by Parrish, PJ
“You have to report him, Abby,” he said.
“God, can’t you stop being a cop for once?” she cried. “They know! They’ve always known!”
Louis was stunned by the bitterness in her voice. “The sheriff?”
She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the seat. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.
Louis got back in the car. For a moment, it was silent. Abby had stopped crying, and now she looked exhausted, the blood dried in streaks on her face. She raised her head wearily and stared vacantly out the windshield.
“I was fifteen,” she said flatly. “I called the police. That was the last time the sheriff came out to the house. He asked my mother if she was all right. He could see that she wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. Daddy was there, and he told Sheriff Dodie that they just had a little argument and that everything was okay now.”
Abby paused, wiping her mouth with a shaking hand.
“It wasn’t the first time they came out,” she went on. “But it was the last time. I think they just gave up. Figured if my mother didn’t care enough to do something about him, why should they?”
“I care,” Louis said softly.
She looked at him, her eyes welling.
“We have to report this,” Louis said.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to. I just want to get out of this place. I just want to go back to school.”
Louis hesitated. “You can’t do that on your own, without his money.”
She sighed, then looked away, out the window. He took her hand. Her fingers wrapped tightly around his.
“You need somewhere to stay tonight,” Louis said.
“Take me to your place,” she said, turning to him.
“No.”
She pulled her hand away from his, letting it drop into her lap. Again, she looked away out the window. “He thinks I’m sleeping with you,” she said.
Louis suppressed a sigh. She was crying again, softly this time. Louis reached for her hand. She fell against him and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her head.
He had to find a place for her to stay tonight. But what would happen to her after that? What were her options? Max would pull her out of school, that much was certain. And given her state of mind, she would probably run away. Maybe Dodie could help straighten this out tomorrow. But right now, he had to take her back to the station and then find somewhere safe for her tonight.
He caught sight of lights in the rearview mirror, red-and-blue lights coming slowly up the trail behind the Mustang. Shit.
“Abby,” he said, taking her shoulders. She looked out the back window and he felt her tense.
“He called them,” she said. ‘1 knew he would.”
“Don’t worry,” Louis said. He got out of the car and stood by the open door as the police cruiser pulled up behind. He shivered as he waited for Larry to get out.
Larry eyed the Mustang, looked at Louis, then unsnapped his holster.
“That’s not necessary. Cutter,” Louis said.
“I’ll decide what’s necessary,” Larry answered. “You seen Miz Abigail?”
Louis hesitated. “She’s in the car.”
Larry came up to the passenger side, opened the door and peered in, shining a flashlight on Abby’s face. “You okay, Miz Abigail?”
Abby mumbled something and Larry looked over the car at Louis. “What you do to her?” he demanded.
“He didn’t do anything!” Abby said angrily before Louis could answer.
His eyes on Louis, Larry marched back to the cruiser and reached for the radio. “Sheriff, I found him.”
Louis heard Dodie’s voice answer, “Miz Abigail with him?”
“Yeah, sheriff, she’s been knocked around some,” Larry said.
“That ain’t your concern,” Dodie answered. “Just bring her in.”
Louis started toward the cruiser. “Let me talk to him,” he said.
But Larry had already clicked off. “Miz Abigail,” he called out. “Y’all get out of that car now. Come with me. I gotta take you to the station.”
Abby got out of the car slowly. She stood there, nervously looking over at Louis, her body shaking. Louis looked hard at Larry. Larry’s eyes moved over Abby slowly and Louis cringed in disgust. The bastard was really enjoying this. Suddenly, he didn’t want Abby alone in that cruiser with Larry.
“Abby, you don’t have to go with him,” he said.
Abby backed away from Larry. The car radio crackled back to life. “Cutter!” Dodie demanded. “Let me talk to Kincaid.”
Louis came around the car and grabbed the mike from Larry. “Yeah, Sheriff, I’m here.”
“Don’t go interfering with this, Kincaid,” Dodie warned.
“Sheriff, Abby is scared. She called me to come and get her. Let me bring her in.”
