Dead South (Mattie O'Malley FBI agent)

by Daniel Adams

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Umm--like a girl can't get pregnant if it's her first time, or if the man is a relative, or if she's standing up. Stuff like that.”

  Mattie couldn’t believe it. It was like being back in the Dark Ages.

  “Who tells them this stuff?”

  “Mothers hand it down to their daughters who hand it down to their daughters—and so it goes.”

  “Can ‘t anybody read?”

  “Oh, most of ‘em can read but they just don’t bother. The library is deserted. Oh, there was this one woman who brought in her nine-year old daughter because the girl had a tummy ache. I examined her and she was pregnant. When I told the mother, she said it wasn't possible. Her daughter hadn't been with any men. But then she remembered that her older daughter's boyfriend had spent the night in the same bed with the nine-year old. The mother told me that the nine-year old probably got pregnant because some of that "stuff" must have splashed on her from when the boyfriend and older daughter were doing the deed.”

  “I’ll bet you have enough for a book. Really. You should write one.”

  “Maybe. Say, did you join the FBI because your dad was a cop?”

  “He wanted me to join the force but being a cop was just too restrictive for me. I wanted something bigger, something that would let me travel, see more than just a four block beat in New York.”

  “Was he disappointed that you joined the Bureau?”

  “At first, but he got used to it. Now he brags about the stuff I do to his cop friends.”

  “Did he teach you about guns?”

  “Yep. Started when I was three. Believe it or not, he’s faster than I am.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  They both laughed.

  Suddenly from the dark shadows behind them a dozen Klansmen in full garb charged into the light. Before Doctor Flint and Mattie could react, the Klansmen piled on them.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Had Mattie not been sitting where she was, with her back to the couch, and all of her weight on her butt, she would have had a fighting chance. Even with such a disadvantage, and overpowering numbers to boot, she still gave a good accounting of herself. She punched the first man who touched her so hard four of his teeth flew over the sofa. Out cold, he dropped beside her. Twisting to one side, she tried to roll to her feet, but three of the Klansmen wrestled her to the floor. She kneed one of the men under his chin. The impact sent him flying on top of his unconscious friend. Two down. One of the remaining two men hit her on the side of the head with a blackjack. The blow didn’t land square, which saved her life. Before he could swing again, she elbowed him across the face. With a sickening crunch, his nose broke. Screaming, he grabbed his bloody nose, splattering blood everywhere.

  Mattie knew she had to get up. If she stayed on the floor, they would stomp her. The remaining man had his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She couldn’t land any punches or kicks on him. All he wanted to do was to hold her until more Klansmen could join the fray. She rolled quickly to the left then to the right, giving her one quick opening. She jammed her elbow into his side. With a bellow, he let go of her. She rolled to her feet just in time to punch a Klansman in the head as six more men rushed her.

  In the meantime, six other men were beating and kicking the hell out of Doctor Flint. He had rolled into a ball, which made it harder for them to land blows. If he saw an opening, he punched anyone who got within range. His blows lacked the power of Mattie’s punches but he was trying. He took a hard kick to the head that stunned him. More kicks and punches followed. One thing that turned out in Mattie and Doctor Flint’s favor was the Klansmen’s costumes that made it hard for them to get any power behind their punches. To make up for it, several of them had sticks that they used freely on Doctor Flint.

  Mattie met the six men head on. Being surrounded by assailants was nothing new to her. Her karate instructor had insisted that at the close of every class, one student had been attacked from all sides by the other students. What it had taught her was not to focus on one man. Instead, she shifted her targets as fast as she could. She kicked one man in the hood, another in the crotch, swept the legs out from under a third man and elbowed another man in the gut. Just as it looked like she might be able to break free, one of the Klansman hit her in the back of the head with a club, knocking her to the floor. Nearly unconscious, she kept fighting, kicking and punching at the men who swarmed on top of her. Fists dug into her ribs, her head and her body. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a big dirty boot coming toward her face.

