Long Holler Road - A Dark Southern Thriller (11 page)

  “Hugh, I wanna help you, but you’ve got to shoot straight with me. If you had anything to do with those bodies that were found, you’ve got to tell me. I can’t help you if you’re not completely honest.”

  “I swear on Momma and Daddy’s graves and my kids lives, I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong, Andrew. But I don’t know what I can do to git folks to believe me. They may ‘lectrocute me in a few days and I can’t do nuthin’ to stop it from in here.”

  “Nobody’s gonna electrocute you in a few days, Hugh. It don’t work that way. First you have to go before a grand jury and that will take about three weeks. If they think there’s enough evidence for a trial, which right now there’s a damn sight more than enough, they’ll indict you. After that, the judge will set the court date. That may be four or five months, or maybe longer. So you ain’t fixin’ to be electrocuted in a few days.”

  “And I gotta stay in this here jail all that time?”

  “I’m afraid so, Hugh. The hearin’ is tomorrow morning and there ain’t no way Judge Hawkins is gonna grant bail on a case like this. Even if he did, it would be a sight more than you could pay.”

  Even though he knew he would have to remain in jail, Hugh felt a little better knowing it would be months before his trial. Surely somebody could find out the truth of what happened to those poor folks found on his property before then.

  The sheriff got up and told Hugh that Detective Brown was going to ask him some questions. “Don’t let him git under your skin, Hugh. Just answer the questions honest and try not to cuss too much, even though he is a damn Yankee.” This made Hugh laugh a little and the sheriff laughed with him.

  The sheriff walked out of the interrogation room, which also served as an office for one of the deputies, among other things, and nodded to Baker to go on in. Baker slowly walked into the room, shut the door, and started pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. If he was trying to intimidate Hugh Williams, he was wasting his time. A man that lived as hard of a life as Hugh just to survive day to day, was not going to be easily intimidated by a little pacing. Besides that, Hugh had grown up under the brutal dictatorship of Black Nathan Williams, his alcoholic father, who worked him like a mule and beat him almost daily, usually with whatever was closest at hand, be it an axe handle, a wrench, or a rough leather plow line. Hugh vowed to never treat his children that way. He believed in discipline, but not brutal, inhumane beatings like he grew up with.

  Baker finally sat down, lit a cigarette, and laid the pack on the table, as if tempting Hugh, who didn’t even smoke. “Alright, Hugh. I’m going to give you another chance to tell me what really happened. I might be able to persuade the district attorney to forego the death penalty and recommend life in prison, maybe with even a slim possibility of parole, if this was a crime of passion. You’ve never had a run in with the law before, so I don’t believe you would have killed those people for no reason. Did they owe you money or threaten you in some way?”

  Hugh sit there for a minute. He looked tired and drained. There were puffy bags under his bloodshot eyes that were sunk back in his head. “I ain’t kilt nobody, sir. I’ve done told you that more times than I can count. You can keep askin’ me until we’re both blue in the face and my story ain’t gonna change.”

  Baker took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke in Hugh’s face. It made Hugh as mad as hell, but he kept his anger in check. He blew the smoke away from his face, never taking his eyes off Baker.

  “What if I could work out some kind of deal to make sure your family is cared for. They need to be on government assistance, anyway. Hell, they are far below the poverty level and……”

  “We don’t take no charity, mister. I don’t cotton to livin’ off other people’s money. We may not have much, but by god I’ve worked fer what little I got and ain’t never asked nobody fer help.”

  Baker raised his lips in a half smile, “What about those nice clothes you claim somebody gave to you. Wasn’t that charity?”

  “They give them clothes to my boy. I told ‘im to take ‘em back, but he said the people who give ‘em said they’d throw ‘em away if he brought ‘em back. Ain’t no use in letting nice duds like that go to waste.”

  Baker leaned back in his chair, lighting another cigarette off the one he’d just finished. “Come on now, Hugh. We all know those clothes belonged to those people you killed, or else your son would have told us where he got them. I believe those boys of yours helped you kill those men, or women, or whatever they were, seeing as how we couldn’t tell after you dissolved their bodies and………”

  Hugh jumped up from his chair like there was a coiled spring under his ass. It was so quick Baker had no chance to respond. He had his cuffed hands around Bakers neck so fast he didn’t even have time to get up from his chair. Hugh was strong as an ox from a lifetime of brutally hard, physical labor and the chains from the cuffs were so tight around Bakers thick neck they were drawing blood. Hugh saw Baker reaching for his service revolver and jerked back hard, tipping the chair over backwards sending Baker crashing to the floor. The back of his head was the first thing to hit the concrete. Baker let out a painful yell as Hugh grabbed his revolver from the holster.

  “Now git yore sorry ass up, you Yankee bastard,” Hugh spit out the words with such venom, Baker knew he was going to die any second. Baker tried to get to his feet, but was so disoriented from the vicious blow to the back of his head, he could only raise himself to his knees.

  The door flew open, and the sheriff and one of his deputies came rushing in, pistols drawn. Sheriff White saw Baker lying on the floor, then saw Hugh pointing the revolver at him, hate in his eyes. Tears of hurt combined with tears of anger were running down Hugh’s cheeks.

  “Put that gun down, Hugh,” the sheriff spoke very calmly, as if trying to coax a child into letting go of a toy. “You don’t wanna do this. Don’t make it no harder on yourself than it already is.”

  “That son- of -a -bitch ‘cused my boys of helpin’ kill them folks, Andrew. He can say whatever he wants to ‘bout me, but he ain’t gonna call my boys killers.”

