Authors: Reavis Z Wortham
Vengeance is Mine (20 page)
Not long after Mr. John left, me and Pepper were down in the draw a couple of hundred yards behind the house with Jere and Daisy. Bubba still had chores to finish, so that left me with the girls to poke around the crumbling banks, looking for stone war clubs or spearheads.
Some of the younger kids wanted to tag along, but Miss Rachel put a stop to that, saying there might be snakes down in the draw and one of 'em might get bit. I wasn't dumb enough to think those kids hadn't spent their lives running the hills and hollers, but she did it to give the four of us some peace.
Miss Rachel was one of those women who always knew the right thing to say or do. I could tell real quick why Mr. John had taken a liking to her, especially when she smiled. She had two deep dimples in the corners of her mouth that set off her sparkling eyes.
It was one of those days when all the excitement about looking for artifacts dissolved the minute we got down in that miserable gully. Grandpa said this spell of weather reminded him of the drought that started back in 1947 and lasted for about six years. It usually cooled by October, but not this year. All the old men up at the store kept looking at the sky and wishing for the first norther to arrive.
In my mind, it'd be easy to walk down there a little ways and pick up arrowheads like ripe persimmons. But the sun beat down on us like it was August. Dying vines and brambles covered everything else around us. The humidity and the whole vastness of the area took the wind out of my sails and I knew we wouldn't find a thing.
My attitude put Pepper into a mood, too. “Well, Mr. Archiolâ¦archol, dammit, how do you say it?”
“Archaeologist.”
“All right, Mr. Butthole Archie-ologist. You got us here. Now what?”
I sighed and looked up at the high banks around us. A small tree had fallen, taking a good chunk of land with it. I kicked at a crumbling clod. A startled lizard shot away.
Daisy looked down at her bare feet in the sand. She was a little on the heavy side, while Jere was all elbows and knees. “This air's so thick I cain't breathe. Let's go back to the house so I can worsh my hair.”
Jere looked shocked. “You cain't worsh your hair this week.”
“I don't know why not.”
“'Cause you got your friend. You know Rachel says we don't worsh our hair then.”
It didn't make any sense to me that they couldn't wash their hair because we were visiting. “It don't matter none to me.”
The girls shot me a look from under their frowns. “We ain't talking about you, little boy.”
For a second, I saw sympathy on Pepper's face, but then she giggled. “They aren't talking about us, dummy. It's Daisy's time. Women don't wash their hair then. I'll be in the same fix pretty soon.”
I scratched my sweating scalp. “Y'all are talking in circles around me.”
They giggled and Jere chewed a thumbnail. “She's bleedin'.”
I still didn't get it.
Pepper finally came to the rescue, probably to show that she knew for sure what they were talking about. “Her âfriend' is that time of the month.”
Blank look.
“Period.”
Another blank look.
Pepper sighed. “You know that box in the bathroom cabinet that says Kotex? Miss Becky keeps it there for women who visit.”
Then I got it, and my face felt as red as if I had a bad sunburn. I wandered over to the shade spilling over the steep bank and squatted down to poke at the dirt so they couldn't see me. I was so embarrassed and listless that I wanted to curl up and go to sleep.
They giggled for a few minutes and argued over washing their hair. Finally tiring of the conversation, they joined me.
“What are we gonna do now?” Pepper waved her hands at the steep banks around us.
“Keep looking.” I dug at the bank with my hand. Sand trickled onto my shoes. “Real archaeologists keep digging in the dirt until they find something.”
Pepper picked up a stick and whacked the downed tree trunk. “Well, shit fire and save the matches. I knew you were gonna say that. Screw this. Let's go back to the house. At least it's cooler on the porch.”
Daisy and Jere snickered. Jere twisted back and forth. “Shoot, gal. You cuss like Uncle Carter.”
Pepper brightened. “Y'all ain't heard nothin' yet.”
“She's right.” I examined some exposed tree roots, hoping for an arrowhead. “She gets her mouth washed out about once a month these days.”
The girls hid behind their hands. “You don't say!” They squealed and went off into gales of laughter.
“Daisy cusses sometimes.”
“Don't do it.”
“Do too.” Jere looked around, as if an adult might show up. She spoke from behind her hand. “This mornin' she saidâ¦ball.”
They shrieked, but it didn't make sense to me. “What does that mean?”
Daisy wrinkled her brow. “You don't know?”
“No.”
Pepper was silent.
“Don't y'all ever listen to the radio?”
