by Joe Derkacht
Chance Odoms had not troubled himself to remove his holster and gun. Rumor had it that he never removed it in the shower, either, or when he went to bed, though for the straight dope, one would have had to ask his wife, Anna Lee. He watched keenly as Lamarr opened and closed the door. A shave with the hand plane here and there took out the last of the squeaks.
“Lamarr, you would have made a fine carpenter. It’s the devil, putting a door in right.”
“Let’s see, sir,” he answered, “these are Sergeant Lamarr’s choices, making it as an officer in the Army or tryin’ for the whites-only carpenters union in Calneh. What would you choose for him?”
“There’s the union for black carpenters,” he suggested helpfully.
“Lower pay and benefits. Fewer opportunities.”
“Your mother ever tell you how you should learn to take a compliment instead of turning it into an argument?”
“You ever try to give my mother a compliment?”
“The way I hear it, your mother likes compliments on her cookin’, especially on her okra and collard greens.”
Lamarr guffawed. For a white man, Odoms was pretty quick with an answer. He knew for a fact that before last night, his mother and Odoms had never spoken with one another. The man must have eyes and ears everywhere. Which made sense for a detective, especially the city’s top homicide cop.
“You find that amusing?” Odoms said, crinkling an eyebrow at him.
“Aw, that don’t count,” Lamarr said. “She always turns it around and says how the Lord done it anyhow.”
Both men laughed, and anyone listening would have thought they were old friends. Odoms, laughing as hard as he remembered having ever laughed in his whole life, pressed one hand against a stitch in his side.
“Praise the Lord, He sure knows how to cook greens just right.”
“Okrie, too,” Lamarr said.
“And pies!” Odoms hooted. “The Lord’s good at bakin’ them pies, ’specially sweet potato pies.”
“You boys wouldn’t be making fun where you shouldn’t be, especially not on the Lord’s Day, would you?”
Color drained from the detective’s face. He turned and found Anna Lee staring up from the foot of the stairs, as pretty as a picture but stern and humorless. He noticed her white, slingback pumps had picked up a fine coat of dust from her walk up the pathway. Beyond her, at the gate, their daughter stood waiting.
“Hello, Daddy,” Cecily called demurely. “Hello, Lamarr. A lovely Sunday to you.”
Taking in Mrs. Odoms’ finely-penciled arched eyebrows, Lamarr confined himself to a gentlemanly smile. As she continued looking askance at him, he thought it wise to pull on his undershirt. The warm Alabama sun, beating down ever more hotly throughout the morning, gave way to icicles.
“Will you be coming home for dinner shortly?” She asked her husband. “Or will you and your friend, Mister Brown, be continuing your work here?”
Chance glanced at Lamarr, who, like any wise man in those kinds of moments, had beaten a hasty retreat and was now making a show of examining the damage to the McIlhenny porch. No help there.
“I believe Mr. Brown and I have considerable more work before us, my dear,” he said. He would have suggested she bring him and Lamarr a few pieces of chicken and some of her prizewinning pecan pie later on but, considering the piercing green of her eyes, he calculated the chances of it happening as slim to none. Good homicide cops and good Marines know when to choose their battles.
“Dinner will be left in the oven for you,” Anna Lee told him. What she did not say was that it would be as tough as shoe leather by the time he came home.
Already hungry at the mere mention of dinner, he sighed as she carefully made her way down the path in her white pumps. Waiting for her mother, Cecily waved encouragement to her father. Across the street, veering back and forth like a drunken sailor, Angel had Ioletta in tow. If they were lucky, they would all meet as Anna Lee reached the gate.
Cecily held the gate open for her mother, then waited for Angel and Ioletta.
“I understand you make wonderful greens, Miz Brown, and pies, too,” Anna Lee said in passing, loudly enough for her husband and Lamarr to overhear her words.
Thunderstruck, Ioletta stared after her, until dragged up the path by Angel. Cecily gently shut the gate behind her.
“Tell your mother I’m grateful for the compliment,” Ioletta called over her shoulder. “But the Lord has just blessed me in that department, you know.”
