The Boxcar Blues (5 page)

Maxine walked into the house, locking the
screen door behind her.

Jones, seething from her rebuff, decided to
use his official status to extend his stay. Through the screen, he
said, “You sure there ain’t been anyone here?

“
I’m sure, deputy. Why
don’t you go look for these guys elsewhere?”

Maxine’s uncooperative attitude infuriated
Jones. He yelled, “Lady, you ain’t bein’ very helpful to the law.
Maybe you’d better let me come in and take a look around.”

From the kitchen, Maxine said, “There’s no
one here deputy. Why can’t you get that through your thick redneck
skull?”

Her last comment pushed Jones over the edge.
He jammed his fist through the screen, unlocked the door and walked
into the kitchen.

When she heard his boots, Maxine backed up
next to the oven and said, “What the hell do you think you’re
doing? I didn’t invite you into my house.”

“
I thought, since you’re
behaving so strange, that I’d better take a look around. I think
you’re hiding something.”

Maxine yelled, “I could be hiding a bull
elephant in here and you wouldn’t know it. Get out of my house,
now!”

Jones walked closer to her and said, “And if
I don’t leave, what’re you gonna do, baby? You gonna whack me with
a spatula?” The he glanced at the kitchen sink and saw the dirty
dishes. “You sure got a lot of dirty dishes for one person. You
better tell me what’s going on, lady, or I might have to take you
in for questioning.

Again Maxine said, “My sister came by
earlier and we had lunch. Is there a law against that?”

Jones saw the Colt revolver lying on the
counter. He walked over and picked it up, spun the cylinder and
looked hard at Maxine. “What are you doing with this? Why’d you
need a gun when your sister was here? Is there something you’re not
telling me?”

“
No, there’s nothing I’m
not telling you. Leave now.”

With a lecherous leer on his face, Jones
walked up until he was very close to Maxine and said, “Take it
easy, baby. The law is here and everything is going to be all
right.” He then tried to put an arm around her shoulders.

Maxine knew Jones was beyond reasoning and
talking to him would do no good. She had to be more persuasive.
Using the only weapon within reach, she grabbed a hot skillet and
clobbered Jones in the jaw.

“
Arrgghh.” Jones screamed.
“God damn it.” He staggered drunkenly around the kitchen as he
recovered from the blow. “You done it now, bitch. You’re gonna
pay.”

Maxine backed away, moving toward the
forty-five. With her eyes on the enraged deputy, she felt for the
pistol. When she came up with the gun, Jones grinned.

“
You gonna shoot me, whore
lady?”

“
I’m not kidding, Jones.
You leave now and we can forget this. If you don’t, I’ll pull the
trigger, just as sure as it’s daylight.”

The boys heard the car drive up, and watched
the Deputy force his way into the house. When they heard the
shouting they became concerned.

Curly said, “I don’t like this, Cat. That
guy sounds like a mean bastard and he could be forcing Maxine to
tell where we are.”

Catwalk answered, "That’s the same policeman
who was looking around the corn field earlier. What’re we gonna
do?"

"I’m going to see what’s going on.”

"But, Curly, that man is the po-lice. You
want him to see us?"

Curly said, "You stay here. I'm gonna sneak
up to the house to see if Maxine's O.K."

"Well, all right, but if you don't come
back, I'm gonna hightail it outta here tonight. If we get separated
I’ll meet you over by Junction City. That’s where she said we could
catch the hay truck to Oklahoma.”

"Don't worry partner, I'll be right back."
Curly slid off the hay bales and out of the barn.

Seething rage and rubbing his jaw, Jones
said, “You ain’t gonna shoot a deputy lawman. They’ll hang you for
it.”

Maxine countered, “In this county, they’ll
pin a medal on me for getting rid of you.”

Jones stared at the redhead while he weighed
the odds of her shooting. She looked ready to kill, but he knew it
took more guts to pull the trigger than most people had in
them.

Maxine said, “Get out, Jones. Get out while
you can walk out.”

Jones held up a calming hand and walked
toward her. He said, “Now just wait a second….” He slapped her
across the face.

