Читать книгу The Neverborne - James Anderson - Страница 8

Biloxi, Mississippi

Lasting, invisible to the mortal, watched the man urinate on the tree. He was tall and strong, with a handsome face and greasy blond hair. Lasting was delighted with what was going on in the mortal’s mind and knew the man was perfect for his purposes. A woman stood close by and watched as the man closed his pants and walked toward her. She was dirty with missing teeth and Lasting sensed small insects in the places where hair covered her body. The man wiped his hands on the back of her blouse and smiled.

“Hey,” she said, laughing. “Don’t wipe your piss on me.”

He grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed. “Ouch,” she said. “That hurts.”

He jerked her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. “But you like it, don’t you, bitch?”

She tried to push his hand away. “Not that hard, BJ. I don’t like it that hard.”

He let go of her neck and started walking toward the bar. Running after him, she said, “I’m sorry, BJ. You can do anything you want. What do you want me to do?”

He turned around and slapped her. Not hard, but enough to make a clapping sound. Her hand went up to her cheek but she was smiling. “Ain’t no call for that, baby,” she said. “I know you love me.”

He pulled her to him. “You do what I say, baby? You do anything and everything I say?”

“Yeah, BJ. Anything you say.”

Lasting smiled at the interchange. He could see into the man’s seething mind and knew he could influence the man to do what was required.

The man’s name was BJ Walker.

BJ Walker

Biloxi, Mississippi - 1967

“Them dang niggers, spics, and kikes think they’s good as us. What do you say, BJ?”

BJ Walker didn’t say anything. He was thinking. For the last two hours, BJ had been drinking beer with his two best friends, Wallace Killibrew and Luke Johnson. They had known each other all their lives, and had spent many hours at this place where shady trees hung over the Gulf waters. Luke’s old Ford pickup was parked on the road about twenty yards up a grassy slope. A pyramid of empty beer cans sat on a flat concrete cover protecting an iron valve which controlled the flow of waste through a large corrugated pipe extending ten feet into the Gulf of Mexico.

Wallace, a small, mean drunk with a glass eye wanted an answer. “I said what do you say, BJ?”

“I say I’m thinking, Wallace. I’m thinking that maybe God don’t want us to just stand by and watch what’s rightfully ours turned over to New York Jews and spics and darkies that think they’s white. That’s what I think.”

“Damn right, BJ.”

Luke, a fat, pimply high school dropout from a well-to-do family said, “What we gonna do, BJ?”

“Shut up, Luke,” said Wallace. “BJ’s thinking. What we gonna do, BJ?”

“I don’t know, yet. But it’s coming. Right now, I think we should have us some fun. Let’s go find us somebody.”

There was a whoop from Wallace as they headed up the slope to Luke’s truck. Wallace grabbed the remaining six pack and started kicking Luke’s backside as the overweight boy struggled up the slope.

“Get your fat rump agoin’, boy. We gonna have some fun!”

When Wallace and Luke finally reached the truck, BJ was standing by the passenger door. “We’ll head north and see what we find.”

Luke got behind the wheel and Wallace got in the middle. BJ was on the passenger side in the coveted “shotgun” position. He never had to call it the way the rest of America did. He was the undisputed leader - the position was his.

It was about two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and the Blacks were headed home from church. The three friends would travel far enough away from Biloxi so folks wouldn’t know them. They would find someone alone and do what they wanted. If they were lucky, they’d find a young girl and have their way with her. If not, beating the daylights out of some young buck would be just fine.

They drove until they saw two Black teenagers, a boy and a girl, walking in the same direction as the truck. The boy was walking closest to the road. BJ reached behind the seat and retrieved a baseball bat. “Slow down and get me close enough to smack this nigger’s head with this bat.”

Luke was scared and didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t think he had a choice because BJ and Wallace were his only friends. As they approached the couple, Luke slowed down. BJ leaned out the window and swung the bat. Luke heard the sickening thud of the bat and BJ yelled, “Stop!” The truck skidded to a stop on the gravel road. Opening the door and jumping out, BJ raised the bat over his head and pointed it toward heaven. “Glory be to God!” he yelled. “I done got me a nigger!”

