Renewal 6 - Cold (4 page)

Rodney was mumbling, “Johnsons... Johnsons... Watch the Johnsons.” He kept up his chant for another five minutes, until he died.

We buried him near the old homestead. We used a long steel pole to chip through the frozen ground.

Chapter 6 – 8

Once Junior got a good look at Murfreesboro, he decided to follow the rules. He supposed that he could overwhelm the authorities if he wanted, but it would only be smart to get a look at the situation first. He circled back out to the old mall, and left his eighty men there. He drove to the state police headquarters solo, and put in a request to visit his father. He ignored the icy glances and open hostility from the police. He was determined to be the model of good behavior until he knew the score. After a two-hour wait, an old man finally led him to a room set up with booths on both sides of a single wall of steel bars. His father waited in the middle of the room.

“Well, Junior. ‘Bout time you came to see your old man.”

“I just found out this morning, Daddy. Polecat made it back with seven others.”

“Polecat... That boy always knows when to run.”

“Yeah, it worked out this time. He said you were overwhelmed, and he figured he’d better let us know.” Junior ran his fingers through his long black hair.

“We were overwhelmed, by seven men,” Gray Tucker, Sr. said.

“Seven men? How can that be?”

“Well, it turns out they were real smart. Led by a man from Coffee County, name of Bill Carter.”

“How did you find out?”

“He tangled with a bumble-headed fool from down that way. The man’s in the cell across from me.”

“So, what are we going to do? You want me to get you out? I brought a company.”

“No, no... That fool has an entire set of rich families down there. We can use his men to take care of Bill Carter. We’ll set that up first. Then you can get me out.”

“They’re gonna hang you, Daddy.”

“If there’s one thing you need to know about government, it’s that it takes them forever to get anything done. We’ve got time. Right now, you need to head down to Coffee County and find somebody from the Jenkins clan. Let them know where their head honcho is, and who put him there. Then I want you to find Bill Carter and check out his setup. If you see a clean opening, do your thing, but if not, let’s wait for the Jenkins to lose some men first. Got it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“All right then. Get moving.”

***

Charlie Bell found the conversation very interesting. He knew the microphones in the visiting room would come in handy sooner or later. He buzzed his secretary. “Get Lieutenant Jackson up here.”

Five minutes later, Jackson strode into the room.

“Hi, Jake,” Charlie greeted the man with his usual energetic cheer.

“Hello, Mr. Bell. What’s up?”

“Our new best friend has trouble brewing. How many men are ready to fight?”

“We have about twenty, all told.”

“Take the best ten and head back down to Bill Carter’s place.” Charlie filled in the details of what he had heard.

“We’re going to fight?” Jackson asked.

“You’re going to do whatever Bill tells you to do, and that includes fighting. If I know the man, he has a system in place. Try not to mess that up. Take orders nicely. We owe him.” Charlie said.

“We do, at that. We’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

“Good man. Thanks,” Charlie said, shaking the lieutenant’s hand.

***

Junior pulled up in the main square of Manchester, Tennessee when the sun was throwing long shadows through the old trees surrounding the courthouse. With eighty men and six big trucks, he felt a great sense of power in the little town. Three minutes later, he felt like a lost child. He realized it was foolish to expect people to come up and offer help to an armed convoy, but that’s exactly what he expected. The people disappeared like smoke when his trucks pulled into the square. He was about to resort to asking for directions in the courthouse when a strong looking man stepped out of the survey office.

Dusty Baer walked up to the apparent leader of the group, and introduced himself. “Hey, Dusty’s the name. You fellows look a little lost.”

“Yeah, hey. I’m Gary Tucker. Most folks call me Junior. My father sent me down here with a message for the Jenkins.”

“You brought a lot of messengers,” Dusty said.

Junior laughed like it was a joke. “Yeah, I wasn’t planning to come this way. Orders, you know?”

“I sure do. Who’s your father?”

“Nobody you’d know. He’s Gary Tucker Sr., from Columbia.”

“Ah, the infamous Grand Dragon, then.”

Junior’s face clouded over. “That’s right.”

“So, you’d be the Junior Dragon?”

