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Authors: Victor McGlothin

Ms. Etta's Fast House (35 page)

BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
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The barn door flew open. Barker emerged hastily, wearing a white sheet. Gillespie and two other men accompanied him with their racist uniformed ensembles intact. As they moved toward the wrecked vehicle, the city cruiser which had bumped off the pickup screeched to a halt just yards from the farm house. Simultaneously, both passengers wrestled Baltimore out from the car wrapped around the tree. Barker was awed by the absurdity of the event.
“Brandish!” he yelled. “Where's Brandish?”
“This jig killed him,” the stiff slugger said apologetically. “Had a knife hid in his boot, I guess.”
“You guess? Didn't anybody think to search him and who in the hell is that?” Barker shouted angrily, when four men in Klan paraphernalia stepped out of the police car idled in the road. “How many boys did y'all bring up here from Joplin?”
“They must be local Klan,” answered the other man guarding Baltimore. “They sure ain't with us.”
“Hey, there. We got him,” Barker hollered in the stranger's direction. “It was supposed to be a private affair but I won't be selfish. There's enough for everybody to take a slice or two.” Barker was confused when they approached with guns drawn. “Loosen up, guys. Let's boil this monkey then peel the skin off like—like—” He froze, gathering that none of the four gunmen had their weapons trained on the colored prisoner, but rather at his men.
Baltimore's head throbbed violently until he recognized the way one of the hooded men wielded the shot gun. “Blast them, Dank!” Baltimore hollered, wisely hitting the deck before shots rang out toward him. Dank followed orders, reloaded and then popped off two more rounds. He splattered one of the night riders, then mowed down another. The men in Dank's posse fired at will. Their targets hustled inside the barn for cover. Baltimore heard Smiley Tennyson's goofy laugh as he sprinted past in hot pursuit. The barn door closed after Barker and two others scurried frantically. The men who took Baltimore from the county jail bolted toward the open pasture. Pudge ripped off his hood and gave chase. Considering all that transpired up to that point, Baltimore was equally surprised by the fourth rescuer's identity.
Henry dived underneath the police car when multiple shots sounded from inside the barn. He rolled in the dirt, cursing and spitting.
“Henry?” Baltimore bellowed. “Where'd they get you?”
“I ain't hit. I stubbed my damned toe getting outta the way,” answered Henry, while Baltimore climbed to his knees laughing and pointing. Barker eased out from behind the barn with a pistol steadied at his head. “Watch out, Baltimo'!” cried Henry. Then, from out of nowhere, something went thud as it ricocheted off the policeman's chest. Barker coughed and gagged during his slow descent to the ground. He clutched at his chest with both hands. Baltimore stood over him, eyeing the baseball lying in the dirt near his feet.
“What happened to him?” asked Henry, with bright unsuspecting eyes.
“Ain't but one man in this county who can hurl a perfect pitch hard enough to stop a man's heart,” answered Baltimore.
“Jinx?”
“Yeah, he ought to be standing on the other side of that car y'all rolled up in.”
As Barker took his dying breath, Henry turned to see someone strolling in from the shadows of darkness like an apparition. It was Jinx, as Baltimore predicted. Earlier, he heard Barker and his cronies discussing where they were taking Baltimore, so he set out early and hid.
“Hi ya, Jinx,” Baltimore said, waving to him casually as if passing him on a street corner.
“It's good to see you, Baltimore,” he replied warmly.
“It's also good to see you've been practicing. That ball sailed in with some steam on it. Uh-huh, you'll do fine up there in Canada.”
“I guess it's true, you can't keep a secret in St. Louis,” he replied, while studying the damage his right arm caused. “Ain't nobody gonna miss him, not even that wife of his.”
“I won't forget him, though.” Baltimore said, as he walked toward Henry with his hands cuffed.
“Naw, and I didn't forget you either,” Henry confessed, removing his hood and robe. “I couldn't forget any of it. But, what I can't figure out is why a grown man wants to wear this hot ass dress in this Missouri heat.”
“You wouldn't have a key to these bracelets in your purse, now would you?” Baltimore joked.
“Naw, I keep it in my brassiere,” Henry answered, with a smile full of teeth. He handed Baltimore a small key to remove the shackles. “‘Should have seen your face when we hopped out from that car. I thought you's gonna piss your pants.”
“I thought I did,” Baltimore admitted, shaking the cuffs from his wrist. “Let's get to it and give the ones in the barn what they was saving for me.”