She backed up a step and said, “You bastard!
You’re good at hitting women, aren’t you? Well, I’ve seen your kind
before and that’s all you’re good for. You couldn’t please a woman
on your best day. Hell, I’ll bet you can’t even get it up.”

Jones turned red and screamed, “You fuckin’
whore. I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.” He stepped
toward her while watching her trigger finger.

Maxine held the pistol at arms length and
yelled, “Damn you, Jones. One more step and I’ll shoot.”

Jones took a small step and laughed at her.
“You’re bluffing whore lady. You ain’t gonna shoot.”

Maxine fired. The shot rang out. She waited
for Jones to fall to the floor.

He glared at her, then held up his arm,
showing her the hole she’d shot through his shirt. The bullet never
touched his flesh.

She thumbed back the hammer, intent on
firing until he fell.

Jones saw this. Without hesitation, he drew
and fired from the hip. The bullet went through her heart. Maxine
Puckett was dead before she hit the floor.

Curly had just arrived at the back door.
When he saw Jones gun down Maxine, he blurted out, “Holy shit.”

Jones heard this and turned toward him.
Curly took off running toward the road.

Jones sprinted out the door and shouted,
“Stop kid, or I’ll shoot.”

Curly knew for sure that the deputy would
shoot him in the back. Scared to death, he stopped and raised both
hands.

“
Come here,
boy.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hands in the air, with the deputy’s gun
pointed at his back, Curly walked to the house. Climbing the steps
he wondered if this was the walk to his death.

Jones motioned him into the kitchen, then
asked him, “What’d you see, boy?”

Curly nervously shook his head and muttered,
“N-nothin’.”

“
Nothin’, huh. You must be
blind.”

“
I was outside. I didn’t
see anything.”

Jones shoved his pistol into Curly’s gut and
said, “Where’s your buddy?”

“
Huh? What
buddy?”

“
The black boy; the kid
you were traveling with. Where’s your friend?”

Curly stared back at Jones, but said
nothing.

Jones persisted, taking a menacing step
closer to Curly. “I said, where’s your buddy?”

“
I don’t know what you’re
talking about. There ain’t no one with me.” His shaking voice gave
him away; he cursed his stupidity.

The Deputy laughed and said, “You and that
colored boy are wanted by the law for them two hoboes you fucked
and murdered. You got one chance. Say the right words and you can
walk outta here a free man, without going to jail for killing them
hoboes."

Curly didn’t know what the deputy wanted. He
asked, "Wh-what do you mean?"

The Deputy said, "You tell me where I can
find your buddy and you walk outta here as free as a bird. You clam
up, you're dead, just like that Louisiana whore lady."

Curly's mind whirled; he couldn't give up
Catwalk 'cause the Deputy would kill him for sure. If he didn't
talk, he'd die. His eyes teared-up as he struggled with his
dilemma.

From the hayloft Catwalk heard the shot that
killed Maxine. Then he saw Curly running, and heard the deputy
yelling at him. He watched Curly go back in the house, at
gunpoint.

He knew the fate that awaited him if he was
taken in by the law. Still he couldn’t sacrifice Curly; he had to
help his friend. He climbed down from the loft and headed for the
house. Standing outside the back door, he heard the Deputy threaten
Curly.

Catwalk backed away from the door. He was
scared of the policeman, because he was a mean guy who hated blacks
and because the man could arrest him and take him to jail. Then he
thought about Curly. The deputy would kill him if he took a mind
to, and it didn’t make any difference if he was a boy.

He knew what he had to do. Standing on the
steps outside the door, and in a loud voice he said, "I'm right
here, Deputy. Let him go."

Jones turned toward the voice and grinned, a
vile, decadent sneer He hadn't expected to capture the other
murderer so easily. He walked toward the back door and said,
"We'll, I'll be damned. Look what we got here. A murdering nigger.
An' he just turned himself in."

Jones opened the door and immediately
snapped his handcuffs on Catwalk's wrists. He then led his prisoner
to the sedan wearing a grin of satisfaction.

