“Must have changed his mind about stopping. C’mon son, let’s go.” He glanced in our direction. “You too, Pepper. Come go with us.”
“I don’t want to.”
He studied Cale for a second and made up his mind. “I know, but I didn’t ask if you wanted to go. C’mon.”
I followed Grandpa to the truck and after a few seconds, Pepper did too, with a sullen slump to her shoulders. She gave out a peeved sigh and slid onto the seat and scooted over beside Grandpa. When I got into the cab, I saw Cale still standing where she’d left him. He pointed his forefinger at me like a gun, and fired with his thumb.
I fired back, but didn’t feel as confident.
There was a wooden case of cokes in the floorboard and I rested my feet on them as we rode in silence. Before we got up the driveway to our house, a weaving car passed us on the two-lane highway.
“I’god, that’s Lonnie Wells and he’s drunk again.” He jerked the wheel into our drive and slid to a stop. “Y’all get out and take them cokes out with you. Hurry!”
I jumped out of the passenger door and Pepper piled out after. I grabbed the handle on the case and tried to drag it out, but being full of cokes, it was too heavy for me.
“Hurry boy!”
“I’m trying,” I said through gritted teeth, but the edge of the case caught the door frame and stuck.
Grandpa got more and more aggravated. “I got to git! He’s gonna kill somebody.”
“Dammit!” Pepper whispered as she leaned in with me and we both gave it a yank. It shot out of the door and crashed onto the gravel at our feet. Two bottles broke with a hiss and we drug it another foot to finally get out of the way. Grandpa threw out my half-empty RC, barely missing Pepper’s nose. It hit the ground, spewing itself empty.
With the passenger door still open, Grandpa shoved the gear shift into reverse, backed out on the highway and shot away in a cloud of rocks and dust. The door slammed shut as the old engine coughed and caught with a growl.
“Son of a bitch!” Pepper shouted, angry that she’d been hit with rocks when all she really wanted to do was sit up at the store and make eyes at Cale Westlake.
“Pepper!” Miss Becky called from the porch. “You and me need to have a talk with a cake of soap while Top carries them bottles up here.”
I grinned at her as Miss Becky slammed the screen door closed. “She’s gonna wash your mouth out again.”
“How’d she hear that?”
“I’ve already told you that little woman can hear better than she lets on.”
“Well, shit.
Chapter Fifty-three
It didn’t take more than a minute to catch up with Lonnie Wells. Ned was right, the six-foot-six, full-blood Comanche was drunk as Cooter Brown. The chase might have been longer, but Lonnie was hungry after spending all day at one of the beer joints across the river in Oklahoma, so he coasted into the parking lot at Neal’s store to get a bite to eat.
Ned slid to a stop right behind him and was out of the truck before Lonnie could fumble his own door completely open. Ned grabbed a handful of Lonnie’s shirt collar and roughly yanked the drunk out of the seat.
“What the hell are you doing, Ned?” He staggered on the rusting bottle caps and held onto his car for support.
“Arresting you because you’re drunk.” Ned reached into the deep pockets of his overalls for his cuffs. In seconds, he had Lonnie’s hands secured behind his back.
“Well, I’d like to oblige you, but you ain’t constable no more. What is this, a citizen’s arrest?”
Ned leaned the drunk over his own trunk. “Nope. This is official…” He drifted off as Donny Wayne Foster drove by again, this time turning his face away from Ned and his prisoner.
Still loafing at the store, Ty Cobb and Jimmy Foxx joined Grandpa beside Lonnie’s car. “Bet you’re surprised, aincha’ Lonnie?” Ty Cobb laughed.
“Did you see that?” Ned asked the two men.
Jimmy Foxx watched the highway. “What, Donny Wayne going past again?”
Ned stood beside Lonnie, his hand against his back so that he stayed bent over the car’s trunk. “Yeah. He’s acting like Charlie Rollins.”
They all knew who he was referring to. Charlie Rollins was one of the most peculiar men in Center Springs, and he’d rather turn away from anyone he passed so he wouldn’t have to wave.
