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The water of the Frio lived up to its name this time of year. Always chilly, the river was too cold for swimming by the early part of November, so Frank had been able to resist the urge to wade into the clear stream and float on his back with the warm afternoon sun on his face. They were here for fishing, anyway. He couldn’t see Henry, but could hear him moving his lawn chair to a different position on the bank.
Frank piled kindling into the grill and put a couple of heavier pieces of wood on top. Hot dogs weren’t his favorite, but they were handy for camping. And Ruby had made potato salad for them before she left for East Texas to visit her mother.
“You catching any?” Frank yelled.
“Quiet! You’ll scare the fish away.”
Frank chuckled. “I think they’re already away. Come on and have a hot dog.” He went into the camping trailer and took the potato salad out of the refrigerator.
They sat at the picnic table and ate in silence. Breakfast had been early, and now lunch was late; they were hungry. Frank began to smell the pungent fragrance from the drip coffee maker in the camper.
“Are you ready for a cup of coffee?” Henry asked. “That sure smells good.” Henry brought two steaming cups and sat down opposite Frank again. “It was nice of Darlene’s sister to come down and help you out while Darlene’s recuperating.”
“Trudy’s okay. She’s at loose ends right now. Her husband’s divorcing her, got involved with a younger woman. She jumped at the chance to come and stay with Darlene for a while.”
“I’d think she’d need to stay home and protect her interests in the divorce.”
Frank sipped his coffee. “I don’t think there’s anything to protect. Her husband has made a lot of money, but they’ve spent a lot, too. Don’t even own a house. They just have the household furnishings and their cars and personal belongings. He’s agreed she can have what’s in the house and her car.”
“That should be a help to her.”
“I felt guilty about going off and leaving them this weekend, but Trudy insisted. Darlene, too. They’re planning to go to church, in spite of Darlene’s cast. Darlene wants Trudy to meet Rev. Abingdon—she thinks he’s the greatest. Gives him credit for the fact that she’s getting over the accident in record time.”
Henry stared at Frank for a moment. “The accident. Frank, I have to talk to you. I’ve been wondering how to go about it, and I guess there’s no easy way. Darlene’s ‘accident’ was no accident. And what’s worse, I’m to blame for what happened.”
Frank laughed. “You must be crazy. Of course it was an accident. It’s not your fault, not at all. Are you thinking that just because Ruby came over to talk to Darlene . . . ?”
“I need to tell you the whole story, bad as I hate to get you involved. Now you are involved, at least to the extent that Darlene’s been injured. Oh, God! Where do I start?”
Frank felt a sudden queasiness in the pit of his stomach. “At the beginning, Henry. Just start at the beginning.”
“It was a few months ago—I’m not sure how long, maybe three months—Hugh Andrews asked me to do some bulldozing for him on a piece of property he owns about five miles out of town. I was glad to earn the extra money. I thought he was getting ready to put in a foundation for a house or something.
“I showed up early on a Saturday morning. He was there with a couple of guys that work for him—the Castro brothers. They had come in their pickup. It’s a shiny new black pickup with a lot of chrome.”
“The same one Mrs. Henthorne saw on the night of the drive-by shooting.”
“Probably. They had a big gun on a rack across the back window. I think it was a deer rifle. They had something in the back covered with a tarp. Andrews asked me to dig a deep trench, about seven or eight feet deep and about twenty feet long. Then he told me to take a break, drive down the road and bring back a soda water for everybody.
“When I got back, they had taken some fifty-gallon drums off the back of the truck and put them in the hole. You’d never believe what those drums had printed on the side.”
“What?”
“Agent Orange.”
“Jesus!” Frank shook his head. “You’re telling me he had you bury Agent Orange out there?”
“Yes, and what I’m going to tell you now is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to tell anyone in my life. I knew it couldn’t be legal. I should have driven away and reported him to the authorities, but I’m a coward, Frank. One of the Castro brothers had taken the rifle out of the truck and was sighting around in the trees with it. I went right ahead and buried the stuff, just like they wanted me to.”
“No telling what would have happened if you’d refused.”
“I had the feeling they’d be burying me along with that Agent Orange.”
“You never told anyone about this?”
“I tell you, man, I’m a coward. I’ve been afraid to. And now that he’s got me involved, he wants me to do more work for him.”
“You’re not a coward, Henry. You and I are going to do something about this. I still don’t see how Darlene’s accident is involved with this, though.”
“Andrews called me one evening and told me he had another job for me. I told him I wouldn’t be able to do it. He insisted, but I refused. Then two days later, we had the drive-by. He came to the door the next morning and asked me again. I told him no. He said he’d be back in two weeks. He threatened Ruby, and my daughter and grandson.” Henry’s voice started to quaver. “When he came back, I wouldn’t let Ruby answer the door.”
“You think Darlene’s accident was a result of this, that he intended to hit Ruby and got Darlene instead?”
“I’m not sure he meant to hit Ruby. He meant to scare her, to get me to cooperate. Maybe he didn’t even notice Darlene there behind the mail box till Ruby jumped out of the way.”
Frank sat for a moment looking at the cold water of the Frio flowing swiftly to the southeast to join the Nueces. Hidden there were the fish they had hoped to catch and fry for supper tonight. Catching fish no longer seemed important. There was no escaping the problems of the city, even out here on the Frio.
“Why would Andrews be so insistent that you do this work for him?” Frank asked. “Why wouldn’t he do it himself? Where did he get the bulldozer?”