There was a long silence. “No. You go back home. We’ll watch out for her, I promise.”
Louis understood. Max was at the station, waiting. Dodie didn’t want a bad situation made worse.
“Sheriff?” Louis said, glancing at Abby.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t send her home tonight. Please.”
Larry reached for the mike but Louis pulled away, sticking his elbow in Larry’s ribs. Larry gasped and Louis rekeyed the mike. “Sheriff?”
Louis stared at Larry. He had his hand possessively on Abby’s back, stroking her. She was oblivious, just standing there, shivering in the bloody sweatshirt.
“Kincaid, nothing will happen to her,” the sheriff said. “You got my word on that.”
Louis tossed the mike on the seat. He led Abby around the passenger side of the police cruiser and helped her in.
“Louis?”
“It’ll be all right,” he said softly. He shut the door and started toward the Mustang. He stopped when he got to where Larry was standing. He leaned close.
“You touch her and I’ll break your fucking arms,” he whispered.
“Fuck you.”
Louis grabbed Larry’s jacket. “Listen, you balless pervert. I’m going to be following you. You make one move in that car and it’ll be the last move of any kind you’ll ever make, you hear me, cocksucker?”
Louis let him go and Larry stumbled back against the cruiser. As Louis walked off to the Mustang, he heard Larry kicking angrily at the gravel. He got back in his car and followed the cruiser out of the park.
Back at the station, Louis pulled in, several spaces away from the cruiser. He killed the engine and got out, standing by the open car door, watching as Larry led Abby up the steps and inside. He spotted Max’s silver Monte Carlo parked nearby. His heart ached for Abby, having to go in there now and face her bastard father. He wanted to go in and talk to Dodie. But he knew the sheriff was right, and he had to trust him to make good on his promise.
Jesus, what a night. He was just about to get back in the car when the door of the station banged open.
Louis turned to see Max coming down the steps, Larry following. Max spotted Louis and started toward the car.
“Kincaid!” he bellowed.
Shit.
“Kincaid! I want to talk to you!”
Max’s voice was soggy with booze. Louis turned slowly. The square was empty, the storefronts dark. A traffic light blinked yellow at the comer. Larry was standing back on the steps watching, a small grin on his face. No one else had come out of the station. Louis debated whether to try to get by Max and Larry or whether to just get in the car and leave. Then he saw the glint of metal in the light from the streetlamp.
Max was coming toward him, waving a nickel-plated automatic. Louis took a step away from the car to give himself room to move. He put up his hands. Max’s face gleamed with perspiration and the tails of his wrinkled white shirt and tie flapped against his wide belly.
Louis glanced at the door to the station, then back at Max. “Put the gun away,” Louis said.
“You black son of a bitch,” Max hissed.
“Ma
x—”
The gun went off. Louis ducked. The shot rattled the leaves of a nearby tree and Louis felt his throat constrict.
“I oughta shoot you where you stand!” Max yelled.
The door to the station popped open and Dodie came to an abrupt stop on the top step. Louis’s eyes darted from Max to the door and back. Larry was standing behind Max, paralyzed by the sight of the gun.
Max glanced at Dodie, then with a sloppy grin, turned his gaze back to Louis.
“Stay back, Sam. I’m gonna blow his fuckin’ head off,” Max hollered.
“You’re not shooting one of my deputies. Max. Now, put that thing away.”
“He’s messing with my Doll Baby!” he bellowed.
Dodie wet his lips. “Max, Abby’s a growed-up girl, big enough to make her own decisions. You oughta know that.”
“And you oughta know I’m only doing what’s right.”
Louis swallowed, his heart racing. Max waved the gun like a knife, his finger playing with the trigger. Dodie inched closer and Louis tried to calculate whether Dodie could subdue the bigger man. He had his doubts.
The station door opened and Abby came out. When she saw Max and the gun, she froze, her eyes wide. Her scream pierced the air, and Max and Louis both looked up at her.
“Baby…” Max said drunkenly.
