Doing Time In Texas, Book 3
Page 9
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Standing by the cabin door Ginny Wilkerson spoke to Bonnie and said, “Go lay down on the sofa. I promise if anything changes, I will wake you. For the baby’s sake you need to get some rest. Annie and I will not leave Willy alone for a single moment.”
Bonnie stretched out on the couch and was instantly asleep. Outside Silas and Ellis sat in the swing and listened to the sounds in the forest. Whittling on a piece of wood Silas listened towhile Ellis talktalked. “I wonder why the rangers and Doc left in such a hurry?” Ellis asked.
“I don’t know,” Silas replied. “The captain asked that we stay here and watch the place, just in case the women needed something. I heard the doc tell Bonnie that he had done all that was possible. Now it was in the Lord’s hands,” Silas said.
Ellis thought for a moment and said, “The Lord didn’t help my baby sister. Did he, Silas?” Ellis asked.
Replying gently Silas said, “Ellis, maybe he did. She had something wrong with her from the very beginning. Maybe he just looked down the road of her life and decided to spare her a lot of grief. Doc says that Willy’s system is poisoned, and his body will start shutting down because it can’t overcome the poison.”
“Silas, maybe I shouldn’t say anything at a time like this, but those pies sure are calling my name,” Ellis said with a grin.
Silas replied, “I know what you mean! I brought a couple of jugs of fresh milk this morning and lowered them into the well. I bet they are good and cold now!” “I feel kind of ashamed thinking of food at a time like this,” Ellis said.
“Me to, too, Ellis…but we will get over it,,” Silas said with a grin. “Let’s see if we can beat those ladies out of a piece of that chocolate pie!”
C16 - It Looks Like Easter Sunday
Sunday morning at the First Baptist Church looked like an Easter service. The normally reverent worshipers had been augmented by people that seldom to never came to church. Word of Thomas Taylor’s demise had filled the small town with speculation and gossip. Every eye followed the choir as they filed in and a hush fell. Today, the choir was one person short; the seat beside Doc was empty. All eyes fell on him with questioning stares from across the sanctuary. Doc Mueller had had a hard night, answering the phone only to hang up when it was apparent it wasn’t someone in need of a doctor. When the singing started, many bowed their heads in prayer for the little grey-haired lady that had blessed so many people in Huntsville over her life. The inquisitive sat whispering to one another hoping to hear a word from Dr. Mueller.
Looking out at the people standing along the walls and over flowing the pews Doc sighed. His place in the choir was next to the door that led back into the choir room and from there out the back of the church. He waited until all heads were bowed in prayer then slipped out the side door. He didn’t feel much like singing today and had attended because of Betty’s instance. So, he would just head for home to be with her. Besides he had a patient he needed to attend to. Doc had hoped to do some praying this morning and seek a peaceful release from the troubled events of the past few days, but that was not to be. Trying to fetch his car keys from his pocket made him realize he still had on his choir robe on. Mumbling to himself, he stood by his car and removed the robe, “I should have never agreed to this! It sounded crazy! The whole thing was crazy. I should have told them so! Now how will I tell Betty?”
Back in the church the atmosphere of worship had been lost as the old pastor looked out across the murmuring congregation, “This is the Lord’s House! We are here to worship! No other topic will be permitted. Anything else will have to be discussed after church.” Throughout his entire message people slipped out the back of the sanctuary.
“Betty, grief always comes in the morning,” Nate had told her. Across town Betty Taylor sat in her kitchen as grief overwhelmed her for her Thomas. Neither she or Doc had slept much the last night. Holding her coffee cup between her hands she listened to the bells of the Methodist Church down the street.
Thomas had missed out on the love of a mother and father, but Betty and Doc had done their very best to fill the void. They had known a sweet side of him that most folks never saw. “Rest in peace, my child,” she said softly as tears ran down her face. Taking up a pen she wiped her swollen tear stained eyes and adjusted the paper on the table. Betty had known where Doris was and had written her many letters through the years, often begging her to acknowledge Thomas, but Doris had never answered any of her letters. She guessed one more letter would go unanswered, but she wanted her to know.
