Between the Lies Read online

  “We’ve got that little colored boy here—in Cherokee. And I think Brewster knows it. Or at least suspects it. I’m not sure what he’ll do or where he’ll go, but he could be headed this way.”

  “Be reasonable. Earl Brewster won’t—”

  Hick interrupted again. “Earl Brewster is desperate and feeling threatened. He’s mad as hell, and I don’t want you here by yourself. Especially in your condition. Please, Mag, just do this for me.”

  Maggie studied her husband’s face. “My God …What do you think he will do?”

  “He won’t do anything because he’s a coward and we both know that. But like most cowards he’s got a big mouth and he’ll bluster and fuss and act tough. I don’t want you around him alone.” He closed his eyes. “I should have never gotten involved.”

  She pulled back and shook her head. “You know you couldn’t live with yourself if you hadn’t. You couldn’t sit back and watch a child’s life be thrown away.”

  Her words unintentionally stabbed him and his breath caught in his lungs. His mind reeled back in time as he recalled another child, this one in a freezing, farmhouse in Belgium. Tears smarted behind his eyes, and he cleared his throat.

  “I’ll drop you off at Pam’s house,” he said. “I’m meeting Adam and that lawyer there. I need to get her back to Broken Creek so she can get some papers that are in her briefcase to help Thad. How long before—”

  “We’re ready,” Mourning said, holding up a satchel filled with extra clothes and toys for the boys.

  “Thanks, Mourning.”

  He hesitated and then walked to the bedroom. He pulled a box from the top shelf of the closet. He opened it and picked up the pistol, the one, as sheriff, he was supposed to carry.

  Feeling Maggie behind him, he turned and met her questioning glance. His sons peered from behind her, wide-eyed and too young to understand, but sensing something was wrong.

  “Daddy?” Jimmy said, coming forward and looking up.

  Hick looked at the pistol and then put it back. He knelt and encircled his boys within his arms. A small voice within him spoke accusingly, telling him he had placed his family in danger.

  As if reading his thoughts, Maggie whispered, “This ain’t your doing. This is Earl Brewster’s doing.”

  He hugged his children and then rose. “Let’s get to Pam’s. The sooner I get on the road to Broken Creek, the sooner I’ll be back.”

  Hick drove his family to Adam and Pam’s house where Adam was waiting, with Thad Burton and Carol Quinn in tow.

  “I called Doc,” Adam said, striding out to Hick, his face tense. “He’s on his way out here, just in case Brewster takes it in his mind to look here for Thad. I’ll be the ‘welcoming committee’ at the station.”

  Hick nodded, glancing at the house. “Thanks. Is Carol ready?”

  “Yeah. She’ll be right out.”

  Mourning took Thad and the boys inside, but Maggie lingered. “Hickory,” she said in a voice full of emotion, “be careful.”

  He put his arms around her and kissed her, wanting to stay, wanting to protect her, wanting to be protected by her love and strength. He felt her breath on his cheek, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he pulled away. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  He turned to Adam. “Does Pam know what to do if Brewster shows up?”

  “She’ll put Thad in the root cellar if needed. I don’t think Brewster would have the guts to barge into a Deputy Sheriff’s house without a warrant no matter how desperate he is.”

  “If he’s headed this way, I reckon Brewster will be here in Cherokee Crossing in about a half hour,” Hick said, glancing at the sun.

  Adam’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ll be sure and make him feel at home.”

  Hick turned to Maggie. “I know it’s hot, but make sure the kids stay inside.”

  She nodded and Hick turned to Adam, “You’ll check back here in a half hour to make sure everyone’s okay?”

  “You bet your ass. I’ll be back every five minutes if I think I need to. I dare that son of a bitch to say or do anything. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll wish to hell he’d stayed in Broken Creek.”

  The only thing on earth that could ever provoke the usually good-natured Adam to violence was threatening his family. Hick pitied Brewster if he took it in his head to show up at the Kinion house unannounced.

