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Authors: Mark Richard Zubro

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BOOK: Rust On the Razor
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I hoped it wouldn't start to rain. We'd all have to cram ourselves into the hospital. A road was still open to the high school, but reports said it was already filled to capacity with refugees.
I still had no watch or identification, all lost in the destruction of the jail.
The cement of the parking lot gave not an inch in my attempts to find a comfortable position and fall asleep. Violet and Scott began reminiscing. I'd thought of making sure I lay between them, and then I thought I'd better grow up and get a life. I listened to them talk softly of warm nights like these in summers long past, of whispered secrets that now seemed remote and comfortable. They spoke of teenage tragedies, couples who broke up, people they wish they still knew, people they were glad they hadn't seen in years and hoped never to see again.
The moon was almost directly overhead. The gray light was enough to show one crew working at the far end of the levee closest to the ridge. Another team was filling sandbags near the center where we had started that morning. Watchers walked the top of the levee.
I lay on my back and gazed at the stars. Scott and Violet talked about the time they were king and queen of the senior prom.
“I was so proud to walk down the center of the gym with you,” Scott said. “I was just terrified that you'd expect something later.”
Violet laughed. “You don't know how desperately I wanted something later.”
They both chuckled.
Someone shouted from the far side of the parking lot. In seconds people were up and running toward the levee. Water rushed through a three-foot gap in the dike. Every second it grew wider. People raced to help. Lines formed quickly. Sandbags flew. I found myself between a hunky teenager and a woman in her fifties with enormous breasts and huge arms. They handed us sandbags from our right, and from our left water poured onto us. The woman, the teenager, and I competed with at least forty other hands slinging bags of sand into the breech. Water sluiced around us.
Someone shouted, “Move back, it's going to go! Run!”
I whirled my head around. No one around me retreated. The water was up to my waist. People on top of the dike hurled sandbags from the sides. Twenty of us were right at the opening. I turned for another bag and something bumped into my left hand.
When I looked down I saw moonlight glittering on the bloated, no longer handsome face of Jasper Williams.
I called out, but my shout was lost in the uproar of desperate humans and rushing water. The huge woman and the teenager saw him. We paused for a second. The woman grabbed his hand for an instant.
“He's dead,” she said.
Sandbags continued to rain down from above. The corpse wedged into the opening and provided an excellent break to a ton of water.
The kid yelled, “We can get him later!”
The woman nodded. She shouted, “He hurt people when he was alive, maybe he'll save a few now!”
We piled sandbags around and on top of him. In seconds his body was completely covered. Minutes later the water
from the break was down to a trickle, and finally it stopped.
The woman said, “I want to get hold of the dim-bulb dumb shit who yelled ‘Run!'”
The kid said, “It was that asshole Al Holcomb.”
I enjoyed the idea of him being the goat of the town.
The woman and the kid promised to find someone to report the dead body to. I was just pleased that Jasper was really dead.
I found Scott on top of the levee helping reinforce another spot that looked weak. I figured he'd aggravate his injury, but there wasn't time to worry about that now. I lent a hand. When I stopped my work for the night, the moon was on the western horizon. Full dawn wasn't far off.
Scott limped slightly as he and I wandered back to the hospital, climbed the stairs, and found his mom.
She was awake. She had insisted that Shannon and Mary go out to help with repairing the dike. Scott and his mom went in to look at his dad.
I sat on the couch and felt more tired than I had ever been in my life. Dr. McLarty poked his head in the door of the lounge. He wore jeans, boots, and a green T-shirt with “Burr County General Hospital” stenciled on the front. His clothes were as wet as anyone's I'd seen that day.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. You out at the flood?”
“Just finished filling my millionth sandbag. They say the crest will be late this afternoon. The river isn't rising as rapidly. We might make it.”
He sat down. “I talked to some people,” he said. “They think they might know some things to help you.”
“Who?”
“Two lesbians. Are you still in danger?”
“I think I'm still arrested. As soon as the sky stops falling, I'm afraid I'll be back in the tender hands of Burr
County.” I gave him a brief summary of what had happened at the jail. When I finished, he led me to a third-floor room near Dennis's.
He told me Dennis would be able to leave the hospital in a day or two. “You should both be happy to be alive. I don't know if plastic surgery can repair what Jasper destroyed.”
I told him about the corpse.
“Good. The town bully is dead.”