Grady O’ Hara and his wife drove up to the front of Betty and Doc’s house that Sunday morning. The two had skipped church. The two of them had gotten up early and cooked a meal. In the back of his head Grady had an idea that little Katie Watson would need a kindly woman to care for her while her mother was at work in the candy store and Betty’s heart would need some healing. Grady knew the best medicine for the broken heart of a woman was the love of a child.
Fear and suspicion fueled rumors around the small town. People who hated someone automatically decided the object of their hate must be the murderer. New stories were fabricated daily and the rumor mill cranked up to full speed. The imaginations of the people of Huntsville had been ignited and anything that was said was embellished until the rumors were out of control. Bart had been overrun with concerned people, with rumors about the killings and had finally got in his patrol car and spent his time in a beer joint on the county line.
Ed Weeks sat in his house. Sunday was usually his day for sleeping off the weekend's drinking, but lately he had not felt much like drinking. He walked from window to window looking out the closed curtains, his fears and suspicions running wild. He wanted to take the old van he had stashed and run, but if he did then surely, he would be a suspect in this mess.
C17 - Monday Morning’s Wake Up Call
Shelby Watson sat at the table drinking her morning cup of coffee watching Beaver and Katie out in the yard. Beaver had hung a tire swing from the oak tree and the two were enjoying each other as if they had never been apart.
She hated to leave Katie in the care of someone else, but she needed the work. They had never been apart more than a few hours since Katie had been born. Mr. O’ Hara had recommended the sitter highly and had suggested that it was what Mrs. Taylor needed. At the moment, the only thing Katie wanted was to be with her daddy. They got along great and as she watched the two, her heart softened towards him a little.
This was the Beaver she knew before the alcohol and shady friends. Tapping on the window, it was time to walk Katie over to the sitter and then get to work. Beaver waved goodbye and headed for the railroad yard. He had stayed at home with Katie until the last minute.
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“That’s impossible! He can’t be alive! The barn was an inferno when we walked out!” Smitty yelled.
“They’re both alive in a cabin back in the woods, guarded by Texas Rangers,” McDonald said.
“How do you know all that?” Smitty asked.
“Judd Smith found them and got close enough to confirm it. Willy is in a bad way and may have died by now, but Bonnie is alive for sure,” McDonald said.
“If the sheriff found all this out, maybe we underestimated him,” Smitty said.
“It was Judd, not that bozo of a sheriff. He is becoming a problem. Judd thinks he’s about to come unraveled. I want this mess cleaned up once and for all. Judd tells me there are a couple of freelance shooters down there trying to collect on a contract LaSalle put out on the killer of his nephew and the Albino. Gino LaSalle is in jail, but his organization is still up and running. I told Judd to contact the shooters and see if they can take care of the sheriff for us. He will also have them look for Mayfield and Hawkins.”
Smitty sat down and scratched his chin and said, “What do you want done with the truck? We can’t just keep driving it around the city, parking in a different truck stop every day. Sooner or later it will attract attention.”
“Mac, it’s a long drive back to Texas! Why don’t we just tell the sheriff to get it done? Then we can bump him off. I stick out like a sore thumb down among those cowboys!” Smitty said.
“Smitty, the sheriff couldn’t take care of a parking ticket. I know personally he has no backbone and Judd said he has always been a disappointment. Bonnie alone can put us away for the rest of our lives and if Willy dies, her testimony can get us the death penalty,” McDonald said.
Smitty gave in and said, “Okay, okay…I will be on my way in the morning.”
“You can sleep on the way. Val will do the driving. Go get cleaned up and get a bag packed. The sheriff will have you a fast car with a Texas tag waiting for you at the truck stop outside of Houston,” McDonald stated.