I realized pretty quick that Jere and Daisy liked to talk back and forth. It made me dizzy trying to keep up with who I was supposed to answer. “Of course I do.”
“Y'all hear Little Richard?”
I remembered seeing him on television one night, in his loose-fitting suit. “That the guy who plays piano and wears makeup and screams?”
Jere jumped, clapped her hands. “That Miss Molly, sho' do like to ball, whooo!”
They shrieked again and Daisy finally took pity on me. “You don't really know, do you?”
I shook my head.
“It mean Miss Molly like to do it.”
The blank expression on my face explained everything going on in my head, which was nothing.
Jere hugged herself. “You poor thang, you don't know nothin', do you? Ballin' means makin' babies.”
“Does not.”
“Sho' do! Miss Molly likes to have sex!”
All I remembered about the song was the “good golly Miss Molly” part, and the “woooo” part. My face flushed, and I knew I had to get out of that draw right then, because those girls were way beyond me. I started back toward the house.
“Ball,” Pepper said, sparking shrieks from all three of them.
“Balls!”
I climbed out of the gully while they dissolved into gales of laughter.
The phone rang beside Best's massive bed. It was noon and he hated phone calls the first thing in his morning. He swallowed a bite of scrambled eggs and slapped the fork onto the mahogany breakfast tray straddling his waist. Coffee sloshed onto the linen napkin.
He snatched the receiver from the cradle. “What!?”
For a long beat, there was silence on the other end. “Mr. Best, this is Michael, from Kansas City.”
The frown evaporated and Best exposed his fangs when he realized the call was from Chisum, Texas. “Did you do it?”
He hesitated. “No, sir.”
It was Best's turn to be silent. His face flushed and the smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. “You better have a damn good reason.”
“I believe we do, sir.” Michael continued before Best could start questioning him. “We had it all set up last night, but then we saw Anthony Agrioli. We figured you sent him for some reason, and we din't want to get in the way, so we waited until I could call you.”
Best jerked upright, this time sloshing fresh-squeezed orange juice out of the glass. “Are you talking about my lieutenant, Anthony Agrioli?”
“Yes, sir. See, we know Anthony's reputation and we didn't⦔
“Say it again and make it clear. You are in that hick town in Texas, right? What did you see?”
Michael hesitated. “Yes sir. We're at the Holiday Inn, and let me tell you, this ain't no place I wanna stay in again.” The curtains on the plate glass window were open and he watched a couple walk back from the detached restaurant in front of the motel. The guy looked slimy enough that Michael immediately disliked him. The woman, though, was built the way he liked them, big-chested and nasty-looking in a way that defied description. It was mostly those smoky eyes and the willowy way she moved next to the guy.
With an effort, he turned his attention back to Best. “We were on the sheriff's street last night when our headlights hit Agrioli. He was walkin' down the street like he lived here, so we backed off until I could call you. We didn't want to screw up whatever he had planned. Did you send Anthony, too?”
Best studied the mess on his tray without seeing it. “Agrioli no longer works for me. He took something of mine and left. Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes, sir, I'm sure. I've worked with Anthony before.”
“I cannot believe our good fortune. All right. Here is what you do. You have two jobs now. I want you to rub that sheriff out like I said, and Agrioli too. I will pay you double for the job, but do it today.”
Michael glanced across the motel room at Nicky playing solitaire at the table under the brown plastic swag lamp dangling from the ceiling. Johnny Machine was cleaning his pistol. His constant compulsion kept him busy and focused. “Mr. Best. I need to make sure I'm hearing you right. You want us to take
Agrioli
out for you, too?”
“Right. He double-crossed me and the organization. He is now a wild card that needs to be eliminated. Who do you have with you?”
“I got Nicky Crespino and Johnny Machine.”
“Those are both good men. You guys finish this job, and I will arrange for you to stay out here a week.” He was so excited, his diction slipped. “How 'bout t'at?”
“We'll be happy to do it, Mr. Best. Any special instructions on how you want it done?”
“Wet. Make it wet.”
“Yes, sir. I'll call you when we're finished.”
“Wait a minute before you hang up. This is no reflection on your abilities, but I know Agrioli. I am sending you some help. Ray Marco is in Dallas. I will have him call you and get directions to where you are staying. He will bring some other guys, and you will coordinate with them. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Best.”
“Good. Give me the direct number to your room and then call me when it is finished.” He jotted down the number and thumbed the disconnect button without saying good-bye, keeping the receiver to his ear. “Get me Dallas.”
