Final Justice

by Patricia Hagan

  Around four, he finally saw her car parked in the driveway. He pulled in and started to get out, then reached under the seat where he had stashed her shoe and stuffed it in his pocket in case she needed reminding. He walked right up to the front door but did not have to knock. She was waiting for him, her face pale and drawn, stepping back as he entered.

  "Are you alone?"

  She nodded, twisting her hands together in that way she had when she was nervous. He told her to sit down, and she did. Then, barely able to contain his rage, he grasped the arms of the chair and leaned right into her face. "Why didn't you tell me Buddy's mistress is colored?"

  She tried not to meet his fiery gaze, but his eyes were mere inches from hers. "I... I couldn't," she said feebly. "It... it wasn't my place."

  "And you were hoping I'd eventually give up and not find out, weren't you?"

  "Yes. Because I didn't want Juanita or her son hurt."

  "And you thought I'd do that?"

  "I didn't know, especially when you kept digging even after you found out Buddy was involved in the Klan. Why couldn't that have been enough for you?"

  With a sudden wave of bravado, she lifted her chin to demand, "Good Lord, Luke, what do you want? And why are you after Buddy, anyway? What's he ever done to you that you hate him so much?"

  "That's my business." He moved away from her but did not sit down. Instead, he turned to the window to stare out at the falling leaves.

  Murline persisted. "Well, whatever it is, please don't hurt Juanita. Her relationship with Buddy has been a secret all these years, but if you..."

  He cut her off. "What about her son? Does he pass for white or colored?"

  "Why... why colored, of course."

  "Does he look colored?"

  "Yes, he does. Buddy showed me a picture of him in his cap and gown when he graduated. He's a handsome young man, and he definitely passes for colored."

  At that, Luke whirled about to explode, "Damn the hypocritical asshole! He's involved with the Klan big-time. He gives the order for colored people to be beaten, maybe even killed, and yet he proudly shows off a picture of his half-colored son?"

  "He's not proud," Murline was quick to dispute. "If he were, he wouldn't hide it, would he? No, he's not proud, Luke. He just loves his son's mother. And his son, too, I suppose. But society and circumstances dictate he has to keep them both secret, and that's how they'll stay unless you tell, and if you do..."

  Her voice trailed hesitantly, and Luke challenged, "Go on. Finish."

  "I'll believe you really are a bastard."

  He almost winced but didn't. He could understand her fear that innocent people would be hurt for whatever his motive. "You don't have to worry."

  Her sigh came from her very soul. "Thank you."

  "So what is the boy going to do now that he's through with college?"

  "He's got a job lined up in Detroit. Buddy said he was sending extra money this time so he can buy some nice new clothes and get set up in an apartment. He also said Juanita was upset over his leaving home, but they both know there really aren't any good job opportunities for negroes around here. He's a bright boy, too. Made the Dean's List all through college. He should do real well up north."

  Luke laughed softly and shook his head to think about Buddy Hampton bragging about his half-negro son's college grades to his ex-mistress when all the while he was one of the biggest racists in the state of Alabama.

  Murline ventured to ask, "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking," he said, reaching into his pocket, "how I'd rather be a bastard than a hypocrite."

  She took it the wrong way and cried, "No. You promised you wouldn't..."

  "And I won't," he was quick to assure. "Thanks for everything, Murline. And you can stop worrying. Your fairy godfather said so."

  He dropped her shoe in her lap and walked out.

  * * *

  Luke eased the patrol car around back. The house was dark, and he thought maybe Emma Jean had given up on him, but then she came running from the shadows where she had been waiting.

  "How come no lights are on?" he asked as he hugged her. "I told you it has to look like I'm here on official business, because something scared you, and you called the law."

  She giggled. "I did get scared that you wouldn't come. But you're here now, and everything is all right." She tugged at his arm. "It's almost ten o'clock. We don't have long."

  "Yeah, but first we're going to turn on some lights."

  They went inside, and he switched on first the porch light, then the kitchen. "If we hear anybody, we'll come back in here real quick."