“Leave him alone!” Abby screamed at Max.
“Larry! Get her back inside!” Dodie yelled. Larry looked lost for a second, then ran up the steps and grabbed Abby. But she fought him off and started down the steps toward Louis. Larry grappled for her arms but she spun away.
Dodie caught her. “Stay back!” he said sharply, shoving her behind him.
Louis turned slowly to look back at Max. “Max,” he whispered, spreading his arms, “however you feel about me, Abby doesn’t need to see this. She doesn’t need to see her father in prison.”
Max laughed drunkenly. “For shooting a nigger?”
Louis clenched his jaw, and Dodie motioned for him to relax, still working his way closer to the two of them. “Max,” Dodie said, “I’m tellin’ ya. Put it down or I’m gonna have to lock you up.”
“You just try it, Sam.”
“Max,” Dodie said sharply. “Look at me!”
Max’s eyes scooted to Dodie then to the gun Dodie had drawn.
“Drop the gun,” Dodie said, his breath shallow.
Max didn’t move.
“I said drop it. Max!” Dodie shouted.
To Louis’s shock. Max did. The smack of it on the concrete echoed in the quiet street. Louis moved forward to pick it up, but Max lunged at him, knocking him over onto the grass. The gun skidded along the sidewalk.
Louis felt the crushing weight of Max’s body. Max had him pinned and landed two sharp punches. Louis swung wildly, finally slamming his fist into the fleshy face above him.
Dodie was over them, pulling at Max’s shirt. Louis felt the air being squeezed from his lungs as Max wrapped his hands around his neck. Louis fought frantically against the bigger man’s chest.
Dodie’s face a red blur over Max’s shoulder. He could hear Abby’s screams in the background.
“Stop it, damn it, Max, stop!” Dodie yelled.
Gasping, Louis wedged a knee between himself and Max’s belly and with one thrust, he shoved Max back into Dodie’s arms. The two of them tumbled backward into a bush.
Louis bolted upright, sucking in air, wiping the blood from his lip. He saw the gun and scrambled toward it, snatching it up. He spun on his knees, knocked Dodie aside, and grabbed Max by the shirt.
He thrust the gun to Max’s temple. “Don’t you ever pull a fucking gim on me again,” Louis whispered into his ear.
“Fuck you,” Max hissed.
“Kincaid, don’t do this.” Dodie spoke softly, rising to his feet.
Max’s fingers dug into the grass as he glared defiantly at Louis’s glistening face.
“Kincaid…” Dodie said, more loudly.
Louis’s breathing settled and he loosened his grip on Max’s shirt. Max’s eyes were so big Louis could see the red veins. It was as if he were daring him to pull the trigger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Abby. She was crying.
Louis let go, thrusting Max backward. He drew himself erect, the gun hanging at his side, and looked down at Max.
“If you ever hit Abby again, I’ll kill you,” Louis said, his chest heaving. “I swear, I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 22
It was raining, a slow, steady rain. Louis turned off the ignition and rested his head against the steering wheel, closing his eyes. He had slept fitfully, waking up tired and sore. His jaw was swollen, despite the ice Dodie had applied last night, and his side throbbed, the bruised ribs reinjured by Max’s weight.
For a few minutes he listened to the rain on the roof, wishing for a moment he could just go back to Bessie’s and crawl under the quilt. But he had things to do, things that couldn’t wait, and he couldn’t let Max’s ignorant accusations and threats get in the way. He wanted to see Maisey before Dodie changed his mind. And he wanted to talk with George Harvey’s widow or family. He didn’t need this shit with Max Lillihouse right now.
He scurried through the rain and yanked open the station door. Junior was pouring a cup of coffee and looked up at Louis questioningly, almost fearfully, like he wasn’t sure what to say.
Louis hung up his wet jacket and went to his desk. Junior ambled to his own desk and sat down. Louis looked over, feeling Junior’s uneasiness.
“Junior, what’s the problem?” he asked finally.
Junior shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Where’s Mike?”
