Texas Born (25 page)

She began to scutttle sideways, like a
spider. 'I'll have to go check—'

'Don't!
' he yelled sharply, and then
his voice dropped, 'move. Not until I tell you to.' She froze in
terror, one hand on her breast. ' 'Just tell me where you keep
it.'' 'In the top drawer . . . over there . . . under that display
case.' She gestured with her chin. His eyes followed the movement.
A built-in ceiling-high display case with glass doors, behind which
several shelves of silver trays were propped, ran the length of the
wall. Beneath one set of the tall doors was a vertical series of
drawers built flush with the case. That was where, first thing at
the end of each business day, even before she tallied the sales,
she put aside the forty dollars—five singles, one five, one ten,
and one twenty-dollar bill—which she traditionally kept on hand for
making change in the morning.

She watched him as he backed cautiously over
to the drawers, keeping the revolver pointed at her as he reached
behind him and pulled the top drawer open. He stuck a hand inside,
felt around, and came up with a few assorted bills. He held them in
front of his eyes, grunted something indistinguishable, reached
under the poncho, and stuffed them into a pocket. Then he hopped
sprightly back from the display case and landed softy in front of
her. 'I don't believe this is all there is,' he said heavily.

He paused, leering at her threateningly. 'You
want to live?'

Her head bobbed and a cry tried to work its
way up from the depths of her throat, but it became a strangled
gurgle.

'If you can't come up with any more, you're
dead,' he whispered hoarsely. He placed both hands on the grip of
the revolver, raised it to her face, and drew even closer, until
the barrel pressed closely against her forehead. There was a sharp
click! as he cocked the firing mechanism.

Celesta squeezed her eyes shut and began to
chatter an urgent Lord's Prayer.
'Ourfatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethy—'

'Stop
praying!
' he screamed in
high-pitched hysteria. '
Stop
it! Do you hear me? Stop it!'
Her eyes flew open, and her dark pupils danced with fright. He was
mad! Stark raving mad!

'Don't pray!' he screamed. He thrust his
hooded face forward so suddenly that she shrank back. 'Do you hear
me! I said, don't pray!'

She trembled more than nodded.

His voice was shaky. 'I came here to steal
money. Since there isn't any more money, I'm going to take some
jewels. Tell me when I have eight hundred dollars' worth.'

Careful to keep her covered with the
revolver, he skirted her slowly and went behind the counter. She
half-turned, watching him in horror.
This can't be
happening
, she told herself.
I'm dreaming a bad dream . . .
a nightmare . . . that's all. I'm going to wake up at any moment
and it's going to be all over
. . . .

Her eyes flickered down to the
mahogany-framed clear-glass case in which some of the most
expensive, most exquisite rings in the shop glittered richly. Each
time his hand plucked a ring up off the maroon velvet, she flinched
as though mortally wounded.

Once he had a handful, he held them close to
one of the eyeholes of his hood. She watched as he unclenched his
hand, tilted his head, and inspected them closely, like a bird.

That hood doesn't allow him any peripheral
vision! she thought. Her heart soared hopefully. As long as he s
not looking straight at me, I've got a chance to escape! Five quick
normal steps, or a one-and-a-half- second dash, and I'll be out the
door—

Cling-cling-cling!

They both jerked around, and then Zaccheus'
world collapsed.

'I wouldn't move if I was you,' a voice said
gruffly. ' 'Round here, we don't take kindly to nice upright folks
like Miz Bensey gettin' robbed.'

Zaccheus rolled his eyes slowly sideways.
Hank Yarby had his shotgun aimed right at his head.

It was all over. Just like that.

Demps Johnson, the large, powerfully built
black man, slowly glanced up when he heard footsteps echoing
through the jail corridor. His eyes were big and soulful, so
heavily lidded that it looked as if he were perpetually
half-asleep.

He watched with deceptive casualness as Yarby
unlocked his cell door and rolled it open. The loud, clanging roar
was amplified by the stone walls and floors and echoed back and
forth, back and forth.

Yarby grinned. 'Got a buddy for you,
Demps.'

Demps looked at him expressionlessly. Then
the big deputy turned to the young prisoner he'd been escorting. He
grabbed him unceremoniously by the scruff of his collar and the
seat of his pants and threw him into the cell.

