Fallout (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

‘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?”

“Yep, the fellow doesn’t have a tongue. A border patrolman cut it out, but, he can write in English.” Joshua decided not to say anything about his being castrated.

“No wonder he looks so grumpy. That’s bad in more ways than one…”

“Yes, it is. I appreciate the time, Curtis, and I am glad that you are staying out of trouble,” Curtis nodded. They shook hands and then Joshua turned and headed toward his cruiser. He was ready for some lunch himself.

Joshua got into his vehicle and then lit a cigarette. When he cranked the car, the radio blared loudly. He had not realized that he had it that loud as he drove in. Actually, he did not remember even listening to it at all after he had put in the Steppenwolf tape. He had turned off the radio. He’d had so much on his mind that he had not paid any attention to the music. The fact that the radio was playing instead of the 8-track player bothered Joshua. He decided to listen to it to see if maybe there was a reason for that to happen. Joshua believed spirits sometimes helped the living by guiding them in the right direction; his recent visits had made him aware of that. Maybe he was getting a little hint from the spirit world.

He followed the narrow road along the tree line back to the main highway, and then turned left to go to Uncle Joe’s Café. So far, the morning had not produced much information at all as far as finding Jesse and Ola’s killer.

A song came on just as he pulled out onto the highway… The song and the singer were unfamiliar to Joshua, but the tune and the singer’s voice was soothing.

‘
If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save everyday til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you
’ sung the singer. He thought about the words of the song and that it would be nice if he could bottle the good times of his life to have for all of eternity… but that was just a foolish wish. Time did not stand still and it did not wait on anyone. All of the good that had happened was gone; all that remained were memories.

Memories are like time in a bottle, thought Joshua. As long as you uncorked the bottle every now and then and think of them, it is as if no time has passed at all. However, as he had learned lately, if you choose not to uncork the bottle, those memories fade fast. They dissolve into one large glob inside the bottle. Once that happens, you can never find them again, no matter how many times you uncorked the bottle and dig through them trying to separate one from the glob.

When he reached Joe’s Café the parking lot was nearly empty. However, Gypsy’s car was parked right beside the front door. He started to drive away; went as far as shifting into reverse, but his growling stomach told him different; he needed to eat. He shut the car off, got out, and went inside.

“Well if it ain’t the best looking man in Mobile County,” Gypsy purred when he crossed the threshold. Joshua nodded a greeting to Mazy Jones (known as Gypsy to most) and then took a seat at the bar, leaving one space between himself and Mazy. Joe came from the kitchen with a plate that he set in front of Gypsy.

“Howdy, Sheriff” Joe said, “How’s the world treatin’ you ta’day?”

“Fair to midland, Joe, and you?”

“’Bout the same, Days are a lot like that round chere,” Joe replied as he turned over the coffee cup in front of Joshua and poured him a cup of coffee. “What can I get cha, Sheriff?” he asked.

“Just a BLT, no fries”

“That’s not much to sustain a man of
your
size
,
” Mazy purred, giving Joshua a wink. Joshua knew she was
not
referring to his
body
size. He wanted to kick himself in the ass every time she reminded him of the one time he had sex with her. He regretted it, but could not change what happened. And even though it had been at least ten years past, she would not let it go nor had she stopped trying to get a repeat performance.

Joe eyed her before going through the swinging doors into the kitchen area.

“Where’s your running partner?” Joshua asked Mazy.

“She took that job out there in Wheelerville.”

“Did she? That’s good.”

“I guess so, but I miss having her to go places with me. She was always broke though, so she needed the money. That husband of hers has never been much of a help.”

“Sorry to hear that. She’s a good woman and deserves better.”

“We all do, sugar, even old hags like me.”

Joshua did not know if Mazy was fishing for compliments or if she was serious; he really could not tell by her expression. He decided to play it safe and compliment her on her looks.

“You, an old hag, never; you’re a good-looking woman, Mazy. You know that.”