  In the bedroom, Emma Jean unbuttoned his shirt while he unbuckled his holster. He protested when she tugged at his trousers. "I'll have to leave them on, sugar, and just unzip."

  "You took them off before."

  "Well, it's best I don't tonight as late as it is."

  "That's not fair," she teased. "Look at me."

  She opened her robe, and in the light spilling from the kitchen, he saw she was completely naked.

  His breath caught in his throat. "Lord, woman... ," and gently, quickly, he pushed her down on the bed to fall on top of her. His hands were everywhere at once as his mouth devoured hers.

  "Oh, Luke," she moaned, "I wish it could be like this all the time."

  He drew back so he could see her face in the light. "Do you mean that?"

  She became still, puzzled by his expression. "Why... sure I do. You've told me how you and Alma never do it, how she never liked to, and how much it's meant to you that I'm always ready. And I've told you I'd never refuse you, that I know what it means to a man to get it when he wants it, and..."

  "But that's not what I'm talking about. I... ," he floundered, trying to decide if he was ready to talk about it—them—here and now and get it over with. She meant giving him sex when he wanted it. He was thinking about just being able to be with her, damnit, and not have to sneak and worry about getting caught, and...

  Emma Jean prodded. "What?"

  "Baby, I..."

  They both heard the sound and sprang apart.

  Panicked, she cried, "Oh, God. It's Rudy. I know his truck."

  Luke was yanking on his shirt at the same time he stuffed his feet in his shoes. "Get some clothes on. Quick."

  In the faint light she found jeans and a shirt and put them on while Luke zipped his pants and buckled on his holster. Then, desperate and thinking fast, he drew his gun and rushed to the window to smash a lower pane with the butt.

  Emma Jean yelped, "What did you do that for?"

  "Never mind. Just let me do the talking and back up anything I say. Now let's get to the kitchen."

  Emma Jean gave the top sheet one quick yank and ran after him. By the time Rudy jerked open the screen door, red-faced and furious at having seen the patrol car, Luke was casually leaning against the refrigerator. Emma Jean was standing on the other side of the room, arms folded across her bosom and looking appropriately scared.

  "It's okay, Rudy," Luke said breezily. "Whoever it was got scared off when your wife screamed."

  "Huh?" Rudy, fists clenched at his side, looked from Luke to Emma Jean, then back at Luke. "What the shit are you talkin' about?"

  Luke feigned surprise. "Didn't the office call and tell you there'd been a prowler here? I figured you'd rush right home. I've been waiting for you. She was scared to death, and you can see she's still upset."

  Rudy snapped, "Ain't nobody told me nothin'."

  Emma Jean, having gathered her wits enough to realize what Luke was doing, how he was trying to bluff their way out of it—was able to innocently ask, "Isn't that why you're here early?"

  His eyes hooded. "Woman, ain't you learned by now you don't ask me nothin' about what I do and when I do it?"

  Luke gritted his teeth, knowing if he hadn't been there, Rudy probably would have hit her.

  "I come home 'cause I ain't feelin' good," Rudy said to Luke. "And I don't mind tellin' you it made me
mad as hell to see your car in my yard. How do I know you aren't here trying to screw my old lady?"

  Emma Jean cried, "Rudy, that's a terrible thing to say!"

  Luke gave an exaggerated sigh. "I don't give a damn what you think, but you can go look for yourself. The window's broken. The prowler tried to jimmy it open, I guess. I looked around outside but didn't see anything. Like I said, her screaming probably ran him off."

  Rudy glowered at Luke as he brushed by him to go into the bedroom.

  Luke was glad he had thought to switch on the overhead light. He looked at Emma Jean. Her face was white as lard, she was shaking all over, and he decided he had better wrap things up quick before she really went to pieces.

  "Satisfied?" he asked Rudy, who was staring at the broken window.

  Rudy returned to the kitchen before answering. "Yeah, I reckon."

  "There's nothing else I can do," Luke said, walking to the back door. "I suggest, though, that you get that window fixed right away." He turned to Emma Jean, "Make sure you keep it locked."

