by Donis Casey
All Men Fear Me
An Alafair Tucker Mystery
Donis Casey
www.DonisCasey.com
Poisoned Pen Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Donis Casey
First E-book Edition 2015
ISBN: 9781464204715 ebook
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
The historical characters and events portrayed in this book are inventions of the author or used fictitiously.
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Contents
All Men Fear Me
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
The Main Characters
July 1917
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
The Liberty Sing
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Chapter Sixty-eight
Chapter Sixty-nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-one
Author’s Note
Alafair’s Homefront Recipes
More from this Author
Contact Us
Dedication
For Don
The Main Characters
The Family
Alafair Tucker, a worried mother of ten
Shaw Tucker, her husband, just as worried, but determined not to show it
Their children
Martha, age 25
Streeter McCoy, her husband
Mary, age 24
Kurt Lukenbach, her husband
Judy, age 18 months, their daughter
Alice, age 23
Walter Kelley, her husband
Linda, age 1, their daughter
Phoebe, age 23 (Alice’s twin)
John Lee Day, her husband
Zeltha, age 2½, their daughter
Tucker, age 1, their son
Gee Dub, age 20, a college student
Ruth, age 18, a music teacher
Charlie, age 16, looking for action
Blanche, age 12, a beauty
Sophronia, age 11, a tomboy
Grace, age 4, a handful
The Relations
Chase Kemp, age 7, Alafair’s nephew, whom she took to raise
Rob Gunn, Alalfair’s brother, a union organizer, whom she aims to fatten up
Sally McBride, Alafair’s mother-in-law, whose opinion matters
Scott Tucker, the town sheriff and Alafair’s cousin-by-marriage
Trenton Calder, Scott’s deputy, whom Alafair is planning to add to the family
The Brick Workers
Henry Blackwood, Charlie’s friend and protector
Eric Bent, Henry’s uncle
Win Avey, a hothead
Billy Claude Walker, also a hothead
Dutch Leonard, a hothead of a different kind
The Townspeople
Emmanuel Clover, a scared patriot
Jehu H. Ogle, the mayor
Aram Khouri, a shopkeeper
Grandfather Khouri, a man with an unhappy past
Rose Lovelock, a woman of easy virtue
Nick, a man in a bowler hat
The Critters
Charlie Dog, an elderly shepherd dog
Bacon, a young mutt
Tornado/Hercules/Six-Shooter/Devil Dancer/Lightning Bolt/Hero/Sweet Honey Baby, a handsome horse with a nervous condition
July 1917
Somebody Is Going to Get Killed
Chapter One
“The world must be made safe for democracy.”
—President Woodrow Wilson, April 2, 1917
Old Nick had been following the traveler ever since he left the detention camp back in New Mexico. It wasn’t that the traveler made a particularly appealing target himself, but everywhere this fellow went, trouble followed in his wake. And trouble was Nick’s food and drink.
The minute President Wilson had asked Congress to get the country involved in the endless blood-soaked war going on in Europe, Nick had smelled the ugly stench of hysteria and reached for his tool kit. His blades were sharp and his armaments were oiled and ready. Discord had been sown far and wide, and Nick had had plenty of work to keep him happy.
The miners’ strike down in Arizona had drawn old Nick like a fly to manure, and he had been so busy maintaining disorder that at first he hadn’t noticed the slender man in the thick of it all. The traveler was of middle height, and lightly built, his appearance unremarkable, except for a russet beard liberally streaked with gray, and sharp dark eyes.
On a morning in early July, Nick joined the armed posse that roused the striking miners from their beds, and helped cram them into twenty-three sweltering cattle cars to deport the troublemakers out of Arizona. Nick enthusiastically arrested anyone who looked like a miner and a couple of men who didn’t, and helped himself to some of their property along the way. He volunteered to man the m
achine gun guarding the deportees and spent the entire trip to New Mexico basking in the miners’ fear and fury as they were carried to their unknown fate. By the time they reached the barbed wire camps in New Mexico, the ardor of most of the detainees had flickered and waned. But the bearded traveler’s fire of determination burned bright as ever. This one would go his own way until the end, and Nick knew that whenever a man’s beliefs rubbed against the grain, sparks were bound to fly.