“I will, Miz Brown,” Cecily said, smiling sweetly. “Wouldn’t it be a nice day for a picnic?”
“Yes it would, child, you done read my mind.”
Lamarr glanced at his watch, as Angel and his mother reached the porch.
“Angel didn’t like the service, Momma?” He asked, surprised to see his mother this early. Alliance Baptist usually did not let out until an hour or two after Flowers Baptist.
“Oh, it wasn’t Angel,” she said. “He loved it, like I knew he would. But Reverend Champion, he done called for testimonies about last night’s fracas, as he called it, and after I told about all the prayin’ and how the Lord preserved us all and nobody except that one boy was hurt, he made a’ early altar call. Awful disappointed, he was, to not see you there, after you savin’ Stella Jo an’ Angel.”
Odoms helped Angel up the stairs and then pushed the door open to let him inside, while Lamarr helped his mother.
“You told him about my pulling the ox out of the ditch an’ all, I s’pose,” he said.
“I wasn’t tellin’ him that fool story, boy!” She retorted. “Maybe I cain’t do it, but he would chop that smart-alecky talk of yours into little bitty pieces--though I see you convinced Captain Odoms of the righteousness of your cause.”
“Miz Brown,” Odoms said in greeting.
“Captain Odoms,” she answered, giving him the once over. Fine sawdust had unavoidably drifted over his dark suit pants and found its way into every crease and wrinkle. The webbing of his holster had not been spared, either. “I see you haven’t just been directin’ my Lamarr here while he goes about his business.”
“I’ve made a noble effort to stay out of his way, Miz Brown, while your Lamarr did the lion’s share of the work. I’ve had the pleasure of discovering that he is not only a credit to the U.S. Army and its corps of military policemen, as he proved last night, but also a very competent hand at the carpentry trade.”
For the second time in a few short minutes, Ioletta appeared thunderstruck, whether by the fact that Chance Odoms had actually spoken with her, especially in a gentlemanly manner, or by the sudden avalanche of compliments, it would be difficult to say. Regaining her composure, she nodded to both men and followed Angel through the door, having first glanced approvingly at their handiwork.
Lamarr raised one eyebrow at Odoms. In a few moments, the groaning of the floorboards died away. Likely as not, he figured, she was on her way to the kitchen.
“I’m impressed, sir,” he said. “I see there’s a lot I could learn from you.”
“When it comes to flatterin’ the fairer sex, I doubt you have much to learn from me, Lamarr,” he said, a smile creasing his face.
“The fairer sex, my mother?” Lamarr said, surprised.
“The heart is everything, son. Everything.”
An image of his mother flashed through Lamarr’s mind. Then the decidedly elegant Anna Lee Odoms standing at the foot of the stairs, a chilly expression on her face, and Cecily by the gate, smiling sweetly.
“Hmmh, I see what you mean,” he said. He scratched at his nose and hoped Odoms couldn’t read his mind. “But we have work enough to do here without worrying about--about the fairer sex.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Odoms said, mentally noting Lamarr’s nervousness and abrupt change of subject. He had been a keen observer of people long before launching into his career as a homicide cop, and he knew all too well how his intense gaze made
people squirm. It helped that he had the visage of an eagle. Hardened criminals had been known to crack beneath that gaze. He decided to take it easy on poor Lamarr.
“You know what I like about you, Lamarr?”
“Me, sir?”
“You’re a man of character. Give me a man of character to any thousand other men.”
Lamarr, modest as always, felt his face burn, and hid it by running his hand over his stubbled cheeks.
Both men came down the steps to better examine the damage to the porch. When Leonard McIlhenny had replaced the original, rotted out wraparound porch, he had not done any of the fancy work often seen on Southern houses. While he had put up railings, they were unpainted and unvarnished 2x4s as were the vertical pieces, and the decking was more of the same. There were no architectural details to be admired, and no screened enclosures to keep out the flying insects so fond of humid Southern nights. It was all utilitarian, functional and cheap, which meant repair of the porch would require little in the way of reconstruction or refinishing work. A total of eight 2x4s had been damaged on the deck itself by their abrupt acquaintance with the intruder’s Camaro, not counting insult to the railings, while the support beams were virtually untouched.
