"A h
don't k now, Mist
e
r Jak
es
. Ah
don't know
if it'
s
fit
B I L L Y
I 121
for womenfolks. Ah think the
sheriff
ought to be the
one ya
ask."
Helen Marks says quickly and coaxing,
"I'd
be all right
with you there with me, Cecil."
"Well, Ah don't know. Ah don't know what the
sheriff
would say."
"I just want to take a peek at them,
see
what they look like, Cecil.
It
will just take a little minute.
"
"Well, all right, just a peek. Ya
can't stay
long and
ya can't
say nothin to them, can't ask them no questions," Deput
y
Hill says and whisk around to get his keys.
Billy and Gumpy both jump as they hear the big steel
door
opening. Gumpy can
only
hear the
sounds
of feet coming down the steps, but Billy can see Deput
y
Hill's legs from his bars, then the
swishing
dress-covered legs of Helen Marks. He backs away from the bars and
gets
in the
corner
and holds hisself still. The footsteps come closer, but it's the ones that click that make the sound he listens for.
Gumpy does not move, he stays back, sitting on his
cot
playing with his hands and fingers.
Billy looks up from his corner when the clicking heels
come
close, then he stares up at the tall
white
woman with the long yellow hair looking in at him.
"Which
one's this? He's a skinny one, look at him," Helen says with a smile and a tug on Depu t
y
Hill's arm.
"This the one that did it, this is that Billy Lee Turn
e
r
one."
"Look at him, Mister Jakes, he
gives
m
e
the
creeps."
Gumpy hears the footsteps
coming,
but does not look
up
,
turns even further towards the wall.
"Tu rn around here
,
nigger, turn
around,"
Depu ty H i
II
shouts.
Gumpy turns but does not look u p. Harvey .lake::; a::;k
s,
122 I Albert French
"How
old's this one? He looks a little bigger than the other
one.
,,
"This
one's
says
he twelve. Sheriff got him first."
"He sure is an ugly little thing. Just look at him." Helen makes
a
face wi th her words.
"What
did he do? Did he hurt the girl Loo?" Harvey Jakes
asks.
"Sheriff
can give
ya
the details. Come on, we better get back up," Deputy Hill whispers and leads them to the l"teps, but then stops as Helen goes
back down
to Billy's
cell,
saying over her
shoulder, "I
just wan t to
see
this
one
again."
Billy hears the clicking heels coming
again,
turns, and looks up.
Helen Marks looks
in,
she leans closer
lo
the cell
bars
and tilts her head
some
to get a
better
look at Billy.
Billy keeps his
eyes on
hers, then
turns away as
he
sees
the smile
on
her face
fade
into a
snarl. "Watcha
lookin
at,
nigger?" Helen wh ispers and
stares at
Billy, then turns away smiling and saying,
"You
think they'll put him
in
that
electric chair?"
Constance
Grey
went
to the
door and saw Sheriff
Tom's
big silhouette
through the
screen.
"Come
on in, Tom, Henry thought
you might
be by.
Can
I get
you
a nice
cold drink,
how bout
some
ice tea?"
"No
ma'am, just had my
dinner.
Thank
you,
though,"
Sher
iff Tom
says as
he takes his hat
off and
tucks it under his arm.
"Come on in, Tom," Doctor Grey
calls from
his
office.
The sheriff comes into Doc Grey's office and takes that chair right next to his desk.
B I L L
y
I 123
"You
going to get any fishin in today?" Doctor
Grey
asks, smiling.
"Oh,
hell, Henry, I don't think so," the
sheriff
says
with a sigh.
"I figured
you
might be by. Got it all done for
you."
"What's it look like Henry? Anything I didn't see?"
"I
don't think so, Tom. Looks like that blade just got far enough up in her to nip at the aorta, that accounts for all that blood. She was bleedi n pretty bad, I don't think anything
could
have helped her. It
can
happen like that
sometimes.
That blade just got up in there at the wrong
spot.
God, what's this world coming to?" Doctor Grey sighs, looks up at Sheriff Tom, and waits for his next question.
"Was
she bothered any, Henry?" the
sheriff
asks as if
just
routinely.
"No, Tom, I'm
certain
of that."
"I didn't think so, just had ta ask." "Heard you got the other boy last night."
"Yep,
got him out behind the Patch there. His mama had him back out there in the bushes, took a
couple
hours to flush em out. That mama of his put up one hell of
a
fuss. Ah tell
ya,
she was like a wildcat."
"How
old's that boy
you
got down there?"
"Damn,
Henry, he ain't but ten years
old."
"What
the hell happened? What got into him? What did he do a fool thing like that for?"
"Far as I can tell, Henry, the boys were wadin in that pond down there, girls went down to chase
em
out, got to fightin, and he gets that knife out. It's a shame,
but
that's murder, don't make a difference how old he is. I tell
you
now, that boy ain't got the
slightest
idea what he done. Other
one's
just
a
124 I Albert Fre11ch
litLle older, twelve, he ran before the knifin." The sheriff
took
a
deep sigh.