  Leaving Doctor Flint behind, the Klansman carried Mattie out of the house. They weren’t quiet about it. Laughing and yelling, they dumped her unconscious body in the back of a pick-up truck. They weren’t gentle. Even though she was unconscious, it didn’t stop a couple of the men from smashing her with their fists. With a half-dozen Klansmen in the back, the truck drove away followed by eight other trucks. They paraded through the downtown like it was the Fourth of July. After a couple of passes up and down Main Street, the caravan headed for the river.

  Perkins Landing was a dock and general store located on the Alabama side of the Mississippi about ten miles out of Kingswood. It perched on the side of a natural bay that extended about a mile inland from the river. It was about a mile wide and ranged from fifty feet to two hundred feet deep. In many places, its banks were lined with big trees that overhung the water, providing refuge for a wide variety of fish and animals. Smaller fish hung out around the roots to keep them safe from bigger fish. On the shore, under the earthbound roots, smaller animals hung out to keep them safe from bigger animals. Having a place to hide was essential to sustaining life in the swamp. For humans, sustaining life was more complicated. Having a safe place to hide was great but having a big gun was far more important.

  The nine-truck convoy arrived at Perkins Landing just after 11:00 P.M. Between Kingswood and Perkins Landing a great deal of moonshine had been consumed by the Klansmen. They were louder, more boisterous and totally out of control. They didn’t give a damn who saw them or if Sheriff Wilks and his men tried to stop them. They were united. Invincible. Their cause was just and they were unstoppable. Of course they wouldn’t have been able to voice such a sentiment. They were too drunk.

  The Klansmen lined their trucks up around the shoreline with their headlights pointed out into the bay. Although the store was closed, bare light bulbs strung on trees and poles lit the area. Next to the store, a dock about 80 feet long jutted out into the bay. Boats of all kinds were tied up to the dock. Bare light bulbs hung from poles above the dock, illuminating the dock and boats. Many of the Klansmen had shed their hoods. Among them are Poptop, Jubal, A.J. and Morris. With a whoop, Morris and A.J. run out onto the dock to Morris’s boat. Of all the boats tied up at the dock, it was the smallest and cheapest one. It was a 14-foot punt (a square bowed boat) with a tiny gas motor. Morris fed the motor some gas then used the pull rope to yank the engine to life. With Morris at the rudder, the punt sputtered toward the boat-loading ramp where the truck with Mattie in it was parked. With more loud whooping and hollering, the Klansman dragged Mattie out of the truck through the shallow water to where Morris had just stopped his boat.

  “Mo, can you come in closer, I don’t want to get my pants wet,” Poptop hollered. It was the wrong thing to say. Two Klansmen behind Poptop shoved him into the water. It brought a burst of drunken laughter from the other Klansmen. Flopping and flailing, Poptop floundered to his feet. He glared at the two Klansmen.

  “Bring it in closer,” Jubal ordered.

  Mattie was hanging face down by her arms and legs, which were each held by a Klansman. When they paid attention, they kept her out of the water when they didn’t her head was under water.

  Luckily for her they were careless. Cold water pouring into her throat yanked her to consciousness. Sputtering and spitting, she jerked her head clear of the water. Still stunned from the boot to her fac
e, it took her several seconds to get her bearings. She saw the Klansmen holding her arms and legs and quickly put it together. She didn’t know where she was but she knew why she was there. She remembered the fight at Doctor Flint’s place. Her last memory of him was him being beaten by a half-dozen Klansmen. She prayed he had survived. Realization dawned on her that if they didn’t know she had regained consciousness, it might give her an advantage. She let her head hang down just above the water. She quickly analyzed the men who were holding her. Only one was a danger. She felt hard muscle on his arms. The other three men were overweight. She could feel their flab against her flesh. Flab was no match for her hammer-hard punches. Feigning unconsciousness, she waited.

  Unfortunately, Jubal had seen her move.

  “She’s awake, Boys! He yelled.

  Poptop and two hooded Klansmen joined Morris and A.J. in the boat. It sank lower in the water, barely four inches above the dark surface.

