Black Water (19 page)

The spectators groaned in unison, grossly disappointed. Dimwiddie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You don’t remember if you ever messed with a girl that looked like Ret Lusaw did? Have you had a stroke or somethin’ I ain’t heard about?”

Parks pounded the gavel, nearly propelling poor LeRoy to the ceiling. “Answer the God Damn question or I’ll jail you in contempt!”

LeRoy grabbed his head in his hands and whined, “We’s kids, f’God’s sake! Shit!”

“You don’t say
shit
in my court you dim-witted pud-pounder!” Judge Parks yelled.

LeRoy was about to cry. “I’m sorry. We’s just touchin’, lookin’ ‘n lickin’. But I never done ‘er!” Then, Holy Shit, it hit him what he said and shot a look at Hub. “NEVER, I swear t’Godamighty, Hub, I NEVER done ‘er!”

Dimwiddie looked at Hub then back at LeRoy. “How come you keep lookin’ at Hub ever time I ask you a question?”

Caught with his pants down, LeRoy lied. “I ain’t!” Then squirming, he said, “Listen, I don’t feel good, maybe I…”

“You can feel bad later,” Dimwiddie snapped. “Right now, you answer the God Damned question. Why’re you afraid o’ Hub Lusaw?”

“I ain’t! Maybe a little, but everbody’s some ‘fraid of ‘im, it ain’t just me!”

As the day went on, Dimwiddie continued to badger numerous witnesses. What he was attempting to show was that Ret Lusaw had been a shameless, conniving flirt, a hussie, a floozie o’ the first order, and although bein’ murdered was a heavy price to pay, she’d been playin’ a dangerous game, and it finally caught up with her. He wanted to show the jury that the Komes brothers’d been lathered up beyond control.

When asked how many times he’d had his own share of Ret, Nud Beaumont confessed to, “Four ‘r five.” Roscoe Bowles put up his hand, took the oath, said his whole name, sat in the witness chair, and admitted, “Once’t,” even before he’d been asked the question. Dimwiddie asked Bob Beaudoin, “If Hub’s so scary, how come you kept comin’ around?”

“Ret turn it on,” Bob said, grinnin’, “she’s haaaaaard t’turn down.”

With Hub basically tied down at the defense table, the witnesses’ long-standing fear slowly diminished. Ike Messick was a good example.

“Hell, I ain’t ashamed of it. She turned me no way b’t’ on ‘n ever way bt’loose. Yes, sir, Ret’d make th’little general slap on ‘is helmet ‘n stand right up straight.”

Parks pounded the gavel tryin’ to kill the room’s laughter.

“Boys was a game,” Ike continued, “’n she knew how t’play ’em.”

“She ever play that game with the Komes brothers?” Dimwiddie asked.

“Hm!” Ike snorted. “Did they have a snake in their pants?”

“Hub ever find out about any a y’all foolin’ with ‘er?”

“Once in a while.”

“What would happen?”

Ike looked at Hub. “You stayed home from work fer a couple o’ days, lickin’ yer wounds.”

“Hub seemed to be very protective of his little sister.”

The picture flashed in Hub’s mind of Paul David draggin’ Ret, squealin’, across the dirt yard for the hen house.

“Mm-hmm,” Ike replied easily.

Parks leaned over the bench. “Yes or no’d be more appropriate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you know their father?” Dimwiddie asked.

“Paul David? Sure, I remember him.”

“He died,” Dimwiddie said.

“Yes, sir,” Ike replied, “he sure did. Hard.”

Hub saw hisself walkin’ in the woods with a cheapass, single-barrel, six-gauge in the crook of his arm. Sixteen years old. He and Paul David’d been huntin’ rabbits. Earlier that day, the old man’d slapped Hub’s mother for makin’ the mistake of standin’ up for herself. Hub thought about the blood dribblin’ out the corner of her nose, brought the scattergun up, aimed it at dear old dad’s back, right where his heart would be, and pulled the trigger.

“A hunting accident,” Dimwiddie said, shaking his head. “Accidentally killed by the person he was hunting with. Do you recollect who that was?”

Ike nodded to the defense table. “Hub.”

Paul David dropped his own gun, his arms flew in the air, and he fell face-first in the dirt, his back a bloody mush. Hub laid his shotgun in the dirt, next to a gopher hole, then slowly walked to Paul David and squatted down beside him. The old man wasn’t dead. Yet. Layin’ with the left side of his face in the dirt, he looked at Hub. He looked surprised. Neither of ’em said a word. Hub sat beside him, Indian style, and watched until he heard a last gurgly breath and the body relaxed. Kinda flattened out. He stood up and slowly walked back to the house, cookin’ up a story about trippin’ in that gopher hole.

“Must be a terrible thing,” Dimwiddie said, “killin’ your own father. Even if it was accidental.”