We entered an unoccupied doctor's office. Sitting in one chair was a grossly overweight woman of about twenty-five. Next to her and holding her hand was a woman in her early forties. She might have been a university professor, except, like the rest of us, her clothes were damp and she smelled like she'd been dipped in shit. She wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a quiet demeanor, holding herself properly, shoulders back.
McLarty introduced them as Sylvia and Janis.
Sylvia, the professorish one, said, “I own a shop on Main Street on the square. I managed to move most of my inventory. I make dresses.”
Janis said, “I'm part-owner of the Dixie Square Beauty Shop.” I couldn't imagine her being much of an advertisement for her own products, but if they were willing to help, I was ready to pass out sainthoods and buy every article they sold in their stores—maybe even fly in for haircuts once a month. Whatever it took.
Janis said, “Dr. McLarty urged us to help you. We're a little uncertain. We have to live in this town.”
“I promise I won't bring your names into any of this.”
The women looked at each other, then over to McLarty.
Sylvia said, “We have to be very careful. We're the only two lesbians in the area who own shops, and we aren't out in the open. If word got around, the least that would happen is our store windows would be broken. If there is
anything left to break after this disaster.”
Again I promised to keep them out of it.
Janis said, “We have a small women's group from the surrounding counties.”
“Magnolia, from the bar, mentioned one,” I said.
“Yes, we're a subgroup. It's very informal. Magnolia is so tough and nothing seems to scare her.”
“Is she a lesbian?”
“She says she's open-minded,” Janis said. “Some nights she prefers one, some the other, mostly none.”
“What's important,” Sylvia said, “is that we know something was supposed to happen this week. We aren't sure what.”
“Who was planning to act?”
“Those women whom the sheriff had victimized. Some of them told. Word got back to the Klan. Supposedly they were going to try and organize something at their meeting.”
“Didn't the noble male giving his all for the honor of southern womanhood go out with
Gone with the Wind?”
“No,” Janis said.
Sylvia said, “What the sheriff was doing was despicable.”
“Why not go to the police?” I asked, and realized instantly it wasn't the brightest question. Then I asked about other jurisdictions, other judges and lawyers.
“A woman would have to prove it. There was no physical proof, no evidence.”
“Who were the women and men involved?” I asked.
“We only know some of them,” Janis said. “And at least one was in the Klan, so he could ask for them to take action.”
“Who were they?” I asked.
“There are three. Jennifer Essex, the wife of Harvey Essex, one of the policemen on the force.”
“Young blond fella. I saw him questioning you the morning of the murder,” McLarty said.
“Betty Dixon told her brother Chad. She's only eighteen and not married.”
They hesitated.
“Who's the third?” McLarty asked.
“Shannon Carpenter. Hiram was probably the one who was going to bring it to the Klan for action.”
They knew only those names and that something was supposed to happen. They knew no more and didn't want to prolong the interview. They seemed to want to run as fast as they could in the other direction. After exacting another promise from me not to say anything about them, they left.
I decided it would not be helpful to tell Scott about this latest revelation. I was dismayed but not surprised that his family was in this deeply.
I left the hospital. In the parking lot, the assigned crews were continuing to fill sandbags and stack them at key points. Many people were lined up at Red Cross coffee machines. The sun was already beginning to warm the fetid air.
I searched the crowd for any of the people mentioned.
I saw Clara Thorton holding a small child in her arms. She spotted me, delivered the youth to another woman, and walked over.
“Thank you for your help,” she said.
“I did what everyone else was doing.”
“You didn't have to. This isn't your town. I appreciate it. I don't pretend to understand you. I'm still uncomfortable about all this, but you deserve some help. I heard you were arrested.”
“Yes. Am I still?”
“Not as far as I'm concerned, but that's not my department. Nor do I know why you were arrested. I do know that you were taken at the direct order of Wainwright Richardson. I believe you were deliberately left in the jail to die. Wainwright is another one who was working against me. It took me some time since noon yesterday to find this out, and I had to apply a great deal of pressure, but I can say with reasonable certainty that Wainwright was Jasper Williams's contact in the hierarchy of county government. Wainwright supports many of Jasper's causes. I don't know more. Your problem is that Wainwright is in charge of law enforcement. When he gets a minute, you will be arrested again, unless you get some high-powered lawyers
or federal marshals down here. I cannot protect you there. The police will probably listen to Wainwright.”
I hoped at least Cody would see the light.
It felt like I was trying to avoid half the town while I hunted for the other half to question. First, I searched in the direction of the levee. I wanted to find Harvey, Shannon and Hiram Carpenter, and Wainwright Richardson when he wasn't surrounded by a gaggle of cops. I didn't know the other people Sylvia and Janis had mentioned. If I saw Al, the Klan coward of the night before, I'd speak with him also. The ones I didn't know I'd try later.
