Brambleman (71 page)

“Can you find her?” Romy asked hopefully.

“Let’s go back to the apartment.” He scooped
her up and limped to the elevator.

Wyatt was stirring when they returned.

“Mommy left us!” Romy shrieked with the door
still open.

“Calm down,” Charlie said, setting her on the
floor. “It’s going to be all right. I …” He couldn’t think of a
proper ending for the sentence, however. “Go wash up for
breakfast.”

Wyatt took the news rather well. He told
Romy, “Mommy goes away all the time.”

Within a few minutes, he was slurping milk
from his cereal bowl and Romy was doodling her finger in sugar that
had spilled on the table. Then came a knock on the door. Charlie
peered out the peephole and sighed.
Cops
. He opened the door
a crack, bracing himself for bad news about his car and its
driver.

“We had a complaint about a child in
distress,” said the black patrol officer. “May I come in?”

Charlie glanced around the loft to see if
everything was in order. It wasn’t. Some blood from his wounds had
seeped onto the sheets.

“Hang on just a minute.” Charlie rushed over
and ripped off his bedding, tossing it in a pile by the washing
machine, arranging it so the blood didn’t show. He returned to the
door after a suspicious interval. The officer entered, scowling at
the mixture of brown kids and a white guy with a face so pulverized
and swollen it was no longer recognizable as the property of
Atlanta’s most notorious writer.

“I’m taking care of them while their mother’s
out,” Charlie offered.

“Their mother do that to your face?”

“No.”

“What’s your relationship to these
children?”

And talking gets me where
? Charlie
stared at the officer and said nothing.

“May I see some ID?”

Charlie produced his driver’s license. The
cop glanced at it and hit a button on his radio: “This is Officer
Pearson at Farm and Home Lofts. I’m gonna need backup.”

Within minutes, Charlie’s place was filled
with black lawmen, seven in all, including a Fulton County deputy
sheriff, a motorcycle officer, and a mounted policeman who had
hitched his horse to a fire hydrant in front of La Patisserie. They
milled about, talking amongst themselves, calling in on their
radios, wondering aloud how a white guy ended up with two black
kids. Worried that they would notice Tawny’s gun, Charlie sidled
over to the bookcase and surreptitiously felt for the weapon on the
top shelf. He couldn’t find it. As he groped around, Romy tapped
his knee. When he bent down, she whispered, “Did they find
Mommy?”

“No,” Charlie whispered back.

“Are they going to take us away from
you?”

The answer had to be yes, of course. The
officers were waiting on the arrival of a caseworker from Family
and Children Services. But he couldn’t bear to tell her that. “I
don’t know.”

“I don’t want them to.” She gazed into his
good eye. “No one wants us. That’s why Mommy ran away. ’Cause I’m
different.” She started crying again.

He picked up the abandoned child and without
thinking, whispered, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” He put her
down and she ambled over to join Wyatt, who was engrossed in a
cartoon on TV.

A cop put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You
shouldn’t have told her that,” he said in a husky voice. “You know
DFACS is gonna to take the kids. I know the mother. She’s unfit. I
bet you had a good time until her pimp got hold of you. I didn’t
even know she had one. She must be moving up in the world.”

“Get away from me,” Charlie said and pushed
the cop in the chest. The officer pointed a finger in his face and
gave a fierce warning look, but said nothing. When he stepped away,
Charlie slumped against the kitchen counter. He hadn’t meant to lie
to Romy. He’d needed to say something, and that just seemed like
the thing to say. He would take care of her if he could, of course,
but that prospect seemed quite impossible.

When the DFACS caseworker arrived, Charlie
did a double-take, certain that he’d seen her before. Wearing large
spectacles and a wig, the stout African-American woman walked into
the loft and appeared completely unsurprised to see Charlie
there—as if she expected him to be at the center of this
controversy. With a tiny smile, she glanced at the children, then
looked over the assembled lawmen as she haphazardly swung her ID
badge by its lanyard. “What seems to be the problem, officers?”

Pearson, the cop who had knocked on Charlie’s
door, drew himself to full height to make his report. The
caseworker listened and nodded. When he finished, she turned to
Charlie and gave him a schoolteacher’s stare. “Mr. Sherman, are
these your children?”