He didn't need to say anything else. The line went directly to his personal operator, and she knew who he wanted in Big D. The guys in Dallas were strictly small time, and that's why he'd opted for the boys in Kansas City at first. But now things were changing, and he needed backup
and
more firepower.
The phone rang in an office high in the Southland Life building. “Lone Star Moving. We'll take you from anywhere in Texas with a rate you won't believe.”
“Who is this?”
“Ray Marco. Who's this?”
“Malachi Best.”
A sharp intake of breath. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Best. I didn't recognize your voice.”
“That is fine, Ray. I need you for a quick job.”
“Sure, Mr. Best. I can be there tonight.”
“No, not here. You ever hear of a hick town there called Chisum?”
“Sure. It ain't but a couple of hours northeast.”
“Good. I have some men at the Holiday Inn there. Do you know Michael Braccaro?”
“By reputation. He's a good man.”
“Yes he is, but he has an assignment that might require some help. Call him at the Holiday Inn in Chisum and get the details.” He read the number written on the damp linen napkin. “Take your best men with you, but remember, Michael is my lieutenant. You do what he says. Once you are finished, I will fly you and the guys out here for a week, on my tab, and you will be paid your usual rate.”
“That's fine, Mr. Best. Thank you. We'll get right on it.”
“Good, and take plenty of artillery. I want this to make an impact. I want you to take an army to do this job. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are a good man, Ray.”
Again, Best ended the call by pushing the disconnect button. His operator came on. “Yes, Mr. Best.”
His eggs were cold. “Another breakfast. Right now.”
Then he hung up and beamed. It was going to be a good day.
Mr. John's car still wasn't in the yard when I came back to the house. I already felt at home, so I wove through the clutter on the back porch and peeked through the rusty screen door to see Miss Rachel standing over her worn out table, peeling potatoes.
A colored man was singing on a plastic Titan radio about when a man loves a woman, and I found my head moving with the music. I thought she was talking to someone, and then I realized she was talking to the radio.
When he sang “a man can't keep nothin' else on his mind when he loves a woman,” Miss Rachel bobbed her head. “Tha's right.”
Every time he finished a line, she said something else. “Tell me honey!”
Another line.
She talked to the radio. “Yes, he can.”
She saw me and clicked the radio off. “Top, you get in here and set down at this table. What'd you do with them gals?”
“They're still out thereâ¦being girls.”
“Them two're 'bout as
sorry
as they come, all right.” She gave me another one of them dimpled smiles that made me feel so good. “I swear I wouldn't hang around 'em no more than a minute if I didn't have to. You're smart to leave them to their devilishness. You hungry, baby?”
“Yessum.” I glanced into the living room and saw three of the kids asleep on a rag pallet on the floor. “Kinda.”
Behind them a bright half-finished quilt was rolled on a portable floor stand. I recognized the wedding ring pattern from the one on Miss Becky's bed and remembered her saying that only married folks slept under them. Since Miss Rachel wasn't married, I wondered who the quilt was for.
“Growin' boys is always hungry. I'm gettin' ready to start supper, but I bet you could eat a bite to hold you. How 'bout I fry you up an egg sandwich?”
I'd never thought of eating eggs after breakfast. “That'd be good.”
“All right, then.” She handed me a bucket that was old when Miss Becky was a baby. “I'm 'fraid you gotta work for your supper. The chicken house is out back yonder. I didn't gather the eggs this mornin', so you'll need to get 'em all fuh me.”
It was my job to gather the eggs for Miss Becky, so I knew what to do. I took and carried the bucket out to a little gray shack that looked like it was about to fall down. From the smell, I knew it was the chicken house long before I got there.
It had one of them Dutch doors, and only the bottom half was open. I ducked under and peeked inside. Imagine a ladder six feet wide with only three rungs leaning against the back wall, and that was the roost. At the opposite end, directly across from the door, were twenty nesting boxes nailed to the wall. Most of the raw wooden boxes were empty, because the chickens were out scratching round the yard and pasture, but a few still had some old hens setting in there, watching me with their black eyes.
I'd have left them alone, if they were trying to hatch some chicks, but Miss Rachel said to get all the eggs. I held my breath from the stink, and went inside. The chicken shit was at least six inches deep underfoot. I thought the whole thing was going to give way under me, but it held as I crossed to the far wall. I pretty near filled up the bucket with eggs, but then had to get those from under the hens still on their nests. That slowed me down some.
