“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Ozzie smiled and walked to his car. Bobby Bumpous was one of his favorites. Since his parole two years earlier, he had led a reasonably clean life, occasionally succumbing to the lure of an easy drug sale for a quick buck. Ozzie watched him like a hawk and knew of such transactions, and Bumpous knew Ozzie knew; therefore, Bumpous was usually most eager to help his friend, Sheriff Walls. The plan was to eventually use Bumpous to nail Billy Ray Cobb for dealing, but that would be postponed for now.
After a few minutes he marched outside, still tucking his shirttail and zipping his pants. “Who you lookin’ for?” he demanded.
“Billy Ray Cobb.”
“That’s no problem. You can find him without me.”
“Shut up and listen. We think Cobb was involved in a rape this afternoon. A black girl was raped by two white men, and I think Cobb was there.”
“Cobb ain’t into rape, Sheriff. He’s into drugs, remember?”
“Shut up and listen. You find Cobb and spend some time with him. Five minutes ago his truck was
spotted at Huey’s. Buy him a beer. Shoot some pool, roll dice, whatever. Find out what he did today. Who was he with? Where’d he go? You know how he likes to talk, right?”
“Right.”
“Call the dispatcher when you find him. They’ll call me. I’ll be somewhere close. You understand?”
“Sure, Sheriff. No problem.”
“Any questions?”
“Yeah. I’m broke. Who’s gonna pay for this?”
Ozzie handed him a twenty and left. Hastings drove in the direction of Huey’s, down by the lake.
“You sure you can trust him?” Hastings asked.
“Who?”
“That Bumpous kid.”
“Sure I trust him. He’s proved very reliable since he was paroled. He’s a good kid tryin’ to go straight, for the most part. He supports his local sheriff and would do anything I ask.”
“Why?”
“Because I caught him with ten ounces of pot a year ago. He’d been outta jail about a year when I caught his brother with an ounce, and I told him he was lookin’ at thirty years. He started cryin’ and carryin’ on, cried all night in his cell. By mornin’ he was ready to talk. Told me his supplier was his brother, Bobby. So I let him go and went to see Bobby. I knocked on his door and I could hear the commode flushin’. He wouldn’t come to the door, so I kicked it in. I found him in his underwear in the bathroom tryin’ to unstop the commode. There was dope all over the place. Don’t know how much he flushed, but most of it was comin’ back out in the overflow. Scared him so bad he wet his drawers.”
“You kiddin’?”
“Nope. The kid pissed all over himself. He was a sight standin’ there with wet drawers, a plunger in one hand, dope in the other, and the room fillin’ up with commode water.”
“What’d you do?”
“Threatened to kill him.”
“What’d he do?”
“Started cryin’. Cried like a baby. Cried ’bout his momma and prison and all this and that. Promised he’d never screw up again.”
“You arrest him?”
“Naw, I just couldn’t. I talked real ugly to him and threatened him some more. I put him on probation right there in his bathroom. He’s been fun to work with ever since.”
They drove by Huey’s and saw Cobb’s truck in the gravel parking lot with a dozen other pickups and four-wheel drives. They parked behind a black church on a hill up the highway from Huey’s, where they had a good view of the honky tonk, or tonk, as it was affectionately called by the patrons. Another patrol car hid behind some trees at the other end of the highway. Moments later Bumpous flew by and wheeled into the parking lot. He locked his brakes, spraying gravel and dust, then backed next to Cobb’s truck. He looked around and casually entered Huey’s. Thirty minutes later the dispatcher advised Ozzie that the informant had found the subject, a male white, at Huey’s, an establishment on Highway 305 near the lake. Within minutes two more patrol cars were hidden close by. They waited.
“What makes you so sure it’s Cobb?” Hastings asked.
“I ain’t sure. I just got a hunch. The little girl said it was a truck with shiny wheels and big tires.”
“That narrows it down to two thousand.”
“She also said it was yellow, looked new, and had a big flag hangin’ in the rear window.”
“That brings it down to two hundred.”
“Maybe less than that. How many of those are as mean as Billy Ray Cobb?”
“What if it ain’t him?”
“It is.”
“If it ain’t?”
“We’ll know shortly. He’s got a big mouth, ’specially when he’s drinkin’.”
