Aim (19 page)

Dudley switched the engine off. “You're just scared. Want a cigarette to calm you down?” He laughed and pulled one out of his pocket, but he waited until he was out of the car to light up.

The countryside was bright from a full moon. I could see horses and wagons and vehicles parked in the weeds. A couple of horses nickered back and forth and I wondered if they were here every Friday night. By now they'd probably become old friends with each other—like Pop and those men inside the potato house.

When we came to the door, we stopped. The voices inside were low and rumbly. Someone cussed real loud, and for a second there I thought maybe an argument would break out. Should we knock? Was this like a private club and we needed a password? Dudley, who had been so big and cotton-pickin' brave up until now, stepped back and motioned for me to go first. “You're the one looking for information,” he said.

I decided to go in without knocking. But when I tried the doorknob, it wouldn't budge.

We heard some chairs shuffling and some scurrying around, and I knew right then that they were tucking their moonshine away. It took them a few more minutes to make everything look proper, but someone finally opened the door. I couldn't see the man's face very much because the light was behind him.

“I have some questions,” I told him.

“Shoot.”

“Listen,” said Dudley. “This here is Axel Bledsoe's boy. He needs some answers about what happened to his pop. And you better not leave him out here in the dark.”

The man just stood there for a long minute—probably to let us know he wasn't about to be bossed around by a couple of boys who weren't even old enough to serve in the army. But then maybe he decided we were old enough to raise a ruckus if we took a notion. Because he nodded and stepped back. The light from the room hit his face and I knew in an instant he was the deputy who told us
about Pop dying. So Momma was right when she said the police was probably in on the drinking and gambling.

Dudley poked me in the back. “Get moving, Bledsoe.”

I pushed the door open and walked into a room filled with smoke and the smell of cherry cigars. And whiskey breath.

It was the way Pop smelled when he stumbled into the house at night, singing
“Let me call you sweetheart.”
It was the memory of me and Momma stripping off his coat and shoes and his britches, then tucking the covers around him so he could sleep it off. It was the sound of Momma's crying coming through the bedroom walls. It was a whole lot of worry and hoping, and trying not to give up.

I almost choked on the smells and the memories. Dudley pounded me on the back and threw his arm across my shoulder.

That smoky room went silent except for the shuffling of a few feet. And I heard someone's pocket watch ticking. I looked around the room. There were a couple of rough tables and cards and ashtrays. And men around those tables with fat cigars clamped between their teeth. Staring. Like everybody was waiting on me to say something.

“What happened?” I asked. “I know my pop died somewhere around here, but if anybody knows
why
, they're whispering it behind my momma's back. I'm ready for somebody to come out and say it. Was he drunk?
Did one of you get him riled up about something?”

Nobody said a word.

“Well, don't all of ya speak at once,” said Dudley. “He won't be able to hear you thataway. Did somebody give him a bad batch of shine?”

“Ain't no moonshiners here,” said a hefty-looking man in overalls.

“Yeah, on account of Wayne Walker being otherwise occupied tonight,” said Dudley. He didn't explain about being Wayne Walker's son, but some of them knew that already. He went on talking. “What about that night? Was Walker here then?”

A whole bunch of them started shaking their heads no. It seemed real. I mean, I didn't see them looking around to see how the other ones were going to answer. They just shook their heads like it was the God's honest truth.

“What went on that night?” Dudley pushed the door shut and leaned against it. “Me and Junior ain't leaving until you tell us what you know.”

It was quiet as a snowy night, at least for a minute. And then finally one fellow spoke up.

“Axel was here. He hitched a ride with somebody, but I don't know who. And he had a little money on him. So he was gambling—laid it all on the table. Said he had a good feeling about it. Said his wife would be proud of him for bringing home the bacon. But then he lost. And he started looking real sick. Like he couldn't believe he
just turned that ten dollars into dust. He stopped playing then and sat there staring, until all of a sudden he stood up. ‘I need some fresh air,' he said. He stepped out and didn't come back. Later one of the fellers stumbled onto him there by the light pole. By the time the rest of us got to him, he was gone.”