Zaccheus was propelled forward so fast, and
with such force, that he slammed against the stone wall headfirst.
His forehead cracked noisily, the breath wooshed out of him, and he
saw a huge white aureole coming at him.

Then everything went dark. He didn't see the
big deputy spit a wad of chewing tobacco at him. He didn't hear the
reverberating clang of the cell door as Yarby slammed it shut with
a bang of finality and locked it with one of the big keys on the
big ring. 'What you lookin' at, boy?' The big deputy grinned at
Demps, chewing the remainder of his tobacco wad with
deliberation.

Demps didn't even flinch when the wad went
flying and smacked against his face. He had suffered this indignity
all too often.

Yarby chuckled, shook his head, turned, and
walked off, his keys jingling. Only when he was gone did Demps wipe
his face with his shirt sleeve. He wasn't about to give Yarby the
pleasure of seeing how being spat at burned his very soul.

It took about three minutes for Zaccheus to
come to. He seemed surprised to find himself lying on the floor,
and shook his head like a wet dog shaking itself dry, trying to
clear it of the cobwebs fuzzing his mind. He stopped the shaking as
soon as he'd begun it. He had a splitting headache, and the
slightest movement sent sharp white arrows of pain shooting through
his skull.

He moaned softly, probing his forehead
gingerly with the fingertips of both hands.

Demps laughed. 'You okay, boy,' he said in
his deep, rich bass voice. 'You just had yourself a li'l
confrontation with an inanimate object, is all. A two- foot-thick
stone wall, to be precise.'

Zaccheus turned his head slowly. 'Where am
I?'

'You in a free hotel, boy, courtesy of the
fine city of St. Louis, Missouri. Room and board provided.' His
voice softened. 'You in a holdin' cell in the town jail.'

Zaccheus closed his eyes as everything that
had transpired came painfully back to him.
I must have been
crazy
, he decided.
Why else would I have done a damn-fool
thing like trying to rob Bensey's Jewelers?

Because I wasn't crazy
, he answered
himself.
I was desperate
.

A little smile hovered on Demps's lips. 'That
floor pretty hard, boy. Best set on a bunk. Ain't much softer, but
it shore better'n the floor. Even got a blanket. See?' Demps lifted
up a corner of threadbare gray cloth.

Zaccheus tightened his lips, rested his back
against the cold corner, and remained on the floor. He drew his
knees up to his chin.

'You want to talk, boy?' Demps asked
softly.

Zaccheus did not speak.

Demps shrugged matter-of-factly and stretched
out on the bunk, which was far too short for him, put his hands
behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling.

An hour passed, then two. The slop bucket
reeked.

When the dinner trays were slid under the
cell door, Zaccheus pushed his away.

'You should eat,' Demps advised. 'Smells like
the shit in the slop bucket, an' taste like it too, but you gotta
keep up your strength.'

Zaccheus pushed the tray toward Demps. The
big black man grinned, showing huge pearly teeth. 'I thank you,' he
said with a formal dignity, and bowed his head. Then greedily he
grabbed the tray and shoveled the grayish stew into his mouth with
the tin spoon.

After it started to get dark. Demps stretched
out again. He spoke softly, his voice sure and even. 'The bunk
better, boy.'

Zaccheus was silent.

'You learn to talk,' Demps said in a sure
voice. 'After a few weeks you be a regular chatterbox. After a few
months you talk to the walls if you ain't got nobody to talk to.
An' after 'bout a year, you even start talkin' in your sleep.' He
nodded emphatically.

Zaccheus looked up defiantly, his blue eyes
flashing. 'I'm not going to be here that long,' he said
angrily.

'I knows that. They gonna send you to the
state work farm. Next to that, this place paradise. Yes,
sireee!'

'Speak for yourself!' Zaccheus snapped. 'You
think you know everything, don't you?'

'Noooo . . .' Demps said slowly. 'I shore
don't.'

'Well, I'm not a criminal.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. But you shore gettin' a
good start in that direction.'

'I made a mistake!' Zaccheus insisted
forcefully.

Demps roared with delight. 'We all did,
boy!'

'I have my whole life ahead of me.' Zaccheus'
voice grew hopeful. 'Maybe the judge will be lenient.'

'Lenient! Oh-ho!' Demps gave a short, rich
bark of a laugh.

Zaccheus looked at him hatefully and turned
away.