I climbed the levee and walked along it until I reached the ridge at the east end of the hospital. As my eyes rose above the level of the dike, I saw an incredible expanse of water where once a quiet town had been. The water was still four feet from the top of the dike. It didn't seem to be rising.
I saw Nathan with a group of guys standing on the top of the levee about thirty feet away. He wasn't on my list, but I figured I'd start with him. I approached swiftly. They stopped talking and looked at me when I was about ten feet from them.
“Scott's looking for you,” I lied.
“Something wrong with Daddy?”
“He said to come on up.”
Nathan detached himself from the group and followed me.
People filled every space on the first floor of the hospital. The stairway to the second floor was empty. Halfway up the steps, I grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him around to face me.
“I want the truth out of you about what the hell you and your family have been up to.”
He shoved my hand off his shirt. “Fuck you,” he said, and began to walk away.
I reached around, got another fistful of his shirt, and yanked him to a stop. I rammed his back up against the wall. He squawked and tried to twist away. I slammed him again.
“Why aren't you willing to help Scott? He's your brother. If you don't love Scott now, think of how much you did as a kid, and be willing to help him out.”
“You're the one accused of murder.”
“You think he's going to be happy if his lover is executed or is in jail for the rest of his life?”
“I don't care.”
“But he would.”
He stopped struggling. I think he was surprised at my strength. I knew there was a good reason I worked out with Scott as often as I could.
“Whether you care for him or not, I need answers, and I intend to get them. Stupid as it may sound, for Scott's sake, I don't want to bring trouble to you, or your brothers and sisters, but I'm going to find out who killed the sheriff no matter who is implicated. I'm going to get my butt out of the sling it's in. I'll hurt you if I have to, and I want answers.”
I let go a little. “One thing I don't get is why you hate your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Huh?”
“I don't really hate Scott.” He hesitated. His eyes got moist. “I just never understood, and he never came and talked to me. He just kept secrets from me. He never told me all the important stuff. I loved him. He could have talked to me. Instead, he stopped visiting. I don't hate him. I want it to be like it used to be. I guess I don't hate Hiram, but he's a good hater. He's very convincing when he wants to be. He looks out for me and the whole family.”
“Did he kill the sheriff to protect your sister's honor?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Did he?”
“I don't think so.”
“What was he doing illegal on his farm that the sheriff found out about?”
“Nothing half the farmers in the county aren't doing. Skimming money from the federal government price supports. Hiram just got a little greedy, is all. He's got more acres than almost anybody. Sheriff wanted a cut.”
“And then this thing with your sister came along?”
“I swear, Hiram promised me they were only going to talk about it at the meeting. They were going to go to the sheriff and ask him to resign. They were going to threaten him with prosecution. I think Hiram had talked Shannon into seeing a lawyer in Macon.”
The door from the first floor banged open and several kids rushed past us. I followed Nathan back outside.
I found Clara, Cody, Al Holcomb, and Wainwright Richardson just outside the entrance. Clara had her hands on her hips. Richardson was waving a finger in her face.
I walked up to them.
Richardson saw me, turned to Cody, and said, “Arrest this man.”
Clara said, “No.”
Cody asked, “How come you ordered him left in the jail to die and then lied to me when I asked if he was gone?”
Richardson glared at him. “You can't be accusing me of any crime. With the water rising there were a million things to think about.”
I asked, “Why'd you order me arrested in the first place?”
“You need charges,” Clara said. “What happened that you didn't tell me about?”
“I don't have to tell any of you anything.”
Part of the crowd had formed a circle around us.
Richardson saw them and licked his lips. “We should move to a less public place.”
“No,” I said. “Let's talk about it with the whole town as witness. If they're going to lynch me for being gay or for killing the sheriff, then let's do it. Cut the crap and get it over with. Why did you arrest me?”
“A witness came forward who said he saw you with the sheriff in the early morning hours, just before the murder.”
“Who's the witness?”
“I don't have to tell you that.” He raised his voice. “Listen, you people—” he pointed at me—“this man killed the sheriff, we have a witness. Now, Cody, arrest him before the crowd gets ugly.”
“No,” Clara said.
Cody looked from one to the other of us. He said, “There's no jail to take him to. I talked to a few people. I was in one of the rescue boats with Everett, one of the jail guards. He said you told him to leave him to die.”
