Final Justice

by Patricia Hagan

  He hurried around to his side and got in, then melted her with a wide grin. "You look so cute sitting there. I've always thought you were the prettiest girl in school."

  She could not speak nor breathe in what had to be the most wonderful moment of her life.

  He took a flask from beneath his seat. "Here. It'll warm you right up."

  Wanting to please him, she drank and was instantly seized by great, choking gasps as the whiskey hit her stomach like liquid fire.

  He laughed and slapped her on the back, then took a big swallow himself. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "Hey, how'd you like to go for a little ride?" Without waiting for answer, he took off with tires spinning.

  Once they were on the highway and speeding along, he said, "There's just nothing like driving at night when nobody's around. I can go as fast as I want."

  Despite how happy she was to be with him, Orlena was scared. They seemed to be hurtling through the night. Suddenly she blurted, "Does Ramona mind when you drive so fast?"

  "Are you kidding? She can't stay out this late. Her parents hate this car anyway. Her mother told my old man it was a sin for him to spend so much on a car when he could give the money to the Lord. And you know what he said? That she had no call to lecture him because, if it weren't for him, there wouldn't be a church, and her husband wouldn't have a job preaching there, so she'd best keep her nose out of his business."

  He took another drink. "But your folks don't even know you're out, sweetheart. That's what's nice about being with you. And we can do anything we want." He squeezed her thigh.

  Orlena jumped.

  With a chuckle, he began to run his fingers up and down, kneading the flesh through her thin wool skirt. "Don't be scared. I've always wanted to touch you, 'cause you've got meat on your bones. Not like Ramona. She's too skinny." He made a face.

  Orlena giggled and relaxed a little. If he wanted to touch her, it was okay. That meant he liked her.

  She leaned her head back and dreamily said, "I don't think I've ever had such a good time."

  "Well, honey pie, it's only going to get better."

  She fell against him as he swerved off the highway without warning and onto a dirt road.

  She righted herself. "Where are we going?"

  "Ever been to Hampton Pond?"

  She shook her head. She knew about it though. Everybody did. It was where Buddy and his friends went to swim in the summer. His family owned it, and every year on the 4th of July, there was a big picnic, and girls were invited with their families, of course. But Orlena had never been included. Village folks never were.

  "Well, you're going now. There's a little cabin with a fireplace, and I'll get us a fire going in no time so we can warm up before heading back to town. I think Dad's got a bottle stashed away there, too." Turning the flask up, he downed what was left, then tossed it aside.

  The car was bumping along, and Orlena found herself being constantly jounced against him, and while that was nice, she was getting nervous. "I don't know, Buddy. Maybe we shouldn't. I mean, if anybody ever found out, my reputation would be ruined, and my pa would kill me."

  "How's anybody going to find out? You think I'd tell? Hell, no. It'll be okay. Honest." He pulled her close. "To tell you the truth, I've had my eye on you for quite a while, honey pie, and I've been hoping we'd get a chance to get to know each other better. You're a cute dish."

  Orlena felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Th.. thank you," she stammered. "It... it's nice of you to say that."

  "Nice?" He squeezed her. "Honey pie, you're what's nice, and me and you are gonna have lots of fun together, okay?"

  She felt silly just bobbing her head up and down as she whispered, "Okay," but couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "Yep, we're gonna have us some good times, all right. You can stay out nearly all night, since your folks are bound to be sound asleep by the time you get off work. They won't know how late you get in, and if they do, hell, tell 'em you had to work overtime. If they check, I'll see that you're covered. And if you're real nice, I might even fix it so the hours you're out with me will show up on your time card. How's that? You'll be getting paid to have fun with me."

  He squeezed her again, and this time his hand dropped to her breast, which unnerved her almost as much as what he had just said. Dear Lord, she couldn't stay out all night. She was a good girl, and sooner or later someone would find out, and then she'd be ruined forevermore. Besides, his saying she'd get paid to be with him somehow didn't sound nice.

  She eased away from him. "I couldn't do that, Buddy, and I really think I should be getting home."