“His heart gave out,” said the deputy.

“That's what the coroner told me and Momma,” I said to the deputy. “But how do I know you aren't covering up something? What you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be the long arm of the law?”

The deputy nodded. “You guessed it. That's what I'm doing here. Making sure every little thing is aboveboard and legal as a court case.” He stood there with his arms folded. Right behind him on the inside wall was a door.

“Well, then,” I said, “how about you open that door? How about you show me just how legal every little thing is?” I crossed my arms too. And looked him in the eye and waited.

He snorted. Then he dropped his hand and pulled out his pocket watch. He glanced at it, then turned the face around for me and Dudley to see. “Boys, I do believe it's past your bedtime. He narrowed his eyes. “How'd you get here anyhow? I know you're too young to drive.”

I could feel myself biting my tongue half off. Here I was talking to a policeman and fixing to leave in a stolen car. What if he wandered out past those other vehicles in the field and found the Hinkle sisters' Plymouth? But
there were horses out there too, and they gave me the perfect answer. “Horse power,” I said. “I've been riding mules since I was four years old.”

He nodded. “How about you go climb on that mule and pretend like you never did see this place.” He leaned in close so I couldn't help but smell whiskey breath. His voice was low and mean. “You forget you were ever here and I promise you I will too.” And just to make his point, he pulled his star-shaped badge from his pocket. He wiggled it back and forth in front of my face. “Like I said, my job is to make sure everything that goes on around here is in accordance with the law.”

It sounded like he was making some kind of deal with us. I could take him up on it or I could say we weren't leaving until he opened that door. But I knew he was threatening me with trouble if I pressed the point. I also knew it wouldn't do me any good. Even if he did open it, the only thing I'd see was empty sweet potato crates. I knew they had their moonshine tucked out of sight.

I turned to Dudley. “Some people think they're above the law,” I said. “I don't want nothing to do with their kind. Let's go.”

April 1942

When the door shut behind me and Dudley, I took a second or two to just stand there and breathe in the clean night air.

Dudley socked me on the shoulder. “Let's leave outta here,” he said. “Your mule is waiting.” Maybe he was trying to get a laugh out of me. More likely he was hoping the men inside were listening.

On the way back to the car I stopped by the light pole. Dudley kept walking, but I stood there wondering. Was Pop facedown? Did he go quick?

All of a sudden it didn't matter so much exactly how he had died that night. What mattered was that he was on Hog Hill, with the likes of those goons. I started talking to Pop—right out loud.

“If you had to die, did it have to be here? Do you realize what people think every time your name comes up?
He's the drunk that died over at Hog Hill
. I can just see them shaking their heads and saying what a pity it
is. Feeling sorry for me and Momma. Well, Pop, I don't want people looking at me and thinking what a shame it is that I was born to the likes of Axel Bledsoe.”

I stood there and listened for explanations or maybe an apology, even. But the only thing I heard was insects in the grass and somewhere off in the woods the sad sound of a hoot owl. I kicked the light pole. “You just had to leave us with no respect, didn't you, Pop? I sure hope you're happy.”

And then Pop talked back to me. I mean, not really—I didn't hear his voice talking in my ear. But the sound of him singing so strong and powerful was filling my head.
Amazing grace … a wretch like me
. I felt myself starting to cry. But there was no way I was doing that—not with Dudley waiting in Miss Pauline's car. So I walked away from the light pole and leaned against the back of the car and tried to shut the sound of Pop's singing out of my mind. Except I didn't want to shut it out. I wanted to hear him singing. I wanted the sound of it to wash over me like river water on a hot day.

So I let that song roll across my mind in Pop's voice, one verse after the other. Then, right in the middle of
when we've been there ten thousand years
, I felt Dudley thumping me on the back. “Jump in the car,” he said. “Quick. Someone is fixing to leave out of Peewee's.”