Curly watched from the kitchen door, feeling
as helpless as a newborn child. After handcuffing Catwalk to a
handle in the back seat, the Deputy came back. He grabbed Curly by
the front of his shirt and pulled him close, until their faces were
inches apart. Teeth bared he said, "Now you listen to me, boy. You
hop a train and get as far away from here as you can. You don't
tell no one about this an' you don't talk to no police about this.
If I find out you told anyone about me taking him, I'll hunt you
down and cut your throat. You got that?"

Curly nodded, knowing the mean bastard meant
every word of it. The Deputy then pushed him away and headed out
the door. As the car drove away, Curly sat down on the kitchen
floor and cried. As long as Catwalk was the prisoner of the Deputy,
he was in danger of being hung. Now he knew what Catwalk meant when
he said he could tell the ones that got the hate in them. That
deputy was one of the most hateful people he'd ever seen.

Curly picked up the Colt Forty-Five and
checked the ammunition. Five rounds. Taking one last look at Maxine
laying dead on the kitchen floor Curly left the house. Even if it
got him killed, he was determined to find some help and free his
friend.

Alton Jones drove to a friend's house,
avoiding areas where someone might recognize the car. The
anticipation of the next few hours had his pulse racing.

As he rode in the back seat Catwalk knew he
had to do something, because his life depended on it, but he didn’t
know what. He’d never been in a critical, life threatening
situation like this. In his sheltered life on the farm he’d had to
defend himself in fights with other kids, but they never resulted
in injuries, let alone death. Now his life hung in the balance and
the odds were stacked high against him.

In a raised voice he said, “You’re arresting
an innocent man, deputy. We threw those guys off the boxcar in self
defense. They attacked Curly and I tried to help him.”

“
Shut up!”

He shouted, “I’m innocent!”

The deputy held up his thirty eight revolver
and said, “See this, boy. One more word out of you and I’m putting
a bullet right between your eyes. My report will read that you
tried to attack me when we got out of the car and I had to shoot
you.”

Catwalk didn’t challenge his claim.

The deputy parked in front of a small house
and said, "You just wait here, boy.”

Jones’ voice chilled Catwalk to the bone. If
he wasn’t handcuffed to a handle on the back of the front seat, he
would have run. He suspected that he’d never survive the night.

A tall bearded man in a dirty white tee
shirt appeared in the doorway. Alton shouted, "Get some rope and
your gun, Larry."

The man took a pull off a brown bottle and
opened a screen door. "Alton, what're you doin' here? I thought you
was going after them murderers. Whose car is that?"

"Larry, look at what I brought you." Alton
took the bottle and turned it up in a long swig.

His friend looked into the back seat of the
car and said, "Damn Jones, is that the murderer you got there?"

Jones passed back the bottle and said, "What
the hell does it look like, Larry?"

"You taking him in to the lockup?"

"Larry, you stupid shit, why would I want to
do that? Can't you see, he's guilty? We’re gonna round up some of
the boys an' string him up. We’ll save the county some money."

"I’ll get some rope."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Darkness had fallen and Curly was growing
tired. He’d already walked for miles, but had to keep going. If
Catwalk had any chance to survive, he was it. No one else would
take a black man’s side. He needed help, but couldn’t go to the
police. He headed for the nearest tracks, intent on finding a hobo
jungle.

As Curly waited near the tracks a few
hundred yards from a water tank, a locomotive approached with its
groaning, hissing and grinding. After the train took on water,
Curly saw two men making the practiced trot of experienced hoboes
right beside an open box car. One by one they vaulted into the open
door. He hopped on right behind them.

Once in the car he asked them, "Where’s the
nearest jungle up ahead?"

"There's one just before the next grade,
kid, under the bridge. About seven miles ahead."

"Good, do you know if there's any black folk
hang around there?"

"Hard to tell. People come and go so much;
you never know who’s going to show up."

Curly sensed the train slowing. As soon it
had cleared the trestle, he jumped off and turned back toward the
bridge. The glow of two or three small fires gave away the location
of the hobo jungle; a place to rest, maybe get a meal, and talk to
other down and out souls. He spotted three black men sitting under
a huge oak tree.

He approached them and said, "Can I talk to
you guys for a minute?"