“Wonder what that’s all about?” Ty Cobb asked.
“I have an idea. Get in the truck, Lonnie. You’re going to jail.”
“For what?”
Ned sighed. “For being stupid, Lonnie.”
Chapter Fifty-four
Ned was frustrated that he had to drive Lonnie back to the house and change cars to take him to jail. He shot up the long gravel drive and parked beside his sedan. Lonnie was lucky that it was a crisp, fall day, because Ned moved the complaining drunk out of the truck and tucked him into the back seat of his sedan while he went inside.
He almost wished he hadn’t come back, because the table was full of sticky coke bottles. Top was in the kitchen, dabbing at a cut on his hand from one of the bottles that had exploded when the wooden case fell to the ground. Blood dripped into the sink and the youngster was mad enough to spit nails. Hootie whined and anxiously rushed from one child to the other.
Pepper was in the bathroom, gagging and squalling as Miss Becky calmly lectured her on the evils of cussing while washing her granddaughter’s mouth out with soap.
He stopped for a moment, confused at the commotion. “Mama, I’m taking Lonnie Wells to jail and I’ll be back directly.”
“That’s fine. You can bring him in here and I’ll give him the same as Pepper. A good mouth washing will do him good in the eyes of the Lord.”
“I don’t doubt it, but I have other things to do. Oh, Top’s bleeding in the kitchen.”
“Oh my lord. Is it bad?”
“Naw. I’ve cut myself worse shaving.”
Popping gravel told Ned someone was coming up the drive. He stepped outside to see Cody coasting to a stop in his El Camino. “Well, looky who’s here. Howdy boy, I was about to give you a call on the radio.”
“Heard you had a little excitement.” He got out and slammed the half-breed truck’s door.
“Yep, I got Lonnie cuffed up in the back seat there. How’s that blowed-up thumb of yours?”
Cody held up his bandaged hand. “Sore as a risin’, but it’ll heal.” He leaned over to peer into the car. “Howdy Lonnie. You look kinda green. Don’t you puke in Ned’s car.”
“He better not. Listen, I’m gonna carry Lonnie to jail, but I want to run by Donny Wayne Foster’s, too. You got time to go with me?”
“Again? I was over there a few days ago and didn’t see nothing.”
“Well, we need to go again. I’ll explain it later, when Lonnie’s out of earshot. We’ll go when I get back.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“All right then, go inside and save Pepper. Top might need doctorin’ and I’ll be back directly.”
Cody frowned. “Top’s hurt? What’s the matter with Pepper?”
“You’ll see.”
The twenty minute drive to Chisum gave Lonnie time to pass out in the back seat before they got there. Ned drug him out of the car and had him checked into a cell faster than it took to accept the congratulations of those who found out that he was back in business.
He didn’t even hang around long enough to visit with O.C. Ned never did like to go in the courthouse in his overalls. It didn’t feel right, so he left as quickly as possible to get back home.
He felt a little better as he drove back toward Center Springs. The recent norther had loosened most of the leaves, and the highway was covered in red and orange. As he topped the hill leading down to the creek bridge, he saw four cars preparing to drag race down the arrow-straight county road, toward the curve at Ned’s house. He stopped on the shoulder and watched the drivers rev their engines.
A slender teenager walked betwe
en the cars on the yellow dividing line and turned back toward the first two racers, raising his arms. Seeing Ned across the creek bridge, he pointed and made a comment that caused heads to pop out of the windows.
Ned knew they were laughing.
So was he.
He picked up the handset from the hanger on the dash and keyed the microphone. “Cody. Can you hear me?” He waited, hoping Cody was close enough to hear his Motorola. Below, the racers were deep into conversation. He heard the engines rev once again.
The speaker crackled. “Go ahead Ned. Glad you finally got that radio fixed.”
“Suppose so. You still at the house?”
“Yessir.”
“Pull your car down the drive and block the road right quick.”
There was a pause. “All right. I’m doing it. You wanna tell me why?”
