“Just let ‘er ring,” Amy Lampkin said. “If it’s important, they’ll call back.”
“Naw,” Homer, her husband, answered as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and touched the frigid wooden floor with his bare feet. “I get paid to answer it on the first ring and besides, June’ll just keep ringing that thing anyway.”
Lampkin glanced at the clock as he hurried into the kitchen—10:30. He snatched the receiver from its cradle, answering it before the sound could rattle his nerves a fourth time.
“Chief!” He said.
“Homer, this is Sully. We’ve had a problem down here. Ya might wanta come over.”
“What kinda problem,” Lampkin sighed, instinctively reaching for his “Smokey Bear” hat .
“Fight.”
“Anybody hurt bad?”
“Not bad enough for a doctor.”
“They kiss and makeup?”
“Now, Homer, I wouldn’t be callin’ ya if they had.”
“Locals?”
“County wise.”
“Well, why don’t they stay in the county and keep it outa my town?”
“Dunno, Homer. You tell me.”
“Well, gimme me five or ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Who was it,” Lampkin’s wife asked when he walked back into the bedroom.
“Sully,” He said. “Had some trouble at the pool hall.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“Guess not. Where’re my work clothes?”
“Don’t waste a good pair of cloths. Put on ya overalls.”
“Well, that’ll look just great, police chief makin’ a call in overalls.”
“Nobody cares this time of night.”
Knowing it was useless to argue, Lampkin pulled on the green plaid shirt and overalls he had worn that afternoon while working in his garden. He slipped his boots on, put his pistol in the lap pocket of the overalls then bent over and kissed his wife’s cheek.
“Be careful and come back to me.” His wife said, as she always did in response to the kiss.
“Always.” He said as he had many times before.
The ritual complete, he hurried out to his police car wishing he had worn a coat against the high 30-degree weather. He decided not to worry about it, though, since he would be at the pool hall in just a few minutes. He waited a moment for the car to warm up, then he drove off.
“Dunno, Homer. You tell me.”
“Well, gimme me five or ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Who was it,” Lampkin’s wife asked when he walked back into the bedroom.
“Sully,” He said. “Had some trouble at the pool hall.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“Guess not. Where’re my work clothes?”
“Don’t waste a good pair of cloths. Put on ya overalls.”
“Well, that’ll look just great, police chief makin’ a call in overalls.”
“Nobody cares this time of night.”
Knowing it was useless to argue, Lampkin pulled on the green plaid shirt and overalls he had worn that afternoon while working in his garden. He slipped his boots on, put his pistol in the lap pocket of the overalls then bent over and kissed his wife’s cheek.
“Be careful and come back to me.” His wife said, as she always did in response to the kiss.
“Always.” He said as he had many times before.
The ritual complete, he hurried out to his police car wishing he had worn a coat against the high 30-degree weather. He decided not to worry about it, though, since he would be at the pool hall in just a few minutes. He waited a moment for the car to warm up, then he drove off.
As Sully was making the call to Lampkin, Marshall sat down in one of the chairs against the wall to wait. He had picked the poker up and now held it firmly just in case the two on the ground came around and wanted to finish the matter. George dropped down beside him, still holding his neck.
“What’d they want with you?” Marshall whispered.
“Owed ‘em money!”
“Owed ‘em money? How much?”
Marshall waited, but his friend said nothing, acting as if he hadn’t heard the question, so Marshall repeated it
“I said, how much?”
“Uh……….two……two hundred and fifty dollars?”
A thick silence followed George’s response as Marshall tried to decide whether he had heard his friend correctly or not. After all, $250.00 was at least six months wages for most of the people in the country who even had a job, much less the millions who were out of work. So, he questioned him again.
“Now, how much did you say?” Marshall asked, looking squarely at George who was still staring at the floor.
“Yea,” George sighed. “You heard me right. Two-fifty.”
“Two hundred…. and……Fifty…..dollars! For WHAT?”
“I……I sold some ‘shine for ‘em and I guess…….I guess I forgot to give ‘em all but my cut.”
“Forgot!!”
The silence returned, but only for a moment as a sudden realization hit Marshall. He quickly leaned toward George, his face just inches from his friend.
“You blew that money in Memphis last weekend didn’t ya? You and Sim spent it didn’t ya?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, from George then, still refusing to look at Marshall, he nodded. He and twenty-year old Simpson had gone to Memphis the week before with the claim that his brother had a job prospect. Marshall knew now that it was just to have a few days on the town. He tried to imagine what kind of time they could have had with a hundred and twenty-five dollars to blow.
“How could you do somethin’ that stupid?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could Sim let you do somethin’ that stupid.”
“I don’t know!”
“Did’ja think Prichard and that other guy were just gonna forget about it?”
