Final Justice (46 page)

He released her so abruptly she stumbled and fell to her knees. "Now get to bed."

* * *

Luke had difficulty seeing through the angry red haze that clouded his eyes. He did not report back in service. Ned was off for the night. Bailey Albritton was covering for him—an old fart Luke had little use for—but he was Ned's cousin and Ned whined he needed the extra money so Luke let him work. Bailey liked to yak on the radio, and Luke did not like idle chatter, especially now, so he stayed silent as he cruised around the county, sticking to the back roads as he tried to sort his jumbled thoughts.

Yeah, Rudy would hit her, all right, probably right after he left. But Emma Jean would cover any mark with makeup to try to keep him from finding out. Luke knew there were lots of times Rudy beat her that he didn't know about. And now she was probably huddled in a corner crying her eyes out and, maybe, if she wasn't hurt too bad, she might even be wondering what it was he would have said had Rudy not come home when he did.

Only Luke wasn't sure himself, at least not for many long hours that night. He drove and thought, and thought and drove, nearly running out of gas at one point and had to go unlock the pumps at the county garage to fill the tank. And still he drove.

He stopped a couple of times, wearily leaning his head back against the seat, but sleep would not come, not when his brain was on fire, along with his heart, as he tried to figure out what he was going to do about the one woman who had truly brought sunshine into his life. He knew he did not want to leave her. That thought rang clear as the sunrise that broke in the east as he found himself on top of Cheaha Mountain all the way over in Talladega County.

He watched the ash-colored sky turn to pale pink, then peach, as the first creeping fingers of dawn reached from the horizon to snatch away the last vestiges of night. And finally he knew. He was not going to leave without her.

He had to go home. He hated to, but he needed a shower, shave, and clean clothes. First, however, he stopped at the diner in Childersburg on his way back from Cheaha for eggs and grits and bacon, because his rumbling stomach kept reminding him he'd been too preoccupied to remember to eat supper the night before. He also downed cups of strong, black coffee as he tried to brace himself to face the day ahead.

It was nearly eight o'clock when he pulled around back of his house and groaned out loud to see Alma's car. She should have left for work a long time ago. Maybe she was sick. If so, maybe she would be in bed asleep, and he could get in and out without her hearing.

No such luck. He no sooner stepped up on the back porch than the door flew open and there she stood, eyes wild, hair flying around her face, clutching her bathrobe to her throat with one hand, a cigarette in her other as she exploded, "Damn you for the tom-cat you are, Luke Ballard. You've been screwing around all night with some whore and now you've got the nerve to come dragging in here to wash off your filth and germs..."

He shoved her back into the kitchen and shut the door with his foot. "Stop it, Alma. You want the whole neighborhood to hear you? I've been working..."

"You've been screwing some whore," she cried, her face twisting with rage. "I know, because I called the office at midnight last night, and Bailey Albritton said you'd been off duty since before ten o'clock."

Silently, he raged,
Great going, Bailey.
Everybody else knew how to deal with Alma when she called.

"Bailey Albritton doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. I was over in Coosa County. He knew that. I was helping bust up a still."

"Like hell you were."

"Alma, I'm tired." He turned toward his room, but she quickly moved to block his path.

"You think I'm not?" she shrieked. "I've walked the floor the whole night thinking about your running around on me."

Making sure he was very gentle so he could not be accused of abusing her in any way, Luke put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her out of his way. "I have to change and get back to work, Alma. Now please, get off my back..."

She struck sudden like a snake, her nails raking his face. She was about to slap him when Luke caught her wrists. "Damn it, woman! Have you gone crazy?"

He flung her away from him, wheeled about, and tried to flee, but she threw herself at him, leaping up on his back, arms going around him as she dug at his face again. She was straddling him, and the only way he could get her off was to bang her against the wall. Screaming, she finally let go and fell to the floor, and he rushed out, knowing if he didn't get away fast, he might lose control and do something he'd later be sorry for.

* * *

Wilma's eyes bugged when he walked in the office. "What on earth..."

"Don't ask." He stormed past her. "Just get me some alcohol and cotton and when the cleaners opens, go pick up one of my uniforms."

Mouth agape, Wilma stared after him. His face looked like it had been gone over with a rake. Curious, she went to the door and peered into his office. "I want to know what happened. You look awful."

He repeated the lie he had told Alma about being over in Coosa County but embellished, "I was arresting a moonshiner, and his wife attacked me."

Wilma crept closer. "Some of those scratches are deep. You could get blood poisoning."

"Not if you get me the alcohol like I asked you to, Wilma."

As soon as she left, he reached for the phone.

Hearing his voice, Murline protested, "I thought it was over, that you didn't need me anymore."

"One more time. That's all. Today's Wednesday, and Buddy will be playing golf down at Lake Martin this afternoon, won't he?"

"Yes, but I hope you don't want to get into his files again. If he locks them, there's no way I can open them."

"Nothing like that. I just need to know when he leaves the mill."

"Usually around twelve."

"Call me the second he does."

When she did not immediately agree, he prodded, "Come on, Murline. I need this one last favor, and then I won't bother you again, I promise."

"Okay," she said finally, "but please, keep me out of it. I need this job, and if he ever found out..."

"You don't have to worry."

It came at ten past twelve. Wilma put the unidentified female caller through to him, rolling her eyes thinking it was Emma Jean Veazey.

Luke took it, heard only two words: "He's left." He hung up, and rushed out the door.

* * *

There was a section of road between the mill and town where there were no houses, just an old barn used for hay storage with farmland on either side. Luke and the deputies sometimes hid their cars behind it to catch speeders. This day, however, Luke was waiting for Buddy Hampton, and as soon as he breezed by in his red Thunderbird, Luke pulled out right behind him, blue light flashing.

