Three Sides of the Tracks (26 page)

44

Diary

Danny tried to sleep after his and Belinda’s talk, but too much was on
his mind. He dressed and walked through the kitchen. “I can’t sleep, Mom. I’m
gonna visit Bernard.”

He tapped on Bernard’s back door and heard the familiar “Come on in,
bud.”

“Ain’t as bad as it looks. Close yore mouth and give your ole bud a hug.
If you ain’t too pissed off at me, that is.”

Danny smiled and hugged the whiskery face. “What happened?”

“You got out of here just in time is what happened. That fool Jessie Whitaker
hired a guy to kill you and, when he couldn’t find you, he saw my light on and
came here. Tried to make me tell him where you were. I fooled his ass good
though,” Bernard said then erupted in laughter.

“Fooled him how?”

“They’s two thangs that’ll set most men off, which you should know, but I
know you ain’t studied on it none, so I got to tell you everything. Slappin’ a
man in the face or spittin’ on him will make most men go nuts. Know what I
mean?”

Danny nodded.

“So the dude had that gun pointed at my head and I just spit a big wad right
dead in his kisser and then I rolled over as soon as I saw his eyes go crazy.
He pulled the trigger just like I thought. Hahahaha.”

“I don’t get why that’s so funny.”

“Oh, come on, kid. I told you this ain’t nothin’. Bullet hit the metal
plate in my head and bounced off. Just a .22. Waren’t nothin’ at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Bernard. I didn’t mean to cause everyone so much trouble.”

“Stop that. You done a man’s job. Good sight better than the rest of
these fools. Dang FBI, GBI, and all them other pricks couldn’t find yore gal,
but you did, now didn’t you?”

“Yeah, with your help.”

“Yeah, well that’s how the button man found you too. With my help. Sorry
as I am to say it. He found some of the maps and things I’d left on the table
and followed you down there. That’s how come I feel responsible for some of
what took place. Should’ve put that stuff up just as soon as we got done with
it. ‘Fore I forget, how ‘bout lookin’ on my nightstand and bringing me that
book what’s on top of it.”

Danny found a cloth-bound binder and brought it to Bernard.

“This here’s my journal, diary, or whatever you want to call it. VA
shrinks been tellin’ me it’s good to write down important stuff, so I took his
word. What you think about that? Think they know what they’re talking about?”

“I don’t know, Bernard. Couldn’t hurt I don’t guess. Have you been having
some bad spells?”

Bernard scratched his whiskery cheek and made a wry face. “Some. I guess
you’d call ‘em spells. Just been losing track of thangs. Thinking I was back in
the Nam. Didn’t do anything crazy though. Just kinda blanked out. Might be from
that blow to my head.”

“You’re taking your medicine aren’t you?”

“Yep, regular as can be. Time for it now. You feel like gettin’ it for
me?”

“Sure. Which ones?”

“Them two bottles on the nightstand. One of each.”

Danny shook the capsules out and brought them to Bernard along with a
glass of water.

“Thanks, bud.”

“I’d better get going. I’ll bring your car over later. I couldn’t sleep
till I found out how bad you were shot. I’ll see you later and bring the guns
back too.”

Bernard’s eyes twinkled. “All of ‘em?”
“No, the Florida cops kept the derringer,” Danny said with a shy smile. “I told
them I swiped it off the end table when I was inside the beach house. That way
I wouldn’t get me or you in trouble. And Slink had already taken the blackjack.
The other pistol and shotgun are still in the car where I hid them.”

“Yeah, I read the papers and know you did quite a job getting outta that
mess. I wanna hear all the details after you rest up.”

“I was lucky, Bernard.”

“No, it waren’t luck, bud. Luck is when lightning hits the tree and not
you. When the chance came, you acted. Waren’t no luck in that.”

Danny reached the kitchen then turned around. With a glum face, he asked,
“I’m wondering whether Mr. Whitaker’s going to get away with all he did?”

“Hell, yes, he’s gonna git away with it. He’s rich, ain’t he? Rich men do
as they damn well please.”

Danny plopped back down. “That’s not right. Plus, Caroline knows he sent
that man after me. She doesn’t want to live with him but can’t figure out where
else to go.”

“Love her, don’t you, bud?”

“Seems like I’ve loved her all my life, Bernard.”

“How’s she feel about it?”

“Oh, she’s always cared for me too. But more like a brother. Here lately
though, I think she’s seeing me in a different light. If it weren’t for this
damn lip, she—”

“There you go with that lip again. I’m tellin’ you it ain’t no big deal
to those who know you. And, hell, it’s ‘bout time you did something about it anyway.
You know they
can
fix thangs like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it costs a lot of money. A lot of money.”

Bernard wheeled himself over and patted Danny’s leg. “Don’t you worry no
more about it, sport. Thangs have a way of working out for the best.”