Junior’s gun hand hovered closer to the weapon at his side.

“Just joking, Junior,” Dusty said with a grin. “Your daddy is all the talk around here right now.”

“Is he?”

“Yeah. He’s the one running around burning black people, right?”

Junior looked disgusted. “The very same.”

“Well, if you look around, you may notice that there aren’t many black folks in Manchester. Maybe the pickings are better somewhere else.”

“Look, Dusty. I’m not here to burn anyone. I’m just here to deliver a message.” Junior was astounded that anyone would pick on a man with eighty soldiers.

“Alrighty, then. If you’re looking for the Jenkins, you may want to head north on Highway 55. It’s just up that way about a quarter mile. Then go about four miles. You’ll see the big archway at the family farm.”

“Thanks, friend.” Junior said tightly.

“No problem, Junior. Good luck.” Dusty turned and walked back into the office.

Junior spun his finger in the air and jumped back in the lead truck. The convoy circled around the square and headed east.

As soon as the roar of the diesels faded, Dusty rolled his bicycle out of the office and started pedaling out to Teeny Town.

Chapter 6 – 9

George and Martha were alone. Their own children and grandchildren may have well been on another planet. Even if they were alive and well out in the world, there was no way to know. With Rodney buried in the frozen ground, the last of the local Carroll clan were the two kind old people sitting across the table from me. Maybe they had seen it coming and had aggressively adopted us as part of the family. Even so, we were family now without question, and they were preparing to sacrifice for us, at least in the small ways. The food, for example, was from their own personal store, which was undoubtedly disappearing as fast as our own. Nonetheless, they shared freely and with grace.

The meal was virtually silent. Only Juannie’s efforts to keep little Jimmy from breaking into song and dance kept us from falling into total gloom. George’s blessing had been perfunctory, and filled with a certain bitterness we had never heard from him before. The weight was settling heavily around every adult at the table. Death was just another way of reminding us that no matter what we had faced since May, it was nothing compared to the unstoppable force of nature, which was even now wrapping us in an icy blanket. The big thermometer on the back porch had us in single digit temperatures as night fell. It would drop below zero before the sun came up and rise only into the teens during the day.

We would, as we had for as long as I could remember, gather firewood.

The Carroll’s house had taken a distinct chill, a far cry from our first meal here, which was characterized by the heat shedding from the walls of a normal summer. In the tiny dining room, our body heat was enough to slowly heat it up to a sweater temperature. After dinner, we would move to the living room, with its large picture window shedding warmth and a big freestanding wood stove fighting to replenish the heat.

The pervasive cold eventually found its way into the conversation.

George felt a responsibility to begin. “So, David... I hate to ask, but how cold do you think it will get?”

“I hate to answer because I don’t know, George, but I think it’s safe to say that we’re looking at subzero all winter.”

“The well will freeze,” George said.

“The pump will, unless we keep it warm, but the well should be ok. The temperature below ground stays the same all year. In colder climates, you have to go deeper to get below the frost, but it stays the same below that layer. Before long, a cave will feel really warm.” Dad shrugged in a what-can-you-do gesture.

“So, how do you figure we can keep the pump from freezing?”

“I think we’ll need to build some kind of shelter around it and keep a fire going all winter. Normally, if we were facing zero degrees, we would just keep the water dripping, but I don’t think anyone would want to keep pumping all winter.” He smiled to break the tension.

Jimmy saw his opening. “I’ll pump all winter.”

“I’m sure you would little fella, but we don’t want your hand to freeze to the handle, ok?” Dad said, still smiling.

“Ok, David. You pump,” Jimmy said, solving the whole problem from his six-year old point of view.

We laughed at his matter-of-fact delivery.

“Well,” George said, “I guess we’d better get on that soon, before the wood turns to ice and the nails shatter.”

“Yeah, this is when I wish I was from Minnesota. I’d probably know all the tricks.” Dad was still struggling to lighten the mood. “We grabbed some corrugated sheet metal in town. That and some square bails would probably contain the heat around the pump.”

“We also need to do something with the outhouse, David,” Mom added, putting her priorities on the table. “It’s already scary in there. Something important could freeze solid.”