The two men were silent, as they walked back to Leonard McIlhenny’s shed to dig out the required number of 2x4 studs. Chance Odoms knew to bide his time; Lamarr would say his piece when he was ready.
“Old Len had himself paint enough,” Odoms commented, spying buckets stacked overhead on a plywood sheet laid atop the shed’s open trusses. “’Course, after all these years it’d be dried out junk.”
“I s’pose,” Lamarr said, rifling a 2x4 through the open doorway. “It’d be nice to paint the door and all for Miss Stella, though.”
“It’s too bad you can’t stick around.”
Lamarr glanced sideways at him.
“If you’ve ever taken advice from anyone, I’d say early tomorrow morning wouldn’t be too soon for you to make yourself scarce around these parts.”
“Is that comin’ from you official like?” Lamarr asked, genuinely pained.
“Let’s say it comes from someone who knows officials and their officious ways, son,” he said, spreading his hands in defeat.
“But I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”
He snorted. “Wrong? What’s that to do with it? If it were up to me, the mayor would throw you a banquet and pin a medal on your chest in front of the whole dadgummed city--but that ain’t gonna happen.”
Lamarr looked thoughtful, as he and Odoms picked up the lumber from the ground, each easily manhandling a half-dozen 8' studs. They carried them to the front of the house and Odoms set his share down gently, watching as Lamarr threw his down in disgust and then commenced tearing off the 2x4 decking with his bare hands.
“I could be wrong,” Odoms said, wincing as Lamarr flung the last damaged piece halfway across the yard, where it bounced harmlessly off one of Angel’s statues.
“No sir, you’re not wrong,” he said. Blood dripped from the fingers of his right hand. “Any fool knows that.”
“It’s the way of the world, Lamarr, at least the sorry, benighted world you and I know.”
Lamarr took a seat on the porch steps. “I know, sir,” he said. Right hand in his left, he watched the blood trickle into his palm and dribble onto his wrist. It was just a scratch, really, a cut from a wood splinter. His gaze wandered to the street, seemingly contemplating it with the same sort of fixed attention as any of Angel’s statues.
“It’ll be hard for my momma to understand my leavin’ so soon, sir,” he said.
“Oh, she’ll understand,” Odoms said, confident it wasn’t anything that would surprise her. “Like it or not, she’ll understand.”
Lamarr looked sideways at him, as Odoms took a seat on the stairs. Keen observer that he was, the detective knew Lamarr wanted to say something.
Lamarr cleared his throat.
“I’m listening,” Odoms said, his gaze on the street. He had almost forgotten it was Sunday. People strolled on the sidewalks in their best Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes--young couples, old couples, and here and there a man or woman walking alone. Children rode by on their Schwinns and Raleighs or on street skates. More than one person glanced curiously in their direction, at the young soldier in his undershirt and the grizzled detective with necktie and gun.
Out of habit Chance reached for his cigarettes, remembering too late that Anna Lee, who abhorred smoking around the church, was always careful to empty them from his pockets on Sundays. Which was tolerable, as long as he was able to keep his hands busy, like today. Normally, though, he had to sit for an hour or two, inwardly seething until he could get home to the privacy of his back porch.
“My father died before he could leave us,” Lamarr said.
“Interesting manner of looking at things,” Odoms remarked. With an effort he focused his attention fully on Lamarr, who shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in resignation.
“That’s the way it is for some folks.”
“Regrettable but true.”
“I never had a chance to do nothin’ with him,” Lamarr said wistfully, no longer seeing the street, or the path lined with Angel’s statues. “To go fishin’, or play ball, or ax for his advice about nuthin’.”
The detective nodded, purposely shifting his gaze to his shoes. They needed a good dusting.