  "Oh, don't be a baby."

  She knew he was annoyed, but she persisted, "Please, Buddy. If my pa wakes up and finds me not home, I'm going to be in all kinds of trouble."

  "That won't happen, now relax. You're starting to get on my nerves with your whining. We're gonna have us some fun."

  He gave the steering wheel a sharp yank to the right, and a log cabin seemed to appear like magic, big and ghostly in the lights.

  "Buddy, I want to go home." Fear was a spider, creeping up her taut spine.

  "Not till I have another drink."

  "I'll just wait here," she said thinly.

  He grabbed her arm. "Come on. It's too cold out here."

  She yielded, not wanting to make him any madder than he already was. He might just go off and leave her, and then how would she get home?

  He found the key hidden over the door and let them in.

  Striking a match, he glanced around and found an old oil lantern. Once it was lit, Orlena could see the tiny room and its sparse furnishings: a sofa, a long wooden table with benches down both sides, and an iron-postered bed. One corner of the room was set up as a kitchen, with cabinets and a sink with a water pump beside it.

  "Pop thinks he's so smart," Buddy said as he stooped by the fireplace and pulled at a loose board. "He always makes everybody leave before he hides his hooch, but I've been knowing where he kept it for years." He took out a bottle, drank, then offered it to her.

  She shook her head firmly. "No. No more. I don't like it."

  She was starting to really get scared at the way he was looking at her like he could see right through her clothes. "Okay, Buddy, you've had your drink. Let's go."

  "Not till we warm you up, sugar." He set the bottle aside. "You've been wanting this, and don't pretend you haven't. I hate a tease."

  He tried to kiss her, and she pushed him away. "Stop it, Buddy, please. I'm not that kind of girl."

  "Not that kind of girl," he mimicked, screwing up his face as he shoved her away from him so hard she stumbled and fell back on the bed. He threw himself on top of her. "Don't be stupid. I can make life real easy for you and your family. You can use extra money, and I've got plenty. All you gotta do is be nice..."

  "No, Buddy. Let me go." She pounded on his back, shaking her head from side to side. "If you don't, I swear I'll tell...."

  He slapped her, and as she whimpered with pain, shouted, "You little fool. You say one word, and your whole family gets fired. And nobody would believe you, anyway, because I'll say you threw yourself at me, wanting favors, and when I turned you down, you took revenge. Now don't be stupid, Orlena."

  She continued to fend him off, and he finally lost his temper and hit her till she was dazed. Then he found a rope and lashed her arms to the bedposts.

  "I don't want to have to rip your clothes," he said calmly as he proceeded to undress her. "You probably don't have many."

  He was pulling at her bloomers when she rallied and kicked him. With a painful grunt, he fell back, but only for an instant. He doubled up his fist and pressed it against her chin. "No more, understand? Or you'll have a broken nose to explain."

  Terrified, she could only lay there as he had his way with her. It hurt terribly, and when he saw the blood afterwards, said, "So you've never done it before. Who would've thought?" He shrugged. "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. S
omebody had to be first."

  Orlena was crying, and he yelled at her to shut up. Between sobs, she begged him to let her go, but he told her he wasn't through with her yet. She saw how he kept going to the door and looking out, and she wondered, through the pain racking her body, what he was waiting for. Then headlights flashed, and fresh terror ripped to the core of her soul as Buddy shouted, "Hey, it's about damn time you got here. I need to be home before light."

  Orlena stared in wide-eyed horror as Hardy Moon and Burch Cleghorn walked in. They were Buddy's best friends.

  "Oh, please, God, no." She strained at the ropes as they came toward the bed, both of them grinning.

  Burch said, "You really did it, Buddy. You really got her here."

  "But what's with the ropes?" Hardy pointed and looked to Buddy for explanation. "You said she'd be easy. You said you'd give her a few bucks, and she'd do us all."

  Buddy explained, "She turned out to be a tease, but don't worry about it. It's all an act. She makes like she don't like it, but she does."

