The Crossing Read online

  “Okay, but how did Jack get wind of this? I mean unless you told him, or Henry told him, he’s not talked to anybody else.”

  “It wasn’t me and I don’t know what Henry and Jack talked about. But, Henry didn’t say anything to me about Officer Menard and I haven’t talked to Officer Menard. So, I guess you’ll need to ask Henry.”

  “Alright, has anything new developed that I need to know before talking with Henry?” I asked getting up to leave.

  “Nope,” Leroy said as he tossed me his jail keys. “Leave these with Scotty when you are finished and watch out for that murdered girl’s husband, Sonny Blurton. He’s sure to be around somewhere tomorrow and he’s a real hothead, just be aware.”

  “Thanks for the warning, and how do you plan on dealing with protesters, if they show up?”

  “I don’t plan on dealing with them at all,” Leroy said frankly. “Unless they get out of order or show up wearing white hoods, I plan on leaving them alone!”

  Leroy walked out of his office – he looked tired.

  I walked up the stairs to the jail area and found all the doors open but one. Inside the locked cell sat my friend Robert Henry Walker, Jr. I had not seen Henry in a while, but to me he looked the same as he did when we played Cowboys and Indians in his front yard many years ago. Henry had grown taller and was much stockier than I remembered; evidently, work and life had agreed with him, because Henry was a handsome strong man. It was difficult seeing him behind those jail bars.

  I opened the cell door and we spent the next 10 minutes catching up with each other. His mother had died when we were both still young, and his father had eventually remarried and continued to raise their large family. Robert Henry Walker, Sr. had died last year after fighting cancer for several years. Henry’s siblings had all married and moved away from Humboldt, with the exception of his older brother, Yarnell, and his younger sister, Colleen. Colleen still lived in the family home where she had cared for their father until his death. Henry and Yarnell were not married and shared a house on 5 th street in the Crossing area. They also both worked for Humboldt Canning – the Red Heart Dog Food plant. However, up until a few months ago, Yarnell had been working at Alton Box. Henry had used his influence and managed to get Yarnell a better job at Humboldt Canning and, according to Henry, things had been normal – until Tuesday.

  Leroy had personally come to Humboldt Canning to arrest Henry. As disruptive as those things can be, Leroy did managed to keep things to a minimum. Even Yarnell wasn’t aware of Henry’s arrest until the end of the shift. Henry had protested to Leroy, and then later to Jack – he said he knew absolutely nothing about Tammy Blurton and certainly had nothing to do with her death.

  “Henry,” I looked him directly in the eyes. “Where did she get your shirt?”

  He stared at me for several moments before speaking. “How do they know it was my shirt? I’m not the only person named Henry who has blue denim work shirts!”

  “Well, Henry, the biggest clue was your name and phone number in the pocket!”

  Henry got a funny look on his face and then said, “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really! And if you lie to me, I can’t help you. You’ve got to be straight with me and I’ll be straight with you. Okay?”

  “I don’t know how she got the shirt,” Henry responded.

  “Alright, I’ll accept that for now. Anything else you want to tell me?” I asked.

  “Yes there is. Carson, I can’t pay you, but I didn’t know who else to call. And I can’t pay that lawyer, Jack Logan, either.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m helping you because of our friendship and Jack is helping you because of my friendship with him. This isn’t about money, so just forget that. Okay?” I did not want Henry worrying about money. He had enough to worry about already.

  “Okay, but I’ll find someway to repay you, repay you both,” Henry said as he leaned back in his bunk.

  “What can you tell me about Officer Carl Menard?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “Officer Carl Menard, the Humboldt Policeman who reported that he saw you in the area where the body was found.”

  “I can tell you he is a liar; I can tell you that. I’ve been in that poolroom and drugstore hundreds of times, and I don’t know what is unusual about that! Just because he saw me there and they found a dead girl out back doesn’t make me a murderer!” Henry snapped.

  “No, but when you put it with everything else it doesn’t help,” I added.

  “Well, he is still a liar,” Henry nodded.

  “What did you tell Jack Logan about Officer Menard?” I asked frankly.