For two hours they waited and watched pickups come and go. Truck drivers, pulpwood cutters, factory workers, and farmhands parked their pickups and jeeps in the gravel and strutted inside to drink, shoot pool, listen to the band, but mainly to look for stray women. Some would leave and walk next door to Ann’s Lounge, where they would stay for a few minutes and return to Huey’s. Ann’s Lounge was darker both inside and out, and it lacked the colorful beer signs and live music that made Huey’s such a hit with the locals. Ann’s was known for its drug traffic, whereas Huey’s had it all—music, women, happy hours, poker machines, dice, dancing, and plenty of fights. One brawl spilled through the door into the parking lot, where a group of wild rednecks kicked and clawed each other at random until they grew winded and returned to the dice table.
“Hope that wasn’t Bumpous,” observed the sheriff.
The restrooms inside were small and nasty, and most of the patrons found it necessary to relieve themselves between the pickups in the parking lot. This was especially true on Mondays when ten-cent beer night drew rednecks from four counties and every truck in the parking lot received at least three sprayings. About
once a week an innocent passing motorist would get shocked by something he or she saw in the parking lot, and Ozzie would be forced to make an arrest. Otherwise, he left the places alone.
Both tonks were in violation of numerous laws. There was gambling, drugs, illegal whiskey, minors, they refused to close on time, etc. Shortly after he was elected the first time Ozzie made the mistake, due in part to a hasty campaign promise, of closing all the honky tonks in the county. It was a horrible mistake. The crime rate soared. The jail was packed. The court dockets multiplied. The rednecks united and drove in caravans to Clanton, where they parked around the courthouse on the square. Hundreds of them. Every night they invaded the square, drinking, fighting, playing loud music, and shouting obscenities at the horrified town folk. Each morning the square resembled a landfill with cans and bottles thrown everywhere. He closed the black tonks too, and break-ins, burglaries, and stabbings tripled in one month. There were two murders in one week.
Finally, with the city under siege, a group of local ministers met secretly with Ozzie and begged him to ease up on the tonks. He politely reminded them that during the campaign they had insisted on the closings. They admitted they were wrong and pleaded for relief. Yes, they would support him in the next election. Ozzie relented, and life returned to normal in Ford County.
Ozzie was not pleased that the establishments thrived in his county, but he was convinced beyond any doubt that his law-abiding constituents were much safer when the tonks were open.
At ten-thirty the dispatcher radioed that the informant was on the phone and wanted to see the sheriff.
Ozzie gave his location, and a minute later they watched Bumpous emerge and stagger to his truck. He spun tires, slung gravel, and raced toward the church.
“He’s drunk,” said Hastings.
He wheeled through the church parking lot and came to a screeching stop a few feet from the patrol car. “Howdy, Sheriff!” he yelled.
Ozzie walked to the pickup. “What took so long?”
“You told me to take all night.”
“You found him two hours ago.”
“That’s true, Sheriff, but have you ever tried to spend twenty dollars on beer when it’s fifty cents a can?”
“You drunk?”
“Naw, just havin’ a good time. Could I have another twenty?”
“What’d you find out?”
“ ’Bout what?”
“Cobb!”
“Oh, he’s in there all right.”
“I know he’s in there! What else?”
Bumpous quit smiling and looked at the tonk in the distance. “He’s laughin’ about it, Sheriff. It’s a big joke. Said he finally found a nigger who was a virgin. Somebody asked how old she was, and Cobb said eight or nine. Everybody laughed.”
Hastings closed his eyes and dropped his head. Ozzie gritted his teeth and looked away. “What else did he say?”
“He’s bad drunk. He won’t remember any of it in the mornin’. Said she was a cute little nigger.”
“Who was with him?”
“Pete Willard.”
“Is he in there?”
“Yep, they’re both laughin’ about it.”
“Where are they?”
“Left-hand side, next to the pinball machines.”
Ozzie smiled. “Okay, Bumpous. You did good. Get lost.”
Hastings called the dispatcher with the two names. The dispatcher relayed the message to Deputy Looney, who was parked in the street in front of the home of County Judge Percy Bullard. Looney rang the doorbell and handed the judge two affidavits and two arrest warrants. Bullard scribbled on the warrants and returned them to Looney, who thanked His Honor and left. Twenty minutes later Looney handed the warrants to Ozzie behind the church.