“I DON’T KNOW! I guess I wasn’t thinkin’.”
“No, you sure weren’t. You do something completely stupid like this and I gotta bail ya out.”
“I, but I didn’t ask ya to.” George said as he rolled his head around trying to ease the neck pain.
“No, ya didn’t,” Marshall’s eyes flared, “And maybe I shouldn’t’a helped ya. Maybe I should’a just stood back there and watch ‘em kill ‘ya.”
“I’m sorry, Marsh,” George said as he realized just how flippant his words had sounded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta get you involved.”
Marshall stared at him a moment then relaxed and nodded in response. Both youth’s heads swung around, though, when they heard cursing coming from one of the two men on the floor. Quickly afterward, the other took up the chorus of profanities. Marshall, sat at attention as he watched and waited to see what the two men would do.
Prichard struggled to his feet first, holding his ribs with his right arm. He looked at the two boys then down at his friend who was still on his back, but shaking his head trying to clear it. Then he spotted Marshall and George. With his free hand he pointed in the direction of the two boys and opened his mouth to speak when Sully broke in.
“Called the cops. They’re on the way.”
He spoke almost casually, knowing that it was likely that only Lampkin was coming. Then he added, as Prichard stared at him. “Sure, you fellas wanna stick around and answer a lota’ questions about this?”
Prichard continued to stare only a moment longer, then looked back at the boys and pointed at each of them individually with a gun shaped hand then reached down and pulled on the other man’s arm.
“Cumon, let’s go, cops are comin’”
“The money…..” The other man said as he rose to one knee.
“Forget it for now. We’ll settle it later. Let’s GO!” When he said this last thing, he locked his eyes on Marshall, who slowly stood, still clutching the poker……….waiting.
“We’ll be seein ya’,” Prichard grinned then turned to his friend and pulled him to his feet. As quickly as their grogginess would allow them, they stumbled through the door and disappeared around the side of the building.
A few seconds later, Marshall saw lights flair to life, then watched as a late model black Ford sedan sped by the front of the building. Sully was watching also, and he turned to the youths once the car had gone by.
“Don’t worry, boys,” His voice was reassuring. “I can’t really see anything that ya’ll did anythin’ wrong. You’ll was just defendin’ ya’selves, so relax.”
When Lampkin pulled up in front of Sullivan’s, he sat for a moment peering in through the front window, trying to judge the situation, if any. Seeing nothing amiss, he drew his lanky frame from the police car and walked in.
He looked around for anything that he might have missed from the outside, but still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that is except the two boys sitting by the wall. Lampkin knew them both and from the Borden boy’s expression, he knew that they were involved in whatever had happened.
“Bout time, Homer,” Sully said, grinning. Lampkin knew what the grin was all about.
“Gonna do some plowin’, Homer,” A voice called out from one of the domino tables causing Lampkin to shoot a glare in its general direction. When he couldn’t spot the obvious culpret, he turned back to Sulley.
“Was in bed,” He suppressed a yawn. Then feeling that he had to explain his attire, he added. “Work clothes were in the wash.”
“Well, ya look pretty,” The same back-of-the-building voice said. Any response would have been drowned out by the laughter that followed. Lampkin just ignored them and turned back to Sully.
“What happened here?” he asked.
Sully told the story the way he had seen it, making sure that Lampkin knew that it was two men against two boys. Plus, he pointed out that the men had left the scene while the boys were still here. He added a few more things and answered a couple of Lampkin’s questions, all apparently to the Chief’s satisfaction.
Lampkin wrote a few things on a pad he had pulled from his pocket, then concluding that Sully had no more real information to impart, he walked over to the two boys and nodded hello. They both nodded back.
“Borden, you don’t look too good.” Lampkin smiled at George who only frowned in return. “Ya heard what Sully told me. Sounds pretty cut and dried. Either one of ya’ll got anything to add.”
“No, sir,” George said dropping his head toward the ground.
Lampkin eyed Marshall. “Bentwood, how about you. You got anything to say about this?”
“No, sir.” Marshall spoke flatly, his eyes locked on Lampkin. The officer returned the stare, looking for some tell-tail sign in his face. He found none.
“Um, hum,” Lampkin nodded then looked toward the back of the hall.
“How about you men back there. Ya’ll see anything different than these fellas up here?”
Silence. Lampkin turned back to George and Marshall, closed the cover over his pad and put back into his pocket.
“Boys, ya lucky,” He said as he put a foot on the seat of the chair next to George. “Those two fells are gone so they must not wanna press charges. Sully says he don’t know who they were and I’m sure that ya’ll don’t know ‘em either, do ya. Probably not even one of them domino kings back there, knows ‘em. “
He waited to see if there was any reaction. When there was none, he went on.