  “The same thing I told you, he is a liar. He also likes to beat up on us colored folks; I don’t think that is any secret!”

  “Okay, Henry. We’ll talk about him later.” I wasn’t ready to pursue the Carl Menard conversation now. I would do that when I had more information.

  We talked for a few more minutes and I briefed him on both Jack Logan’s and my plans. I also promised to talk with him as soon as I had something to tell him, and he should have Leroy or one of the deputies call me if he needed to talk. Henry was hiding something and I knew it would eventually come out. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  I left his cell unlocked and tossed the keys to Scotty as I headed out the door. Henry wasn’t going anywhere, I was sure of that.

  I left the sheriff’s office and headed for my ‘home away from home’ – Chiefs. It was already dark when I pulled the Ford into Chiefs’ parking lot.

  Humboldt

  T he evening crowd had already started to gather and, as usual, Chiefs was crowded, and I had difficulty finding the Ford a good spot to rest. An endless line of cars circled the building - occasionally stopping for curb service, but mostly just participating in the nightly ritual, which would continue until the wee hours of the morning.

  Chiefs is a popular local hangout located on North 22 nd. Avenue in Humboldt. It is owned and operated by a couple of close friends, Ronnie and Nickie Woodson. Given the opportunity, you would find it an unusual and terrific place to stay and visit. They offer an indoor restaurant and bar, outside curb service and small cottage rooms for traveling guests. You can’t miss it – it’s located right under the big neon Indian Chief sign!

  Nickie and her husband Ronnie have owned and operated Chiefs for as long as I could remember. He runs the kitchen and does most of the cooking. Nickie handles everything else – including cottage rentals, the books, the inventory and keeping Ronnie in line. Ronnie has a ‘wandering eye’, and probably other ‘wandering’ parts, which does keep Nickie busy. However, along with a couple of waitresses and Nickie’s supervision, everything always seems to go like clockwork. She also manages the carhops who serve outside patrons.

  Carhops are a different breed – they are either good or just plain terrible. Tommy is my favorite, and he has been with Nickie and Ronnie since the beginning. I guess you would call him the ‘team leader’ carhop. Whatever you need – and I mean ‘whatever you need’; Tommy Trubush is your man. Everybody knows there is a lot of underage drinking, but Tommy keeps it straight and never lets it get out of hand. I have many times seen him put tough guys on the ground, and when he asked someone to leave – they left. He runs the outside show – no question about it.

  The bar and restaurant weren’t crowded, and I grabbed a stool at the end of the bar. I looked around at all the customers and sensed something was different tonight. The jukebox was playing and they were talking and drinking, but there just seemed to be something different in the atmosphere. An odd calm, that wasn’t really a calm at all. It was like a very loud SILENCE - an uneasiness that was difficult to define.

  Nickie appeared from somewhere and quickly took the barstool next to mine.

  “Hey beautiful,” I said to Nickie. “You got a room for a weary traveler?”

  “Actually, no! But I knew you were coming and I saved your usual, Cabin 4.”

  “You knew I w
as coming? Is this something you learn from owning a bar? You can predict when people are going to show up and need a room?” This was odd.

  “Well,” Nickie laughed. “ Yes and yes! But in your case, Leroy has been calling here all afternoon for you, so I made a wild guess! See, I was right.”

  Before I could respond, Florence walked up from behind the bar. As usual, she wore her dishwater blonde hair sitting squarely on top of her head, forming a shape that resembled a fresh baked loaf of bread. She had a pencil sticking through that bun and another behind BOTH ears, plus a mouth full of gum that was getting a real workout. The light pink waitress dress had fake handkerchiefs on the upper left shoulder and sported a nametag that read ‘FLO’.

  “Hey ‘Hon’,” she managed between gum chews. “Where is that handsome partner of yours, Joe? He still owes me a couple of dances and I’ve been itching to collect.”

  “Itching? Itching where?” I don’t know WHY I asked that. I do know better!