Sure enough, I saw the headlights of some vehicle that was backing out. If they caught us with Miss Pauline's
car I'd be the one bringing disgrace on Momma's head. I couldn't blame that on Pop. I bolted like a skittish cat and hopped into the car.

Dudley cranked the engine and let the clutch out, fast—too fast. The car jerked and then stalled. “Calm down, Dudley,” I yelled.

“Shut up. I don't need you hollerin' at me.” He cranked it again. This time he only jerked a little and got us out on the road and heading toward home.

I looked back over my shoulder and saw headlights turning out of Peewee's place. “He's coming this way.”

“Shut up, Bledsoe. I can see that.” Dudley stepped on the gas.

“Whatever you do, don't wreck this thing. What if it's the deputy following us?” I wanted so bad to know it wasn't the deputy. But I made myself look straight ahead. “See any red lights in your mirror?”

“If I do, I'll outrun him.”

“No you won't!” I yelled. The road here was dirt and I could just see Dudley skidding into the side ditch.

Dudley cackled. “Calm down, Bledsoe.”

That car followed us all the way to the cotton gin at the crossroads. When we stopped at the intersection it pulled up right behind us. Dudley was nervous. I could tell because he jerked Miss Pauline's car when he tried to take off.

Then the other car turned and headed east. But first, the driver gave his horn three short toots—like a warning.
I
knew
it was the deputy, reminding us that he was the one holding the star-shaped badge. And the power.

Still, at least he turned and went the other way. “Phew! That was close,” said Dudley.

We only had a few miles to go, and I could not wait to be rid of that stolen car. “Hurry!” I said. Dudley pressed on the gas, and the car took off like a hound dog after a rabbit. “Whoa! Slow down. Thunderation, Dudley, if you wreck this, we'll be sleeping in the jailhouse for sure!”

“Make up your mind, Bledsoe.” Dudley went speeding down the hill toward the river. I hung on to the door handle and prayed.
Lord, make him slow it down
. Finally he started braking. From the river it was only about a mile to home. As anxious as I was to get this over with, I did not tell him to hurry up.

Back at the Hinkle sisters', I half expected to see Miss Pauline standing in her empty garage waiting for us. Dudley turned the headlights off. Thank goodness for the full moon. As it was, I thought he was fixing to scrape the side of the building when he turned in. But we didn't, and Dudley handed me the key. “I reckon you know where this came from.”

I had to be rid of it. The sooner, the better. So I snuck to the back door and listened for sounds inside. I saw that the door between the kitchen and the back porch was closed. I pulled the screen door open and hung the key on the hook, quick as I could.

But what if they'd already noticed it was missing and
suddenly it was hanging back up again? I changed my mind and flicked the key under the wicker chair sitting near the door. I bumped a fern on a plant stand and the sound of it wobbling practically scared the pinto beans out of me.

I steadied the plant, and just when I was shutting the door, I saw a light come on inside the house. “Heaven help!” I whispered. “I woke them up.” I shut that door real quiet and then I took off running like a moonshiner with the law on his tail.

Dudley was waiting behind the Hinkle sisters' garage. He started running after me. “What's your hurry, Bledsoe?”

“I think they heard me.”

“Those old ladies are never gonna catch you.
I
can't even keep up.”

“They could call the police.”

“You're imagining things. I'm sure the sisters don't go calling the police every time the house creaks. Hey, how about I sleep in your barn? I'm beat.”

“And take my chances on Momma catching sight of you in the morning?”

“Don't worry. I'll leave before daylight. There's no telling what could happen if I'm not there when my family wakes up.”

I decided to sleep in the barn too. That way I could run Dudley off at the crack of dawn. But first I grabbed the milking bucket off the back porch so I'd have an excuse
for being out of the house when Momma woke up.

Dudley was asleep in a heartbeat, but I couldn't just fall off like that. My mind went back and forth between worry and guilt. My ears were tuned for the sound of that deputy's car coming up the lane. When I did sleep, I dreamed about red lights flashing and Pop singing and Dudley swearing. I woke up and Dudley was gone.