  “I’m thinking if we take the back roads back toward Broken Creek and Brewster is on the way here we should miss him.” He glanced at his watch. “Will you stay here until Doc arrives?”

  Adam nodded.

  “I’ll call as soon as we get to the motel.” Hick said. He turned once more to Maggie. “I’ll see you soon.” He kissed her forehead and turned away. “Ready?” he asked Carol who was making her way down the porch steps.

  She nodded and they climbed into Hick’s car. He glanced back one last time at Maggie. The sun flared into the rearview mirror and then she was gone.

  “You have a lovely family,” Carol said as the car pulled onto a dirt road.

  “Thanks.”

  “And you really think they could be in danger?”

  Hick shrugged. “Probably not. But this pregnancy has been hard on my wife. I don’t want her dealing with Earl Brewster, especially when he’s angry and desperate. And with everything that went on last night in Broken Creek—”

  They drove in silence for a moment and then Carol asked, “Why is this Brewster so intent on putting Thad away?”

  “I’m not sure.” Hick answered, lighting a cigarette.

  Carol picked through her purse and then asked, “Can I have one of those? I’m out.”

  Hick handed her a cigarette and his lighter and she took a long drag. “My God, it’s flat here,” she said, staring out the window and then handing him back the lighter.

  Hick glanced out the window at the rows of cotton, green stripes flying past the car windows, broken up only by the occasional tree break.

  “So, why the fire and gunshots in Broken Creek last night? What has everyone so upset? It’s not Thad, is it?”

  “No. It has nothing to do with Thad.”

  “What flyers were you talking about?”

  Hick reached into his shirt pocket and handed her the flyer that Benji and Jack brought from the cotton field. “These have been going around Cherokee Crossing. I expect Broken Creek has seen their fair share, too.”

  Carol skimmed it quickly and then turned her eyes to Hick. “So, this Richardson is running on a segregationist platform?”

  Hick nodded. “And Broken Creek is the perfect venue. They were set to desegregate the schools next year but suddenly got cold feet.”

  Carol read through the flyer again. “I’ve never heard of Citizens Against Desegregation. This must be another one.”

  “Another one?”

  “These groups are springing up all over the south. The White Rights Movement, Concerned White Americans. They like to distance themselves from other groups like the Klan, pretending they’re not about hate and violence. But when you single out a vulnerable population and convince people that this group is somehow inferior and trying to take something away from you, you instill fear and that breeds anger and that breeds violence. These groups may be wrapped up in flowery language and they may have some mighty important advocates, governors and senators to name just a few, but at their heart, they’re just the Klan all over again.”

  “And violence is exactly what they’ve incited.”

  “So what happens to Thad?”

  “Enos Burton is right to be worried about his boy. The town’s so riled against colored folks right now that they can’t stand the thought that Thad might get away with something. Especially since the victim was a white man. I’m sure this is working in Brewster’s favor, and it’s not hurting Richardson’s message either. Right now Enos has gotta be scared to death for his son.”

  “But Thad has nothing to do with any of this. Why pick on a kid?”

  �
��He’s colored. For Brewster, that’s enough.” Hick threw his cigarette out the window.

  Nodding, Carol took another long drag of the cigarette and stared at the scenery going by. After a moment she said, “I thought this was just a lazy sheriff trying to wrap up a case with as little work as possible. There’s more going on here than I imagined. A lot more.” She leaned forward and put her cigarette out in the car’s ashtray. “To hell with my law firm. I know someone else who’ll be interested in this.”

  “Who?”

  “My uncle. He works for the Department of Justice.”

  “Why would the Department of Justice care about any of this?”

  “Oh, a lot of reasons. First, I suspect we’re dealing with ‘color of law’ violations.”

  Hick looked over at her. “What does that mean?”

  “When you perform your duties as a legal representative of the county, those duties are done within the color of law. When you misuse your authority, you violate the color of law and that is a serious offense, one the FBI takes great interest in. I thought I was coming down here to bail a kid out of jail and explain to him that he had the right to an attorney and representation. I thought the root problems in Broken Creek were ignorance and laziness, not corruption. The truth of the matter is, this is more than a bad arrest. Brewster knowingly arrested and imprisoned Thad on false evidence. You can’t arrest someone and hold them over without bond the way he did and call it ‘safekeeping’. He misused his authority to take advantage of Thad.”