  “Oh, Mr. Reno, are you trying to talk dirty? That is funny! I’m not going to tell you where I was itching, guess you’ll have to use your imagination! Can I ‘git’ you a drink, ‘Hon’?”

  “Please. A Jack and Coke when you get time,” I managed to say.

  Nickie was shaking her head as Flo walked away. “Carson, you’ve got to stop teasing Flo. She is just too honest for your ‘off-beat’ humor. And by the way, where IS that handsome partner of yours?”

  “Joe is not a partner, he is an associate and he’s in Memphis – I think. I’m going to call him in a few minutes and I suspect you will get to see him in a few days. Can you hold a room for him?”

  “I wish he were here now.” Nickie sounded frustrated.

  “What? Why? What’s going on?”

  “Carson, I’ve been getting phone calls all day looking for rooms. These weren’t travelers or salesmen needing a place to stay; these calls were from people wanting to rent all my rooms! The first two calls were from a church in Tunica, Mississippi, and the next two were from a Civil Rights Organization in Memphis. I’m not stupid, I knew what was going on, and I told them all NO.”

  “Why did you do that? You’ve got rooms, why not rent them?” It was an honest question.

  “Because I don’t want to see this place torn up, or maybe burned down - I kinda’ like it here! Can you imagine one of those buses from a colored church parked out front? The kind of customers I get in here just wouldn’t understand, and I don’t need that trouble. I know it was wrong, but it was my decision. I just hope that I can get them rented, so I don’t have to answer questions I don’t want to answer. Understand?”

  “I do understand, but wonder where they ended up going?” I asked myself.

  “ I don’t know or care, but I’m glad you’re here,” Nickie said with a smile. “Are you going to be able to do anything?”

  “I have no idea, Nickie, but I am going to try. Your crowd seems so tense, I’m afraid if somebody dropped a beer bottle the whole place would break out in a fight!”

  “You’re telling me! I’ve been trying to get that damn jukebox to play some happy music and cheer this place up!” Nickie shrugged.

  “Good luck,” I said as I got up and walked out the front door to where the payphone was located.

  I needed to call Joe and would, of course, need to use the phone outside. Whatever idiot installed the inside payphone next to the jukebox had to have been drunk or crazy – probably both! Nobody used that phone because nobody could HEAR while using that phone. The jukebox only stopped playing when Nickie or Ronnie turned it off, which was never. It probably has a thousand country songs already lined up for play. People just keep putting money in it and wondering why their song isn’t playing next – it would take a week to cycle through and reach their selection. No matter, they still keep dropping quarters and punching buttons.

  Joe answered quickly and I briefed him on the situation. I outlined a few things I needed him to check out and asked him to join me in Humboldt as quickly as he could. Joe hung up, saying he would be here tomorrow morning.

  Back inside, I noticed Nickie had managed to get some ‘lively’ music playing on the jukebox and a few couples had even decided to dance. There was still a lot of tension in the room, but at least people were trying to deal with it. That was good news.

  When I stopped checking out the crowd and turned back to the bar, I was greeted by something that took my breath away. I blinked, wiped my eyes with both hands and then did a refocus at what was standing in front of me. I was staring at two of the largest breasts I had ever seen on a woman (or anything else)! Pinned high on the left one was a nametag that read, ‘MAVIS’, and from somewhere behind all that mass I heard a weak voice say, “Can I ‘git’ you another drink?”

  Standing somewhere before me was a waitress (I think) – my clue was the pink uniform. I stood up, allowing me to look over the barrier and check out the voice. Standing behind that barrier, I saw a short woman with dirty blonde hair arranged in a circle on the top of her head – making a shape that resembled a small spare tire! Her head sat squarely on her shoulders, and if she had a neck, it wasn’t visible. She had a pencil sticking through the spare tire bun and an unlit small thin filtered cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

  “Ah…ah…” I stuttered as I sat back down. “Yes…I think!”

  “Look mister,” I heard from somewhere, “stop staring. Haven’t you ever seen tits before? This ain’t no ‘faggot’ bar, so if you’re looking for that kind of action, you’ll need to go to Bemis.”