My hand was under the second hen when a car door slammed. I figured it was Mr. John come back, but then it was followed by another. When I glanced through the loose chicken wire on the window, I saw a woman standing beside a baby-blue Chevrolet parked in the yard at the corner of the house. I probably wouldn't have paid much attention to the car, except it had a long groove in the paint that went from the front fender on the driver side, across both doors, and dug deep into the back fender where it was bent out from the body.
A pair of legs crossed the front of the house and disappeared up the steps.
I put the warm egg in my bucket, and reached back under the hen for another when a loud shriek stopped me. The screen door banged open and Miss Rachel busted out onto the back porch. I thought she was going to run off through the yard, but she had other ideas. She grabbed a double-bit ax leaning against one of the porch posts.
The spring squealed and started to pull the screen closed again when a slimy-looking man boiled out behind her. She swung the sharp ax, but he was too close. He stepped inside the swing, grabbed the handle with his left hand, and caught her a lick with his right fist. Her head snapped back and she yelped, but she wouldn't let go of the ax handle. He jerked it twice, and then punched her in the cheek. Her knees sagged, but she grunted and threw her weight behind the ax head to drive it into him.
Instead of hitting her again, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her off her feet. “Don't fight me, gal!”
Miss Rachel landed hard on her back, but that feller never let go of either the handle or her hair. He dropped to one knee and slammed her hand against the porch. She finally turned loose and he threw the ax out into the yard.
He gave her head a shake. “Where's your man? We have some business.”
She shrieked and used both hands to hold the fist buried in her hair. “Ain't no man lives here!”
He gave her another hard shake and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don't you
lie
to me, you black bitch! I know Washington's always sniffing around. When's he coming back?”
The little ones in the house started tuning up from the commotion. Movement caught my attention, and I saw two of the other kids standing inside the woods, stock still, like wild animals that know better than to run or else they'll be seen.
Tears ran from her eyes. “I had a husband, but he run off a while back. I ain't seen Rudolph in months.”
From inside, the woman hollered. “Y'all shut up!” The kids cried louder.
The man's eyes were glassy. I've seen that when people get mad, their eyes get hot and don't look natural. He glanced around the yard, but didn't see me. I was standing too far back in the chicken house and the shade kept me hidden.
The man stood up and yanked Miss Rachel to her knees. She kept both hands on his wrist to take the pressure off her head. He put his face close to hers and spit flew. “You're
lying
! I was told he'd be here.”
Miss Rachel quit fighting. “Rudolph left after he got outta jail. Said he was goin' back home to Jefferson. Said he intended to pick up where he left off with some woman he quit me for. That's all I know.”
“I don't give a shit about
Rudolph
. When's
Washington
coming back?” He jerked her back and forth, and Miss Rachel's head looked like it would come off in his hand.
Her mouth opened in pain. “I don't know! He comes by to see me and bring groceries for the kids every now and then. That's all!”
A snaky-looking, big-chested woman stomped onto the back porch. She looked like what Miss Becky would call a hussy, with bleached hair and bright red lipstick. Her voice traveled as if they were standing right next to the chicken house and I could tell she was mad. “He said Washington would be here by now. I wanted to be finished with him before Agrioli showed up.”
My head spun. They were looking for both Mr. John and Mr. Tony at the same time. I couldn't figure out why Mr. Tony would be at Miss Rachel's house at all. I couldn't imagine how she knew him.
The man was mad, too. “What, you don't think we can handle both of them?”
“Look, stupid, it don't matterâ¦they aren't
here!
”
Miss Rachel cut her eyes up at the man. “I don't know no Agrilo, either.”
“I's told he'd be here! Now where is he?” He gave Miss Rachel another pull. A sudden look on the hussy's face caused him to stop for a minute. “What?”
“Ralph, are you sure he said Agrioli'd be here?”
He hesitated. “Well, I
believe
he did.”
The hussy threw up her hands. “Goddamn it! You either know or you don't.”
“I don't remember,
Myrna
! I
think
he said he'd make sure Agrioi would be here with Washington.”
Myrna used both hands to hold her head. I've seen folks do that if they're surprised or worried. “You
idiot
!” She was furious and stomped her foot. “This is just like you, to go off half-cocked without being sure of what you're doing. You don't
think
, Ralph, you're like a pinball in a machine, bouncing around and knocking into things. You hear what you want to hear, or dream it up in that empty skull of yours. What made you think Agrioli would be here?”
The man stopped yanking at Miss Rachel's head and stared off at the tree line, like he was working on a hard math problem. “I thought he might beâ¦I don't know.”