Everbody turned their attention to Hub. Many were familiar with the story and had heard the rumors about the possibility it hadn’t been an accident, but now, after his killin’ the Komeses, it’d moved possible up to probable. What Dimwiddie was tryin’ to do was put doubt in the jury’s mind that it’d been his first go at murder. A lawyer winning a murder trial and the murderer gettin’ fifteen or twenty years was all right. Gettin’ life was a lot better. But winning the death penalty was the brass ring.

“I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

Parks pointed the ever-present gavel handle to Luther. “Mr. Knox, you’re up.”

Luther stood up. “I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor.” He sat down.

Hub grabbed his arm and growled under his breath, “Do yer job! Ask ‘im somethin’!”

“What do you think I should ask?” Luther asked, quietly. “I’ve asked around and from what I hear, you’re not much more liked than the Komeses. Anybody I put up could and would be cross-examined, and they’d all make you look bad. This is a battle, Mr. Lusaw, but your enemy, the prosecution, has all the ammunition.” He glanced down at Hub’s hand gripped on his arm and then back up. “You don’t frighten me, and it looks to me like the people who you used to scare aren’t any longer. Your chickens have come home to roost, so to speak. The whole room is watching. You’re not improving your reputation. Let...go...of my arm.”

Frustrated, Hub complied, and again, Luther told Judge Parks, “No questions.”

“That’s it, Ike,” Parks chirped. “You can step down.” Then he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s gettin’ late. Mister Knox, we’ll reconvene with your side tomorrow mornin’ at ten o’clock.” He pounded the gavel.

“Everbody rise,” the bailiff shouted, and everbody jumped up and pulled their pants and panties out of their sweaty cracks.

As Luther packed up his paperwork into his case, he told Hub, “Tomorrow morning, I’m putting you on the stand.” Hub looked surprised. “You are the only chance you have, and if you don’t pull it off…and you’d better believe it…you’re going to prison. Make it good.”

The bailiff came to the table for Hub and Luther walked off.

It was 10:00 a.m. the next morning, and the courtroom had been packed since 7:15 a.m. Finally, the door behind and just to the right of the judge’s bench opened. The bailiff stepped through, left it open, and walked to the center o’ the room in front o’ the judge’s bench. He cleared his throat and ordered, “All rise.”

Everone stood. Judge Parks sauntered in, robes swaying majestically. He climbed the two steps to his throne and plopped down in the big chair. “The State o’ Looziana,” the bailiff announced, “versus Hubert Marshall Lusaw. You may be seated.”

Everbody sat back down, and Parks gave the room the once over. “Mornin’,” he said pleasantly. He was a happy man. He should be. The biggest danged three-ringer in the world had come to his town, his court, and he was the man with the tall hat. He yanked up the robe’s sleeves, laced his fingers, laid his elbows on the bench, and nodded to the prosecution table. “Good morning, Mr. Dimwiddie.”

“Good mornin’, Your Honor.”

“How’d you sleep last night?”

“Like a baby, thank you.”

“And how’d you sleep, Mr. Knox?”

“Not well, Your Honor, but thanks for asking.”

Parks gestured to the prosecution table. “He didn’t either.”

Dimwiddie chuckled.

“You ready?”

Luther stood up. “Yes, Your Honor, we are.”

“All right,” the judge replied, and he leaned back to get all comfy. “Let’s go.”

Without any further hubbub, Luther announced, “I call Hub Lusaw to the stand, Your Honor.”

Hot! Dog! That’s what they wanted to hear! The courtroom thrummed with excitement.

Hub tried not to show how nervous he was as he pushed his chair back, stood up, walked around the defense table, and approached the witness stand. Everbody heard ever step. The bailiff met him with the bible. Hub laid his left hand on it and raised his right.

“Do you swear t’tell th’truth, th’whole truth, ’n nothin’ but th’truth, so hep ya God?”

“I do,” Hub replied, stiffly.

“Statechur whole name.”

“Hubert Marshall Lusaw.”

The bailiff nodded to the witness stand. “Have a seat.”

Hub took the one step up into the right side o’ the box, pulled his britches legs up, sat down, took a long, deep breath, helt it a second, and then blew it out. He was the picture of uncomfortableness.

Luther stood up and walked around to the front o’ the defense table. “Hub? You ran…and you were successful for five days. In that time, do you think the law came anywhere near finding you?”

“No,” Hub answered, easily.

“Do you think you could’ve gotten away with it.”

“Probly.”

“But you didn’t. You turned yourself in. Why? If you honestly thought you could get away with it, turning yourself in doesn’t make any sense. You knew you’d be tried for murder.”

“I didn’t wanna be on th’run th’rest o’ m’life.” He seemed almost demure, tired. “But more important, I got a wife ‘n kids, two little boys. I couldn’t drag ’em along with me, ‘n I couldn’t just walk away from ’em. My family’s everthing.”