The question left Charlie speechless. Before
he could answer, Romy marched over and planted herself in front of
the caseworker. “Don’t be a fool!” the little girl shouted. “Of
course he’s my Daddy!”

The cops broke out in shouts of disbelief and
raucous laughter.

“
Child
, you best watch your tongue.”
The caseworker glared at Romy. When the little girl returned the
look, the woman flinched and stepped back. “I’m not messin’ with
you,” she muttered. “You are
way above
my pay grade.” She
turned her attention to Wyatt. “Boy. Is that your father?”

Wyatt glanced up at Charlie. “I don’t know.
Maybe. I hope so.”

“Well,” said the caseworker. “Mr. Sherman?
What say you?”

He remembered how much Trouble despised Tawny
and her children. Just to spite the old trickster, then. “They’re
mine,” he said, cringing at his stupid lie.

“That’s a load of crap,” Pearson said. “Their
mother’s white.”

The caseworker stared at Charlie intently.
“Did you adopt them, Mr. Sherman?”

“Uh—”

“Do you have their documents?”

Charlie pointed to the manila envelope on the
kitchen counter. There had to be some truth in what he’d said,
since he now held their paperwork. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Tawny
had made a trade: Volvo for kids, straight up. Registration’s in
the glove box.

The woman picked up the envelope while the
cops stood by, shaking their heads and muttering in disbelief.
Charlie wondered what crime he’d be charged with this time.
Impersonating a parent? Or maybe just being a fool. People got
arrested for that all the time.

“You would have saved us a lot of trouble if
you’d just told the officers the truth from the beginning,” the
caseworker lectured.

“I—”

She held up her hand. “Enough.” Clearing her
throat, she turned to the lawmen. “They’re his. His name’s on the
birth certificate. Shoulda known,” she said, wagging a finger at
the defiant little girl who stood with her hands on her hips.
“She’s just like him. Contrary.”

Pearson snatched the documents out of her
hand and scrutinized them. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

“I hope not,” the caseworker said.

“But how? I don’t get it.”

“Now be a good cop and put the papers
down.”

Pearson, wearing a puzzled look on his face,
did as he was told.

“All a misunderstanding,” the woman said.
“Move along. Show’s over.” She waved her arms and drove the
surprised-looking cops toward the door. Overwhelmed by her ruthless
shooing, they fled the scene. After they were gone, she stood in
the open door and raised an eyebrow at Charlie as if to say
How
about that?

Charlie snapped his fingers. “I know you.
You’re a MARTA driver.”

“Not today,” she said with a wink. “You have
a blessed day and good life with these gifts that have been given
you, Mr. Sherman. If that’s your real name.
Hmmph
.” She took
off her glasses, put on a pair of shades, and slipped out the door.
He thought he heard her mutter, “No cops,” as it closed behind
her.

With a question on the tip of his tongue,
Charlie rushed after her, but he found the hall empty. A scent of
lilac lingered. He returned to the kids, who embraced his knees as
he walked double peg-legged to the counter. Intensely curious, he
held Wyatt’s birth certificate up to the light, then Romy’s. His
name—in crimson—was on both of them. “More red ink,” he
muttered.

“Wyatt, did you hear her say I’m just like
Daddy? That means he’s like me, right?”

“Dunno.” Wyatt let go of Charlie and stepped
back to appraise him. “She’s special.”

“I am,” Romy agreed.

“Is that so?” Charlie asked.

“You’ll see,” the girl said.

The cellphone buzzed. Romy’s specialness
would have to wait. Bradley Roy was on the line. “Hey,” Charlie
said.

“You outta jail today?”

“So far.”

“At least they got you downgraded from a
suspect to a ‘person of interest.’ Or is it upgraded?”

“I feel downgraded. How’s Susan?”

“Doctor just came in and said she was off the
critical list. She’s going to make it.”

“Thank goodness.” Charlie breathed a sigh of
relief and glanced at the clock. “When did they take her off?”

“Just a couple of minutes ago. Doc came in
and said it, just like that. He looked surprised, to tell the
truth.”

“Interesting.” Charlie felt a tingle run up
his spine. Strange and wonderful things were happening.