Wallace got out of the truck and started jumping up and down and dancing some bizarre jig. Luke was petrified. He looked back and saw the boy laying face down in the dirt. The girl was kneeling over him, trying to get him up so they could run, her young face a mass of hysteria. Luke had never seen such unadulterated fear before. He got out of the truck and just watched.

BJ, holding the bat over his shoulder as if he were ready to take a practice swing, was walking toward the girl. The girl was screaming, “Get up, Johnny, get up! Get up!”

Wallace was hunched over like some troll with both hands forward, wiggling his fingers. He was circling BJ and still kicking up his legs. He kept repeating in a singsong voice. “Come on, little girl. We’s got sumpin for yous. Indeeds we do!”

When BJ and Wallace got within fifteen feet of the couple, the girl, still crying in uncontrollable fear, bolted into a corn field, screaming, “Help me, help me!”

BJ pointed the bat at her and yelled, “Wallace, go get her!” Wallace ran after the girl, still bent over like some animal. Luke and BJ could hear him howl as he raced down the corn rows.

BJ bent over the boy to check if he was still alive. He was, even though blood trickled from back of his head and mixed with the Mississippi dust. BJ’s swing was not too hard. He had aimed for the top of the boy’s head, hoping just to knock him out and not kill him. The back of the boy’s clean white shirt had red specks of blood and his face was turned away from the road.

“He’s still alive,” said BJ. “Good. Better not to kill them. Law gets a mite mad if you kill them. You hurt them, they don’t do much.”

The howling in the cornfield stopped and they heard Wallace yell, “I gots her! I gots her!Come on boys. We’s gonna have some fun now!”

“Bring her here, Wallace,” yelled BJ.

They could hear the girl screaming and Wallace whooping. The sound became louder until they saw the two appear between the rows. Her lip was split where Wallace had hit her and her blouse was also ripped open where Wallace had done some preliminary work.

“Here she be, BJ, all young and tender.”

The girl was still screaming and trying to get away. BJ walked up to her, bunched his fist, and hit her square in the face. Her nose spurted blood and she fell unconscious. “There,” he said, “that’s better. Tie her in the back of the truck and let’s go.”

Wallace was still whooping and jumping. “What about this here buck, BJ? Do we kill him now?”

“No. Leave him be. Luke, give Wallace a hand.”

Luke hesitated. “I ain’t sure I want to do this, BJ.”

BJ started toward Luke, “You better do what I say if you don’t want me to knock them pimples off your face. Now, get going!”

Luke moved toward the unconscious girl and BJ aimed a kick at Luke’s backside. “Hurry up!”

Luke and Wallace put the girl in the truck bed. There was some rope in the truck bed Luke used to tie up his dogs and Wallace took it and tied the girl’s hands and feet. When she was secured, Wallace groped her and muttered, “Oh, goodness. Oh, goodness.”

“Wallace, you ride in back with the nigger. Luke, you drive. Let’s go.”

Wallace whooped. “Ya think she’s a virgin, BJ? I’m betting she is.”

“Get your hands up before I blow your head clean off!”

The voice came from behind them. They looked backed and saw three Black men, one had a cocked eight-gauge shotgun and two had small-bore rifles. The shotgun was aiming at BJ. Wallace and Luke had the small bores on them. Two women ran up and started providing care to the boy.

BJ, who still had the bat in his hand, started toward the shotgun. “You ain’t gonna shoot me black boy, now are you?”

Shotgun brought his weapon up to his shoulder. “You darn well better believe I am if you take one step closer. That girl’s my niece, and the boy’s my nephew. And you ain’t going to hurt them no more. Put down the bat, cracker. And do it now.”

BJ looked at Wallace and Luke. They were frozen under the beads of the rifles. “Do it, BJ,” said Wallace, “or they’ll kill us sure.”

“My daughter seen you,” said Shotgun. “She come and told me what you was doing. I got my two grown sons and we come running. We called the sheriff and he’s coming, too. If anybody moves before the sheriff comes, we start shooting. Now drop the bat.”