“Your sister included,” Luther added.

“Yeah.” He seemed to deflate a little more. “Yeah. She was.”

“Were those your only reasons?”

“I don’t know. I ain’t thought much ‘bout why.”

“Would you please tell the court what happened on the night of August seventeenth and the early morning hours of the eighteenth?”

One coulda heard the proverbial pin drop when Luther walked from the witness box and perched one hip on the defense table, handing the stage over to Hub.

Hub’d never spoken to over a dozen people at one time in his whole life. “We’s at a dance. Looked like th’whole town was there.”

Many in the room had been. They turned their faces to their benchmates and nodded. They pictured where they, Hub, George, Matthew, Ret, even LeRoy’d been. For decades to come, time in Southern Looziana would be measured between before the Komes murders and after the Komes murders.

“George ‘n Matthew’d been drinkin’ most o’ th’day.”

All the men pictured George and Matthew, their backs to the temporary, makeshift bar, knockin’ back a glass and lookin’ mean.

“I don’t rec’lect what time they took off. Ret left ‘bout nine ‘r so ‘n they’d left a little ‘fore she did, so maybe eight thirty.” Dark images of the night of the murder was affecting him. He was tryin’ to save his skin, tellin’ his story and actin’ all hang dog, but he was also being pulled back into the horror.

“I left t’go home somers about midnight. I’d gone, I don’t know, maybe half a mile, I come acrost a pair o’ shoes in th’middle o’ th’road ‘n picked ’em up. I thought they’s Ret’s but I didn’t know why she’d leave ’em settin’ in th’middle o’ th’road. They’s brand new. I went another fifty yards ‘r so ‘n I heard a kind o’ mewlin off th’road a bit.” He swallowed and licked his lips.

“Take your time,” Luther said, quietly.

Hub took a deep breath and backarmed his shirtsleeve over his forehead. “I followed th’sound, th’whim’prin ‘n...” his eyes seemed to focus on an invisible something in front of him. He bit his lower lip and blinked. “It was awful.” There was a quiver in his voice. He looked over to Luther, up at the judge, and then back to Luther. His eyes were glistening. “She’s layin’ in th’dirt. Both ‘er eyes was swole nearly shut.” He wiped a tear running down his cheek, embarrassed that he’d allowed his emotions to slip up on him.

Luther couldn’t believe it, but God knows he wanted to. He almost felt sorry for him. He peeked out of the corner of his eye to the jury box. They were hooked. Big, bad Hub Lusaw was in pain and everbody was riveted. Never would they’ve believed it, not one of ’em, that Hub Lusaw could be hurt.

Hub helt out his arms as if reachin’ for somethin’ he alone could see. “I tried t’pick ‘er up out o’ th’dirt, but no matter how easy I was, she hollered in pain. She cried ‘n begged me not t’move ‘er. It hurt s’bad t’have t’leave ‘er lay in th’dirt.” He took a big shuddery breath and continued. “I asked ‘er who done it. She told me she’s goin’ home ‘n George ‘n Matthew jumped ‘er on th’road. They chased ‘er through th’woods ‘n she thought she might coulda outrun ’em, but she tripped over somethin, wrenched ‘er foot ‘n ‘fore she could get up, George jumped on ‘er. She said she raked ‘is face with ‘er nails ‘n got loose, but hadn’t no more’n stood up when Matthew knocked ‘er back down again.

“She said Matthew stood ‘er up ‘n locked ‘er arms from behind while George grabbed ‘er legs ‘n told ‘er she’s a whore th’way she flirted at th’dance ‘n that lightin’ fires in boys was one thing, but heatin’ up a man was another. Said he’d put a fire in ‘er she’d never forget.”

Now he was beyond hiding his feelings. He didn’t care about puttin’ on an act any longer, he wanted everbody to know what they’d done to Ret; how they’d butchered her. “Then she said Matthew bit down hard on th’back of ‘er neck ‘n yelled
I got ‘er bleedin George, I got ‘er bleedin.
She was tryin’ t’get loose ‘n George whacked ‘er face s’hard he knocked ‘er out.”

The court was mesmerized, waiting breathlessly for the next deliciously hideous description.

Hub grit his teeth and looked straight at Luther. “After they tore ‘er clothes off, they lugged ‘er back t’their place. She said one time she come to ‘n George had a hammer handle jammed up inside ‘er.” The women gasped and clutched at their throats. “She come to another time feelin’ like she’s afire. Matthew was astraddle of ‘er, cuttin’ on ‘er with a knife. She tried fightin’ ‘im off but George kicked ‘er in th’head. When she woke up she found they’d drug ‘er off t’th’corner ‘n shoved ‘er up agin th’wall like a sack o’ meal. They’s gone ‘n I swear I don’t know how, she’s beat up s’bad, but she managed t’crawl t’the road ‘n that’s where I come on ‘er.”