Fallout (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 2)

by Lila Beckham

  Thinking of the reservation reminded Joshua of his mother. If she was from the reservation, Carlos may have known her. He decided that he would have to ride by and talk with Carlos as soon as he got a chance to do so. He knew that Carlos had left the reservation to join the military during WWII and had not returned when he was discharged from the service.

  Carlos was badly wounded in Germany and had walked with a cane ever since. He had met his wife Carlene, while hospitalized when sent home from the war. She was working as an aide at the VA hospital in Biloxi. He and Carlene had lived in the same place since 1945 when they married. The little house was crowded but Joshua had never seen a house any cleaner. Carlene kept its wood floors swept and scrubbed and there was always laundry hanging on the line when he drove by.

  “How are your mama and daddy doing,” he asked Faye. “I haven’t seen your father out and about in a while,” he said, as he honestly had not seen Carlos in a while.

  “Daddy’s been up on the reservation for about a month. He’s been visiting with his mother, Sheriff. It don’t look like she will be in this world much longer. He wanted to see her and spend some time with her before she died.”

  “I hate to hear that. When he gets home I need to talk with him about something.” Faye gave him a strange look, probably wondering why he needed to talk to her father.

  “Do you ladies know if W. C. has hired any Mexicans in the last several days?” he asked. Faye and the two Negro women glanced toward the Hispanic women, but the Hispanics had not even raised their eyes from the bowls in their laps.

  “He just got a batch in, Sheriff” one of the colored women replied.

  “Hush up, Vera!” the other Negro woman whispered after kicking Vera’s foot.

  “Why is you a askin’ if you don’t mind telling me? Is dey bad?” Vera asked, ignoring her companion.

  “Why do you ask if they’re bad?” Joshua asked quickly. It seemed odd to him that she asked the why of it.

  “’Cause deys one of ‘em dat give me da willies. He be a lookin’ at me all funny like. I done like dat one bit.”

  “Was he on that wagon, the one that just left for the fields?”

  “No, sir,” Vera responded. “He out grassing da okery patch, da one over on da sixteenth section, dare on Moffett Road.”

  Joshua knew that grassing meant hoeing the grass from the fields.

  “He say his name be Avellino Rodrigo’s.” When she said that, the two Hispanic women looked up from their bowls. The fear in their eyes warranted Joshua’s scrutiny.

  “Do either of you speak English?” he asked. They both shook their heads no, but he knew they understood enough to deny they understood it. “I can bring an interpreter out here and get a statement if I need too.”

  “No, Sher’riff, I speak some Engleish” the younger one replied. “But I done know Este hombre, Avellino. Hermano dice que se mantenga alejado de él. These man has no life in hes ojos, ah, eyes.”

  Joshua did not understand all she said, especially when she dropped back into Spanish, but he did understand that she said her brother told her not to do something. He suspected he told her not to talk to this Avellino.

  “Es un hombre peligroso” she said quickly.

  Joshua took Spanish in high school and knew that peligro was the word for danger and hombre was man, however his Spanish was rusty as all get out. He had rarely to use it, but figured he got the gist of what she was saying.

  “What is she saying?” Faye asked.

  “She was saying that he was a dangerous man,” Joshua informed Faye.

  “Well, anyone with eyeballs can tell dat!” Vera exclaimed. “Da dude has dat look about him. I shore wouldn’t wanna meet up with him out by myself, no sir, he freaky!”

  “You women be watchful and stay away from him.” Joshua heard the tractor coming in from the fields. He lit another cigarette and walked out into the yard. W. C. had aged a good bit in the last twenty years. He was probably only ten years older than Joshua was but looked at least seventy. Joshua reckoned it was from working out in the hot sun day after day. The sun tended to bake a persons skin, wrinkling it and turning it into leather… W. C. drove right up beside Joshua, stopped, killed the ignition, and then asked what the reason of his visit was. Joshua cleared his throat of dust stirred up by the tractor and told him that he was interested to know if any new workers had shown up in the last several days looking for work. W. C. gave him a funny look and replied “Why sure they have; it’s that time of year! They start coming in by the truckloads and stay until the harvest is over, that’s when they get the brunt of their pay. What is this all about?”