“You sound just like my mother.”

“Course I do. She’s a smart lady.”

45

Funeral

Martin’s mother tied her husband’s tie as she had done since they were
married, except today was the first and only time her hands trembled.

Her husband, MJ, stroked her back. “I believe this is the worst day of
our lives together.”

“Let’s just try to get through it, MJ,” Delores replied. “We’d better get
a move on. It’s nine o’clock now.”

Reverend Holcomb was, as they say,
preaching
the funeral, which
would be held at their church since a huge crowd was expected.

The funeral home had sent a limousine and, when Delores peeked outside,
it was waiting at the front door of the oversized mansion. Built just outside
of town during the boom of the textile trade, the stately residence was only a
short 10-minute drive from the church.

Reverend Holcomb met them on the church’s front steps amid the Roman-style
columns and escorted the dignified couple to the front pew, directly in front
of the open coffin. He stood aside as he indicated their seats with an open
hand, but Delores smiled and walked to the coffin, MJ steadying her with an arm
around her waist.

Delores took off a white glove and touched her fingers to her lips and
then to Martin’s. Her eyes glistened then tears ran down her cheeks. “I’ll miss
you, sweet boy,” she whispered.

She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see her oldest and closest
friend Gwen Hathaway and her husband Stuart, who had visited twice since
Martin’s death and helped with the funeral arrangements.

Gwen and Delores simply exchanged knowing smiles because all that could
be said had already been said. The two men shook hands then the Hathaways went
to their seats directly behind Delores and MJ.

Martin’s wife, Angela, and their daughters arrived and sat beside Delores.
As Angela stared at the coffin, she remembered the time Martin gathered his and
Belinda’s parents together shortly after the episode at the church when Jessie
demanded that Danny leave. He’d told them all the facts about his and Belinda’s
relationship and the reasons why everything occurred the way it did. He’d ended
it by saying that, since Robert was dead, he felt it was not only his
obligation but his desire to fully acknowledge Danny as his son, depending on
how Danny felt about it, and, if anyone there had anything to say, now was the
time.

His parents had been fully supportive, but Belinda’s father merely nodded
gravely and looked at his wife, Gwen. Her pursed lips gave no indication of
approval, as Martin had expected. He hoped for better but wasn’t overly upset
about it one way or the other. Gwen Hathaway was a stubborn woman.

A pianist played while mourners filed in and the church began to fill up.
Ushers stood at all entrances to guide latecomers to empty seats or help the
elderly or handicapped.

Belinda and Danny arrived and sat in the left section a few rows from the
front.

Holcomb sat in his customary chair on the dais and saw them walk in. He
waited till they were seated then walked over to offer his condolences.

Leaving the dais was highly irregular during a funeral except for that
reason or to correct some difficulty, so MJ’s head turned to see the reason for
Holcomb’s action.

After seeing Belinda and Danny, MJ faced the front again then leaned to
Delores. “Belinda and her son are over there. Shouldn’t they be sitting with
us?”

“The most appropriate thing would be for them to sit with Gwen and
Stewart, all things considered, but I know what Martin would want. Don’t you?”

MJ knew what that meant. He stood and, with most every eye in the church
on him, walked to the pew where Belinda and Danny sat and leaned close to
Belinda. Loud enough for Danny to hear, he whispered “Delores and I think you
should be sitting with the family. Come on.” He held out a hand to help her up,
looked her in the eye and winked.

Belinda couldn’t resist smiling. “Come on, Danny. He’s your father too.”

Danny fought down his normal embarrassment caused by his lip and took his
mother’s hand.

As soon as MJ stood up, Gwen Hathaway realized what was happening. She
leaned over the back of the pew and whispered in Delores’ ear. “What do you
think you’re doing?”

Delores bit her lip to hold her voice down. She turned sideways to look
Gwen in the eye. “You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that to me with my son lying
dead in that coffin. Your child still alive and right here and you keep up this
petty nonsense. You should be ashamed and beg her forgiveness. You heard what
Martin said. You are a fool, Gwen Hathaway.”

“Hmmph. I guess I know where you stand,” Gwen replied.

“I guess you do. Now tell your daughter to come back there and sit with
you.”

“Do what she says,” Stuart said. “If you don’t, I will.”

Gwen leaned back, her lips set in a straight line.

MJ saw the exchange as he led Belinda and Danny to the front. He looked
at Delores for guidance on where she wanted him to seat Belinda and she
motioned with her eyes for Belinda to sit between her and MJ.

MJ guided Belinda down and whispered to Danny, “Sit next to me, son,” and
Danny sat on MJ’s left.

Stewart leaned forward and whispered to Belinda. “You’re welcome to come
back here with us, dear.”  

Belinda saw her mother’s face. “I wish I were, Daddy, but you’re sweet to
ask. Maybe some other time.”