“Sheriff put him on nights, with Larry.”
Louis got up and went to the coffee machine. He slopped some coffee over the edge as he poured, burning himself. “Damn it,” he muttered, going back to his desk. “Junior, where’s the sheriff?”
“Home. He was up all night with Miz Abigail and Max.”
“Where’d Abby stay?”
“With the sheriff.”
Louis felt better. Thank God she hadn’t been sent home. Jesus, last night seemed like a blur. Afterward, Dodie had spent a few minutes calming everyone down and sent Louis home. Hell, not sent, ordered. Louis had no idea what had happened to Max.
“The sheriff say when he’d be in?” Louis asked.
“Nope,” Junior replied.
Louis went to the file cabinet, flipping through for George Harvey’s file. It wasn’t there and he turned to Junior. “Did you take the Harvey file?”
“George’s? No. Sheriff had it, I think.”
Louis went to the sheriff’s office and tried the door. It was locked, and he returned to his desk, looking down at his coffee, thinking. “Junior, you know where George lived?”
“Sure. He’s in the phone book. It’s on Flowers Street.”
Louis sat down, slipped on his glasses and opened the thin phone book.
“Why you wanna go there?”
“I need to talk to his family.”
“He ain’t got no family.”
Louis took off his glasses. “No one?”
“No one. Wife passed a few years back, no kids. He lived alone.”
“Then I need to look around the house.”
“I guess you could do that. But why?”
“I can’t tell you yet.”
Junior looked hurt and he turned back to his desk, doodling on the blotter. “It was a shame George got shot like that,” he said softly. “I helped him put in that security system. Guess it didn’t do any good.”
“No, it didn’t.” Louis rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was nine-ten. Probably too early to visit Maisey Kelly.
“Louis, you think George was shot by someone he knowed, don’t you?”
Louis nodded tiredly.
“I really liked ol’ George. He never hurt no one.” Junior paused, smiling slightly. “He was an okay guy, for a Yankee.”
“Yeah, well, I gue
ss some people adjust better—” Louis stopped, looking over at Junior. “A Yankee?”
“Yeah, a Yankee. He wasn’t from here. Him and his wife come here in…I think, like '76 or '77. It says so on the jewelry-store door. Established 1977, I think.”
Louis slumped in the chair. Junior was right. He had seen it on the door, right there in big gold letters. How the hell could George have known anything about the lynching? Louis closed his eyes, suddenly depressed. A worse thought crept inside his head. What if George had not been his caller, after all?
“Junior, I need a favor,” Louis said, standing. “Call the phone company and pull George’s phone calls.”
“Okay. Where you going?”
Louis zipped the jacket and finished his coffee. “I got to go talk to someone.”
Louis headed toward the door and paused, turning back. Junior was doodling again, a frown on his chubby face.
“Junior,” Louis called. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Hey, Louis?”
“What?”
“What is a ‘DA’s citation’?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Sheriff got one.”
Louis slumped against the door. Jeez, poor Dodie. The heat was already on. “It’s…it’s…” Louis paused, remembering to keep it simple. “It’s like a contempt-of-court citation, only it’s issued by the DA when you piss him off. You get called on his carpet, so to speak.”
“You mean like contempt of the DA?”
“Kinda.”
Junior shrugged. “Seems to me everyone around here gots that.”
Louis smiled tiredly. Junior continued to doodle and Louis watched him for a minute, feeling the need to say something else.
“The sheriff’ll be okay. Junior,” Louis said weakly.
Junior nodded and Louis slipped out the door, heading for the Mustang. He drove the short distance to Kelly’s home and sat outside a few minutes before going in. It lacked the grandeur of the Lillihouse place but it had a quiet elegance about it, something that had always suggested “old money” to Louis. It was a two-story wood-frame home with forest-green shutters and a curved asphalt driveway guarded by iron gates. The gates were open and Louis drove through, stopping in front of the veranda. He hustled through the drizzle and shook the raindrops free as he knocked. A light-skinned black maid opened the door and smiled politely at him.