  “I’m looking for one Mexican in particular. His name may be Avellino Rodrigo. He would have showed up just in the last two days.”

  “It wouldn’t be that Rodrigo’s feller then, ‘cause he’s been here for a week straight. Not too friendly, but I haven’t had any trouble out of him yet. A few of them, the single ones, they like to drink a little on the weekends. Do you know that these Mexicans can take a pound of beef, a bag of flour, and a bag of beans and feed fifty people off it! Most of them skimp and save while they’re here; much of what they make working here is sent to Mexico. One of ‘em working here in the states can take care of a houseful in Mexico… that’s why they’re here, Joshua. There ain’t any money to be made down there; folks are starving.”

  “Any show up the last couple of days that was questionable?”

  “As a matter of fact, one of the regulars that’s been working for me for several years brought a little feller with him yesterday morning; he said he was looking for work. My crew is full though, so I told Giuseppe to tell him to go talk to Jimmy Page about working there. This feller spoke English though, better than some of the ones that have been working here for several years spoke it. He said he was working his way back to ‘Medico.’ He didn’t look like a full-blood; I believe he was mixed with white.”

  “What made you think he was mixed, besides speaking good English?”

  “He had green eyes. These full bloods eyes are almost black.”

  “Did he have any other distinguishable features?”

  “Besides being a little short fellow, about five feet two or three, he had an odd tattoo on his forearm, and he was walking with a limp. The limp could have been from an injury though because he had a bloody bandana tied around his leg, about six inches above his knee. He said he healed really fast, when he thought that was the reason I did not hire him, but that had nothing to do with it; my crew is full.”

  “Tell me about the tattoo; you said it was odd looking.”

  “Yeah, it was some kind of star in a circle-maybe one of them nautical stars. There was some sort of writing on it, but I couldn’t read it, it looked like foreign writing.”

  “Like the ones the fishermen in Bayou La Batre wear on their forearm?”

  “I haven’t ever been to Bayou La Batre, Sheriff, so I don’t know about that.”

  “I have already sent deputies to the nurseries and farms to ask questions. Now that I have a description, I can give that to them so they can be on the lookout for him at the nurseries and while they’re out there driving around too. You’ve been a big help, W. C.”

  “What are you looking for him for, if you don’t mind me a asking?”

  “He’s a person of interest in a case I’m working on, nothing set in stone yet.”

  “This ain’t about Jesse and Ola, is it? I heard they were murdered. Jesse is-was my first cousin. It’s a crying shame what this world is coming to when folks can’t even feel safe in their own homes!”

  “Yes, it is” Joshua agreed, feeling somewhat responsible because of his title. W. C. must have sensed Joshua’s mood change because he said, “It ain’t your fault, Sheriff. Folks is gonna do what they gonna do, but if it was that there Mexican, he ought to have his neck stretched!”

  “I agree,” Joshua said. “I appreciate it, W. C. just keep your eyes open and if you see him again, give us a call.
Maybe we can corral him up so he won’t be bothering folks. He’s a dangerous man to have around, I hate to cut it short but I do need to get going. I want to put out an All Points Bulletin using the description you gave me. I still have many places to check out.”

  They said their goodbyes, Joshua got into his patrol car and left. He lit a smoke and inhaled deeply. He wished he had a joint or a bottle of whiskey with him; he needed to mellow out. He was about to shove his Steppenwolf tape in and cruise the back roads, but decided to see what was playing on the radio. As he turned off Cuss Fork onto Georgetown Wilmer Road, a song came on that got his attention. The singer’s voice spoke to Joshua’s soul, maybe it was the music or the mood he was in, but he turned the volume wide open and listened. The words were sad but in an odd way, soothing.