Dad smiled at her and said, “Well, we could do the same kind of thing. I don’t think we could get away with an open flame, but maybe we can find another stove somewhere, build an outer outhouse, and put the stove inside the outer walls. It’s a lot of work, but it may be necessary.”

“It is necessary, David. Otherwise, I can think of four ladies who will be peeing in the tent.”

“Oh, my... Can’t have that.” Dad made a show of writing her request on his palm with his finger, provoking some badly needed laughter.

“How much sheet metal did you get?” George asked.

“Enough for the well pump. Not enough for the outhouse. The metal is just for the inside, to reflect the heat and to keep the hay insulation safe. We still need lumber for the structure, especially if we get heavy snow. In Tennessee, we only get snow when it’s warmer, closer to freezing, but the rules have changed. It’s seven degrees outside in September and it looks like it could snow any minute. I’m surprised it hasn’t yet.” Dad said thoughtfully. “We can get more sheet metal. There’s a ton of it at the building supply yard. No one else seems to be building yet. I’m not sure why.”

“It’s freaking cold,” Arturo answered. “It’s hard on my Mexican blood.”

“Well, I hope the car heater keeps working, then. We need to make another run to the lumber yard tomorrow, and you’re driving.”

“Just pry my fingers loose when we get back.”

Chapter 6 – 10

The bicycle ride gave Dusty time to think about how stupid it was to taunt the Junior Dragon. He could have ordered his men to kill Dusty at any time. Dusty imagined that scene, and how silly he would feel if he got to heaven, and they asked him how he died. “Well, you see, I gave the Junior Dragon a ration of crap, and he had me shot.”

Dusty was good for his usual leisurely pace on the bike, but this time he was racing to warn Bill. He hammered around the final turn and sprinted down Blanton Chapel Road until he reached the front guard houses. He hopped his bike across the ditch and let it roll across the grass on momentum. The youngest of the Hall boys, Jeremy, met him on the back porch.

“Hey, Dusty!”

“Hey, Jeremy. Are you on watch?” Dusty asked, knowing Jeremy was not old enough for solo watch duty.

“No, I’m on support. Jeffry is upstairs. The watch has been doubled.”

“Where’s Bill?”

“In bed, I guess. You knew he got shot in Nashville?” Jeremy asked.

“No. I thought I’d heard the story, but I missed that part.”

“He’s ok. He got hit in the leg and the shoulder. He’ll be limping for a while.”

“I gotta talk to him,” Dusty said, still winded from his ride.

“Ok. Head on down. I’ll call you in,” Jeremy replied.

Dusty walked his bike over to the gate, unhooked the chain, and left it open as he rolled across the pasture and down the hill. He knew Jeremy would take care of the gate. He crested the slope overlooking Teeny Town and grunted with relief when he reached the gravel access road. From there, it was a high speed coast into the center of town, one skidding left turn and a bounding dismount onto Bill’s front porch. Dusty knocked on the door one time before Aggie pulled it open.

“Hello, Mr. Baer.”

“Hi, Aggie. I just heard about Bill. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, other than being grumpy and chomping at the bit.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Ok, he’s upstairs. It’s a full house up there.”

Dusty took the stairs two at a time. He clomped across the upstairs landing, walked into Bill’s room, and found that he could barely fit. Kirk was there, along with John Hall, Terry, and two men he didn’t recognize.

Bill said, “Hey, Dusty. I expected you to show up. I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Jackson of the State Police and his second in command, Sergeant Dillon.”

“Hey, fellows,” Dusty said, shaking hands with the men, “I’m Dusty Baer. Pleasure to meet you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I imagine you’re missing some key bits of the story, but the short version is that they came to warn us that trouble is brewing, and to help us out.” Bill said.

“That’s what I came to do. I just ran into about eighty boys from Columbia, and they were looking to find the Jenkins.”

“Yeah. The Attorney General overheard a conversation between the Grand Dragon, who we fought in Nashville, and his son, who I’m guessing was the guy you met. The Dragon sent his kid down here to team up with the Jenkins for the specific purpose of getting revenge against us.”

“Well, shit... What’s the plan?” Dusty asked, looking worried enough for everyone in the room.