When Buddy promptly eased over to the shoulder of the road, Luke parked behind him and purposely waited a few moments before getting out of the car.

Buddy rolled down the window. "What the hell is this about? If you make me late for my golf game, I'm going to be real pissed." Seeing the claw marks on Luke's face, he grinned. "Looks like I'm not the only one you've pissed off lately."

"No need to be concerned about being late, Buddy. You aren't going to show at all."

Buddy's grin quickly faded. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? And where do you get off calling me Buddy? It's
Mister Hampton
to you. I'll have your badge, you insolent asshole. You seem to forget who you're dealing with."

"Oh, I know, all right." Luke enjoyed seeing Buddy so steamed. His face was red as a beet, and his eyes were actually bugging out of his head. "Now I want you to follow me."

"You're crazy. I'm not following you anywhere, and you've no call to give me a ticket. I wasn't speeding." He jabbed at the air with his finger. "I warn you, boy, I can have your badge snatched off that pompous chest of yours in a matter of minutes. All I've got to do is call Hardy Moon. He's the coroner, and I shouldn't have to remind you that under Alabama law a coroner has the power to fire the sheriff. All it will take from me is one phone call..."

"One phone call," Luke lazily echoed with a smirk. "Yeah, that's all it will take,
Buddy."
He emphasized his words to irritate. "Just one phone call to the Klan to tell them all about your negro mistress and the son you had by her, and that should take care of everything."

Buddy's face changed from red to pasty white. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," he said feebly. "This isn't funny."

"The Klan won't think so, either. Tell me, do you think they'll stop at burning a cross in front of your house?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. "Nah. I think they'll do more than that. After all, we both know you're real big in the Klan, and they won't take it lightly. Uh-uh. Not at all. They might do to you what folks say they did to Cubby Riddle."

Buddy's hands dropped protectively to his crotch. "Oh, no, please don't tell anybody."

"No one has to know as long as you cooperate."

Buddy's head snapped up. "What do you want? Money?" he asked, excitement flashing. "Listen, you name it. Any amount, and..."

Luke was quick to burst that bubble of hope. "It's not about money. When we get where we're going, I'll explain what you've got to do to keep your skeletons in your closet."

"I... I don't have a choice," Buddy said, more to himself than Luke.

Luke nodded and smiled. He had been waiting a long time for this moment. "That's right. You don't. Now let's go."

* * *

Luke had driven out to Hampton Pond many times since the night his mother told him everything. He would park for long hours in the weed-choked drive, chest tight with pain as he thought of how horrible it must have been for her on that cold night back in 1939.

Buddy had eventually bought a vacation house over on Lake Martin, and the old cabin had fallen to ruin. Kudzu vines, which would not let go till the first frost, had covered everything with a thick, green shroud. The boarded-up windows were barely visible. One end of the porch roof had collapsed, and the rest looked like it might give way any time.

"Why did you bring me here?" Buddy called nervously as he got out of his car and hurried towards him.

"It's deserted... a good place for us to talk." Luke stood in front of the cabin, thinking how his mother had probably screamed over and over that night, and now the echo of her torment was burrowed deep within the rotting timbers. There had been no one to hear her then except her attackers, just as there was no one to hear Buddy's screams now should Luke decide to dig his thumbs in his throat and squeeze till his eyeballs popped.

"Please...".Buddy clamped a hand on his shoulder. "A lot of innocent people will be hurt if you..."He trailed to a groan of pain as Luke carefully, slowly, wrapped his fingers around his wrist in a paralyzing grip.

"Inside. Now." He gave him a shove, and Buddy began running toward the cabin, stumbling as he looked back over his shoulder, his face a mask of panic. Picking his way across the rotting porch, he tore at the kudzu in a frenzy as he pleaded, "You can't tell the Klan. You just can't. Please..."

He tried to open the door, but it was locked. "We can't get in," he said shrilly. "I don't have a key."

Luke walked up on the porch, shoved Buddy aside, and, with one powerful kick, broke the door down. Grabbing Buddy by the nape of his neck, he shoved him inside. Buddy went tumbling across the room to slam against the table and fall to his knees but quickly recovered to scramble back up.

Luke pushed him into a rickety chair next to the table. Towering over him, he accused, "You gave the order to have Ocie Rhoden's arm broken, didn't you?"

Buddy's head swung like a pendulum. "No. No, I swear."

"Don't lie to me."

Perspiration beaded Buddy's forehead. He licked his lips, tried to find his voice and finally squeaked, "Yes, but I had to do something to shut him up. He was pushing for the union."

"You're going to pay for what you did." Luke bit his tongue to keep from saying that he was also going to pay for something else. But Luke did not want Buddy, or anybody else, to find out he knew about his mother's rape. "You're also going to pay for your hypocrisy, for all the years you've been part of the Klan, pretending to look down on negroes when all the time you were sleeping with one... fathering a child."

Perspiration beaded Buddy's forehead. "What do you mean?"

"The mill has problems even the union will have a hard time fixing, and something has to be done about it."

Again, Buddy shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I'm talking race relations, and I think the person to fix things might be your son, Archie Swain. And what better choice? I understand he graduated from Tuskeegee after four years on the Dean's list. So you're going to hire him and give him a title like, oh, Senior Vice-President for Labor and Race Relations, something like that. And he'll have an irrevocable mandate from you to bring management of the plant into the 20th century. Not only will you give your blessings to the employees voting on the union if that's what they want, but you're also going to give your son free rein to have equal treatments for the coloreds. Equal pay for equal work. No more separate water fountains. No outdoor toilets."