“No, suh, you stay put out here,” Henry objected. “Dank's got them penned in. Besides, they's hiding in the haystack and it'd be a shame to get you killed after all the scheming it took finding where they's bringing you.”
Smiley returned from the pasture huffing mad and out of breath. “Man, I hate this country bullshit. Let's push on back to the city.” He'd ruined a pair of good shoes by stepping in a pile of moist cow manure.
“What happened to the boys you chased off?” Henry inquired apprehensively.
“I can't say for sho'. All I do know is they's two of the fastest white boys I've seen, who wasn't streaking down the first base line.” That's when a rifle blast echoed in the distance. All of a sudden, Baltimore collapsed on the ground in agony. Blood trickled from his side like water from a cracked flower vase.
“Dank, Pudge, forget about them!” shouted Henry. “Jinx, get out of here! Smiley, help me get Baltimore in the back of the car.”
“We can't take him to Homer Gee,” Smiley contended sadly. “That's the first place they'll come looking when he turns up missing.”
“Well, he's gonna die if we don't get him somewhere quick so's they can stop the bleeding.”
“Take me to Etta's Fast House,” Baltimore groaned before losing consciousness.
“I'll go and get help from the hospital,” Jinx said loudly, then he sprinted to his car.
Under constant attack from the shooters staked out in the pasture, they carried Baltimore's limp frame to the car and flew down the same road they used coming in. Pudge mashed the gas pedal against the floor board. Baltimore grimaced painfully, while Henry applied pressure with one of the folded cloth hoods sewn by Penny and Etta. Without it, Baltimore didn't stand a chance of seeing another sunrise.
37
A
FTER THE
D
AWN
P
udge listened to Henry yelping from the back seat, begging him to go faster. He pushed forward, recklessly side swiping parked cars during dangerous turns. While they traveled along Newstead Avenue, a green sedan raced beside them. The driver gunned the motor to keep pace. Dank stuck his shotgun out of the front passenger window until he realized the person roaring down the avenue wasn't a team of white men out to pursue them. It was Dixie Sinclair. “It's a lady, y'all!” Dank yelled, shocked to see her handling the big four-door so effectively. “It's a white lady!”
Pudge drew closer to Etta's Fast House but Dixie wouldn't let up. Her car raced forward inch for inch. Smiley arose from the backseat. He recognized Dixie's face. “Ah, hell, it's Barker's wife. She's saying to follow, but it smells like a trap.”
“That's the one who got this whole mess going from scratch?” asked Dank, cocking his shotgun. “I'm a blow the front end off her car.”
“Nah, she's okay,” Baltimore grunted. “She needs something I got.”
“Baltimore says to stay with her,” Henry shouted, praying that a dying man knew who to trust. If proven wrong, he wouldn't get a second chance to make the same mistake. No sooner than Dixie slowed her pace and made a right at the next corner, they saw three police cars parked next to the curb in front of the Fast House. Uniformed officers had been told to keep an eye peeled for bundles of heroin while searching for an escaped fugitive from justice. Six cops, sent by Tasman Gillespie, were encouraged to gash the place beyond repair. By the distraught looks on the colored men's faces as they passed by, the cops were highly conscientious about their duties, swinging axes at tables and chairs, knocking holes in the bar, smashing bottles and ripping everything in reach from windows to the walls with sledgehammers. Watching them mangle Etta's dream and livelihood was difficult to take, but Baltimore's injury forced them to press on. Pudge tailed Dixie for three more blocks. She swung wildly into the alley behind Watkins Emporium. Remembering what Smiley said about it being a double cross Pudge gave Dank the go-ahead to blast anything that appeared suspicious.
Parked in the rear of the dry goods store next to Dixie's Chevrolet was Etta's Chrysler Imperial. Pudge leapt out while Dank circled around. Before they reached the door leading to a storeroom, Delbert stormed outside to meet them.
“Get Baltimore in here and hurry. Jinx called ahead so we sent Mrs. Sinclair out to find y'all,” he explained hurriedly. “Glad she ran across you fellas first. There's a death squad tearing through “The Ville” out to get you.”
“Yeah, we saw. They's well into getting Etta's club,” lamented Pudge, with the image of it being gutted down to the pipes still in his mind.