  "Oh, I will, Sheriff. I will." Her head bobbed up and down.

  He stepped onto the porch and Rudy slammed the door after him.

  * * *

  Rudy waited till he was sure Luke had driven away, then walked over to Emma Jean and backhanded her so hard she bounced off the refrigerator. She cried out and tried to dart past him, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and painfully twisted as he pulled her face close to his. "You listen to me, bitch. If I ever find that son of a bitch in this house again, I'll kill him and you, too. You got that?"

  She tried to nod but he was twisting her hair too tight.

  "Yes, Rudy, yes. Please, let me go..."

  "I'll let you go when I'm good and ready. Now you listen to somethin' else. Don't you never talk to me in front of nobody like that again, you hear me? I thought by now you would've learned your place, but you keep runnin' that big mouth of yours, don't you?"

  She tried again to nod, to agree, to do anything to get him to leave her alone so he would stop hurting her, but he held tight.

  "I hate that bastard," he railed on. " 'Cause that's what he is and everybody knows it. I've hated him my whole life, and if I ever thought there was something goin' on between you two, I swear I'd kill him."

  He released her so abruptly she stumbled and fell to her knees. "Now get to bed."

  * * *

  Luke had difficulty seeing through the angry red haze that clouded his eyes. He did not report back in service. Ned was off for the night. Bailey Albritton was covering for him—an old fart Luke had little use for—but he was Ned's cousin and Ned whined he needed the extra money so Luke let him work. Bailey liked to yak on the radio, and Luke did not like idle chatter, especially now, so he stayed silent as he cruised around the county, sticking to the back roads as he tried to sort his jumbled thoughts.

  Yeah, Rudy would hit her, all right, probably right after he left. But Emma Jean would cover any mark with makeup to try to keep him from finding out. Luke knew there were lots of times Rudy beat her that he didn't know about. And now she was probably huddled in a corner crying her eyes out and, maybe, if she wasn't hurt too bad, she might even be wondering what it was he would have said had Rudy not come home when he did.

  Only Luke wasn't sure himself, at least not for many long hours that night. He drove and thought, and thought and drove, nearly running out of gas at one point and had to go unlock the pumps at the county garage to fill the tank. And still he drove.

  He stopped a couple of times, wearily leaning his head back against the seat, but sleep would not come, not when his brain was on fire, along with his heart, as he tried to figure out what he was going to do about the one woman who had truly brought sunshine into his life. He knew he did not want to leave her. That thought rang clear as the sunrise that broke in the east as he found himself on top of Cheaha Mountain all the way over in Talladega County.

  He watched the ash-colored sky turn to pale pink, then peach, as the first creeping fingers of dawn reached from the horizon to snatch away the last vestiges of night. And finally he knew. He was not going to leave without her.

  He had to go home. He hated to, but he needed a shower, shave, and clean clothes. First, however, he stopped at the diner in Childersburg on his way back from Cheaha for eggs and grits and bacon, because his rumbling stomach kept reminding him he'd been too preoccupied to remember to eat supper the night before. He also downed cups of strong, black coffee as he tried to brace himself to face the day ahead.

  It was nearly eight o'clock when he pulled around back of his house and groaned out loud to see Alma's car. She should have left for work a long time ago. Maybe she was sick. If so, maybe she would be in bed asleep, and he could get in and out without her hearing.

  No such luck. He no sooner stepped up on the back porch than the door flew open and there she stood, eyes wild, hair flying around her face, clutching her bathrobe to her throat with one hand, a cigarette in her other as she exploded, "Damn you for the tom-cat you are, Luke Ballard. You've been screwing around all night with some whore and now you've got the nerve to come dragging in here to wash off your filth and germs..."

  He shoved her back into the kitchen and shut the door with his foot. "Stop it, Alma. You want the whole neighborhood to hear you? I've been working..."

  "You've been screwing some whore," she cried, her face twisting with rage. "I know, because I called the office at midnight last night, and Bailey Albritton said you'd been off duty since before ten o'clock."

  Silently, he raged, Great going, Bailey. Everybody else knew how to deal with Alma when she called.