BJ dropped the bat. “You ain’t stupid enough to kill no white man, black boy,” said BJ.

“Maybe I am and maybe I ain’t. But, one thing for sure, I’m stupid enough to blow off kneecaps. Your choice, cracker.”

They heard a siren in the distance and saw a dust cloud as a patrol car raced down the dirt road. In a very short time, it pulled up and a large sheriff got out. He was White and had on a Smokey the Bear hat and mirror sunglasses. A big pistol was on his hip. A deputy, also White, got out of the passenger side holding a high powered rifle with a scope. He also had mirror sunglasses and his rifle was clearly trained on BJ. BJ couldn’t believe it. Who was the white man here?

The deputy spoke. “I got him, Luther. Uncock that blaster.”

The three Black men lowered their weapons but kept them in their hands.

The sheriff got on the radio and made sure the ambulance he’d called for was on its way. Afterward, he took his time lighting a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and finally spoke. “Well, well, well. Where you boys from?’

Luke, who during this whole process had wet himself, answered. “We’re from Biloxi, sir.”

“Shut up,” hissed BJ. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Well then,” said the sheriff, talking a drag off his cigarette, “you talk.”

“We was driving down this road, minding our own business, when we found these two along the side of the road. We was bringing them to town to help them.”

Shotgun spoke, “That’s a dang lie, sheriff. My Masie saw these crackers come along and hit Johnny in the head with that bat.”

BJ acted incensed. “You gonna believe me, or you gonna believe black boy there?”

“Well,” said the sheriff. “seeing as how you got a thirteen-year-old girl tied up in the back of your pickup, and that fool in there looking like he’s been having his way with her privates, I’m gonna believe the man I’ve known all my life.”

A woman had climbed in the bed and cradled the now conscious girl’s head in her lap. The sheriff walked over.

“Lucy, listen to me girl and tell me the truth. What happened?”

The girl had blood down the front of her from her bloody nose and began crying in relief when she saw the sheriff. Between the sobs, she said, “Me and Johnny were coming home from church. We heard a car behind us so walked on the side so we wouldn’t be in the way. When that truck passed, I heard a crack and saw Johnny fall down with his head bleeding. The truck stopped and these men got out. That one (pointing at BJ) raised that bat above his head and said, ‘Glory be. I got me a nigger.’ I tried to get Johnny up but he wouldn’t move. I knew he was hurt bad. They started coming at me so I ran. The little one in the here (pointing at Wallace) chased me down and hit me. He kept grabbing me in my private places and then dragged me back here. I was trying to get away so he (pointing again at BJ) hit me in my face. I don’t remember anything more until I woke up.”

BJ was incensed. “You gonna believe that little nigger, sheriff? Or you gonna believe three white men?”

The sheriff dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. He then walked over to BJ and took off his sunglasses. Looking directly into BJ’s eyes, he said, “Officer Dooley, if any one of these three fools moves, shoot ‘em all.”

“You got it sheriff.”

“Turn around, son. I’m going to cuff you up.”

BJ started screaming. “You gonna believe a bunch of niggers over me? What kind of county is….”

Before BJ could finish the sentence, the sheriff, with lightning speed, holstered his big pistol and put two inches of the barrel in BJ’s mouth. No white man had ever pointed a gun at him before.

“You’re allpowered right I am. I ain’t your normal redneck sheriff. I sorta think the law should apply the same to everybody. We don’t cotton to no outsiders coming in here and stirring up trouble. Now, you gonna cooperate? Or am I gonna bust your head open with this pistol like you did that boy’s? You decide.”

BJ held up his hands like he was surrendering and the sheriff reholstered his pistol. BJ turned around and the sheriff put on cuffs behind BJ’s back. “Get down on your belly there and wait for these other two.”

Hatred filled BJ’s eyes but he did as he was told. The sheriff did the same with Wallace and Luke. By that time the ambulance was heard in the distance. The sheriff turned to Shotgun, “Luther, you get these children to the hospital. I’ll take these crackers in and lock them up. All right?”

Shotgun looked at the sheriff. The intensity in his eyes was frightening but he finally let out a sigh and said, “All right, sheriff.”