“Because we’re about to bust up a drag race. You got a ’55 Chrysler and a new Ford heading your way.”
He replaced the microphone. The signal man raised and quickly lowered his arms. White smoke billowed out from under the racer’s rear tires and they shot down the straight highway, accompanied by the scream of straining engines.
The signal man raised his arm and waved at Ned, who waved back.
He shifted into gear and coasted down to the other two waiting for their turn at the starting line.
The first pair of racers reached the sharp curve and slowed. They disappeared around the corner. Seconds later, the Chrysler shot back toward the creek with a shriek of tires. When the escaping car saw the bottleneck of his friends and Ned’s sedan, he made a hard left turn and raced down the only escape available, a dirt road between two fields, leading north into the bottoms.
Ned caught a glimpse through the open side window of two people in the front seat. He recognized Harold Foster driving the Chrysler. The passenger was a girl with her hair tied up in a blue bandana, the young woman Ned met at Martin Davis’ house who kept house for him before his death.
“Got the Ford,” came a crackle through Ned’s speaker. He keyed the microphone to answer, but to his frustration, the radio wouldn’t work.
The kids in the other cars didn’t know what to do. One of their friends had disappeared, and the other sped off toward the bottoms. They waited as Ned stopped his car behind the Studebaker and got out.
He stepped up between the cars. “How you boys doin’?”
“Fine, Mister Ned,” the signal man with a flattop answered.
“Y’all want to get out?” He peered into the Plymouth, then the Studebaker. “Well hidy Thomas, Pete, Seth. Y’all wanna kill that motor for a little bit?”
The three nodded sullenly. Flattop, whose name was Eric, stayed put on the dividing line.
“Y’all want to get out of them cars?” Ned asked again.
“What for?” Thomas asked.
“Well, ’cause I said so, mostly.”
“You ain’t the law no more, Mr. Ned.”
“You’d better think again, Seth.” He tapped the badge on his shirt with a forefinger. “I done hauled Lonnie Wells to jail for being drunk half an hour ago, so I guess I’m back in business.”
“Aw, naw.” Eric suddenly deflated.
The redheaded driver in the re-bored Studebaker started to let off the clutch when Ned put his hand on the door. “Won’t do you no good, Pete. Cody has the road blocked up there, and running off down in the bottoms will only make me mad. I know where you live, son. Shut that motor off and let’s get done here so I can go on down there and get Harold.”
When they killed their engines, Ned knew things had returned to normal.
Fifteen minutes later, Cody drove down to the creek bridge, made a U-turn, and parked on the shoulder behind Ned’s car. They finished with the racers, and turned them loose with a stiff warning.
Cody watched them drive off. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to haul them in, Ned.”
“No need. They’re kids who like to race, and racing ain’t much of a crime.”
“They’ll line up again when you’re gone.”
The old constable shrugged. “And people will keep drinking, husbands and wives will keep fighting, and folks will keep making whiskey. It gives us something to do. Catching them was most of the battle. Now they’ll find another place to race, or we’ll catch them again and sting ’em a little harder.”
“Did you see for sure who was in that car that got away?” Cody stared down the dirt road.
“Yeah, it was Harold driving, one of that Foster bunch.”
“That’s what I thought, but he wasn’t in there alone. He had a gal in there with him that I saw at Donny Wayne’s when I went there a few days ago.” Before Ned could answer, Cody’s radio crackled. He picked up the handset through the El Camino’s open window. “Go ahead, Martha.”
“Cody, where are you?”
“I’m standing here at the Sanders Creek bridge.”
“Good. Get ahold of Ned and y’all go over to the Oklahoma side and meet Sheriff Matthews. He’s found a body.”
“Does he know who it is?”
“Well, I should have said the rest of a body. They believe its Merle Clark. Now they can join him up at the funeral home with his head.”
Overhearing the conversation, Ned glanced northward as if he could see the river a mile away. “Or what was left of it after the fire.”
Cody told Martha that he’d be along directly and replaced the microphone.
“We ain’t going across the river right now,” Ned told him.
