The Crossing (16 page)

Sonny laughed out loud. “Mister, if you’re smart, you’ll find some other place to have lunch.
 
Dog shit on a warm bun would not be my choice, and that is probably what you will get here.”

“Thanks for the advice, I appreciate it.
 
My friend and I are leaving now, and I’m sure we will be talking again very soon.
 
Now, you gave me advice on food and I’ll give you advice on travel.
 
Don’t you or any of your friends follow us out of here, or I’ll renege on my previous promise.
 
Is that clear?” I asked.

“Thanks for the beer,” Sonny said as he stood up, turned and walked toward the rear of the building.

“Let’s go, boss,” Joe whispered.

“Are you finished with your beer?” I asked him.

“Yes, and so are you!
 
Let’s go,” Joe insisted.

I dropped a twenty on the table, and Joe and I made a casual exit out the front door.
 
When I reached the Ford, I waited for a couple of minutes to
see if any customers came charging out of the doors.
 
They didn’t, so Joe and I got in the Ford and headed back to Humboldt.

“Nice lunch,” Joe finally said.

“Okay, I get the hint.
 
I’ll buy you lunch, but I’ve got something I want you to check on this afternoon after we eat.
 
I want you to take the photo we got from Colleen over to
‘Skeeters’
and see if any of her friends or co-workers can identify Robert as the colored boyfriend.”

“Or Yarnell,” Joe added. “You know boss, they look so much alike; it might be hard for them to tell the difference.”

“I know,” I said thinking. “But at least it will tell us if we are looking in the right direction.
 
Rule them in or rule them out – that’s what I want.”

“Can do, boss.
 
What’s your plan?” Joe asked.

“I’m going to visit with Reverend Jeremiah Higgs and see if I can’t convince him to take his people back to Memphis.
 
As long as they are here, this powder keg could explode at anytime,” I answered.

~

I
’m not bragging, but I rarely make mistakes – or I rarely make big mistakes.
 
Today I made a big one.

Joe and I were engrossed in conversation during our short trip back to Humboldt, and I didn’t notice the white, 1960 Ford, 4-wheel drive pickup that began following shortly after we left the
‘Rebel Bar’
.
 
We pulled in and parked at Chiefs, still talking.
 
The Ford truck parked across the highway at the Ramble Inn and watched our activities.

Jack was waiting at Chiefs when Joe and I arrived.
 
He had been visiting with Henry during the morning and shared his conversations while we had lunch.

Henry’s story had not changed, but he was excited about having Jack represent him and signed an affidavit instructing the court to recognize Jack Logan as his attorney.
 
Unfortunately, he had done the same for Benjamin Abernathy, and unless Benjamin Abernathy refused, Jack was going to be forced to work with him in some capacity.
 
Jack wouldn’t know how, until he spoke with Abernathy, and that was scheduled to happen this afternoon in a meeting with Judge Graves.
 
Also, Leroy had been instructed to transfer custody of Henry to the city; that was scheduled for 9:00 AM on Monday.

Joe finished his lunch quickly and headed to Jackson, leaving Jack and I to talk about what we needed for the preliminary hearing scheduled for Monday.
 
Joe’s instructions were to meet me back here this evening, with a report on what information he gathered at
‘Skeeters’
.

Jack and I talked for just a few minutes before he headed back to the Sheriff’s Office for his meeting with Benjamin Abernathy.
 
I got in the Ford and pointed it toward the Booker Motel.

Just like his boss, Joe had not noticed the white Ford truck that followed us back into town.
 
Consequently, he also didn’t notice it pull out behind him as he headed his 1960 El Camino south on Highway 45 toward Jackson.

He also didn’t notice the three young white men in the cab of the truck, nor did he see one of the men transfer from the cab to the truck bed.
 
What he did notice was the truck approaching him at a high rate of speed, just as he drove past the VFW on Highway 45.
 
Joe finally accelerated, but not in time, and it rear-ended him hard, causing his El Camino to momentarily loose control.
 
Instinctively, Joe slowed his vehicle trying to maintain control, and the truck backed away to get a running start for the next assault.

Less than a 1000 yards south of the VFW is a large sweeping left-hand curve with a bridge that crosses Sugar Creek.
 
Locals call it ‘Faye Barr Curve’, named after a family that lived there.
 
The white truck again gained acceleration, and they rammed the rear of Joe’s car for a second time, only harder.
 
This time his vehicle veered onto the shoulder.
 
Joe was frantically reaching for his weapon, while trying to keep from hitting the bridge or going into the ditch or Sugar Creek.
 
Almost immediately, the speeding white truck pulled along side, and Joe realized it was too late.

The young man riding in the bed of the truck stood up at a crouch and fired the first shotgun blast directly at the driver’s window.
 
The buckshot took out the glass, most of the roof support and a large chunk of the seat back.
 
Just as Joe felt the warm blood on his neck, the second blast shattered the steering wheel and the dashboard, sending the El Camino off the road surface onto the grass, and then violently turning over in the ditch next to a drain culvert.
 