McDonald turned to Benny, “Take the truck to the old abandoned warehouse out by the lake and guard it around the clock. I will send our distributors out to take a look after I figure if it’s safe.”
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“Captain, do you think calling Chicago was wise? The police will let the mob know that we are looking for this Chubby Hawkins and the Fred Mayfield guy,” Ranger Cruise stated.
Captain Eastman responded, “I know, and that is what I’m counting on. Those two lost the trucks. They are either dead or running for their lives. I just want to let the mob know we are not asleep down here. Just knowing we have figured out their names will make them wonder what else we know. If those two find out we are looking for them for murder, they might want to make a deal. Get Hawkins’s and Mayfield’s name in all the newspapers within a thousand-mile radius and make sure their names end up in the Chicago papers.”
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In a café in Louisiana a man sat reading the latest development in the Huntsville crime spree. It was getting to be real bizarre. A body was buried in a cemetery in a new expensive casket at the very time the Texas Rangers were in the middle of investigating two murders in that very cemetery. To make matters even more bizarre, a new headstone was set with only the date of death and name. The body has been identified as Shane Thomas Taylor. Less than a mile down the county road a mysterious barn fire may have claimed the lives of a man and his wife that had recently relocated to the small Texas town from Chicago.
Folding the paper, Fred Mayfield sat drinking his coffee. He had liked Willy Baker and hated to think he had succumbed to such a bad end. McDonald would have such plans for him and Hawkins and if he had caught Willy, he could surely catch him. He was only a truck driver, not a killer or even a crook. He had only come down south to drive a truck for McDonald. Fred sighed and cursed himself silently. “I knew what kind of people I was dealing with! I knew better!” he muttered to himself.
“Mister, do you want a refill on that coffee,” said the pretty girl standing next to his table smiling at him.
“Yes, Ma’am, please,” Fred answered sheepishly. He realized he had been talking to himself under his breath. Living alone can do that to a person sometimes…he had to watch that from now on.
Fred had separated himself from Hawkins as soon as he could and had no idea where Hawkins was now. But he knew that sooner or later the law, or worse, would round him up. Hawkins would try and lay the blame on him. Putting the paper under his arm Fred paid the bill and took one last drink of the coffee. ‘Guess I will be doing time in Texas, but I won’t take the heat for Hawkins!’ he muttered. It would take all day to get to Huntsville from here. Best be getting down to the bus station. ‘As soon as I make Huntsville, I will turn myself in to the local sheriff,’ thought Fred as he was resolved to his end.
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The sign over the station read West Houston, Greyhound Bus Station. Chubby Hawkins washed his face in the sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had gotten this far and for the last two days he had wandered the streets around the bus station. Penniless, he had no idea what to do. Sitting in the station he did not notice the man getting his shoes shined while reading the Houston paper. The picture in the paper was life-sized and a very good likeness of Hawkins. The man reading the paper looked at a man standing a few feet behind Hawkins and smiled. Things were looking up. Now if they could find Mayfield as easy as this Hawkins fellow they would be in the money. The local sheriff was another matter. The price on his head was big. Judd had informed the two that the sheriff was the infamous Shine Ghost. That meant they would get payment from the LaSalle family and at the same time from the McDonald family. Judd Smith had come out of this with quite a bit of change himself and hadn’t had to lift a finger.
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“McDonald, this is Paulie down at the precinct, I got a little news you might be interested in.”
“What’s the news, Paulie? It better be good if you want to get paid,” McDonald said.
“The ranger boys down in Texas are looking for your man Hawkins and that gimpy-legged truck driver on a murder warrant. They called my Captain a few minutes ago and asked that we pick them up if they show up in Chicago,” Paulie stated.
“Paulie, I want them two. Let me know what else you hear.” Hanging up the phone McDonald stood thinking about the new development. Before he took his hand off the receiver the phone rang again.
“McDonald, you might want to read the Houston paper tomorrow morning. Your man Hawkins made the front page,” Judd said.