“You do this all the damn time!” She got mad and told him how the cow ate the cabbage. Ralph took it without a word, still holding Miss Rachel down and listening with his head bowed.
She slowed down and he spoke to the floor. “I remember now, he said he'd be here at five.”
Like someone had thrown a switch, Myrna calmed down and studied on Miss Rachel for a minute. “Well, we're early, but what are we going to do with
her
now?”
“I ain't being paid to kill no woman, black or white. Let's tie her up and wait.”
Myrna waved her hand. “Look around us. There's kids everywhere. We can't sit here and twiddle our thumbs while they all run around like a bunch of chickens. Think of something else.”
I wanted to cry like a little baby, watching that man handle Miss Rachel the way he did, but fear and the realization that I was no match for a grownup kept me huddled right there in that stinkin' chicken house.
Ralph was thinking, his eyes jerking first one place, then another. He yanked at Miss Rachel again. “I know for sure he's supposed to be here. Where's
Washington
?”
I swallowed down the acid rising in my throat.
Miss Rachel found some place down deep inside. She set her jaw and stared into his eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
He slapped her, and the sound was sharp, but instead of crying, she glared a hole through him and I knew then she'd die before she told that man anything.
“What the
hell's
going on?” Myrna worried at her hair like it was getting messed up and somebody cared. I'd seen confused old folks do the same thing. “Are we at the wrong place?”
Crying hard, little two-year-old Bass Reeves came through the door and ran to Miss Rachel. Ralph backslapped that little feller and he rolled across the back porch and lay still. Miss Rachel shrieked and punched the bad guy in the nose. Blood squirted and she twisted away and jumped to her feet, leaving him with a handful of hair.
She almost made it, but Ralph caught her by the shirt collar and yanked her hard enough that her feet left the ground. She hit on her shoulders and neck, and I thought it mighta killed her, but still laying on the floor, she swung again. That's when he commenced to beat her like a natural man.
No, he beat her like a dog.
The thing that hit me the most was how quiet they all were, him grunting each time he swung, and Miss Rachel taking it all rolled up in a ball, and that hussy woman Myrna standing there watching like it was the most common thing in the world. I guess it finally hurt his fists too much, because he stood up and went to kicking her.
He might have kicked her to death, but he stopped when a scream cut across the yard. “Quit it! Quit it you sonofabitch!”
I knew that voice and it jolted me out of my trance. It was Pepper at the edge of the woods with Daisy and Jere.
Ralph had a wild look in his eye when he saw them. He let go of Miss Rachel and stood up. When he reached into his pocket, I knew I had to finally do something.
I realized I'd been holding my breath and let it out to draw another. “Run!” I dropped that bucket full of eggs. It bounced and fell over. I jumped to the empty window covered with chicken wire and started slapping my hands against it. “Hey! Leave them alone! Help! Mr. John, they're right here! Help!”
The wire rattled each time I hit it, and that caused the sheet iron roof to rattle too. The whole building sounded like it was about to fall down around my ears, but I couldn't stop screaming and yelling.
Bubba, the oldest boy came around the house and saw what was happening. He took off running toward the porch and saw the ax laying in the yard. He picked it up and charged at them, holding it over his shoulder like a batter getting ready to swing.
Ralph pulled a pistol out of his pocket with a shaking hand and pointed it at Bubba.
All of us suddenly appearing must have startled those two pretty bad. “Come on!” The woman yanked at his arm and jumped off the porch. “You can't kill 'em all! Let's get out of here!” A rock zinged through the air and thumped off his leg.
Those two headed for their car like the ol' Devil hisself was after them. A rock slapped the side of the house with a bang, and then another hit the man's back. Belle had joined Pepper, Daisy, and Jere, who were pelting them pretty good as they ran around the corner. Bubba stayed after them with the ax held ready for a swing.
I raced out of the chicken house and pointed, waving toward the woods like there was somebody behind me. “Here! Mr. John, they're over here and getting away! Shoot 'em!”
The car started up and shot out of the yard, tires spinning in the dirt. A cloud of dust filled the air as they sped off down the road.
It didn't take but a minute for Pepper and the girls to run up on the porch, holding onto Miss Rachel who laid there with little Bass in her arms. The slap had knocked the wind out him, but he had it back and was tellin' it with long, loud shrieks. Everyone else was squalling and sniffling, and I wanted to join them, but I couldn't. I had to stay tough with Bubba until Mr. John showed up, or Mr. Tony.