It was a disaster.

The white Ford truck continued to speed south on Highway 45 toward Jackson.

Trouble Everywhere

J
ack and I had absolutely nothing to use for the preliminary hearing on Monday, which meant he could only plead Henry ‘not guilty’ and have him bound over for trial.
 
That also meant the situation would get more heated and provide more fuel and opportunities for the community to boil over.
 
I held out little hope, but thought I might try to reason with Reverend Jeremiah Higgs and ask him to take his congregation back to Memphis and let us do our job..

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I drove the Ford to the Booker T. Motel, hoping I might find Reverend Higgs there.
 
I got lucky.

There were four white vans parked in the lot, each displaying decals that read -
‘Nazarene Baptist Church’
on both the side and rear doors.
 
Parked among the other vehicles, was a limousine, and I wondered which one of this congregation was permitted to travel ‘in that style’!
 
I had a good idea.

The nice lady at the desk directed me to rooms 7, 9, and 11; which she said were joined by internal doors and were registered to the Reverend Jeremiah Higgs.
 
She also politely told me that all their other rooms had been rented and were registered to the
‘Nazarene Baptist Church’
.
 
Taking my chances, I picked room 9 and knocked on the door.

A very short colored man wearing a white suit and purple tie answered my knock.
 
I introduced myself, apologized for not having an appointment and requested to see the Reverend Jeremiah Higgs.
 
He nodded and invited me to sit down, then hurriedly exited through one of the internal doors.

My choice of doors appeared to be a good one because I could hear conversation coming from rooms both to my left and right.
 
I took a seat on the couch, facing the entrance door and began surveying the furnishings, which included some snacks, soft drinks and a healthy supply of liquor.
 
I was still taking inventory when the door to my left opened, and a partially clothed attractive colored woman quickly walked out and hastily started across the room.
 
She stopped, and seemed startled by my presence.
 
After staring for a moment, she smiled and said, “Hello,” before continuing through the opposite door.
 
I heard conversation continue behind that door when she entered, then silence.

Within a minute, that same door opened and three large colored men walked out and greeted me.
 
All were very smartly dressed, but the one in the center was definitely the leader and extended his hand as he walked quickly toward me.
 
I stood up to greet them.

“Mr. Reno,” he said shaking my hand. “I am Reverend Jeremiah Higgs, and it is my honor and pleasure to meet you.
 
Mr. Walker has told me much about you and I have learned of your reputation.
 
He is lucky to have you as a friend and a colleague.”

“Really,” was all I could manage to say.
 
Reverend Higgs was a big man - six foot three or maybe more.
 
The two guys shadowing him, his bodyguards, I assumed, dwarfed him in most every way.
 
They just remained ‘at attention’ as he spoke.

“We are proud to have you representing and working with Mr. Walker to make sure this miscarriage of justice does not happen.
 
 
Bless you for your help and God will smile on you for your work!” he said quickly.

“Amen,” his two shadows added.

“Thank you for your praise and thank you for seeing me,” I managed, “but, I would like to have a minute of your time, if possible.”

“You may have all the time you require,” he said gesturing for his helpers to sit down. “How may I help?” he asked taking a seat next to me on the couch.

“You can help by leaving,” I answered quickly. “You can help by taking this traveling revival show back to Memphis and letting the authorities do their jobs.
 
What you are doing is only making our job more difficult.
 
We are trying to solve a murder, but now we also must deal with the conflicts your organization brings to the situation.
 
Don’t you understand?”

He looked at me and shuffled his large shoulders. “You are a man who triumphs our cause, we need more like you.
 
But, you are just one man, a white man, who cannot do it alone.
 
We are here seeking justice, and will use all legal and social methods possible to see that Robert Henry Walker gets justice.
 
This message must be delivered and we are here as messengers of God.
 
Robert Henry Walker is a chapter in that message!”

‘Reverend Higgs, I am not your savior and I am not someone who is triumphing your cause or delivering a message – whatever that is.
 
I am just someone who is trying to help a friend, my friend.
 
That is my only mission.
 
What you are doing is making my work harder and turning this into a white/colored situation; that is not what it is.
 
Please let me do what I
do and let the local authorities do what they do.
 
Your involvement is only causing conflict, and that does not and will not help Robert Henry Walker.
 
You said you had spoken with Henry, when was that?” I asked without getting any response. “According to Henry,” I continued, “you’ve never talked to him, and I believe you are just here for the situation, not Robert Henry Walker!”

“Obviously, this is all beyond your understanding,” he said standing up. “We appreciate your help and we all pray for justice for Robert Henry Walker.
 
Thank you for stopping to see me and I will welcome you at any time.”
 
With that statement, he and his escorts walked out and back through the door from which they had entered; and once again, I was alone in the room.

“Bullshit,” I said to myself as I walked out and slammed the door. These guys are using Henry, and I need to figure out how to stop it!
 

I left unhappy.
 
 
It was going to get worse.