“Thanks, Joshua, you are sweet to say so, but age and gravity is catching up with me. Everything has gone south and is wrinkling and sagging these days. The older I get the harder is gets to keep in shape.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty five” Joshua smiled and winked. He could hear Joe moving around in the kitchen. He was making music with his mouth as he was fixing his lunch. Joe had no teeth and often when he was busy, he would be blowing through his lips and making what he called his bugler music. Joshua could not help but to smile as he listened. Joe came through the doors whistling and toting a plate that held Joshua’s bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. “Got a minute to talk Joe?” Joshua asked.

Mazy was admiring the crinkles around Joshua’s eyes, wishing he would smile more often. His intense green eyes glittered when he did. He was six foot of handsome, always had been. She was staring at him and saw his manner change from smiling to seriousness. Just being near him gave her butterflies in her stomach. She always played it off by flirting outrageously with him.

Joe gazed around the room. “Shore I got time, son, taint much a goin’ on ta`day. Things keep a goin’ in this direction I’ll be closin the doors fer good,” Joe said grumpily.

“I, for one, would hate for that to happen,” Joshua said softly. “I enjoy visiting with you while I eat lunch.”

“Well, then, you ought ta come in more often… can’t run a business without money payin’ customers,” Joe replied grouchily, shaming Joshua for not coming in regularly.

“I stay busy, Joe. More times than not, I forget to stop and eat.”

“A man can’t live on whiskey and cigarettes, even a
sheriff
,” Joe snapped. “It catches up wit cha aftern a while, don’t it Mazy.”

“Yes it does. Joshua, you are getting a little too thin,” Mazy agreed.

“I see, y’all are gonna team up on me. Why don’t you go up on your prices Joe, everyone else in town has. This is the only place in the county I know of where you can get a decent breakfast for two dollars.”

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” Joe grumbled. “I keep my prices low; folks ought ta appreciate that and come here instead of that new waffle place!”

“Maybe it’s the atmosphere at the other place or maybe it is the smiling faces that greet the customers there-” Mazy began.

“Galdernit, I smiles sometimes and try ta be friendly,” Joe snapped.

“I didn’t come in here to tell you how to run your business, Joe. I come to eat and to talk. Calm down some; I needed to talk to you about something.” Joe glared at him a minute and then Joshua saw his shoulders fall as he sighed. “I needed to ask you if you know anything about the Mexicans that work in the area.”

Joe opened his mouth and started to speak and then stopped and thought on it a minute. “They’s payin’ customers,” he said. “They come in here on Friday evenins ta use the payphone and get themselves a hamburger and some fried taters. Then they set outside and people watch til I close the place down. I don’t have no idée what they a sayin except the one or two that speaks what we speak.”

“So, you haven’t had any
new
ones show up in the last several days?”

“I had one come ta the backdoor yesterdy mornin’ lookin fer ta trade for somethin’ ta eat, had a pocket watch that didn’t look like it belonged with the likes of him, so I sent him on his way with a biscuit, a bowl of mush, and a glass a tea.”

“You traded him for it?”

“Yep, figured maybe I’d find out sooner or later who the watch belonged to, if not, then I’d have myself a good’ern.”

“Can I take it with me, so we can check it against things missing from a crime scene? John Metcalf is supposed to be having some of the family go over the house and put a list together for us.”

“O’ course you can.”

“What did the man that came to the door look like?” Joshua asked.

“Like a Mexican, what else would he a looked like?”

“I meant was there anything to distinguish him from the others.”

“He spoke good English. He had a bandana tied around his laig, and he had green eyes. That makes him different, I reckon. He also asked if I knew when the next train came through.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Told him the truth, every day - twice a day, like clockwork. One headin’ in ta Mobile, one headed in the opposite direction. He wanted ta know if there was any headin’ west. I told him if’n he was a wantin’ ta head west, he needed ta go down ta Theodore ta catch that un that goes that away from Mobile ta Biloxi.”