  ‘Love scars - Love wounds, - and marks - Any heart, - not tough - Or strong enough - To take a lot of pain - Take a lot of pain - Love is like a cloud - Holds a lot of rain - Love hurts - ooh, ooh, Love hurts’… Joshua had never felt so alone in his life.

  After coming to grips with himself as a person and the direction his life was headed when he entered his thirties, Joshua had never looked back or second-guessed himself; at least not until now.

  Did he need someone in his life, someone to hold and comfort him when he was feeling blue? He decided he was going to give it some serious thought, soon.

  A commercial from WTUF radio disc jockey and local celebrity, Romeo Sullivan, advertising something or another that he said was here on our ‘Beautiful Gulf Coast’ and announcing that they would be playing a new song by the Rolling Stones. Romeo Sullivan and the Serenaders sang ‘Haunting Rhythm’ live.

  Ol’ Romeo is sounding damn good in the studio these days, thought Joshua. After the bands set, they played the new Rolling Stones song, ‘Angie.’ Joshua had never been a fan of the Stones. The only song of theirs he actually liked was ‘Sympathy for the Devil’; however, he gave it a serious listen. It was another love type song, but soothing the same as the Nazareth song was. He did not need any depressing distractions interfering with his normal routines. He shoved his Steppenwolf tape into the 8-track and turned the radio off.

  When he reached Moffett Road, he turned left and headed toward W. C’s okra patch in Fairview. He figured that by the time he finished there it would be lunchtime; he could go by Uncle Joe’s Café and grab some lunch.

  When he reached the okra patch, there were probably a dozen Mexicans hoeing grass out of the fields. One lone white man was sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck in the shade of a pine tree, supervising. Joshua pulled in behind the pickup and parked. He lit a smoke before getting out. The man sitting on the tailgate looked familiar; however, Joshua was having trouble putting a name to his face. He usually did not have trouble remembering names. He guessed turning fifty was going to be the beginning of memory lapses; another phase of growing older he reckoned. He did not like the way his body and mind were betraying him these days.

  “It’s been awhile. How’s it going this morning, Sheriff?” the man asked. A simple question deserved a simple answer, did it not…

  “You don’t recognize me, do you, Sheriff?” the man said. Joshua thought he looked a little disappointed.

  “I hate to say it, but no I don’t. You do look familiar though. I know I should probably know you,” Joshua replied.

  “I’m Curtis Lowe - the last time I saw you, you threw me into the back of your patrol car by the scruff of my neck and hauled my ass to jail for public intoxication and disturbing the peace. It was down at the Sun Set Inn, about fifteen years ago.” As soon as he said it, Joshua remembered him. If the fellow he gutted on the hood of a car had died, the charge would have been murder.

  “I remember you now. Been in any fights lately?”

  “No, Sir, I sure haven’t. I think that was the best thing that ever happened to me, you a taking me to jail. I was not that drunk you know. You preached the entire trip about how I needed to get a grip on myself, and how I needed to change my lifestyle before I ended up dead. Believe me, I definitely was paying attention to what you said. I was scared shitless when he caught me there with his wife… he started punching my lights out. The only reason I cut that man was because he was a big dude and I knew he was going to hurt me bad. Once all of that settled down, I quit drinking, well at least out in public. If I want a beer, I sit home, listen to the radio, and drink me one or two. You told me that there was nothing wrong with taking a drink, every day if that was what I wanted, but to do it with a clear head and not to overindulge. You said moderation was the key to having a good time.”

  Joshua nodded his head.

  “These days, if I go out to a bar, I only drink co-cola. Women, alcohol, and jealous husbands do not mix. If you had not taught me that, I might have ended up in prison or dead.” It made Joshua feel good to know that someone had listened to his advice and it turned their life around and put them on a positive course.

  “I’m glad you got on the right track, Curtis. How long have you worked for W. C.?”

  “It’s probably going on eight years now. I work year round, not like these migrant workers who come a few months out of the year. You never did say what brought you out here, Sheriff. Or were you just checking on things?”