The sheriff stepped toward Luther and said in a kind voice, “I know it’s hard. I promise you – I’ll take care of this.”

Luther nodded. “I know you will, sherrif.”

“Dooley, let’s take these fools in.”

The three were put in the back of the patrol car while the injured teenagers were put in the ambulance. When the patrol car rolled into the small town, the sheriff turned and spoke to them.

“You boys made a big mistake. I don’t stand for that kind of cracker hijinks in my county.”

BJ decided to keep his mouth shut. This sheriff was obviously a nigger lover. He looked at Wallace and saw he was scared. His one good eye was darting back and forth like a trapped animal and the strong smell of urine filled the car. Luke was crying.

There were already people standing around waiting to see who the sheriff arrested. The patrol car parked in front of the jail and Officer Dooley and the sheriff got out. The sheriff opened the door where BJ sat and Dooley opened the other one. The sheriff knew that if there was trouble, it was comming from BJ Walker.

When Dooley and the sheriff got the three men out of the patrol car, the sheriff led them through the door to the jailhouse. He put BJ in a cell by himself and Luke and Wallace in the other cell.

Dooley locked the doors with a key from a steel ring the circumference of a basketball and said, “You boys just cool your heels. We’ll get you something to eat in about an hour.”

BJ suddenly reached out for Dooley through the bars. Dooley stepped back and put his right hand on his pistol. “What do you think you’re doing, fool?”

“What are you doing taking sides against white men? What kind of a man are you?”

“I’m a man who does my job. And Sheriff Rawlins is right. Everybody in this county tries to get along. And we don’t need no trouble from redneck s like you. Ya’ll made a big mistake bringing that cracker garbage around here.”

Three days later, they were brought before a circuit judge. They each had handcuffs on as Dooley and Sheriff Rawlins led them in the court and made them remain standing until the judge told them to sit. There was a man in solid red pants and a red madras sports jacket seated at the table next to them. He had a white shirt and a wide bright red tie. He had Elvis Presley hair and a toothpick in his mouth.

“Morning, boys,” he said in a thick Mississippi accent. “I’m Holley Watkins, appointed by this here court to be your attorney. So, ya’ll just keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking.”

Before BJ could answer him, the bailiff said, “All rise for the honorable Judge Mason LaBrie of the seventh circuit court of the great state of Mississippi.” Mississippi was pronounced Miss-sipp.

The judge brought the gavel crashing down and yelled, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Everyone in the court sat and the bailiff read the charges and said, “You three boys stand up.” The sheriff and Dooley stood up and pulled the three accused to their feet. Lawyer Watkins also stood, toothpick poised and hair in place.

The judge, a slender man with white hair, said, “Luke Johnson, Wallace Killibrew, and BJ Walker of Biloxi, Mississippi, you are hereby charged with assault with a deadly weapon, battery, unlawful detainment, and attempted rape of a minor. How do you plead?”

Lawyer Watkins leaned over and whispered, “I assume you crackers want to plead not guilty. Right?”

BJ spat back, “What kind of crazy court is this? How can you hold…”

Before BJ could finish his sentence, Lawyer Watkins said, “Not guilty, your honor.” After that, he leaned back over to BJ and hissed, “Shut your ugly mouth less’n I ask you a question.”

The judge said, “Very well. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

For the first time, BJ noticed a Black man immaculately dressed in a tan suit sitting at the next table. The Black man stood up and said, “We are, your honor.”

BJ couldn’t contain himself. He shot up and yelled, “A nigger lawyer? You got a nigger lawyer here?”

The judge slammed down his gavel, leaned over his bench, and pointed his finger at BJ. “One more outburst like that, Mr. Walker, and I will have you in chains and gagged with a dirty sock. Do you understand?”

The prosecuting attorney continued. “Your honor, we would like to call as our first witness Mrs. Ruth McCallum.”

A Black woman stood and came forward. BJ looked behind him and saw the three men who had rifles pointed at him and the two teenagers they saw walking down the road. The boy had a white bandage wrapped around his head and the girl, when BJ looked at her, turned and buried her head in a Black woman’s arm.