“I appreciate the information, Joe. And I hope business picks up. I sure don’t want you to have to close your doors,” Joshua was serious; he did not want Joe to have to go out of business. He also wished Joe had not a told the Mexican how to get to the westbound trains, but someone would have eventually.

If the Mexican had ridden the train into Glory or on to Mobile instead of getting off at the depot in Semmes, he would have probably already been in Texas. As it stood now, he was probably at least half way there and out of Joshua’s jurisdiction. Joshua wanted to be the one to put him behind bars for what he done to Jesse and Ola Vice, but when they caught him, Mobile would be eighth or ninth in line for a stab at him. Joshua did not like those odds at all. Most likely the Federal Bureau would hang the best charge they could make stick on him and that would be the end of it. He would never even be charged for the deaths in Mobile County.

Joshua finished his lunch, threw three dollars on the counter and then told Mazy and Joe that he would talk to them later. When he exited Joe’s Café, he heard the radio in his patrol car going off. He grabbed the microphone and called Ida Mae back to see if she was calling him. She told him there had been another murder and this one was in, he guessed it, Theodore.

By the time, he got to the Old Rock Road address, Metcalf and his team was already there, as were Deputies Davis and Calvert. The house sat near the railroad crossing, the same as Jesse and Ola’s house did. Joe Barnes of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was also on the scene. Cook was still making rounds of the nurseries. Joshua was ill as a hornet by then and his stinger was set to pop the first one that irritated him. John Metcalf met him at the door.

“Who found the body?”

“Her husband, when he came home from work. He’s a night watchman over at the dog track,” Metcalf replied stoically.

Joshua looked around and asked where the man was. Metcalf told him that they transported the old fellow to the hospital a few minutes before he arrived. Finding his wife murdered, was more than the old fellow could bear. They worried he would have a heart attack or collapse from the shock of it all.

The little pink and lavender trimmed house squatted beneath several pecan trees and three or four native oaks with a large fig tree at one corner of the house. The overgrown yard spoke deceptively of the home’s neatness. By looking at the yard, one might expect the house to be unkempt as well; however, it was neat as a pin, except the kitchen.

It appeared that the assailant attacked the woman while she was in the process of making biscuits. The spilled and scattered cat food and the bowl of flour dough lying on its side on the floor, suggested that someone surprised a cat as well as the old woman. That along with the flour and lard that covered the farm table sitting in the middle of the room, told the story of what happened to the old woman.

The victim, a Negro woman, appeared to be in her early to mid seventies. She lay spread-eagled on the floor. Her dress was hiked up around her waist, the same as Ola Vice’s dress was. There was no blood; however, the cloth belt wound tightly around the woman’s neck told him how she died. Biscuit dough still covered the poor woman’s hands. It sickened Joshua. If he could get his hands around the Mexican’s neck, he believed he could tear his head slap off his body!

“What the hell is wrong with people these days!” he exclaimed to John Metcalf. “Is there something in the damn water? People have gone frigging nuts!” Joshua had never felt so powerless in his life. If he had said it once, he had said it a hundred times. He had sworn to uphold the law and to protect the people of his county, but he could not protect them from a damn thing, because he could not protect them from themselves!

“What happened to folks wanting to help one another and live quiet peaceful lives? When did everything go so
fucking
wrong?” he spoke his thoughts aloud.

“Heck if I know, Sir. But morality has been on a downward spiral for years in other parts of the country, I guess it’s making it to our part of the world now,” Metcalf replied.

Joshua wanted the charm and grace of the world he had grown up in; however, as he thought these thoughts, he realized that the charm and grace he was wishing for was his world before his mother disappeared. He had been wearing blinders the last thirty odd years of his life, remembering a life he once lived in a fantasy world, his mother’s world of going to a movie or a play at the Saenger Theater, shopping at Woolworth’s Department Store, and then eating lunch at the Royal Street Café afterward.