Henry panted as he and Smiley carried Baltimore inside the back door. “You'd better ditch that squad car, Pudge,” he wisely advised. “It could lead them right to us. Smiley, why don't you run along with him and see that he finds his way back?” Smiley took one long breath, glanced at Baltimore again then trekked out of the door with Pudge. Henry had seen Dank operate in a hail of bullets when they raided a high stakes gambling establishment a year ago in Kansas City. Pudge was a great getaway driver although his nerve as a shooter was still suspect. Smiley could get it done if someone needed to be killed. Likewise, Dank lacked compunction when it came to doing the deed. Henry was smart to hold him back as a safeguard in the event they were discovered.
Once they secured Baltimore on top of the sturdy cutting table, Chozelle tipped in with them. She'd planned to run off with him before observing firsthand what painful uncertainties an association with a man like that could bring her way. Baltimore hadn't asked for her companionship, but she assumed he wouldn't turn it aside if she offered it in the right way. Now, Chozelle was sorry for considering it. She felt like a fool with a secret, too silly to share. “Dear God, is he dead?” she cried nervously before vomiting in the sink.
“Nah, he ain't, just fell off is all,” answered Henry. “The doc's gonna fix him. Ain't that right, doc?” Delbert prepared anesthetics and alcohol. He glared at Henry, in defense of his personal commitment. His was equally as thick as theirs.
Penny filed inside the crowded room like always, in Etta's shadow. Dixie slinked in at the back, purposely not getting too close. When Dank laid eyes on her his teeth clanked together. “I'll be damned if it ain't that witch again. Haven't you seen enough of colored folk? Cause I know I'm tired of looking at you.”
“Leave her be, Dank,” growled Etta. “She told us everything and she's mighty sorry about the way things played out. Without her help, we couldn't have known where to send or none of y'all.”
“Come on, now, it's her fault Baltimore's laying there on that table,” argued Dank. Just thinking about the trouble she'd caused had gotten him mad at her all over again.
“When those lawmen galloped in on her and Baltimore's spat, Dixie wasn't grappling by herself on that bedroom floor,” Etta debated intensely. “Was she?”
“You didn't have nothing to do with it and they's down the street splintering the club apart,” answered Dank.
“They're not trying to hurt me,” she said knowingly. “Somebody's got them looking for something is all. What they've been sent after ain't there, though.” Etta had seen trouble coming a mile away. She'd packed her bags, emptied out the safe and hid all of the things she'd planned on taking when she left town. Penny was an utter mess. She shivered continually while Baltimore laid still. Etta had to pry her from that very spot when Delbert began fishing at the bullet from his side. “Come on, chile, this ain't the kind of thing you need to see,” was Etta's honest assessment. “Come on, Dixie, you neither.” The three of them departed into the dimly lit emporium and ducked behind the counter, out of sight from passersby.
“Hold him down!” ordered Delbert. “He's got to lay still or the bullet might start to move around in him.” Dreadful screams came from that back room during the hour that lapsed before Delbert located and then extracted the bullet. His clothes and surgery gown were soaked throughout with sweat and blood. When Pudge returned with Smiley, Baltimore appeared half past dead. His skin was washed out, a peculiar shade of ash white.
Delbert peeled off his mask and gown to greet them. “What took y'all so long?” he whispered wearily, worn to the bone.
“He didn't make it?” asked Smiley. “All of this was for nothing.” He slammed his fist down on the table near Baltimore's head.
“Watch it, boy,” Baltimore whined. “You still got bad aim.”
“He's gonna make it!” Smiley shouted triumphantly.
“Not if you don't keep your big mouth shut,” Dank threatened harshly. “We all got to clean up and skin out of here.”
Henry wiped his face with a blood stained towel. “You did a great job, doc. How far you reckon we can move him?”
“Move him? Man, he just underwent surgery. He'll need time to heal and rest. Moving him at all could kill him.”
“If those Metro cops find us here, he'll die here for certain,” said Dixie, with Etta co-signing her assertion. “He can't be here when the sun rises and the way I see it, that'll be about thirty minutes from now. I filed for divorce, so I've got no reason for sticking around.” Dank didn't have the heart to tell Dixie that her petition to the courts wasn't necessary. Barker couldn't contest it from the grave. Etta thanked her, paid what Baltimore said she deserved and then wished her well. Dank wished her the hell away from him.
Delbert washed up and suggested Baltimore see a doctor with a real examination room, informing them that his procedure was merely patchwork to hold him together. Etta shushed his modest rants, slipped him two thousand dollars and handed him the keys to her sporty two-door Chrysler Imperial. “Just a little pre-wedding folding money for you and that pastor's daughter,” she told Delbert on the sly. “That's one pretty nurse you found yourself.”