  “A..a.. Jack and Coke” I stuttered. Had I been staring?

  “It’s about time,” I heard from somewhere. “Cummin’ right up,” she said turning and walking away.

  I watched in disbelief as it left and then watched when it returned with my drink. I hadn’t recovered from the initial shock, and just sat in silence and stared. Finally, from behind me I heard something familiar, “Hi ‘Hon’,” it was Flo again. “Did you ‘git’ to meet my sister, Mavis? She likes to dance too.”

  “I’m not sure,” was all I could manage to say, as I continued to stare.

  “Sure you did, silly! She’s the waitress that got you that drink, you know, the one with the big tits! I know you noticed; everyone does.” Flo was serious!

  “Oh really, I didn’t notice.” I have no idea why I said that!

  “Yes you did, Mr. Reno, you can’t fool me. Don’t be ashamed to stare – everybody does!”

  “Well…maybe I did notice…something,” I stuttered.

  “They have names, you know,” Flo said nodding her head.

  “What have names?” I knew better than to ask that!

  “Her tits, they have names!”

  “I don’t want to know!” I yelled.

  “Sure you do,” Flo giggled. “One is named ‘Luscious’ and the other is named ‘Bodacious’ . Can you guess which one is which?”

  “NO! And I’m not going to try! Maybe they should both wear nametags!” I yelled. “Where did Nickie go?” I was trying to change the subject.

  “Hon’, she’s in the toilet, but I’ll tell her you want to see her,” Flo said as she walked away.

  I turned on my stool and watched as Mavis waddled across the room, headed to serve one of the tables. She MUST have a balance problem – top heavy, if I can say that. Mavis could not be over four feet tall, and carrying all that frontal weight had to make standing up straight a real challenge on her small frame. However, she handled it without any noticeable difficulty, and even managed to bend over to take an order without falling across the customer’s table!

  I had just started to recover and sip on my drink when Nickie slipped up behind me.

  “Well,” Nickie said as she positioned herself on the stool next to me. “Can’t a girl even go to the bathroom without being bothered? What do you want, Mr. Reno?”

  “The toilet,” I commented.

  “The WHAT?” Nickie frowned.

  “Flo said you were i
n the toilet, and I wanted to ask you – what is that?” I asked as I motioned my head toward Mavis, who was serving a customer at the other end of the bar.

  “That, my handsome detective friend is Mavis, Florence’s younger sister. She’s from Oil Trough, Arkansas. I needed another waitress and she’s a good one. Don’t you think?”

  “Well,” I said raising my eyebrows, “she is certainly interesting. I can swear to that!”

  “Okay,” Nickie started, “talk about her tits and get it over with – everybody else does.”

  “What? Why? What do you mean?” I said innocently.

  As we talked, mysteriously two large tits attached to a waitress reappeared in front of us. “Hi, Miss Nickie. Does your friend need a fresh drink?” I heard from somewhere.

  Nickie spoke. “Mavis, let me introduce you to Carson Reno. He is the famous private detective, currently from Memphis and formally from Humboldt. Things are always exciting when Carson is in town, so be prepared.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carson,” I heard from somewhere. “Let me fresh that drink before the excitement gets started,” she giggled from somewhere and waddled off to get me a new drink.

  “Is she for real?” I asked.

  “Sure is, and a damn good waitress. I don’t have any concerns about Ronnie and the customers like her – that’s what important.”

  “Yes it is. And, did you know they had names?”

  “What has names?” Nickie frowned.

  “Never mind.” I said just as Tommy Trubush entered the back door and walked up to where we were sitting.

  “Hey Tommy,” I said as he took a seat on the empty barstool next to me. “Have you got everything outside under control?”

  “Carson, you know me. I always have everything under control!” he laughed.

  “I know you do, and I admire your work.” I was serious.

  “I’ve got to go to work. I’ll leave you two men alone to solve our problems – I’ve got a bar to run!” Nickie blurted as she got up and headed across the dining area.

  “Carson,” Tommy said with a somber tone. “I need to talk with you and I don’t want to do it in here. Can you meet me outside in a few minutes?”