From the beginning, BJ knew he was doomed. The prosecuting attorney brought one witness after another to testify about what they saw. Lawyer Watkins never asked one question, nor uttered so much as a how-dee-do.

Finally, the prosecution rested, and it was time for the defense to state its case. Lawyer Watkins stood up, took out his toothpick and put it on the table.

“Your honor, and ladies and gentlemen occupying this here courtroom, I ain’t going to stand here and tell you my clients didn’t do all the things they are accused of, because they did. They whacked young Johnny Rose on the back of his head with a baseball bat for no other reason than he was Black. They were fixing to rape his thirteen-year-old sister in every way possible for no other reason than she was Black. They were probably gonna kill them afterwards.”

BJ spoke, “Now that’s a lie!”

“Shut up!” said the judge.

Lawyer Watkins continued. “The only defense I can offer, your honor, is that they are young and stupid. They come from Biloxi, a known hotbed of cracker mentality, and each of these boys probably comes from a long line of cracker mentality fools.

He stepped from behind the table and spread his arms. “Now, everyone in this courtroom knows that we all try to get along in this county. Sheriff Rawlins does everything he can to treat folks fair and proper.” There were mutterings of agreement in the courtroom.

“I am not condoning any action by any one of these idiots. Heaven knows, what they did is terrible and needs to be dealt with. What I’m saying is, don’t be too hard on them. They may even be passable human beings once someone beats some sense into their cracker heads. Granted, it will take a lot of beatings, but it is possible.”

Lawyer Watkins sat down and replaced his toothpick. BJ, stunned, tried to rise. Sheriff Rawlins pushed him back down and said, “Shut your mouth, boy.”

It took the jury 15 minutes to return a guilty verdict. Afterwards, the judge sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. He finally leaned forward and spoke.

“As you three boys know, you made a big mistake trying your shenanigans in this county. Well, it’s time to pay the piper. Luke Johnson, stand up.” Luke stood up, his head was down and his fat shoulders were slumped forward.

“I did some checking on you, Mr. Johnson, and you come from a respectable family. I don’t know how you got mixed up with these other two, but it appears to me that you were just along for the ride and took no real part in it. However, you’re still an accessory. Therefore, I am sentencing you to six months in the county jail and three years probation. I have also contacted your father and he has agreed to pay a twenty thousand dollar fine to the victims’ family. They had to mortgage the house your family has lived in for generations, but they did it. So, after your time in the county jail, I advise you to go home, find new friends, kiss your poor mother, and do everything your father tells you quick, fast, and in a hurry.” The judge slammed his gavel and said, “Sit down.”

Luke sat down, clearly relieved. The judge slammed his gavel again and said, “Wallace Killibrew, stand up.”

Wallace stood up. The judge spoke, “Mr. Killibrew, you are a mean tempered, ugly, one-eyed polecat. Even so, if you had both eyes in your head I might be inclined to offer you an option. As it is, I can’t. Consequently, I sentence you to ten years in the Mississippi State Prison to begin now. There is a large number of big Colored convicts who hate everything about you. You better pray to the Almighty, not that he’ll listen to the likes of you, that they don’t find out what you done. You will be eligible for parole in five years, if you live that long. Sit down.” The judge slammed his gavel and BJ heard Wallace whimper.

“BJ Walker,” stand up.” BJ stood and sneered at the judge. “Mr. Walker, you seem to be the brains of this outfit, such as it is. Now, I done some checking on you, too. It seems to me that if you had some direction, you might amount to something, so I am going to offer you an option. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, but I got a feeling about you. I spoke with the victims’ mother and father, and managed to talk them into agreeing to this under the condition that if you in any way screw this up, you will immediately be remanded to the custody of the Mississippi State Prison for no less than fifteen years. Is that clear, Mr. Walker?”

BJ’s hopes soared. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He said, “Yeah.”

The judge slammed his gavel again and pointed it at BJ. “From now on, young man, you will address folks in authority as sir. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said BJ.

“All right, Mr. Walker, I want you to turn around and meet Sgt. Santee of the United States Marine Corps.”