They Don't Dance Much: A Novel (34 page)

‘He’ll be out as soon as he can,’ I said.

‘There’s been a murder,’ Badeye said absent-mindedly. ‘He ought to come on out.’

‘There was another killing in Corinth,’ I said. ‘He had to look into that before he started out here.’

Badeye jumped to his feet. Sam Hall didn’t even bat his eyes. He looked like nothing would ever excite him again.

‘For God’s sake!’ Badeye said. ‘Who else?’

‘Fisher killed himself,’ I said. ‘Before that he shot his wife.’

‘Both dead?’ Badeye asked. He reached for the bottle.

‘Just Fisher,’ I said.

Badeye took a long drink out of the bottle. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and ran out of the front door. Sam Hall slumped down on the stool and rested his right elbow on the counter.

‘I knew Smut would get into trouble fooling with that woman,’ Sam said. ‘It was her fault.’ He shook his head and reached for the bottle.

I had another one too when Sam finished his drink. I decided it would be my last one because I had to watch my chance from then on. I was just lighting a cigarette to chase the second drink when the sheriff’s car pulled up in front of the joint. The sheriff and Bud Smathers got out of the front seat and Brock Boone climbed out of the back. They started toward the mulberry tree. Sam and I went outside and followed them down there.

When he came to the crowd Sheriff Pemberton flourished his arms and spat straight ahead. ‘Stand aside, boys!’ he said. ‘Stand back!’

Smut was still lying on his face, but the sheet that had been around him was lying under the grease rack, wadded up in a roll. There was a lot of cigarette stubs on the ground around Smut and the dirt there was packed down. There must have been a hundred people down there looking at Smut and spitting around his face. They couldn’t seem to believe that he was dead.

The sheriff and Bud Smathers took a good look at Smut. Then Bud got down on the ground and turned him over on his back. There was a little blood on his forehead, and more on his shirt and the top of his pants. His eyes were closed and his lips were pressed together in a hard line. When Bud turned him over a little dirt fell out of his right hand, that was still clinched tight.

‘Must have died right off the bat,’ Bud Smathers said. ‘Must have died instantly.’ He commenced loosening Smut’s belt.

I stepped over to the mulberry tree, out of the crowd. It was a hot day for March, and the sunlight glared against the tin roof of the car shed and hurt my eyes when I looked at it. I leaned against the mulberry tree and the liquor hit me a little then. I looked toward the center of the circle again, and I could see the sheriff down on his knees beside Bud Smathers. They were talking about something, but others were talking too—not loud, but enough to keep me from making out what the sheriff and Bud were saying.

I knew the sheriff would padlock the joint from A to Z. That would be fine. When it was night I would get the blowtorch out of the clayroot. I knew there was enough acetylene in the car shed to burn ten holes through the safe. I had the key to Smut’s cabin. Everything was going to be fine, but I wished to God that night would come on fast.

I came to and the sheriff was calling me over to him. I went over toward the rack. The crowd was standing around in a circle. Besides me, Bud Smathers, the sheriff, and Sam Hall were inside the circle. It looked like we were getting ready to play some sort of kids’ game, like Fanner in the Dell.

Bud Smathers was still on his knees. He looked up at me when I got inside the ring.

‘You saw him when he was shot?’ Bud asked me.

I nodded my head.

‘Just you two?’ Bud asked. He looked at me, then at Sam.

‘So far as I know,’ I said.

Bud Smathers was wearing a gray checked cap. He pushed the bill of the cap back and the sun glistened on the top of his bald head. He reached inside his vest pocket, took a cigar out, and bit off the end.

‘Was there any words passed between them?’

I shook my head. Bud looked at Sam Hall and Sam said, ‘Fisher just said he had something he wanted to show Smut.’

‘Something to show him?’ Bud said.

Sam nodded. ‘Yes, sir. He had a little bag and he opened it and took the gun out. Then he shot Smut.’

‘How many times did he shoot him?’

‘I think he shot three times,’ Sam said.

‘I don’t see but two places where he’s been shot,’ Bud Smathers said.

‘He missed him once,’ I said.

Bud Smathers stood up. He got out his book of matches and lit his cigar. ‘A clear-cut case of murder and suicide,’ he told the sheriff.

Sheriff Pemberton spat into the crowd. ‘Looks like it,’ he agreed.

Bud Smathers looked up toward the roadhouse and waved his arms. ‘Somebody run up there and tell LeRoy to drive it down here,’ he said.