  The shot happened so suddenly, the sheriff didn’t know where it came from or who fired it. Then he saw Hugh lose his grip on the revolver and drop to his knees. He turned around and saw his deputy, his face white as a sheet, with both hands gripping his pistol. The deputy let it go and it hit the floor with a loud, metallic thud.

  Sheriff White ran around to the other side of the table, just as Hugh fell the rest of the way to the floor.

  The sheriff knelt down beside him. “Hugh, can you hear me?”

  He could tell he was still breathing. “Call a damned ambulance!” he shouted.

  The deputy ran to the phone and started dialing. The sheriff had his head on Hugh’s chest, checking to see if the was still breathing or had a heartbeat. He could hear a gurgling sound and looked at Hugh’s face and saw that he was trying to speak. Hugh coughed to clear his throat.

  “A..Andrew, see that Annie and my b….boys are….”  

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There weren’t many people at all in attendance at Hugh Williams funeral. He had never attended church, although he made sure Frank and Snake were there almost every Sunday. The funeral was held at the cemetery chapel in Long Hollow. The chapel was not really a church, but more of a community gathering place that also served as the Masonic Lodge. His daughter Georgia showed up, but her husband didn’t come with her. I thought that was sorry as hell of him, but he was a bastard anyway. Georgia said he wanted her to come straight home as soon as the service was over. Virginia, of course didn’t come, because nobody knew how to get in touch with her and probably never would. She had apparently bought a ticket out of Long Hollow and the poverty she grew up in, and it was a one way ticket. Jack Bynum was there because he and Hugh had been next door neighbors almost all their lives, though their houses were a mile apart. The preacher from the Long Hollow Baptist Church was there, because I believe he was truly a Christian, and a good man. And my Aunt Lena, that owned the general store. Besides Annie, Snake and Frank, that’s all I can remember, although there might have been a couple more people that came just to see if they might here some juicy gossip about the gruesome murders.

  We had gone and picked up Annie and her two boys, because momma was sure nobody else would and she didn’t want them having to drive that old log truck. Momma also made all the funeral arrangements. Daddy had to help Frank get Annie in and out our car. She looked more decrepit than the last time I’d seen her the day me and Glenn had gone to visit Snake, or rather went to see Snake because we needed his help to get to know a whore. I was feeling really bad about that now.

  Snake sat in the pew on one side of his momma, Frank on the other side. They each held one of her hands that were gnarled from the crippling and painful arthritis. She wept silently the whole time, and Snake would reach down and gently kiss her cheek every few minutes and cry along with her. I could tell Snake had lost weight since the last time I’d seen him and I figured it was from a combination of worry and not having enough to eat.

  The preacher momma had chosen was from Collinwood and didn’t know Hugh from Adam’s house cat. That’s the way she wanted it. What preacher who knew him was gonna be able to talk about what a great man he was and not feel guilty about it. But after I had given it some thought, I decided people’s definition of good was relative.

  Sure, in the eyes of the regular, hard core church goers, he was a drunkard who used bad language, although he never did when ladies were present. He never went to church. And now he had been branded a cold blooded killer, an accusation he would never be able to defend himself from anymore.
                                                  But on the other hand, he worked harder every day than anybody I knew. There was no doubt he loved his wife, because he took better care of her with his limited ability than any nursing home or other facility would have. He did whatever it took to keep her comfortable and out of as much pain as he possibly could. He loved his children and was proud of all of them. The two girls had done well, especially Georgia. He pushed them and made them stay in school and study hard so they wouldn’t have to live in poverty the way him and their momma had to. Then both of them abandoned him and their mother, but he didn’t love them any less for it. He would still brag on them to the few people he would see at Aunt Lena’s store, or the drug store when he was getting Annie’s prescriptions filled, or even at the liquor store. His two boys were his pride and joy. He knew they would never be able to excel in school the way their sisters had or even be able to get beyond learning how to read at a rudimentary level, so he took them out of school when they were old enough and taught them all he knew to teach them. How to work hard and try to earn an honest living. Some of the kids at school made fun of them constantly anyway, and called them names like ignorant white trash and dumb-asses among countless other names that were much worse. Hugh knew this and didn’t want his boys to be subjected to it. So when you take all that into consideration, I guess it depends on what your definition of a
good man
is.

  The preacher did as good a job as he could have, given the circumstances. Momma couldn’t find anybody that was willing to risk their reputation singing at such a man’s funeral, so she got up front at the podium after the preacher had finished and lead everyone in
Amazing Grace
.   

Acappella of course, because she couldn’t find anyone to play the piano either.

  After the few people in attendance had left, we were going to take Annie and her boys home and feed them what would be probably the first decent meal they’d had in days. Momma invited Georgia, but she declined saying she had to leave immediately. She hugged her mother and brothers and then opened her purse. She gave her mother two-hundred dollars she had managed to save and keep hidden from her husband. Then she walked quickly to her car and was gone.

  When we got home and sat down to eat, Snake looked at the table full of fried chicken, green beans, black-eyed peas, potato salad, deviled eggs, hot biscuits, brown gravy, two cakes and three different kinds of pies. He put his hand up to his eyes and started pinching the bridge of his nose. I could see his hand was shaking, and he quickly bolted out the back door of the house. I waited for a minute and walked out after him with Momma following me. He was standing, leaned up against the pear tree that was right beside the back porch, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Just let him be for a minute,” Momma whispered to me.

  After a few awkward minutes, Snake looked at us through teary, red eyes and said, “Momma ain’t never gonna get to eat like this again. I hope she can enjoy it. I hate to ask you, Miss Rachel, but if there’s anything left over, can we take it home with us?”