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Ninety Days Inside The Empire: A Novel by William Appleman Williams

The Dream and The Reality of Violence

Page 105

*****

Sheriff Tommy Downs was excited in his gut but cautious in his head. He liked his job.

"Risky, Bobby. Anyway, why not Mr. Hank? He's pretty big in his britches, and she's the one who got Richie in trouble."

Johnson was not dumb. "I can see that, Tommy, but you got to learn what ass to leave alone. They'll come right at us if we do a Nigger."

"So what do you want?"

"Where this Wye lives now, what bus he takes, and a little help with a car and a cell. You know what I mean - way after hours."

"You sure the Mrs. Warrener is set on this?"

-- Is she really that good in bed? How can I get some?

"Yeah, it's her idea, but I think it makes sense. Hit 'em from the dark side of the moon."

Downs laughed easy; opened each of them another beer.

"I like that. My daddy used to tell me they did it to the revenue agents back in Mississippi."

"You gonna help, then?"

"Yeah, I like that dark side of the moon stuff. I'll give you Willie and Irv, a car and the back door key to the jail."

He thought it through.

"You sober, Tommy?"

"Sure. Nothin' all day but these two beers."

"Then this is it. One hour, no more. And he's got to leave walking. And no blood anywhere."

"Done."

They got Cat the fifth night. Just waited till he got off the bus about ten. They let him get in between the street lights in the second block. Willie tapped him just right with the buckshot sock. By the time he came to in the back cell he was blindfolded and wrapped in two blankets and up by his wrists just off the floor.

He first heard them talking about the fish out beyond the shoals.

Knowing talk.

-- I'd like to go out there and try it.

Then this voice he thought he remembered from somewhere not too long ago. Not like from memory, like from hearing it.

"No balls, no head, no bones. He's got to walk."

Two other voices complained this was too nice. He'd never heard them, but he would remember them.

Sooner than he had feared, the harsh pain from sand-filled pieces of garden hose drifted away. He knew he was getting numb from his hips up to his shoulders. One of them kept hitting him right on a vertebra along in there. He was kind of up in his wrists, peering down at them as they turned him slowly and hit him up and down each side, then in the middle, and finally along the edges.

He had a wild memory of the Negro gunner who had finally got a kamikaze about 200 yards off the starboard side of the bridge.

-- These guys are very good. So am I. I will not piss or shit.

He did not.

Still blindfolded, they drove him away and propped him up in a telephone booth.

"The bus will be by in a few minutes. We passed it ways back. There's a dime there by the phone."

-- Very considerate. You think of everything.

He finally forced his wrists to bend enough to push the blindfold off. His fingers were more of a problem, but slapping them on the shelf helped and he finally dialed the number.

"Lieutenant Reis."

"Wife...." He was beginning to heave. "Wife?"

"Where are you?"

"They came 'round the dark side of the moon and laced me...."

Now he was retching.

"Get to Susan and Abbey Mae...."

Retching steadily now.

"Where are you?"

"Here comes the bus, and I'll make it to the hospital. Get to Susan."

"Where are you?"