That opened the door to more intimate conversation, and she wound up telling Luke the story of how she had come to marry Rudy in the first place, out of fear of being on her own in a world she never learned to cope with.
He listened and thought he understood and dared to share a bit about his own past: the shame of growing up illegitimate, having to get married when he was still a kid. He did not, however, tell her of his quest for revenge. That was a secret he vowed he would, unlike his mother, carry to the grave. Hardy and Burch and Buddy might wonder, but he was damned if he would let them know that he was aware that one of them was his father.
"Don't you ever wonder who your daddy was?" Emma Jean had innocently asked.
And he had given her the answer he always gave himself when he pondered the same thing: "Nope. Being here is all that matters. How I came to be doesn't."
When they finally called it a night, and he got up to leave, he marveled at what a tiny thing she was, her head barely coming to the bottom of his chin. Lord, how he ached to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight so nobody could ever hurt her again. Instead, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki uniform jacket and reminded her that she had his number if she needed him.
He saw her a few days later, and, sure enough, Rudy had bought her a car, a 1950 Ford that was a real klunker and blew black smoke out the exhaust pipe. She was proud of it, nonetheless, and waved and grinned at Luke the morning he passed her as she was turning into the laundromat.
He glanced at his watch, saw it was five to eight, and ever since he made it a habit to try to be at the corner at that time every morning. So far, he hadn't missed her a single day and was starting to wonder if maybe she was timing him, too.
He had sense enough to realize he was playing with fire, and it worried him that he didn't care. There was just something about her that warmed a spot in his heart that had been cold for a long, long time, maybe since that day he got the letter in Nam from Sara telling him why she could never return his love.
Suddenly headlights loomed in the distance, coming from town. Luke got out of his car fast, making sure the overhead light did not flash on to give him away. Crouching behind a tree, he waited for the truck to turn into the clearing and saw it was Junior. At the same time, lights approached from the north, from Cheaha, and in a few minutes, a sleek Cadillac pulled in.
Luke stealthily crossed the road and eased into the drainage ditch running alongside so he could be close enough to hear what was being said without being noticed. He recognized Junior's voice.
"You got the ten jugs I asked for?"
"Didn't have that much. Only ran twenty gallons this week and had to send some of that to Coosa County."
Luke was relieved to hear it was Early Raffitt because he had never been known to sell the contaminated whiskey known as rotgut. Rotgut was the result of bootleggers running their brew through rusting radiators or tossing an animal carcass into the mash to make it work faster.
Junior whined, "I told you, I'm all out, and I got to make money on this before the law starts nosing around."
Luke smiled. The law already is nosing around, Junior.
"It's the best I can do. Ten bucks a jug."
"Ten bucks? Shit, man, that's highway robbery. How come you went up? It was only seven last time."
"It's getting scarce. And how come you're bellyachin'? You'll sell it for twenty."
"I'll sell it by the drink and make more'n that."
"So quit your bitchin' and let's get this stuff in your truck. You know I do my business fast. You can't never tell who'll come by."
"No, you can't," Luke said as he stepped out of the ditch and into the glow of the Cadillac's trunk light, gun in hand. "Just hold it right where you are, boys."
Early paled. He was already on parole. Arrest would send him back to Kilby prison in Montgomery. He raised his arms in surrender. "Listen, sheriff, this is my first run since I got out. It'll be my last, I swear. Just gimme a break. I've got a family to look after. If I go back to prison, they'll starve."
"You're lying. You've been running shine for weeks."
"Please..."
Luke waved the gun for silence and looked to Junior. "And what's your excuse? I let you off last time, remember?"
Junior grinned. "Yeah, because we both know you owe me on account of your momma."
Luke fought the urge to crack him across the face with his gun butt. "That debt is paid. Shut your mouth about it. Now you and Early get those jugs unloaded and then smash them on the rocks over there." He beamed his flashlight on the ditch.
Junior and Early moved quickly to obey, and soon shards of broken glass sparkled in the glow of the flashlight, the air heavy with the sour-sweet smell of whiskey.
When they finished, Luke went to Junior's truck, took the keys from the ignition, and told Junior to get in and sit down. He then went to the front of Early's Cadillac and used the butt of the flashlight to knock out both headlights. Early dared not protest, quaking where he stood. Luke then walked to the back of the car and smashed the tail lights.
"Now," he said finally, "I'm letting you off this time, but don't let me catch you in Buford County again. You got that?"
"Oh, yes, yes," Early babbled gratefully. "You won't see me around here. I swear you won't, and..."
Luke cut him off. "You can either start walking or wait till daylight to drive. Either way, get out of my sight."
Early took off running down the road to be swallowed up in the darkness.
Luke walked to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, and got in. Returning the keys to the ignition, he switched on the dashlights and saw how Junior sat rigidly behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, worried eyes staring straight ahead.
"So how much time do you need to get your affairs in order before you're shipped off to Kilby?" Luke asked matter-of-factly.
Junior cried, "You ain't gonna really send me off, are you, Luke? Not after all I did for your ma..."
"We talked about that last time, remember?"