  "Is that so, Orlena?" Burch fumbled with the buttons on his fly. "You playing games with us? Well, that's all right with me. Just so I get what I want."

  He lowered himself on top of her, as Hardy told him to hurry up so he could have his turn.

  And Orlena closed her eyes and prayed to die.

  Chapter 7

  Luke kept a grip on Tammy's arm to keep her from stumbling as they walked toward the funeral home. Hardy Moon, whom Luke could now easily kill with his bare hands, had really let things go to pot since he married Lucy Taylor and took over the business. The yard was mostly weeds, the picket fence was rotting, and the two-story Victorian house made him think about the one in Psycho. After what his mother had told him on her death bed, Luke was tempted to start acting like Norman Bates.

  "Thanks to Hardy, this place is a disgrace," Alma grumbled. "Too bad it's the only funeral home in town."

  Luke could agree with that but for a reason Alma would never guess. His first impulse had been to have his mother taken to a funeral home in Birmingham, but that would have raised questions he didn't want to answer. In order to limit Hardy's contact with her, Luke refused to have her embalmed.

  As they neared the front porch, Alma whined, "It's not right you won't talk to me, Luke. I told you I was sorry about what happened, but I was mad at you, and besides, I didn't think it was that serious, that your mother was really about to..."

  Alma fell silent as he nodded toward Tammy. It wasn't the time to talk about it, and he didn't want to anyway. It was over. And so was his marriage. He was leaving as soon as he moved them from Junior's place. He planned to stay in touch with Tammy, help with her support, and if she ever wanted to visit, he'd send her a ticket. But he was through with Hampton, by God, even though his gut burned with hunger for revenge.

  Since his mother had poured out her soul, he had thought of nothing else, except trying to come up with a way to make Buddy Hampton, Burch Cleghorn, and Hardy Moon pay...

  and pay big. But so far he hadn't figured out a way to do it short of cold-blooded murder.

  * * *

  Alma was worried about how Luke was acting. Now, more than ever, she wanted to hold her marriage together, but he was freezing her out. He hadn't even talked to her about the funeral arrangements, and she considered it a slap in the face that he'd asked Sara Speight to see to everything.

  She had also been surprised when Hardy called to indignantly inform her that Luke had refused to let his mother be embalmed and asked her to get him to change his mind. Alma had then called Sara to ask why that decision had been made, and Sara had explained that it was Luke's doing, and it was perfectly legal because embalming was not required if the body wasn't to be transported across the state line.

  "Well, people will talk when they hear she wasn't," Alma had argued, then tartly added, "And you ought to stay out of it, anyway."

  Sara had responded in a patronizing tone that had made her all the madder. "I'm just doing what Luke asked me to do, Alma, and trying to make things as easy as possible for him. I'm worried about him. He's taking this real hard."

  Furious, Alma had fired back, "Well, you'd best remember he's my husband, Sara, and let me do the worrying about him."

  Sara had calmly retorted, "If you're upset about his asking me to help, perhaps you should talk to him about it."

  Alma had slammed the phone down. Talk to Luke? That was a laugh. He'd been like a zombie since Orlena had died. Lynn Waller said that when she went into the room before the end of her shift Saturday morning, Orlena had been dead for some time and starting to get stiff, and Luke was just sitting there like he was in a trance.

  She decided to try again to reach him. "Don't you think it was nice of Preacher Dan to say he'd do the funeral, Luke? After all, Orlena didn't have a church, but I've been going to Preacher Dan's, and he said he'd be glad to. His church is the Gospel Light United out on the Talladega Highway. He came and got it started up here last winter, and it's really growing. Folks come from all over."

  * * *

  Luke had no use for churches, and neither had his mother, not after the way they'd both been treated. But she deserved a Christian burial, no matter what folks thought of her. And the way he saw it, the whole damn town owed her an apology for how they had treated her all these years. It didn't matter they didn't know the truth and never would. If they were such good Christians, they shouldn't have sat in judgment and condemned her to find the only peace she knew in a bottle of whiskey. They had killed her, the town and the devils that had raped her.