“
What
?” Bradley Roy asked, sounding
irritated. “I guess you could call it that. Anyway, they been
keepin’ her asleep. Don’t know how long that’s gonna last. Sooner
or later she gotta wake up and find out her back’s broken. Maybe
it’s a mercy to be out cold, with the world crashing down the way
it is. When you comin’ by?”

“Uh. When nobody else is there, maybe.”

“Well, look, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell
you.”

“Why don’t you tell me now?”

Bradley Roy hesitated. “They don’t know about
operatin’ yet. Don’t know what good it will do. Doctors are still
saying ‘wait-and-see’ about removing the bullet. At least she’ll be
able to use her arms, they say.”

“She hasn’t woken up at all?”

“Not while I’ve been around. I was here till
midnight.” He yawned. “Came back at seven.”

“What about everybody else?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.
Susie’s going to need you more than ever. No matter what happens or
how you feel about everything right now, you can’t desert her.”

Had this been what he’d wanted all
along
? Charlie gulped. “I won’t. But how things work out may
not be up to me.”

“You’re the one that’s got to help her. I
know it’s hard to see past your own hurt and pride. But get over
it.” He paused. “She never thought you’d make it. Always thought
you’d come crawling back. Now she can’t even walk, and you with two
bestsellers, both of ’em carved out of Forsyth County’s hide.” He
chuckled ruefully. “Can’t say we didn’t have it comin’.”

“I never wanted a divorce.”

“Hard to know what you wanted. You broke her
heart when you left.”

“Mine was broken already.”

Bradley Roy scoffed. “Hell, I’m still waitin’
to see if you got one.”

“I’ve heard that before. So what you got to
tell me?”

“All right.” Bradley Roy’s tone softened. “I
got a phone call this morning from Jimmy Townsell. You know
him?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, recalling the check
he’d written to the political candidate. “He’s running against
Stanley Cutchins. Why’s he calling you?”

“Probably because I donated to his campaign.
And fed him information along the way. Jimmy told me that sheriff’s
deputies and the GBI are down at the property line between Pap’s
farm—what used to be Pap’s farm—and the Owens farm next door.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re down at Long Creek, boy.”

Silence.

“Hell, Charlie, I’m surprised you didn’t do
it yourself, knowing what you knew.”

“I get shot at when I go up there. You sayin’
they’re looking for John Riggins?”

“No, I’m sayin’ they
found
John
Riggins. It’s a crime scene now.”

Charlie’s pulse quickened. “He’s there?”

“In a shallow grave. Of course, word about
your book has been leaking out for months. I was hopin’ Pap would
have to answer for what he did …”

“How’d the sheriff know where to look?”

“He was told. By someone who did some
digging. That’s all you need to know.”

“OK. I won’t go there.”

“Nobody’s left to hold accountable, except
the estate. You know, Susie got a share of the money. Now she’s
paying for it.”

“I didn’t know. I guessed. And it looks like
we’re all paying.”

Bradley Roy coughed. After a poignant
silence, he said, “That woman you wrote about sounds like a good
person.”

“Minerva Doe? She is.”

“And then her grandson does this to my
daughter. His second cousin, turns out. Everybody up here thinks he
did it ’cause he’s black. But maybe it’s because he’s got some of
Pap in him.”

“That thought occurred to me, too.”

“Any way you look at it, we got ourselves a
mess. And then a detective talked to me last night. They don’t
think Pap killed himself, after all. They say there were signs of a
struggle. And after that comes out, now there’s a story that a
black gang from Atlanta came up and killed him. For ‘reparations,’
that was the word,” Bradley Roy said sarcastically. “Allegedly, the
same crowd that hijacked Susie’s car.”

“The sheriff’s not saying that, is he?”

“No. It’s coming from Stanley. It’s pretty
fishy. Everything is unraveling. I know it started with you workin’
on that first book. I just wonder when it’s going to end. Lord,
give me strength.”

“I’ll try to get by later today. But I have …
things to take care of. I have to move tomorrow. Don’t even have a
place yet.”

“Susie needs you.”

“I doubt she wants to hear that.”

“She’ll be hearing it from me when she wakes
up. And until she’s sick of hearing it. ’Cause I’m too old to be
wheeling her around. You hear me, boy?”