“Anyway, I guess ya’ll got away with somethin’ this time. I don’t know exactly what, but I want you to remember something………ya may not be so lucky next time. These are bad times, boys, hard times and people ain’t so inclined to forgive and forget like they used to.”
He let that sink in, then added, “Ya may be messin with somethin’ that neither one of ya can handle so ya better be careful, for ya own good,”
He looked at George, “And Borden, I wanna tell ya somethin’, you surprise me here. I don’t recall ever havin’ any trouble out’a you. I sure hope this ain’t gonna get ta be a habit.”
George did not respond, so Lampkin shifted his gaze to Marshall.
“Bentwood, it seems like I’m always havin’ to deal with you, though. I told ya the last time that I’d have ya in my jail eventually.” Lampkin hesitated. “But it looks like this ain’t gonna be that time.”
He waited for a response from Marshall and when there was none, he continued.
“I want ya to know somethin’, though, I’ll have the pleasure of puttin’ ya in my jail. Sooner or later you’ll get there. I seen too many just like ya, boy. And I wouldn’t give a plug nickel for any of ya. Boys like you are nothin’ but trouble and that’s all you’ll ever be……trouble! But I want ya to know that trouble like that better not happen here, in my town, in Wynne. Ya hear me?”
Lampkin waited for a response from Marshall, but the youth gave him only a level stare.
“I…said….do you hear me?”
Marshall waited another moment then, while never breaking the officer’s gaze, slowly nodded. Lampkin notice that the boy’s knuckles were white as he still gripped the poker in his hand.
“Good.” Lampkin said, then almost as an afterthought he looked at Sully, “Sully, you don’t by any chance wanna press charges for the damage do ya?”
Sully shook his head.
“What I figured.” He said, then turned back to the teens. “Boys, I want you two outta town right now and I want ya’ll to stay outta town for a while. Understand me?”
George nodded. Marshall only stared.
“Good! Then get outta here right now.”
Both boys stood and walked toward the door, George pulling on his coat as he went, Marshall still in his. They both nodded at Sully as they passed.
“See ya, boys,” Sully said, as they went out into the cold.
“Sully, I’m not officially gonna write this up,” Lampkin said when the boys had left. “Specially since you don’t know who those other two were, and I’m guessin’ you still don’t know.”
“No, sure don’t.” Sully was unconvincing.
Lampkin stared at him, then after a moment slapped the bar and turned for the door.
“Well, I’m goin’ home,” He said. “I’ll see ya some time tomorrow.”
As George and Marshall walked out of town, neither of the boys spoke. George out of shame and a touch of fear. Marshall out of irritation. The moon was still high so they could see the gravel road easily enough. The thirty-minute walk gave Marshall a chance to consider what had happened that night.
He thought about what Lampkin had said and decided that he agreed with at least one point that he had made………. George was out of his league. Marshall knew he was also, age-wise, but at least he could handle himself.
One thing Marshall knew; however, was that Prichard was a man to be careful of. To Marshall’s knowledge, he had his hand in moonshining, gambling, auto theft and, possibly even, white slavery. And he was not beyond doing anything necessary to keep his illegal businesses intact. Clearly, Prichard was too dangerous for anyone to be associated with, much less a boy like George.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived at Marshall’s house.
“Well, Marsh,” George patted Marshall on the back. “Thanks again for ya help tonight.”
Marshall grinned at his friend who always had a way of trivializing any situation, no matter how important. He continued to grin as he grabbed George by the nape of his neck, bringing a yelp from him. He pulled George’s face close to his. The grin remained, but his eyes were nothing more than slits.
“George, stay away from Prichard and stay away from that bull that was with him,” His voice was quietly firm, almost like a parent to a child. “If you cross ‘em, they WILL…KILL YOU. Don’t matter if your seventeen or seventy. Don’t nothin’ matter to them, but money. Ya understand me? Lampkin was right, ya messin’ with something that’s gonna get ya killed.”
George nodded against Marshall’s cupped hand, “Yea, Marsh. Yea, sure. I know. I understand.”
“And if I’s you,” Marshall let go of his friend. “I’d find some way to get that money back to ‘em and get it to ‘em fast. Get Sim to help ya, since he prob’ly spent part of it. If ya do that, they might just forget about it.”
“OK, Marsh, sure, I will. But what about you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Marshall returned the pat on George’s back. “Just watch yourself and do what I said, ya understand.?”
“Yea, Marsh, I do. I swear to ya, I do.”
“Good! Gotta get in. Night.”
Marshall angled away from his friend and trotted the short distance up the drive and quietly entered the house. He tiptoed to his bedroom and after removing his cloths down to his shorts, slipped into the bed he shared with his younger brother, Lee. Two minutes later, he was snoring.