McDonald smiled as he lit a cigar and said, “Glad we are back in business, Judd. Keep me posted and I will send you and the New Orleans boys some candy.” Turning around in his swivel chair he looked at the man sitting across from him in his office. “How long has Smitty been on the road?”
McDonald’s man said, “They’ve been gone a couple of hours. When they stop for the night Val said he would call.”
McDonald replied, “Good! You stay by the phone and let me know the minute they call. I need to talk to Smitty.”
The next morning the Houston paper had another picture in its early morning edition. The body of Chubby Hawkins had been found in the alley next to the Greyhound Bus station.
C18 - Facing Up
Fred Mayfield sat looking out the window, as the bus circled the town square. It was almost five and he was getting a little hungry. Before he went to see the local sheriff, he would have himself a meal and a good night’s sleep. The diner across the square looked like a good place to eat.
Grey Jack Mahoney stood just inside the arrival door of the bus station and scrutinized every male that came in on the greyhound buses. In his hand he held a photo of Fred Mayfield. Birdie Stein stepped up behind Grey Jack and the two stood watching as the people departed the bus. Fred sat in the back of the bus and waited for the rest to depart before he got up. Rising to his feet he stretched and made his way to the front of the bus.
“Grey Jack, the sheriff is across the street. Let’s go take a good look at this gent. He has a lot more money on his head than the truck driver. It’s a long drive back to Houston. I’m ready to call it a day,” Birdie said.
The man called Grey Jack turned and shook his head and said, “Let’s go. I doubt Mayfield will be stupid enough to show up here.” Just as the two turned and walked away, Fred stepped down from the bus. Walking a few steps behind them he made his way across the square, totally unaware that death was only a few feet in front of him.
It was dark before Fred finished his meal and stepped back out on the street. Stretching, he spied a brick ledge he could sit on. The town was peaceful now and a cool breeze was blowing. Sitting on the brick he heard a sound behind him that made him turn. A small boy sat playing in the dirt with a toy truck. Sammy Johnson drove his small truck down a dirt road of his own making; the sound of a car engine emanating from
his lips.
“I didn’t see you back there,” Fred said. “You mind if I sit on your bricks here?”
“No, Sir. I don’t mind,” Sammy said.
“What made you pick this spot to play with your cars?” Fred asked.
“My momma works in the diner. I’m waiting for her to get off work. What are you doing here?” Sammy asked.
“I guess I’m just saying goodbye to freedom. I just wanted to sit here and look at this big Texas sky for a little while,” Fred replied.
Looking down the street at the ominous brick prison walls, he wondered if the prisoners ever looked up at the stars and considered how big the sky was…for him that will be the hardest thing about prison.
“Have you ever noticed how big the sky is in Texas?” Fred asked.
“No, Sir. I never paid it no mind. What does saying ‘goodbye to freedom’ mean?” Sammy asked.
“I got mixed up with bad people and involved in a criminal act, so I’m fixing to go to jail,” Fred told the little boy.
“We got plenty of criminal acts around here,” Sammy said. “Why, just the other day they found old Thomas Taylor all dead and buried in a haunted cemetery. He done been murdered and no one knows who did it. Momma says he is the ghost that is haunting the cemetery.”
“Well, Sammy, Thomas Taylor is why I’m here. I know who killed him, so I came to tell the law what I know, and they will put me in jail,” Fred said.
“If you didn’t do nothing…why you going to jail?” Sammy asked.
“I was with the man that did it,” Fred said.Sammy lost interest in playing with his toy cars and came and sat by Fred. “Why was you wit’ the man that kilt Thomas, Mister?” he asked.
“Sammy, my name is Fred and I’m a truck driver. I was hired to drive a truck and I knew the trucks were loaded with stolen goods, but I drove the truck anyway. A bad man with a gun was supposed to ride with me and make sure no one took my truck. Taylor was with a group of men that stole the trucks and the bad man shot him as he was driving away,” Fred said trying to explain to Sammy.