“You would take the word of a black man against—” He stopped.
Angry murmurs rose from the African-American people in the crowd around us. Several people said, “Let's ask Everett.”
Cody asked, “Who's the witness?”
Holcomb said, “Who's this deputy to ask questions of the man who has been coroner in this county for fifteen years?”
“Al, go put your thumb in a hole in the levee,” Clara said.
A number in the crowd laughed. At least they didn't seem overtly hostile to me, and Clara and Cody were on my side.
A man in bib overalls with a snaggletooth worked his way to the front of the throng: a cliché finally come true. The guys who had threatened us at Magnolia's bar had been horrors to look at, but this guy was worse than all of
them combined. He was probably only a few pounds short of being able to play half the offensive line on a pro football team. Three warts on his right cheek were putrid shades of green. A running sore on his lip gleamed redly. He was half bald, with the rest of his hair hanging dirty and stringy halfway down his back. He carried a small child in his right arm. His gray eyes met mine briefly, then turned to Richardson. “Folks here want an answer, Wainwright. 'Bout time you began speaking up. You tell us who says he saw this man with the sheriff.”
“Now, Henry, you're not worried about this queer?” No angry murmurs greeted this slur from Richardson.
Henry said, “What's right is right. Is there somebody who saw him, or are you making it up?” Henry planted his feet squarely in front of Richardson. He seemed ready to wait for the next flood before he would move.
Richardson said, “Well, it's not my fault. Someone came forward. I don't have to reveal it unless it's in court. I'll talk to Judge Collins. This won't be mob rule.”
“Judge evacuated yesterday morning,” Henry said. “He can't get back, and we can't get out. You tell us, now.”
“All right,” Richardson said. “I'm revealing this under protest.” He gazed at the crowd. They didn't look unfriendly, more expectant and curious at this minor spectacle.
Richardson said, “Hiram Carpenter saw him.”
I realized that this was why Hiram, just before I got arrested, had been certain he wouldn't have to put up with me.
The crowd murmured and rumbled as crowds in the background of movies are wont to do. We waited while people searched for Hiram, but he was not to be found.
Finally, Henry, still holding the child, said, “Seems like you got one man's word against another.”
“You going to believe an outsider?” Richardson asked.
“Don't know if I much believe anything. I know there's water in the streets and my house is probably gone. Do know this man needs to be treated according to the law.”
“We'll wait for attorneys and the judge to get back,” Clara said.
“Arrest him,” Richardson ordered Cody.
“No,” Cody said.
Richardson began to rant at Cody, then at me. He tried shoving me toward a police car. I knocked his hand away. When he reached for me again, Henry blocked him.
“Arrest Wainwright,” Clara said to Cody.
“You don't have that kind of authority,” Richardson said.
Clara turned her back on him. She said, “Arrest him for attempted murder.”
Word of her directive spread quickly. The crowd swirled and eddied around us as they chattered and clamored with the news. Eventually, Richardson was hustled away to the back of a police car. Finally, the crowd began to disperse. I thanked Henry.
“Don't much like your kind, either,” he said.
“Thank you anyway,” I said.
He just nodded and harumphed and walked off.
I reentered the hospital. Trudged up the stairs to the second floor. In the CCU all was quiet. I entered the lounge. Mrs. Carpenter sat with her back to me. She had her hands folded over a tissue in front of her. She was crying.
I put my hand on her arm. “Is Mr. Carpenter okay?”
“He spoke and recognized everyone this morning.”
I looked at her. Her face was deeply wrinkled around her chin and mouth. Her gray hair was pulled back, but wisps had gotten loose. I saw a bit of Scott around the eyes.
“Can I get you something?” I asked.
She sniffled. She took her hands off the tissue and placed them flat on the table.
In front of her on the tissue was a rusty razor blade with what looked like flecks of dried blood on it.
She looked down at the razor and back at me.
She spoke very softly. “One of my children is a murderer.” She sighed deeply. “A parent goes through a great deal with children. Illness and worry. Tragedy and happiness. This is wrong.”
“Where did you find it?”
“I gave my husband a sponge bath this morning. It was in the folds of the cuff of his pajama bottoms. It isn't his. He never uses this kind.”
I sat next to her, patted her hand.
“Someone came into his room who was a murderer. At least one member of the family has been with him all that time. I've talked to the hospital personnel and my children. You haven't been in his room since you found the sheriff. You couldn't have put it there. I can't believe one of my children would do this and then try and implicate an innocent person.”
BOOK: Rust On the Razor
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