The piano paused from playing background music and accompanied a trio
from the church choir, who began the service by singing one of Martin’s
favorite songs, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.”

Reverend Holcomb was silently singing along with the trio when, abruptly,
his lips stopped moving and his face turned pale as two women entered the back
of the sanctuary. One found a seat on the back row, but the other woman, who
wore a midnight blue skirt and jacket with matching hat and veil, whispered to
one of the ushers. He nodded then escorted her all the way to the front where
she stopped and lifted her veil.

Danny focused on the coffin in front of him but he was aware someone had
walked down the aisle and hadn’t sat down. He turned his head to see why, and,
before his brain could command his legs to move, they acted of their own accord
and propelled him from his seat. His arms wrapped around Caroline.

She touched his cheek with one hand and snuggled her chin over his
shoulder. “I was afraid you’d hate me,” she whispered.

“Never.” He squeezed her waist then took her hand and led her to where he
was sitting.

MJ scooted over to give them room. A few seconds later, he tapped Danny’s
knee and nodded toward Caroline. “Your daddy would’ve paid a hundred dollars to
have seen that. Takes class to do that, son. Takes real class.”

The singing continued, and the color
gradually returned to the reverend’s face. 

46

Busted

Jessie simmered as he read the front page story of Martin’s funeral
procession, which had blocked traffic for a half hour. Stories of Martin’s
achievements took up most of the afternoon edition, with no mention of Jessie
whatsoever. Only that Martin had been shot during an altercation.

Banging on the front door interrupted him.

“Marie, get the door?” he shouted and, when he heard no reply, he cursed
and left his room to open it himself.

Men rushed in as soon as the door opened.

“Jessie Whitaker you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and
attempted murder,” a man with a GBI badge in his handkerchief pocket told him
as other men with badges spun him around, pulled his hands behind his back, and
handcuffed him.

Jessie’ mouth fluttered open several times, but he was too flustered to
say anything. Before they could usher him out the door, he yelled to Marie to
call his lawyer. He heard no reply.

“You know damn well that was self-defense,” he barked at the arresting
officer on the way to the dark sedan.

A uniformed sheriff’s deputy checked him for weapons then opened the back
door and pushed Jessie’s head down as he put him in the back seat.

When the door shut, Jessie felt fear he’d never experienced. He was
helpless.

He checked the two men in the front seat. They looked like bookends:
hard, no nonsense professionals. He couldn’t badger these two, Jessie decided,
and leaned back to concentrate on what his next move should be. He already felt
the numbing restriction of having his every move dictated by those on the other
side of the bars and knew he couldn’t stand it for long.

Bowtie would get him out of this within a few hours, Jessie told himself.
If Marie hadn’t already called him, then he would, as soon as he reached . . .
where? He hoped they were taking him to Atlanta. Less embarrassing. But no,
they were headed downtown.

The convoy stopped in front of the jail. Reporters jammed the sidewalk.
How had that happened? There was that damn Gresham woman, already taking
pictures.

Jessie tried to shield his face with raised hands and chin tucked in, but
the men in the sedan gripped his arms and led him firmly toward the entrance.

Shouts of “Do you have a statement, Mr. Whitaker?” and “What are the
charges?” rang out as Nancy Gresham’s camera flashed, one shot catching
Jessie’s changed mood as he snarled at her to “shove that camera up her . . .”

The deputy who fingerprinted him showed considerably more respect than
the suits, even whispering “Sorry about this, Mr. Whitaker.”

“You should be. I paid for enough benefit functions and sheriff
elections.”

“We ain’t in charge of this. The state boys are.”

“Phones too?”

“What do you need?”

“Look in my wallet and find Charles Morrison’s card. Call and tell him what
you told me. Tell him to get his butt down here but go by my bonding company
first and bring a company checkbook with him. Matter of fact, tell him to bring
Wanda—she’s the manager—with him. You got all that?”

The deputy looked uneasy. “They’ll give you a phone call.”

“These boys are playing rough. Might be a long time before they do. Get
that done, and I won’t forget it.”

“I’ll log your personal effects in myself and do it then. Maybe a half
hour at most.”

Jessie nodded and went through the remainder of the arrest process
without speaking.

When they put him in a holding cell, he had a moment of panic but it soon
turned to outrage and he began yelling for his phone call. Heavy metal doors
separated the holding cells from the offices, so his demands went unheard.

An hour passed and the deputy who fingerprinted Jessie came to his cell.
“I spoke with your lawyer, Mr. Whitaker, and he said there’s nothing he could
do tonight and he’d be here first thing in the morning and get you out of here.
See, they’ll hold a first appearance hearing in the morning—”

“I know how it works, damn it. Think I’m a fool?”

The smile on the deputy’s face faded. “I didn’t, but maybe I was wrong,”
he said and the steel door clanged behind him.