  “Ain’t so tough now is ya nigger?” he sneered. “This is what you get for touchin’ a White man.”

  Mattie couldn’t help herself. “Cowards,” she whispered.

  Jubal kicked her in the ribs. Luckily, the water and his robes kept the blow from having any power.

  “What we gonna do here is troll for gators,” he snarled. “And you’re the bait. Course they prefer white meat.”

  The Klansmen around him laughed. They were all having a good time.

  He yanked back her head.

  “See them gators over there? They’re so hungry they’ll even eat a nigger.”

  Morris handed Jubal a rope that was tied off on a sturdy cleat on the back of the boat.

  “Tie her hands in front of her. This old motor can’t take too much drag,” Morris ordered.

  Several Klansmen tied the rope around Mattie’s wrists. They were not gentle.

  “They ain’t ever gonna find you ‘cause by tomorrow, you ain’t gonna be nothin’ but gator shit,” Jubal whispered close to her ear.

  “How fast you want me to go?” Morris asked Jubal.

  “Take it nice and slow so we can watch the gators hit her.”

  “Sure thing, Jubal.”

  Jubal kicked Mattie in the head again.

  “So long, nigger.”

  Morris eased the boat away from the shore. He had to be careful because with so much weight on board, the boat might capsize. Once clear of the shore, he turned up the throttle.

  “Take her around the other shore so the gators can see her!” Jubal commanded.

  There were a dozen or so gators lined up on the other shore. Their eyes glittered like little balls of greenish light. Most of the gators were six to eight feet long but there were a couple over fifteen feet. Size didn’t really matter that much. Getting bit by a six-foot gator will kill you just as quick as a big one. The difference being that a big gator could bite a man in half. Towing Mattie behind it, the punt motored along the far shore. As the boat neared each gator, it slid noiselessly into the water. Mattie was in for a tough time. Seeing the gators go into the water, the Klansmen gave a collective whoop.

  It was all Mattie could do to keep from drowning. Each time the boat hit a wave, and slowed, Mattie sunk below the surface. With her hands tied there was no way she could float so all she could do was hold her breath until the boat jerked her out of the water again. She saw glimpses of the boat and shore. One small comfort was the cold water eased the pain of the dozens of deep cuts and bruises that dotted her head and body. Only problem was there was still a lot of fresh blood oozing into the water. She knew one thing. Blood and gators is not a good combination. There was no point in worrying about it because she couldn’t stop it. All she could do was hope the gators didn’t pick up the scent. That idea didn’t last long.

  “You see any in the water?” Jubal yelled.

  “Couple of little ones,” Morris replied. “Ain’t over four feet.”

  “Throw some of that chum into the water. Get ‘em stirred up.”

  Poptop dumped dead fish and cow guts out of a three-gallon bucket into the water.

  “Save some of that for over here!” Jubal demanded.

  Mattie had figured out that if she swept her arms under her like a narrow butterfly stroke that she could stay afloat when the boat slowed. She had just completed a stroke, when something hit her arm. Instant pain swept over her arm. It felt like someone had crushed her arm on red-hot coals. She screamed.

  “Gator got her!” Poptop screamed, his voice high and girl-like.

  “How bad?” Jubal wanted to know.

  “Just a little one,” Poptop answered.

  Mattie jerked her arms away from the gator. She felt it brush by her as it swam away.

  “Dammit, don’t go too slow. We want this to last.” Jubal called. “You see any big ones?”

  “Three of ‘em, Jubal. Looks like ten-twelve footers to me,” Poptop announced.

  “Slow down as you come by here!” Jubal ordered.

  Jubal wanted the other Klansmen to have front row seats as the big gators hit Mattie. He was sort of the host of the event and he wanted for them to remember what fun they had had when it came time to vote for the next Grand Wizard.

  As he passed in front of the line of pickup trucks, he slowed down. Their lights lit up the boat and water brighter than a full moon. It was bright enough to see fish in the water.