  “Nah, I come to talk about the Mexicans y’all have working the fields. Have you had any trouble out of the one they call Avellino Rodrigo? Some of the women seem to think he is scary… he gives them the willies.”

  “That man gives me the willies, Sheriff. I suspect he is a mean hearted soul. At least, he looks the part. Never seen a smile crease his face, he don’t say nothing, works hard, never causes any trouble in the fields, the man stays to himself all of the time. I have yet to see him have a conversation with any of the other workers, he never talks at all.”

  “That’s odd. Does he speak English?”

  “He understands it, or seems to. At least he follows directions well.”

  “Hmm, so you yourself have never heard him speak.”

  “No, I haven’t. I have never had to ask him a question. I tell them what they’re going to be doing, give a little demonstration usually and then they’re on their own.”

  “Can you point him out to me?” Joshua asked.

  Curtis pulled his pocket watch out and looked at it. “I was fixing to let them take lunch,” he said reaching through the door and blowing the horn twice. “They’ll come up here to eat; everything is on the back of the truck. He’s the one wearing the long sleeved white shirt and ball cap. Most of them wear those old white straw hats out in the sun, but he’s different.” Joshua looked out to the field. He saw all the men walking toward the pickup. None looked as if they were nervous at all. That was a good sign. To him that meant none was on the run, lest they had run off while he wasn’t looking.

  Joshua moved toward the front of the truck, leaned against it and turned to face the men as they came to the truck. Several looked toward Joshua; he saw curiosity in their dark eyes. The one that Curtis had pointed out did not look in their direction at all; his eyes were glued to the ground in front of his feet as he walked. When he reached the back of the truck, he grabbed a lunchbox and then got a jug of water out of the cooler that sat in the bed of the truck. After getting his lunchbox and water he walked to a spot under a tree and sat down to eat, as did the other workers. Joshua watched them eat for several minutes and when he saw that Rodrigo had finished his sandwich, he walked over to where he was sitting. Rodrigo, who had just begun peeling a banana, glanced up as Joshua stood over him.

  “Stand up a minute,” Joshua ordered. Rodrigo stood. Joshua’s six-foot frame towered over the smaller man.

  “Are you Avellino Rodrigo?” Joshua asked. The smaller man nodded his head.

  “Can you speak English?” Joshua asked. Rodrigo nodded his head. Joshua waited for him to say something, but he never spoke nor did he attempt to.

  “I thought you said you could speak English; well, can you?” he asked.

/>   Rodrigo shook his head this time.

  “You just said that you could speak it, so speak it,” Joshua said gruffly.

  Rodrigo glared up at Joshua and opened his mouth wide; the man had half a tongue!

  “What happened to your tongue?”

  Rodrigo squatted, grabbed a stick, and began writing in the dirt. Joshua waited until he finished and then read what the man had written.

  It said. ‘Policía cortaron la lengua’ Joshua knew that Policia was Spanish for police, but he did not know what the rest meant.

  “I don’t read Spanish, can you write in English?”

  Rodrigo nodded his head. Then he wrote in English that the police had cut out his tongue.

  Joshua asked him why the police would do that.

  Rodrigo wrote that he was having sex with a woman; he did not know that her husband was a ‘patrulla fronteriza,’ a border patrolman. The man had not killed him; instead, he cut his balls off and his tongue out so that he could never have sex with a woman again. Joshua felt sorry for the man.

  “Are you from Mexico?” Joshua asked, wondering about the affair with the border patrolman’s wife.

  Rodrigo shook his head then wrote - El Paso.

  “So, you were raised on this side of the border?” Rodrigo nodded, and poked his stick at the word El Paso.

  “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Rodrigo. I just needed to find out why you did not speak. Rodrigo wrote in the dirt ‘no problema’ and ‘no one had ever asked.’ Joshua walked back to where Curtis was sitting eating a sandwich.

  “I would offer you a sandwich, Sheriff, but I only brought one.”

  “Don’t worry about it; I’ll grab something when I leave here.”

  “Did you find out what you needed to know?”