I looked toward the roadhouse and the Smathers ambulance was up there. A couple of small boys started racing up there to carry Bud’s message. When they passed it on to him, LeRoy drove the ambulance down in front of the racks.

Another car pulled in behind the ambulance. It was a blue Buick sedan. A nigger boy, about grown, was driving it, and Astor LeGrand was sitting beside him.

Astor LeGrand opened the door and got out of the blue sedan. He had on dark glasses and his hat was pulled down across his forehead. He stood there in front of his car, not seeming to look at anything in particular.

LeRoy Smathers got out of the ambulance and walked over to where the sheriff and Bud were standing. Except for his little black eyes being open LeRoy looked like a man that had been dead for some time. He sniffed and looked over at Bud.

‘Load him up?’ LeRoy asked.

‘Just wait a minute,’ the sheriff said. He turned to Astor LeGrand, who had walked up in front of the body.

‘What you think about it, Mr. LeGrand?’ Sheriff Pemberton asked. ‘Don’t you reckon we might as well take him to Corinth?’

‘Have you held an inquest?’ LeGrand asked.

Bud Smathers’ cigar had gone out and he lit it again. ‘Well, not a formal inquest, Mr. LeGrand. I asked the boys a few questions. The boys that seen it done. I don’t see no use in impaneling a jury. There ain’t any doubt about how he was killed, nor who by.’

‘Take him to Corinth,’ Astor LeGrand said.

Sheriff Pemberton got down on his knees and took the pocket­book and the key ring off Smut. Then they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Brock Boone and a mill hand named Arch toted him. Smut swung back and forth like Bert Ford swung that night we toted him to Catfish’s still.

While they were getting Smut into the ambulance Astor LeGrand walked over to the edge of the crowd where Badeye was standing. The two of them went off a little ways and started talking about something.

LeRoy got in the ambulance then, turned it around, and drove off. The crowd began fading away. Most of the cars took the highway back to town. The majority of the folks that had been out to look at Smut were mill hands who had given him his start by playing blackjack with him. I think it made them feel good to see Smut lying there on his face. But they had acted like they still weren’t taking any chances with him; like they were afraid he would come to life, stand up, cuss them out and tell them to check their knives at the cash register.

About the time the last sight-seeing car left LeGrand called the sheriff over to him, and Sam and I walked over in that direction too. In a minute Bud Smathers and Brock Boone came up.

‘I was his lawyer,’ Astor LeGrand was telling the sheriff. ‘I handled his legal matters; besides that he owed me money, and when I called Judge Grindstaff just now, he said it would be perfectly proper for me to go ahead and protect my interests. Milligan didn’t have any relatives that I ever heard of. I’ll take care of his funeral expenses, and no doubt I’ll be administrator for his estate.’

‘Whatever you say, Mr. LeGrand,’ Sheriff Pemberton said.

‘We’ll close the roadhouse,’ Astor LeGrand said. ‘We’ll take the pick-up and the car into town and store them there until his estate is settled.’

The sheriff nodded his head to that; he went up to the road-house with LeGrand. Badeye went with them. I went out to the pick-up and sat down on the running board. In a few minutes I saw Rufus Jones come out of the front door. He had on his hat and coat. Just as Rufus got out into the highway the others came out of the front and the sheriff locked the door.

They came down past the pick-up. LeGrand was toting the cigar can that we had used to keep the sales tax pennies in. They were heading toward the cabins. I got up and took out after them.

They stopped in front of the cabin Smut had stayed in. Sheriff Pemberton pulled out the key ring he had taken off Smut and tried each key. But the key was in my pocket, and Brock Boone had to break the lock off with a tire tool he got out of the sheriff’s car.

I went inside with them. The safe was over next to the wall, beyond the door that opened into the shower. Astor LeGrand spotted the safe right off the bat.

‘Well!’ he said. ‘Wonder what he kept his safe down here for?’

Nobody answered him and he began looking around. The sheriff and Brock helped him. They took out all the drawers in the dresser, broke open the locker, tore Smut’s zipper bag open, and ripped up the mattress. They didn’t find anything they were interested in.

Finally LeGrand looked at his wrist watch. ‘We might as well get back to town,’ he said to the sheriff.

‘You want to take his cars in, you say?’ Sheriff Pemberton asked.

Astor LeGrand walked to the door. He was still carrying the cigar can.