A few days later, as soon as his union lawyer got him sprung from internment, the traveler had headed straight for the train station at Hermanas and bought a ticket for Muskogee, Oklahoma. The strike was broken, and most of the strikers were broken as well. Nick knew there was little work left for him in the camp. So he scratched the little white scar beside his eye, set his bowler hat upon his head, and boarded the train behind the traveler. He knew the traveler wasn’t going to notice him. No one ever noticed old Nick. Especially not a man whose eyes were blinded by the fire of true belief.
Chapter Two
“If there should be disloyalty,
it will be dealt with a firm hand of repression.”
—President Woodrow Wilson, April 2, 1917
The traveler stood at the head of the alley and watched the ruckus for a long time, trying to decide whether or not to get involved. He thought not. He had just been passing by on his way from the hotel to the Muskogee train station when he heard the commotion and stopped to take a look. He wished he hadn’t.
It was barely light and the sun not even up and he wasn’t in the mood for a fight. He didn’t much like the idea of two ganging up against one, but the blond-haired youngster seemed to be holding his own all right. Besides, it wasn’t any of his business.
He had had enough strife to last him a while, and he expected he’d soon have a passel more before much longer, so he didn’t see any reason to borrow trouble if he didn’t have to. He had a train to catch. He was just about to move on when the fat brawler got the young man down on the bricks and started pummeling him around the head.
“Damn Red!” the fat man hollered. His skinny companion grabbed up a length of board from the end of the alley and headed over to finish the job.
The traveler sighed. He unslung his rucksack from his shoulder, pulled his little blackjack out of his back pocket, and waded in.
It didn’t take much to break it up. One good slap with the cosh on the fat man’s shoulder and that was that. That was generally the way with bullies. They didn’t pause to figure out who had decided to even the odds, or why. One good howl from the fat one and the skinny one dropped his board and was gone before the traveler even got a good look at him. It took a little longer for the fat man to haul himself up and skedaddle. Still, he moved pretty well for a fellow of his size.
The blond youth lay where his attacker left him, facedown on the bricks with his hands clasped over his head. The traveler nudged him in the side with his toe.
“They’re gone, hotshot. You can get up now.” The traveler’s voice bubbled with humor. Or maybe it was relief. It was not often that he managed to get out of a shindy without so much as a bruise.
The kid’s head turned just enough to enable him to peer at his rescuer out of one rapidly swelling blue eye.
“Get up, boy,” the traveler repeated. “Let’s have a look at you.”
The young man pulled one leg up, then the other, and raised himself onto his hands and knees. He grabbed the traveler’s proffered hand and stood. The traveler sucked air through his teeth. The youngster was much the worse for wear.
“Your face looks like you got yourself caught in a meat grinder, kiddo. It’s lucky I come along when I did. You expect you’ve got any broken bones or busted insides that will require the services of a doctor?”
The young man patted himself down and took stock of his wounds before answering. He was a little hard to understand because of the split lip. “I reckon I got a bruised rib, here, and my eye hurts, but I don’t think anything is broke.”
“Looks like them fellows had quite a bone to pick with you. What did you do to rile them up so?”
“They took issue with something I said.”
One reddish eyebrow lifted. “I reckon. Did you disrespect the fat feller’s mama?”
The youth studied the older man out his rapidly purpling eyes, reluctant to answer.
The traveler slipped the blackjack back into his pocket and crossed his arms. “Don’t worry, towhead. I got no quarrel with a man’s politics or his ancestry neither. You say something against the war? Or do you just have a German name?”
An ironic smile attempted to form on the bloodied lips. “Neither. I’m just plain Henry Blackwood. I met them two at the diner yonder while I was having a bite before my train come. When we left, we were walking the same direction, toward the station, just having a chat about this and that when I said that I kind of wish this war would get over quick because I didn’t think the Germans are our natural enemies and I’m sorry we’ve got into a scrape with them. They took exception and thought to correct my faulty reasoning with their knuckles.”
The traveler did not look amused. He fished a white handkerchief out of his vest pocket and handed it to his companion. “That kind of talk can get you killed these days, boyo, or at the least, thrown in jail. Unless you’re willing to die for a currently unpopular principle, I’d advise that for the duration you keep your opinions to yourself.”