“But the sheriff is waiting for us there.”
“I know it, but I don’t believe Kendal’s in Oklahoma, and we don’t need to see what they have over there. My radio must be about blowed up. Get John on yours and have him come meet us at Donny Wayne’s.”
“Well, if that’s where we’re fixin’ to go, we don’t need John just for a visit.”
“We might. I know where that little quail has her nest, now.”
Chapter Fifty-five
After I told Grandpa what I suspected on the square that night, he agreed, but told me to hold my horses. “I’ll need more than a suspicion before we go over to that man’s house and start accusing folks.”
It made me mad that he wouldn’t do nothing. On those television shows, they always figured out who the bad guy was and everybody hurries over to arrest him. After the commercial, he’d confess on the stand like on Perry Mason, and they’d send him to prison.
“Mighty fine thinkin’, hoss, but give me time to study on this for a while. Then we’ll see.”
Then we’ll see. From adults, that usually meant they didn’t want to do what you asked, or they’d let whatever you asked them lay for a while before they forgot it.
Pepper’s mouth was still soapy and I’d quit bleeding when we heard the engines revving up down by the bridge. We went out on the north porch with Hootie, watching the race, because you can see the straight run from the creek bridge to our hill. Uncle Cody was in the yard, hoorawing us about bleeding and soap bubbles and such, when he heard Grandpa’s voice on the radio. He trotted over and answered. About two seconds later he whipped the El Camino around and shot off the drive.
We heard the squall of tires as the race started up, and saw Uncle Cody round the hill below us and cut off the cars. The Chrysler whipped around in the middle of the highway leaving streaks of hot rubber on the concrete and shot back the way it came. I saw a woman in the passenger seat hanging on for dear life, but she didn’t seem scared and it looked like she was yelling at the driver to hurry.
He must have been listening, ’cause he tromped that accelerator and the Chrysler’s carburetor sucked air as the motor roared. I knew neither Uncle Cody nor Grandpa was going to catch a suped-up car like that, and sure enough, he turned left between two fields, pitched off in a cloud of dust, and was gone.
Uncle Cody spent a few minutes talking to the kids in the Ford before they started their engine and drove toward the store. He went on down to the creek brid
ge where Grandpa was still talking with the people in the other cars. We watched the tiny figures for a long time. They all milled around for a while, and then the racers slowly scattered and drove off. It was a surprise that no one went to jail.
“Grandpa must have got soft while he was off,” Pepper said.
“Naw, they don’t want to arrest anybody today.”
I might have been right, because he and Uncle Cody stood there visiting on the shoulder. They finally got into their cars and took off toward the bottom, throwing up dust like the Chrysler had done a few minutes before.
“Now what are they doing?” Pepper turned to me like I knew the answer.
Surprisingly, I did. “They’re going to Donny Wayne’s.”
“Bullshit. How the hell do you know that?” Pepper flinched when she said it, and watched the screen door to see if Miss Becky was going to come boiling out. She was still spitting soap and didn’t want any more.
I couldn’t explain it, but I knew after seeing how Donny Wayne acted at the store. She hadn’t been paying attention to anything but Cale Westlake. “That was Harold driving. They’re gonna go down there and arrest him, and it serves him right. But I think Donny Wayne is up to something, and Grandpa will find out when he gets there.”
For a long moment she didn’t say anything, but suddenly her eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m not sure.”
She turned her face toward the north. “Donny Wayne’s old shack ain’t far.”
My stomach fluttered. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“We ain’t going over there. Grandpa will wear us out again, and my butt is still sore from the whipping we got over the Exchange.”
She spat out some more soap. “Don’t you want to watch him arrest Harold?”
“Not really.”
“We can go down and stay on the road. He won’t get mad at us farting around down there. We do it all the time.”
“Not when he’s on the way to put somebody in jail.”
“Well, I’m going.” She hurried toward the gate. Hootie followed and almost tripped her in his excitement. “I’ll let you know how exciting it was when I get back, ’fraidy cat.”
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