  "Bailey Albritton doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. I was over in Coosa County. He knew that. I was helping bust up a still."

  "Like hell you were."

  "Alma, I'm tired." He turned toward his room, but she quickly moved to block his path.

  "You think I'm not?" she shrieked. "I've walked the floor the whole night thinking about your running around on me."

  Making sure he was very gentle so he could not be accused of abusing her in any way, Luke put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her out of his way. "I have to change and get back to work, Alma. Now please, get off my back..."

  She struck sudden like a snake, her nails raking his face. She was about to slap him when Luke caught her wrists. "Damn it, woman! Have you gone crazy?"

  He flung her away from him, wheeled about, and tried to flee, but she threw herself at him, leaping up on his back, arms going around him as she dug at his face again. She was straddling him, and the only way he could get her off was to bang her against the wall. Screaming, she finally let go and fell to the floor, and he rushed out, knowing if he didn't get away fast, he might lose control and do something he'd later be sorry for.

  * * *

  Wilma's eyes bugged when he walked in the office. "What on earth..."

  "Don't ask." He stormed past her. "Just get me some alcohol and cotton and when the cleaners opens, go pick up one of my uniforms."

  Mouth agape, Wilma stared after him. His face looked like it had been gone over with a rake. Curious, she went to the door and peered into his office. "I want to know what happened. You look awful."

  He repeated the lie he had told Alma about being over in Coosa County but embellished, "I was arresting a moonshiner, and his wife attacked me."

  Wilma crept closer. "Some of those scratches are deep. You could get blood poisoning."

  "Not if you get me the alcohol like I asked you to, Wilma."

  As soon as she left, he reached for the phone.

  Hearing his voice, Murline protested, "I thought it was over, that you didn't need me anymore."

  "One more time. That's all. Today's Wednesday, and Buddy will be playing golf down at Lake Martin this afternoon, won't he?"

  "Yes, but I hope you don't want to get into his files again. If he locks them, there's no way I can open them."

  "Nothing like that. I just need to
know when he leaves the mill."

  "Usually around twelve."

  "Call me the second he does."

  When she did not immediately agree, he prodded, "Come on, Murline. I need this one last favor, and then I won't bother you again, I promise."

  "Okay," she said finally, "but please, keep me out of it. I need this job, and if he ever found out..."

  "You don't have to worry."

  It came at ten past twelve. Wilma put the unidentified female caller through to him, rolling her eyes thinking it was Emma Jean Veazey.

  Luke took it, heard only two words: "He's left." He hung up, and rushed out the door.

  * * *

  There was a section of road between the mill and town where there were no houses, just an old barn used for hay storage with farmland on either side. Luke and the deputies sometimes hid their cars behind it to catch speeders. This day, however, Luke was waiting for Buddy Hampton, and as soon as he breezed by in his red Thunderbird, Luke pulled out right behind him, blue light flashing.

  When Buddy promptly eased over to the shoulder of the road, Luke parked behind him and purposely waited a few moments before getting out of the car.

  Buddy rolled down the window. "What the hell is this about? If you make me late for my golf game, I'm going to be real pissed." Seeing the claw marks on Luke's face, he grinned. "Looks like I'm not the only one you've pissed off lately."

  "No need to be concerned about being late, Buddy. You aren't going to show at all."

  Buddy's grin quickly faded. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? And where do you get off calling me Buddy? It's Mister Hampton to you. I'll have your badge, you insolent asshole. You seem to forget who you're dealing with."

  "Oh, I know, all right." Luke enjoyed seeing Buddy so steamed. His face was red as a beet, and his eyes were actually bugging out of his head. "Now I want you to follow me."

  "You're crazy. I'm not following you anywhere, and you've no call to give me a ticket. I wasn't speeding." He jabbed at the air with his finger. "I warn you, boy, I can have your badge snatched off that pompous chest of yours in a matter of minutes. All I've got to do is call Hardy Moon. He's the coroner, and I shouldn't have to remind you that under Alabama law a coroner has the power to fire the sheriff. All it will take from me is one phone call..."