Henry dabbed at the worst of the cuts on his face. “Yessir, I expect I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You look pretty well grown. How old are you? Twenty-three, twenty-four? How come you ain’t in the Army? You waiting to see if your number comes up in the draft next week?”
“I tried to join up back in April. They wouldn’t let me. I got the asthma. I went ahead and registered last month, though. If I get rejected again, I may try the Navy come spring. I have no desire to get killed in a war, but better to do my duty than to go to prison for draft-dodging. Especially if them two represent present public opinion.” He handed the bloody handkerchief back to the man. “Thank you for saving me. I reckon if I hustle I can still make my train.”
“Well, you’d better make a detour to the station washroom and clean yourself up before you present yourself to the stationmaster. They’re like to not let you on the train looking like you just got trampled by an elephant.” The traveler picked up his backpack and the two men headed back out to the street. Henry limped for half a block, but his gait had straightened out by the time they approached the railway station.
“I appreciate your help, Mister, but you don’t need to walk me all the way in.”
“I ain’t, sport. I’m heading out on the six a.m. eastbound myself. Where are you off to?”
“I’m just going up the way a bit. I came up from Texas yesterday. I’m going to live with my uncle for a spell. He’s got me a job at the brick plant in Boynton.”
This time both the man’s russet eyebrows shot upward. “Well, I’ll be go to hell. Boynton is my destination as well.”
Chapter Three
“Oh, once upon a time in Arkansas
An old man sat in his little cabin door
And fiddled a tune that I like to hear
A jolly old tune that he played by ear”
—“The Arkansas Traveler” an American folk tune
Henry and the traveler didn’t have a lot of time to chat once the train pulled out of the Muskogee station. Boynton was only fifteen miles down the track, and the stop at Wainright was so brief that the train barely slowed down long enough for the stationmaster to fling a bag of mail into the open door of the postal boxcar.
Henry did most of the talking. He wasn’t usually such a chatty fellow, but the traveler kept asking him questions, and in such a solicitous manner that Henry found himself relating as much of his life story as he could cram into the half-hour trip.
Yes, he had just come up from Brownsville, Texas. Oh, yes, there was a lot of trouble going on down there. The border clashes hadn’t slowed down because of the war. In fact, they were getting worse. That’s why he was coming up to Boynton. His mother had convinced his father that it was safer up here.
The traveler and Henry got off the train at Boynton just as the sun cleared the horizon. Neither noticed the nondescript man in the bowler hat who disembarked behind them and moved into the overhanging shadow of the station roof.
The traveler hoisted his backpack and shook the young man’s hand. “I wish you luck, slick. And by luck I mean I hope your number don’t come up.”
Henry smiled at that. He took a furtive glance around the platform for eavesdroppers before he replied. “I admit I don’t want to go to war, Mister, but I expect it’s my duty to give it a try. There’s a lot I could do for my country if I was in the Army.”
“Sorry to hear that. Good luck just the same, whether you get in or not. I reckon we’ll see each other around.”
“I hope so. Thanks again for keeping me from getting my head stove in. Which way you headed?”
“West of town.”
“My uncle’s place is to the east, just yonder, so I’ll take my leave.”
The man in the bowler hat watched the two men part and tapped his lip with his finger while he figured out his next move. The traveler was sure trouble, but something was not right with the blond-haired youth. He sensed it, and his senses were never wrong. He picked up his kit and took a leisurely stroll down the street that led east.
***
It didn’t take the traveler long to walk the three blocks from the Boynton train station, through the still-shuttered downtown, and turn onto the dirt road that led out into the country.
The summer morning was already warm, and promised to be uncomfortable once the sun was high. It made for a beautiful sunrise, though, the dusty sky tinted faintly pink by the light of dawn. There was no wind to stir the leaves on the few scrubby trees that grew between the road and the endless miles of barbed-wire fence enclosing the checkerboard of pasture and cropland. The traveler had noted that the leaves of the trees had turned bottom-side-up. It was going to rain soon. Judging by the state of the crops, he figured that a shower would be most welcome around here.