"So I slipped up. I won't do it again. I swear. But you can't send me off. You think back what I did for her. I took her in. She had no place else to go. She would've starved if not for me, and you know it."
"Maybe so, but you also treated her like shit, Junior."
"So I'd get drunk once in a while and cranky. But I never tossed her out, did I? Even after you was grown and left home, I let her and your wife and young'un stay there. You owe me, Luke. You know you do."
"And I told you, that debt was paid when I let you off the hook last time. You promised to go straight. You didn't keep your word. Think about that down at Kilby when some big gorilla bends you over a chair."
Junior beat his fists against the steering wheel. "It'll kill me to go to Kilby. I'll never survive. I'm an old man."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I hear you moved that new waitress of yours—Reba Lou, is that her name?—into your cabin. I also hear she's a real wildcat in bed. An old man couldn't hang onto something like that, now could he?"
"It don't matter. It don't matter. It'll kill me to go to prison. You gotta let me off, Luke. I swear, it won't happen again."
Luke lit a cigarette, then, with a deep exhale of smoke, said in a mock thoughtful tone, "Well, I might give you another chance if you do me a little favor."
Junior sat up straight, hope surging. "Anything, Luke. You name it, and I'll do it."
"Well, I was just thinking about how you shamed us white boys last night."
Junior gulped. "Huh? What're you talking about?"
"I heard you got some colored kids to screw for the gang at the fruit stand."
"Yeah, but what..."
"I also heard they put on quite a show."
"Well..."
"The way I see it, we can't have colored folks outdoing white folks when it comes to having sex, now can we?"
Junior wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "I don't know what you mean."
Lu
ke turned sideways in the seat so he could meet Junior's anxious eyes. "What I mean is that I think you owe it to your race to prove coloreds aren't any better that way. So the favor I am asking is for you and Reba Lou to put on a show for the boys just like those colored kids did. You know, show what a man you are, let them bet on how many times you can make Reba Lou pop her cookies. Make a game out of it." Luke chuckled and slapped his shoulder. "I know you can do it, Junior. Hell, you've always been my hero where the ladies are concerned," he added with a chuckle of contempt.
Junior looked sick.
Luke gave his shoulder another pat, only harder. "So how about it? I do you a favor by letting you off, and you do me a favor by showing up the colored kids. Have we got a deal?"
Junior closed his eyes, and his words were barely audible as he spoke around the knot in his throat. "I guess we do."
"Good. You let me know when you plan to take care of it, and if I can't be there, I'm sure I'll hear about it."
He opened the door and stepped outside, then leaned back in to add one last taunt. "I'm sure everybody in town will hear about it, too, so try to put on a real good show."
Luke walked away and could hear the sounds of Junior's rage echoing through the night.
One down.
Another on the way.
Rest in peace soon, Momma.
Chapter 12
Unless she was working overtime at the mill, Alma was usually around the house on Saturdays, so Luke tried to ease out before she was up and stirring. This time, however, he was too late.
He stepped out the back door to hear her cursing and banging around in the shed next to the house where the wringer washer was hooked up. Hurrying, he hoped to make his getaway before she saw him, but just then she came out of the shed.
"Luke, I've got to have a new washer. This one is blown to hell, and it's so old there's no sense in having it fixed again." A cold, brisk wind was blowing. She pulled her sweater tighter and glared up at him like it was his fault.
Despite the way she treated him, Luke felt sorry for her. Having to drag clothes out of the house to the shed in bad weather was hard enough, and with only a week left till Thanksgiving, winter was right around the corner.
"Tell you what. I've got to go to Birmingham Monday. I'll run by Sears and see about having one delivered. All we have to do is rip out one section of kitchen cabinets to make room so you can have it in the house."
"Oh, no. I'll pick it out, because I'll be the one to have to pay for it. You sure don't make enough to support us."
She railed on, "And meanwhile what about today's wash? I don't have time to lug it to the laundromat and wait for it, then lug it back and hang it on the line. You're going to have to help out around here for a change."
He pretended to be annoyed. "Well, get everything in the basket, and I'll drop it off and pick it up on my way home."
"Oh, praise the Lord," she cried dramatically, waving her arms over her head. "His royal highness has decided to help out around here. I don't believe it. Will wonders never cease? Jesus, help me hurry before he changes his mind."
* * *
Luke was glad to find Emma Jean working at the laundromat. Sometimes she had Saturdays off. Better still, when he carried in his laundry basket, there was nobody else around.
The air was heavy with the mingling odors of bleach and soap powder. Emma Jean was taking a load of wash out of a dryer. When she saw him, he hoped it wasn't wishful thinking, that her face really had lit up like a sparkler on the fourth of July because she was so glad to see him.
She rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand like she was afraid there might be dirty smudges. "Well, good morning, Luke. What brings you here?" She saw the basket. "Uh-oh. The washer died, right?"
"Afraid so. It's been on its last legs for a while now. Guess we're going to have to get a new one." He walked over to the row of machines and set the basket on the floor. "Would it be a bother for you to wash these for me? I can run by at lunch and take them home for Alma to hang on the line."
"Why not let me dry and fold them, too?"
"You sure you don't mind?"