  The door opened and Hardy stepped out on the porch, a practiced look of condolence on his pudgy face. "My sympathies, Luke."

  Luke pushed by him. The air inside was thick with cloying odors: stale cigarette smoke, flowers from past funerals, old ladies' heavy colognes. Wine-colored velvet drapes, thick with dust, sealed out any hint of sunlight, and the overhead chandelier with its small-watt bulbs cast an eery light over the faded, sickly wallpaper with its pattern of purple roses.

  The house had been built before the turn of the century. The floors were warped with age, and it was like walking uphill to pass through the parlor, cluttered with worn sofas and folding chairs. They were almost to the viewing room. Luke could see a corner of the gray metal coffin and stopped where he was and said to Alma, "You and Tammy go ahead."

  Hardy exchanged a puzzled glance with Alma, who shrugged. Then she took Tammy's hand, leading the way as she said, "Now remember, sweetie, it's like Grandma is just sleeping. She's gone to be with the angels, and one day, if you're very, very good, you'll see her again, and..."

  Luke shut out the sound. He didn't want to think about angels and the afterlife. It was the here and now that had him tied up in knots.

  "Don't you want to see her, Luke?" Hardy asked solicitously. "She looks real nice, even if she is starting to turn a little dark because you didn't want her embalmed. It's a good thing you set the funeral for today, by the way. I couldn't have guaranteed we could open the coffin by tomorrow. But you go on in, and..."

  "I will when I'm ready."

  "Well, of course," Hardy said uneasily, "and you just take all the time you want, Luke. We've got a while yet. It's a shame you weren't up to being here last night. Some folks came to pay their respects, and I know they would've liked to see you."

  Did Buddy Hampton come, Luke felt like screaming? Did he come to pay his respects to the woman he had raped? And what about the honorable attorney and church deacon, Burch Cleghorn?

  Luke knew he had to stop thinking like that or he was going to lose control and kill Hardy here and now. Then he'd wind up going to jail while Burch and Buddy went their merry way. He wanted all three of them to suffer, by damn.

  He saw Tammy was crying as Alma brought her out of the viewing room, leading her to sit in the parlor. Hardy wandered away, and Luke continued to just stand there, reluctant to see his mother in her coffin. He heard others arriving. People from Alma's churc
h, he supposed. He had not expected much of a turnout for the funeral. His mother had been a loner and had no close friends that he knew about. Matt and Kirby and their wives would probably be there, and Sara, of course.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Norma Breedlove heading straight toward him, all set to gush sympathy. To escape, he stepped quickly into the viewing room and closed the door after him. Wooden legs carried him to the coffin. Sara had told him she had chosen what was called a "full couch" model, which had one long lid, because it didn't cost as much as the other kind that was divided top and bottom, and all of his mother could be seen, not just from the waist up.

  He could not bring himself to focus on her face just yet. Instead he fastened his gaze on her hands, which were clasped just below her bosom. There were no rings on her fingers. She had never owned any jewelry. Other things were more important, she always said, but he knew it was only because there had never been any extra money. They had barely survived when he was growing up. His clothes had come from Salvation Army barrels. So had hers, but she said she didn't need much. After all, it made no difference what she wore to clean cabins at Junior's Motor Court or wash dishes at his cafe.

  Finally, he forced himself to look at her. Somebody had put makeup on, rouge, powder, lipstick. Even her eyebrows had been darkened with a pencil. She almost looked as pretty as she used to before the whiskey took its toll.

  He didn't have a lot of good memories growing up, and the ones he did have were mostly thanks to her. Even though she'd had a rough time supporting the two of them, he had never once heard her complain. What she did say was that he was the biggest blessing she had ever been given. Now, knowing what he did, he marveled that she could have felt that way because, if things had been different, some nice guy would probably have come along and married her, and she'd have lived a good and happy life instead of winding up with a lifetime of pain and misery.

  Luke was unmindful of how his hands, gripping the coffin, had begun to shake. He was fast becoming lost in the throes of the vision of how it had been for her that cruel, fateful night when he had been created by the wild sperm from any one of three devils.