  “He’s done that and more. We’ve had someone go missing that I think could be connected—a witness, or maybe even the perpetrator.

  “That’s what you meant when you said one person was already missing, back when we were in that shack.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to say more and scare Thad. Also you should know Brewster went out of his way to make sure Thad’s fingerprints would be in that truck.”

  “These are serious charges. If we can prove them that will be nail number one in the fat bastard’s coffin. Brewster could go to prison for life,” Carol said.

  Hick shook his head. “I don’t like it. He’s gonna get desperate.”

  “You’re right,” Carol said. “And color of law violations could be the least of his problems. If he’s involved with the Citizens Against Desegregation and they’re the ones inciting violence …” She shook her head. “The Supreme Court has ruled and desegregation is the law of the land. My Uncle Arthur works for the Civil Rights Section of the Department of Justice. Eisenhower doesn’t want them to get involved, but I believe Uncle Arthur could get a couple of J. Edgar Hoover’s boys down here to looks things over.”

  “I’d welcome any help,” Hick said. “I’m not exactly sure what we’re dealing with, but I know it’s more than I’m used to.”

  Carol looked at him a moment and then said, “Well, Hillbilly, that’s more than a lot of men would admit. Usually law enforcement agencies object to working together.”

  “This is not about me or my reputation. This is about Thad.” He shot her a grim, but determined smile. “Like you, I’d welcome anything that could help him.”

  She held his gaze and nodded. “Uncle Arthur’s the one we need down here.”

  It was still morning when they arrived in Broken Creek, but already the harsh sun made the humid air stifling. “I want to run in real quick and talk to Father Grant. I need to let him know what we’re doing so he can tell Thad’s daddy.” Hick turned the car toward the church. “And you’re sure your uncle will send down some help?”

  “Police corruption is one of the Justice Department’s specialties. Once I let them know what’s going on here, Brewster’s going to find himself in a lot of trouble. You can get away with plenty in small town America because it’s easy to operate with impunity in the sticks.” She eyed Hick, but he said nothing. “But once word gets out, once someone hears about it—”

  “We still need to find out who really killed that vagrant last week,” Hick said. “There’s a reason Brewster was in such a hurry to wrap this up. Somebody in this town is carrying a hell of a secret. There has to be a way to get them to talk.”

  He stepped from the car and was making his way to the church when he felt something sharp press into his back. “Don’t turn around,” a voice hissed in his ear.

  “What do you want?” Hick heard Carol ask and he started to turn his head when the sharp object pricked at him again, hard enough where he felt the point break the skin.

  “I said don’t turn around,” the speaker said again. “My friend ain’t gonna hurt that lady. We don’t aim to hurt either of you.” The voice took on a begging sound. “Please don’t make a scene. We just need to go for a walk.”

  “Where are we going?” Hick asked as the knife prodded him toward the nearby cotton field.

  “You’ll know when we get there.”

  16

  Tuesday, July 20, 2016

  Grasshoppers and praying mantises buzzed through the high, but thin cotton. Hick’s shirt stuck to his back as he walked through the tall plants, the sound of stumbling steps assuring him that Carol was close behind. “You work for Brewster?” he said, trying to turn to see the man behind him.

  A snort followed the comment and the knife prodded him forward again.

  The cotton plants seemed to hug the humidity, pulling it down upon Hick. Sweat streamed down his back and dripped beneath his hat, stinging his eyes. He heard Carol stumble and a voice say, “Ma’am, you might want to take them shoes off. They ain’t exactly made for comfort.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she said, her voice breathless from the brisk walk. They paused in their steps and a moment later, Hick heard her say, “Thank you.”

