”
“That’s right. He’s in the back room.”
“I’d like t
o talk to him.”
“Fine, if he’s awake.”
He motioned for her to follow him.
“This about the shooting?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Something like that. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure?”
“Why the grubby clothes?
He stopped to look at her.
“I know, I don't look like a doctor, but there's a reason. Five years ago when I first set up practice here, I wore suits every day. After a couple months of treating only a couple of patients a day I was ready to quit and go somewhere else. But the Sheriff stopped me. He said people weren't coming to me because they figured anybody who wore suits all of the time would charge them too much. Every since I started wearing these old clothes, business has been booming.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No offense taken. I know you’re used to big city doctors.”
“How bad is he? Is he going to die?”
“Don't think so. His stomach was torn up pretty bad, but I put him back together. A couple of days, he'll be up and around. People around here are tough as leather.”
“He say anything to you?”
“Just that he was going to kill Paxton, but that’s what I would expect him to say. Around here, if you don’t seek revenge, everyone thinks you’re a coward.”
“Do you think he’ll try to kill Paxton?”
“Not for a couple of months. He’ll be lucky to swat a fly for a month.”
Doctor Flint continued walking. She followed.
“Aren’t you afraid Paxton will come back to finish off Noonan?”
“Naaa. Paxton’s scared shitless of the Sheriff.”
“He shouldn’t be. The Sheriff let him out to march in the Klan rally.”
Doctor Flint laughed.
“Bet you never saw anything like that before. Trust me, the Sheriff doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. You can bet that money changed hands.”
She thought about his comment.
“That’s bribery.”