"Mind? Well, it's not like I'm doing it for free, mister," she said with mock indignity. "You'll have to tip me a quarter."
"Heck, I'll give you a dollar."
They melted into an awkward silence, eyes locked, neither knowing what to say and both not wanting the moment to end. Luke was being needled by the awareness that his attraction to her was not just because he wanted to go to bed with her, which he did. Being around her made him think of things kids did when they were in high school: smooching in the back row at the movies, sharing hot fudge sundaes and walks along the creek bank holding hands, having picnics up to Cheaha Mountain on a Sunday afternoon.
But he was no kid, and they were both married, so what the hell was he doing standing there trying not to get a hard-on because she was standing so close he could feel her heat? He told himself to grow up and murmured, "Well, thanks a lot. I'd better get along."
"Say, would you like some pop before you go? Bert let the Pepsi man put a machine in yesterday, but he's not done yet, and it isn't locked. He left some for me to have free till he comes back Monday."
"Free Pepsi? Can't turn that down." He followed after her, eyes riveted on her swinging hips. "How are things going? You like it here?"
"I sure do. The work isn't hard, and I enjoy being around folks." She made a face. "About the only place I ever get to go is church with Miss Bertha." She rolled her eyes. "Good grief, talk about a bunch of nuts."
He took the frosty bottle of soda she removed from the machine and popped the cap off in the opener above the coin slot. "Yeah, I've heard about it. Real Holy Rollers. Talking in tongues, stuff like that. I've also heard they handle snakes. One of these nights I'm going to sneak out there and find out. Have you ever seen them do it?"
"No, but I hear they only do it on Wednesday nights. Miss Bertha says I can't go then because only born-agains can go, that unsaved heathens like me aren't welcome. I plan to keep it that way as long as I can, even though she digs a bruise in my side with her elbow every time the preacher gives his altar call at the end of service. She doesn't like me, anyway, because I'm not from around here. She's always saying Rudy shouldn't have married a city girl. That's why we don't get along. She says I've got high-falootin' ways and think I'm better than anybody else. And she doesn't care that he beats me, either, except she didn't want him to go to jail. She said I deserve it. Only thing was, she wished he hadn't done it when I was pregnant and made me lose the baby. She wants a grandbaby real bad."
"Why, when she'd like to see you bust up?"
"Oh, she don't want that. She says what's done is done, and we have to stay together, no matter what. We've got to have babies because that's what a woman is supposed to do, have babies and keep her mouth shut so she won't make her husband beat her."
Luke drained the bottle and put it in the rack. "Well, like I've said before, it's none of my business, but I don't understand why you don't leave him."
"Leave him?" she hooted, putting her hands on her hips and staring up at him like he had lost his mind to suggest such a thing. "Why, if I leave him and don't work here anymore, who's going to fold your clothes and give you free pop? Think about that."
She gave him a good-natured cuff on his chin, and Luke fought the impulse to grab her hand and press it to his lips. What was wrong with him, damn it? He'd never in his life thought about kissing a girl's hand. "Yeah, you're right. Now I guess I better go so you can get back to work."
She looked beyond him to the window. "Uh-oh. Here comes plenty of work."
Luke followed her gaze and saw Lucy Moon getting out of her car with a big basket.
"She called yesterday and said she'd be dropping off the slipcovers from the chairs in the parlor if they didn't have a call, as she put it—meaning a dead body—before today. She and Mr. Moon are going to Atlanta for the weekend to a funeral directors' convention."
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Luke knew it was the chance he had been waiting for, and the wheels in his head started to spin.
"Sure you've got time to do my things?" he asked as she walked with him to the door.
"For you, I'll make time. You're my friend, Luke. Probably the only real one I've got in this town."
Lucy Moon had left one basket outside the door and gone back to get another from the car. Ordinarily, Luke would have done the gentlemanly thing and given her a hand, but instead he savored the last moments alone with Emma Jean.
"You've listened to me," she continued. "For the first time in so long I can't remember, I haven't felt like I was wrong all the time, that everything I do isn't stupid and everything I say isn't dumb, you know?"
He knew. Alma sometimes made him feel that way, too.
"You're my friend," she repeated solemnly.
Suddenly, he knew he had to get out of there before he did or said something he might later regret.
"Luke, you don't think I'm awful, do you? Rudy would kill me if he heard me talk like this. He'd say I'm acting like a strumpet, saying such things to a man."
"You could never act like a strumpet, and I could never think you're awful. What we say to each other is nobody's business, anyway. We're friends, remember?"
The smile he gave her came from a place in his heart he had thought was sealed forever.
* * *
That night, Luke entered the funeral home the same way Betsy and her family had, through the unlocked parlor window. He found nothing out of the ordinary in the office. Lucy did most of the paperwork, he'd heard, and things were neat and clean. Going through the files, he found the one he was looking for... Henrietta Cochran. He scanned the bill for her funeral and saw the charge for the white pine coffin had been eight hundred dollars.
Deciding there was nothing else to be found there, he went down in the basement where Hardy did the embalming. The windows were painted black, so he turned on the lights.
Final Justice Page 15