  Out of nowhere, a big gator grabbed her leg. It felt like he’d torn off her lower leg. She screamed.

  When the Klansmen heard her scream, they broke into spontaneous applause. On the shore, Jubal did a full bow.

  Mattie felt around until she felt the gator’s eye then with all of her strength, she punched it. Instantly, the gator let go and swam away. The next time the boat slowed, she felt her leg. She could feel two rows of holes in her pants leg. The gator had got her good.

  The boat circled wide to the right, away from the shore for another pass in front of the trucks. The motor suddenly sputtered and died.

  “What happened, Morris?” Jubal demanded.

  “Got to switch gas tanks,” Morris responded.

  Mattie saw this would be her only chance. Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the water so her hands could reach her pocket. Reaching inside, she pulled out her pocketknife. As soon as her head surfaced, she used her teeth to open the knife. She felt faint. Through the haze of her oxygen-starved brain she saw her karate instructor in front of the class. What he said brought her back. He had always drilled into them one thing: anyone can quit. With the last of her strength she cut the rope around her wrists. As soon as they were free, she took several deep breaths then sank below the water.

  “Where is she?” Jubal called.

  “Can’t see her. Think a gator pulled her under,” Poptop answered.

  “You better get that motor runnin’ or I’m gonna skin you alive,” Jubal warned.

  All five of the men in the boat were focused on the motor. None of them were watching the water. Bad mistake.

  Morris yanked the start cord and the engine sputtered but didn’t start. Morris yanked it again. SNAP. The starter cord broke off in his hand.

  “Starter rope broke, Jubal!” Poptop yelled.

  “You fucking idiots can’t do anything right. I swear if you lose her I’m gonna kill all of you!” Jubal roared. “Find her, you morons.”

  While Morris worked on the motor, A.J., Poptop, and the two hooded Klansmen all looked on the port (left) side of the boat. Unfortunately, Mattie was on the starboard side.

  With a powerful spotlight, Poptop scanned the surface of the water. Almost instantly he spotted something on the surface.

  “I see her,” he howled. “She’s a floatin’.”

  Behind them, Mattie reached inside the boat and picked up an oar. With the oar held horizontally, she lunged forward, knocking all five of the men into the water. Before they could realize what had happened, she slid into the boat. She had done it. With a quick prayer of thanks to God, she grabbed a shotgun off one of the
seats.

  “What’s going on?” Jubal called.

  “She knocked us out of the boat!” Poptop sputtered. “She’s in the boat.”

  For the Klansmen the show was over. For Mattie, it had just begun.

  Aiming the shotgun at the Klansmen and their trucks, she opened fire, sending six loads of Number Six birdshot into the men who scrambled desperately to get out of the light. Several screamed as pellets ripped into their soft flesh. She dropped the empty shotgun and picked up a rifle that she used to rake the trucks and shoreline with hot lead. It was not a happy time for the Klansman. At least half of them sustained serious wounds from either the shotgun or the rifle. When she stopped firing, Jubal ran to his truck. Before she could reload, he drove away, leaving his fellow Klansmen behind. The ones who weren’t wounded too badly ran into the woods.

  After snapping a fresh magazine into the rifle, she felt the boat rock as Poptop and his pals tried to climb aboard. Using a boat hook, she pushed them away. When a gator rolled nearby, one of the hooded Klansmen threw himself halfway into the boat. With the boat hook, she pulled off his hood. It was Deputy Dave.

  “You bastard!” she snarled.

  After one yank on the cord, the motor started. As far as she was concerned, the four men in the water had dug their own graves. Gently goosing the motor, she pulled away from the four men. They could fend for themselves. She had.

  “Help! Don’t leave us. Please! They all screamed.

  They hadn’t had any mercy on her so payback was a bitch.

  She aimed the boat for shore. The trucks were still there but the Klansmen were all gone.

  Behind her the men flailed at the water. Suddenly Poptop was yanked underwater. A moment later he bobbed to the surface, holding his bloody arm.