  “We’re almost there, ma’am,” the other man’s voice said as if trying to reassure Carol. Hick wondered if there was a knife at her back, too

  Again, by instinct, Hick began to turn and, again, the knife pierced his skin. “Ain’t no need for you to look,” his captor whispered near his ear. “We all gonna be fine as long as you keep walking.”

  Hick detected a fearful plea in this command, but simply nodded and continued blindly through the high cotton. In the distance he spied the outline of a large, abandoned cotton gin. Their steps brought them nearer and finally, the long rows of cotton were behind them and they were in the open, which felt cool in spite of the sweltering July heat.

  “Stop right here,” the voice behind Hick ordered.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Hick waited and moments later Enos Burton came out of the cotton gin.

  “Enos? What’s going on?”

  “Go on boys,” Enos said, nodding to the men who had brought Hick and Carol. Hick heard their footsteps flee through the cotton fields. “They don’t like messin’ with a sheriff, and I ain’t never raised my hand against the law, but I needed to talk to you someplace where Brewster won’t come. I don’t want no scene. I just wanted you to walk out here real quiet like. And you did. Don’t hold it against them.”

  “I won’t,” Hick said. “What’s this all about?”

  He glanced around. “Come inside.”

  Hick, Carol, and Enos walked into the large metal building. It was dark inside, shadows beside patches of startling brightness in places where hail had punched holes through the corrugated tin roof.

  “Sit,” Enos said, indicating a crate.

  Hick sat down and noticed Carol quickly sat beside him. He could feel her trembling and pitied her, but he knew Enos could be trusted.

  Enos didn’t sit. Instead he paced, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his large hands and massive frame. It was helplessness, something he was clearly unfamiliar with. Finally, he asked, “You ever see a lynching?”

  The question startled Hick. So much that he just stared.

  Enos shook his head. “I didn’t think so. I have. The worst thing about ’em ain’t the sound of the muffled screams, the jerking of t
he legs when the life is torn from the bodies, the stillness of death. It ain’t watching your friends swaying from a tree, just a rockin’ back and forth in the breeze. No, it ain’t none of that. It’s the hate that shines in the eyes of them men as they string folks up. It’s the darkest, most evil thing I ever seen.” He ran his hand over his face, as if trying to block some image.

  Hick shifted on the uncomfortable crate and Enos continued. “Sheriff, I know you want to help Thad, I really do. But I knowed the first time I laid eyes on you that you don’t understand the hate. You ain’t seen the hate. You don’t know what it’s like to be afraid every time your wife or your daughter goes to the store, that she ain’t gonna come back because some white boy might take it in his mind he’d like to try some of that.”

  Enos walked to the door of the gin and stared out across the cotton. “My boy, Thad, is a good kid. He ain’t got a bad bone in his body.” He turned and looked at Hick and Carol. “That’s all my wife’s doing. He was born when I was in the Philippines. I didn’t see him until he was almost three years old.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know how to make you see, how to explain it, ’cause you can’t understand it, no matter how hard you try. You can’t understand the hate ’cause you ain’t colored. But I understand it, and I fear it.” He walked toward Hick. “You got kids?” he asked, unexpectedly.

  Hick nodded.

  “As one father to another. Please tell me where my boy is. Please help me get him back in that jail. I know he didn’t do what Brewster said he done. Everybody know that. But sometimes you just gotta take it. You gotta take it ’cause there ain’t no other way.”

  Hick looked into Enos’ eyes. The man was begging for his son’s life.

  Enos eyes closed and his lips began to tremble. “I don’t ever want anyone to look at my son with that kind of hate. He ain’t capable of understanding it. The day will come when he will, but, Lord Jesus, not yet. Let him be my baby just a little bit longer.” Enos covered his face with his large hand. “He’s the only boy I have.”

  Hick recalled the hope that shone from Thad’s eyes. It had been unfair, cruel really, to raise such a hope in a child—a hope that could not flourish in an ugly world. Something inside Hick broke and his heart ached with sadness. “Thad’s at my sister’s house in Cherokee Crossing,” he finally said. He heard Carol gasp, but continued, “We hid him away because we think Brewster’s gone there to look for him.”