Doctor Grey sits quietly and waits to
see
if the sheriff wants Lo talk some more. He knows the sheriff is closed rnouthed abou t th ings, but
comes
to him to talk. Doc Grey had a way with Sheriff Tom, shared a little corn taste every once in a while, got some fishin in together when
they
could.
"Had
me some hotheads last night, Frank Ottum and that bunch. I come on down in the Patch, already burnt
that
one boy's house down, whipped a few niggers. You know that big nigger Jake? I think he busted a few of
them
up. That
'
s one nigger I hope stays tame," the sheriff finished with a small
laugh.
"You
think there'll be more?" Doc Grey asks.
"More
what? Knifins or
burnins?"
"More of
both."
"I
don't know, Henry. Ain't no tellin
when
niggers go wild, but this thing here different. Far as the burnins go, I
can't
be down that Patch all the time. Folks goin
ta
be plenty upset
seein
that little
girl
dead, and that little nigger walkin around breath i n, Ah tel l
ya
that."
When the sheriff
got
back to the jail, Deputy Hill told him of Harvey Jakes' and Helen Marks'
visit,
then figured he bet ter tell him about taking them down to
see the
prisoners. The
sheriff
just
shrugged
his
shoulders and said,
"Wait till tomor row,
we'll probabl y
have
a
J ine
outside.
Mize well
get
used to it til l they're
oulla
here. J ust don't let any u nofficial folks down in there, and don't let nobody ask
em any
questions, no talkin at all."
Mid-Sundays in Banes had their ways,
folks
that went were coming back from
church,
other folks took to talking over fences. Most
fol ks
were
surprised
to
see
that EXTRA paper
B I L L
y
I 125
on their doorstep and picked it up real quick. Reading and talking buzzed from one side of town to the other. Churchgoin folks started cooking
s
omething extra, planned on getting to gether and taking some food out to the Paskos.
Up on Front Street, Fred Sneed read his paper aloud to his sittin buddies.
In
the Rase
y
Gray, folks peeked over one an other's shoulder, trying to see the big headlines. Marcus War den took his paper in the back of his burial shop, poured hisself another glass of bourbon, and read slowly.
Down on Dillion Street, at Jack's place, some folks were just starting their day, but they tried to get the red out of th
e
ir eyes to read the fine print too. At the end of Dillion Str
e
et
,
Pete Grayson listened while his daughter
,
Kelly, read the pa per aloud and gasped at the ugly details. He kept his head down.
At the far
e
nd of th
e
other side of town, Judge A. J. Harper took his paper into his office at home, closed the door, and read it by the window light, then read it again, sighed, th
e
n scowled his face tightly.
Banes sidewalks and streets were never full or bus
y
on Sundays. Folks just came and went in fews. Most folks you could tell a block away who it was by the way they walked. Strangers would stick out right away, but today most folk
s
walked like strangers, strides were qui
c
kened or slow
e
d. Shorty would usually show up bright and early on Sunda
ys,
hang around out back of places, waitin on
s
omeon
e
to
c
all hi
s
name, have somethin for him to do, then he bounc
e
up to them with a smile, do their biddin, and g
e
t a nickel or
s
om
e
cooked food.
Shorty had come to town the back wa
y
, kept in th
e
ba
c
k
o
f them places down on Dillion Str
ee
t, came around som
e
of th
e
fences. Dogs didn't bark long
,
they all knew Shorty and ju
s
t
126 I A/but Fre11ch
ha rkt>d once, then
wagged
t hei r Lail.
Shorty got
up lo Front
Street
and
gol
behind t he Rosey
Gray.
He
sits
there now
w
ith
h is busted lip parched up i n
a smile,
he has not heard his na me
called.
Out
011
th
e
black top al the Moski n H igh Hotel,
Wi lbur
Braxton
sits with
his daughter Megan,
since
his wife died he takes his
Sunday
dinners at the hotel.
Megan
was away most
of
the
year at school, studying
political
science
at Chatham
College in
Pittsburgh,
she
wants to be an attorney like her fa ther. It was Megan that
saw
the
big-headli ned paper one of
the
other guests
was readi ng and wen t to
get one. She
has not
said
a word
since she started
reading, just keeps
brushing
her
sandy-colored
hair
from
her
eyes.
Her
father
will not inter rupt her until she is through, that is his
way,
he is a
very pa
tient man, k nown for
his patient ways.
"Th
i
s
is awful, Daddy,
just awful,"
Megan
whispers over
the page.
Wilbur
Braxton remains
silent.
"Daddy,
that poor
girl, she was only fifteen,
and the
Nigras
that did it
were
just
young boys.
One
was just
ten
years old.
l
declare,
this is just
terrible,"
Megan
sa
y
s as she fold
s
the paper.