“Nobody knew about me and Sue's engagement,” said Delbert, before catching on finally. “Oh, right. This is St. Louis.”
“You's kinda slow for a smart doctor, but that don't stop us from counting you as a friend.”
“Thanks, Miss Etta. I'll remember y'all, always,” Delbert promised, shaking hands and gathering various surgical instruments. “One question, though, how is it you're gonna leave after giving away your car?”
“That old thing? For what I got in mind, I'll need more space than that.” She informed him how to stop the right window from sticking when the temperature rose, then she waved so long. Pudge helped Baltimore into the back of his roadster and covered his spotted bandages with a blanket, then offered to hang back a few days to see about Etta's safety. Penny hugged Etta tightly, handed her a note, then she settled into the front seat of the convertible with Jinx and drove away.
Seven miles into their journey, Jinx passed by the bus stop on the way to Union Station. Chozelle sat patiently with a small suitcase at her feet and a pre-paid train ticket to Detroit in her purse. Penny glanced at Jinx when she saw her. He'd noticed too but didn't blink. “You ain't got no love left for her?” Penny asked.
“If I did, Chozelle would've known I was driving to Detroit and catching a train to Montreal from there. I got who I need with me.” That was good enough for Penny and music to her ears. If it hadn't been for the roadblock heading out of town, their trip would have gotten off to a beautiful beginning.
“Oh, no, what should we do, Jinxy?” Penny asked, watching the police inspecting one car after the next.
“I think I'll break line and turn around. Maybe I'll come back and try again later on.”
“Uh-uh,” Baltimore objected. “You break and they're liable to come after you. How many cars before they get to us?”
“Uh, six or so,” Jinx answered, counting those ahead of him. “Yeah, six.”
“Good. Don't get scared and don't say no more than you have to. Make up something simple if need be, but something believable. Y'all can pull it off, I know you can. Whatever you do, don't look back here.”
They heard rustling in the rear seat but remained calm like Baltimore demanded. As the convertible approached the blockade, Tasman Gillespie and Clay Sinclair confronted them. “Hey, I know you, boy,” said Gillespie, tired and rattled from the night before. “You're that nigger going to try out with them Canadian cold fish eaters.”
“Nah, suh, I don't know nothing about eating on cold fish,” said Jinx, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.
“I bet you will before long. Who's this you got with you? She seems kinda young to be taken across state lines. That might pose a problem for those who uphold the Mann Act, prohibiting the interstate transporting of girls for prostitution and/or malicious activity. You got malicious activity on your mind, boy?”
“I only got baseball on my mind, suh,” Jinx replied. “Don't know what that other thing is you called out.” Clay positioned himself on the other side of the car. Gillespie hadn't told him his brother was dead and his sister-in-law missing. As far as he knew, Baltimore was as good as dead too, that's why seeing Jinx driving Baltimore's fine automobile all the way to Canada didn't surprise him.
“Hey, Jinx, who's this young lady?” Clay inquired, with his eyes on the back floor board.
“H—h—her?” he stammered.
“I'm Jinxy's li'l sister, Penny. Our ma say we can go any goddamned where we damn well please, long as we send her some money when we get there.”
“You'd better keep a muzzle on this sister of yours, boy,” Gillespie ranted, stunned by the girl's fiery tongue. Clay saw what looked like a pile of white bandages hanging from underneath the rear foldout seat. He was willing to let it pass but then Gillespie caught a glimpse of it. “What the hell is that? Bloody bandages? Clay, go ahead and let up the trunk.”
As Clay circled to the back, he steadied his weapon. He lifted the trunk cover and cautiously recoiled. When he only found luggage, Clay shook his head. “Ain't nothing here but travel bags and such,” he reported evenly. “Let 'em go. It's gonna be a long day.”
“Naw, not yet,” Gillespie snarled. He yanked on Baltimore's bandage. “They're gonna tell me what this blood soaked cotton is doing back here?”
Penny craned her neck and gawked at Gillespie as if he were an ignorant dolt. “Oh that's just one of my monthly woman-hole-pluggers, what was meant for the trash heap back yonder. If you don't watch out, that thing will get to stankin'.” Gillespie shrieked and wiped his hand against his uniform as he released his grasp as quickly as he could. Clay laughed while Gillespie cursed like a drunken sailor.
“Y'all get on outta here before I throw up!” he yelled, looking at his hands as if expecting them to melt after fondling what he thought was a colored girl's feminine hygiene products.
BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
10.53Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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