At exactly eleven, the band quit in mid-song, the dice disappeared, the dancers froze, the cue balls stopped rolling, and someone turned on the lights. All eyes followed the big sheriff as he and his men swaggered slowly across the dance floor to a table by the pinball machines. Cobb, Willard, and two others sat in a booth, the table littered with empty beer cans. Ozzie walked to the table and grinned at Cobb.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t allow niggers in here,” Cobb blurted out, and the four burst into laughter. Ozzie kept grinning.
When the laughing stopped, Ozzie said, “You boys havin’ a good time, Billy Ray?”
“We was.”
“Looks like it. I hate to break things up, but you and Mr. Willard need to come with me.”
“Where we goin’?” Willard asked.
“For a ride.”
“I ain’t movin’,” Cobb vowed. With that, the other two scooted from the booth and joined the spectators.
“I’m placin’ you both under arrest,” Ozzie said.
“You got warrants?” Cobb asked.
Hastings produced the warrants, and Ozzie threw them among the beer cans. “Yeah, we got warrants. Now get up.”
Willard stared desperately at Cobb, who sipped a beer and said, “I ain’t goin’ to jail.”
Looney handed Ozzie the longest, blackest nightstick ever used in Ford County. Willard was panic-stricken. Ozzie cocked it and struck the center of the table, sending beer and cans and foam in all directions. Willard bolted upright, slapped his wrists together and thrust them at Looney, who was waiting with the handcuffs. He was dragged outside and thrown into a patrol car.
Ozzie tapped his left palm with the stick and grinned at Cobb. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in court. You have the right to a lawyer. If you can’t afford one, the state’ll furnish one. Any questions?”
“Yeah, what time is it?”
“Time to go to jail, big man.”
“Go to hell, nigger.”
Ozzie grabbed his hair and lifted him from the booth, then drove his face into the floor. He jammed a knee into his spine and slid his nightstick under his throat, and pulled upward while driving the knee deeper into his back. Cobb squealed until the stick began crushing his larynx.
The handcuffs were slapped into place, and Ozzie dragged him by his hair across the dance floor, out the door, across the gravel and threw him into the back seat with Willard.
________
News of the rape spread quickly. More friends and relatives crowded into the waiting room and the halls around it. Tonya was out of surgery and listed as critical. Ozzie talked to Gwen’s brother in the hall and told of the arrests. Yes, they were the ones, he was sure.
3
__________
J
ake Brigance rolled across his wife and staggered to the small bathroom a few feet from his bed, where he searched and groped in the dark for the screaming alarm clock. He found it where he had left it, and killed it with a quick and violent slap. It was 5:30 A.M., Wednesday, May 15.
He stood in the dark for a moment, breathless, terrified, his heart pounding rapidly, staring at the fluorescent numbers glowing at him from the face of the clock, a clock he hated. Its piercing scream could be heard down the street. He flirted with cardiac arrest every morning at this time when the thing erupted. On occasion, about twice a year, he was successful in shoving Carla onto the floor, and she would maybe turn it off before returning to bed. Most of the time, however, she was not sympathetic. She thought he was crazy for getting up at such an hour.
The clock sat on the windowsill so that Jake was required to move around a bit before it was silenced. Once up, Jake would not permit himself to crawl back under the covers. It was one of his rules. At one time
the alarm was on the nightstand, and the volume was reduced. Carla would reach and turn it off before Jake heard anything. Then he would sleep until seven or eight and ruin his entire day. He would miss being in the office by seven, which was another rule. The alarm stayed in the bathroom and served its purpose.
Jake stepped to the sink and splashed cold water on his face and hair. He switched on the light and gasped in horror at the sight in the mirror. His straight brown hair shot in all directions, and the hairline had receded at least two inches during the night. Either that or his forehead had grown. His eyes were matted and swollen with the white stuff packed in the corners. A seam in a blanket left a bright red scar along the left side of his face. He touched, then rubbed it and wondered if it would go away. With his right hand he pushed his hair back and inspected the hairline. At thirty-two, he had no gray hair. Gray hair was not the problem. The problem was pattern baldness, which Jake had richly inherited from both sides of his family. He longed for a full, thick hairline beginning an inch above his eyebrows. He still had plenty of hair, Carla told him. But it wouldn’t last long at the rate it was disappearing. She also assured him he was as handsome as ever, and he believed her. She had explained that a receding hairline gave him a look of maturity that was essential for a young attorney. He believed that too.