“I sure wasn’t axin’ no advice from all those old fools on the street corners--shootin’ the breeze, drinkin’ from their brown paper bags and laughin’ like they knew somethin’ no one else did.”
“There was Reverend Champion,” Chance offered, then bit his tongue, afraid he might have said the wrong thing.
“Oh, I’m grateful to Reverend Champion and Elder Wiggins an’ all them,” Lamarr said. “I am. But it’s still not like having your own old man.”
“Ummh,” Odoms agreed, remembering the good times with his own father. The memories were still fresh, perhaps seared into his mind by the car wreck that killed his father a few days before Chance turned sixteen. A week later he had joined the Marine Corps and made it his family until he married Anna Lee just before the war.
“So I wonder what it would be like to ax advice from a white man who never had no sons,” Lamarr said at last. “Me bein’ who I am, and all, and so often hatin’ the way I see the world run.”
Chance felt goose bumps on his arms. It was a good thing he had not rolled up his sleeves. Maybe no one else would understand it, certainly none of the men he worked with on the Calneh police force, but he felt deeply honored. And not up to the task.
“Would that white boy be sitting next to you?” He asked.
Lamarr grinned. “I think I’m talking to the right person, sir.”
“Well, if it’s me you’re axin’--asking advice, the first thing I would say is that you only address God as sir, Him and the few people you absolutely have to say it to in the service.”
“Does that mean you, too, sir?”
“Especially me. I hear sir or Captain so much in my line of work, it makes me want to puke, and anyways I would appreciate your calling me Chance like everybody else around here.”
“Can’t say I know nobody on this street who calls you nuthin’ but Captain Odoms or sir,” Lamarr said, laughing. “That’s uncomfortable, I’ll tell you. I bet most the time your wife calls you Captain.”
“Well, that’s different. Point is, you call a lot of people sir, they’ll be looking down their noses at you though you’re a man’s man and have ten times the character, to boot.”
“All right, Chance,” he said. “But since I’m leavin’ early tomorrow, there’s not much time for practice.”
Out of the corner of one eye, Odoms spied his daughter on the sidewalk in a long, yellow sun dress and white sneakers. He doubted the wicker picnic basket in one hand and the green and white Thermos jug swinging from the other hand were Anna Lee’s idea. A
s hungry as he was, the time closing on 2 o’clock, he hated to cut short his conversation with Lamarr. It wasn’t many young men, white or black, who asked advice from a cop. Most of the ones he came into contact with were far beyond the point of asking for anyone’s advice, except maybe for a few who entertained hopes of flattering their way out of an arrest.
“You ever watched Gomer Pyle on TV, Lamarr?”
Lamarr’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Sure,” he said. “A couple times. ’Bout laughed my head off.”
“What do you think was funny about it?”
“Dumb white hick who talks funny,” Lamarr said, not even having to think about it.
“Who does everything wrong but it comes out right in the end because he has a good heart?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Lamarr said, nodding agreement.
“You were saying how you didn’t like how the world is run.”
“That’s right--” Lamarr saw Cecily at the gate with her burdens. He pushed himself to his feet.
“Lamarr, wait,” Chance said. Lamarr hesitated, looking down at him, obviously anxious to play the gentleman.
“You wanted advice.”
“Sure.”
“Unfortunately people aren’t always impressed with a good heart.”
“And?”
“But they do think people are dumb if they speak differently.”
Lamarr stiffened. Chance stood and dusted his hands on his slacks. At that moment, Ioletta swung open the door and walked onto the porch.
“Lamarr honey, could you help me with Angel?” She asked, at the same time waving to Cecily. “We’re havin’ us a picnic!”
Lamarr frowned, glancing at his mother and then back at the gate. Chance was striding down the path to let his daughter in.
“All right,” he said. Leaping up the stairs, he followed his mother into the house. For the first time in years, he almost hated Angel.
“Hello, Daddy,” Cecily said, waiting patiently, swinging the picnic basket and Thermos jug in her hands. Opening the gate for her, he let her smile warm his heart, which had suddenly felt as cold as a stone.