Demps sighed, swung his legs over the bunk,
got to his feet, and stretched. He seemed to fill the small
low-ceilinged cell completely: a gleaming mahogany Atlas holding up
the roof. For a moment he stood posed like that, staring down at
Zaccheus. Finally he pulled in his massive, powerful arms and
squatted in front of him. 'What'd you do, boy,' he asked softly,
'to land in this here vacation spot? I hope it worth the trouble it
gonna cause you.'

Zaccheus raised his head defiantly. 'My ma's
sick. She's going to die soon if she can't get into an expensive
clinic, and my pa's farm's going to be repossessed by the bank. We
needed the money, so I robbed a shop.'

'Use a weapon?'

Zaccheus nodded. 'A revolver, but I don't
think it was loaded. I didn't even check. It was my
grandfather's.'

'Armed robbery,' Demps said. 'That's what
they'll call it. First offense?'

'Do I look like a hardened criminal?'

'Heyyyy!' Demps held out both hands, pale
cordovan palms extended outward as if to ward off a physical blow.
'I ain't you enemy.'

Zaccheus glared at him, but then the anger
seeped out of him. He nodded contritely. 'Sorry. Yeah. First
offense.'

Demps shook his head sympathetically. 'We
both in the same boat, boy. Me, they gonna come down on hard. You
too. Any place else you done it, maybe you get out soon. Not round
here. Not with that Yarby buckin' for sheriff. Election's comin'
up, see, an' the deputy, he a big man for law an' order.' His face
wore a troubled expression. 'He comin' down hard on ever'body.'

Zaccheus was visibly shaken. 'What . . . what
do you think will happen to me?'

'For armed robbery? In Missouri?' Demps
screwed up his eyes thoughtfully. 'You probably get ten years. If
you good, maybe they let you out in five.'

Zaccheus stared at him. 'I don't want to
spend ten years on the state farm. Not five. Not even one. There's
got to be some way—'

'Lissen, boy, an' lissen good. Nobody round
here lenient to criminals.'

'But I'm not—'

'Shut up an' lissen!' Demps snarled. He
thrust his glaring brown face so close to Zaccheus' that their
noses almost touched. 'I'm a criminal. The moment you rob that
shop, you a criminal. One way or other, the whole world a criminal,
only them people out there didn't get caught. You stand in front o'
the judge an' that Yarby, he gonna crucify you, you wait an' see!
He full o' tricks.'

Zaccheus hung his head low and stared down
into his lap in despair.

'Lissen—' Demps glanced around cautiously and
his voice dropped to a bare whisper. He hunched forward excitedly.
'What you say we get outta here?'

Slowly Zaccheus lifted his head. 'How?'

'Ssssh!' Demps clamped a big hand over
Zaccheus' mouth and looked suspiciously first over his left
shoulder, then over his right. 'Not so loud, boy,' he whispered.
'Case you don't know it, jail walls got ears. You don't advertise
gettin' out. But you an' me, boy, we can break outta here. I was
waitin' for somebody. Takes two.' He nodded sagely.

'I don't see any way out!' Zaccheus insisted.
'That cell door's locked.' He pointed with his chin. 'Those bars
are iron.'

'Shore they is, but there's ways out,' Demps
whispered. His eyes still had that deceptively casual look, but
when Zaccheus looked closely into them, he saw that they burned
with a deep, steely fire. 'There's ways out o' ever'where. We just
do like the Lawd's sweet birdies in the sky.' Demps leaned sideways
and looked up at the ceiling, gesturing so eloquently at imaginary
birds flying above him that Zaccheus couldn't help but follow his
hand and look up for the birds. 'We sprout wings and fly outta
here's what we do. Relatively speakin', 'course.'

'And once we're out?' Zaccheus asked. 'Then
what? I can't even go home. I gave the deputy my address.'

'We either split up an' you go you way an' I
go mine, or you an' me, we go together.'

Zaccheus stared silently at him.

'Just lissen to me,' Demps said excitedly. 'I
knows the way to get outta here. It work before, it work again. You
screams and hollers and howls and clutches you stomach. You
pretends to be awful sick tonight after it good an' late an' there
only one man around guardin' the place, see? Deputy or whoever come
to check on you, he find you lyin' flat, clutchin' at you belly. He
bends over an' I knocks him upside the head an' he see stars.'