‘Have one of these fellows drive the pick-up down here and load up the safe first,’ he said.

My insides caved in when he said that; I was hollow from top to bottom. But I still might have a chance—in a way. ‘I’ll get the pick-up,’ I said. ‘Give me the keys, will you, sheriff?’

I walked slow going out to the pick-up. I still had what I figured might be a chance, or anyway a chance to take another chance. It all depended on where they left the safe in Corinth. I got into the pick-up, backed it down to the cabin, and waited while Brock Boone, Badeye, Sam, and the sheriff loaded the safe into the back.

We drove slow all the way into Corinth. The sheriff and Bud Smathers went first in the sheriffs car. Sam Hall followed them in Smut’s coupé. Brock Boone rode in the pick-up with me; his gun was in his lap all the way. Behind us was Astor LeGrand and his nigger driver in the blue Buick. We drove to Corinth like a funeral procession.

When we got into town the sheriff led us to the alley back of the Farmers & Merchants Bank. He parked his car just outside the alley and Sam parked the coupé there too. The sheriff got out and came back to the pick-up.

‘Drive it in there and back it up so we can unload the safe,’ he told me.

I helped them unload the safe. We carried it into the bank and placed it in front of the door to the vault. LeGrand had a key to the bank, but I don’t think he knew the combination to the vault. He was using the telephone in the front office when I went out the back door.

Sam Hall and I went outside to the pick-up and just stood around there. We didn’t know what move to make next. LeGrand solved that problem for us. He came to the back door and stuck his head out.

‘McDonald, you and Hall were the ones that saw him killed, is that right?’ he asked.

We both nodded. Bud Smathers and Brock Boone brushed past LeGrand just then, and came outside.

‘All right,’ Astor LeGrand said. ‘I’ll have to close the road-house. I don’t know when it’ll be opened again—if it ever is. You needn’t count on anything out there. I’ve left Honeycutt there as watchman until further notice.’

‘You mean we’ve got to get out?’ I asked.

‘That’s right.’ Astor LeGrand said. ‘It’s not necessary for anybody except Honeycutt to stay there. Go out and get your things, but you can’t stay there.’

He nodded his head to Bud Smathers. ‘Take them on, Bud,’ he said, and went into the bank.

Bud Smathers tried to light his cigar, but it was too short, and he threw it away. ‘If you all will come to the Courthouse with me, I’ll get your statements as to what you seen this morning,’ he said.

Brock Boone drove us to the Courthouse in the sheriff’s car. We had to wait there a while before Bud Smathers could get a stenographer, but it didn’t take her long when she finally got there. The girl typed down what we had to say about the shooting of Smut Milligan, and then we had to swear to the statements and sign our names to them. Bud Smathers said that was all and we could go.

We went out into the street then. Sam Hall asked me if I wouldn’t go spend the night with him. I told him no, I’d go back to the roadhouse for that night. He said he’d see me again, and he went across the street and started home.

Main Street was crowded for a Sunday afternoon. Men and boys stood around in small bunches, all dressed up in their Sunday clothes. They were all talking about the same thing. A lot of them asked me questions, but I wasn’t in such a talking notion that afternoon. Still, I hung around long enough to find out how it was about Lola Fisher.

Baxter Yonce was holding forth in front of Baucom’s Pharmacy, leaning against a street trash can, smoking and chewing a cigar. He told me just how it was.

Charles Fisher had found his wife in the breakfast room when he got back from killing Smut Milligan. He walked into the room, still toting the little bag. Lola was sitting at the table and the maid was leaning against the window sill. Fisher set the bag on the table, walked around to where Lola was sitting, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then went back to the bag. He took the pistol out and fired at Lola. She screamed and fell off the chair. Fisher gave himself a blast through the temple. That was the way it was according to the way Baxter Yonce said the maid told it to him. He said the bullet hit Lola Fisher in the right shoulder.

Baxter said that Charles Fisher must have gone temporarily insane. He said it was well known that the fellow was crazy about his wife. It was reported that Fisher carried a hundred thousand in insurance, and Baxter said Lola would, of course, get that in addition to the other property her husband had in his name. Since she hadn’t loved him anyway, it looked like my scheming had worked out fine for Lola Fisher. The only thing was, she didn’t have Smut Milligan now to keep her from getting bored. I wondered what she thought about that. But there wasn’t any way of finding out, so I started home.