“He borrowed it from his brother-in-law. I guess he doesn’t know how to run one, and his employees don’t either. He wanted someone experienced who could get the job done fast, before anyone figured out what was going on. Even if he knew how to run a dozer himself, you have to understand white trash like Andrews. He wouldn’t want to dirty his hands on a job like that. He wants a black man he can keep under his thumb to do his dirty work for him.”
Frank went into the camper and returned with fresh coffee. “The way I see it, you have three choices. You can continue to refuse and risk whatever pressure Andrews comes up with. You can go along with him, and get even deeper into this mess. Or you can expose him and bring this to a head.”
“None of those choices sounds good to me. I’d say it’d be better to expose him, but since I did the one job, I’m probably just as guilty as he is in the eyes of the law.”
“Letting the authorities know what happened is your only real choice. You can’t sit around and wait for him to hurt somebody in order to get you to cooperate, especially when he’s bound to figure that if you don’t cooperate, you may turn him in. Then he’ll get really dangerous. You can’t risk getting into this any deeper, either. The prosecuting attorney undoubtedly would agree to letting you off if you testify against Andrews. He might not be so willing to do that if you’ve repeatedly helped get rid of toxic waste out there at Andrews’ place.”
“Do you know what happens to Black men when they’re accused of a crime?” Henry asked. “I’d go to jail. No telling how long I’d be there till I could make a deal with the prosecutor. I was arrested once, thirty years ago. I had gone to a movie, and I was walking back to my car. The police picked me up and took me to jail. I hadn’t had anything to drink, but they said I was drunk. No telling what might have happened to me if I hadn’t been working for one of the most important men in my hometown. He came down and bailed me out the next morning. I told him I wasn’t drunk, but I doubt he believed me.”
“Times have changed since then. You’re not living in a small East Texas town now.”
“I don’t want to go to jail, not even in San Gabriel.”
“Before we go to the authorities, we’ll find a lawyer. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
“I know you will, but will any of this be enough to keep me out of prison?” Henry stood up and walked to the edge of the river. He turned to face Frank. “I’m afraid of Andrews. I’m afraid of the police. I’m even afraid of the Klan. I’m in bad shape, brother.”
“The Klan? We haven’t seen anything of them in San Gabriel in years.”
“They’re nearby. Drive east for an hour or two, and you’re in Klan country.”
“Why are you so afraid of them?”
“I was a little kid, just eight years old. We lived in the cotton fields in a sharecropper’s shack. We had an uncle who came and lived with us. He was a worthless bum, but a likeable one. Treated me better than my father did. The Klan came and dragged him off in the middle of the night. Said he was having an affair with a white woman. We never saw him again. He was a bum, but he didn’t deserve whatever they did to him. I dream about them sometimes.”
Frank didn’t know what to say. He looked at the river for a moment and then turned back to face Henry. “I’m afraid at times, too. I’m especially afraid for Darlene, home alone while I’m working all day and going to meetings at night. I’m afraid of the crime. We can’t sit home with the blinds drawn and let the neighborhood and the city go to hell, though.
“We’re afraid, but we aren’t cowards. You go out into the street with me to check on anything that looks suspicious. You even helped me the other night when Mrs. Henthorne’s new dog was barking so much, even though she’s the worst racist on the southeast side. You put aside your frustration with this and helped me check on her. And most important, you told Andrews no.”
Henry managed a grin. “I guess you’re saying I’m not a coward after all.”
“Right. We make a pretty formidable team, and we’re both fifty-nine years old. A lot of younger men on our street can’t do what we do, or I should say they won’t. They’re scared of their own shadows.”
Henry nodded. “As you said, my only real choice is exposing Andrews. Ruby might get hurt otherwise. Of course, she might get hurt if I expose him, too.”
“Tell her to stay at her mother’s. Tell her the plumbing isn’t working. If you tell her the truth, she’ll come rushing home to look after you.”
“I hate lying to Ruby.”
“It’s for her protection. I’m going to lie to Darlene, too, if I have to. She may have to go stay with Trudy for a while.” Frank caught himself starting to wonder whether she would insist on looking after him the way Ruby would Henry. He put this thought out of his mind. “If we turn Andrews in, we can pick our own time and be ready for his retaliation.”
Henry went into the camper and brought back the last of the coffee. “Are you saying we should go to the police without any proof and just tell them what happened?”
“No. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’re going home later today instead of tomorrow. We’ll park the camper behind your garage. Darlene and Trudy won’t see us if we go through the alley. It’ll be dark when we get there. We’ll take shovels and picks and go dig up the Agent Orange. Saturday night should be a good time to do it. There won’t be anybody around out there.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll dig down to it, and tomorrow morning we start contacting the sheriff, the EPA, the Texas Natural Resource Conservation Commission. I don’t know who would prosecute Andrews. The sheriff’s office probably can tell us. Undoubtedly they’ll have to get a warrant and go out there with us.”
Henry took a deep breath. “What a mess. I hope I’m not just dragging you down with me.”
#
The dirt in Hugh Andrews’ pit was surprisingly soft, although three months and several rains had come and gone since Henry buried the Agent Orange. Both men dug steadily and silently. They piled the dirt on either side of the growing hole. Their flashlights cast highlights and shadows on the rough earth around their feet.
They both heard the slight rustle in the nearby sumac trees and stopped to listen. “What was that?” Henry whispered.
Frank touched Henry’s arm and put his finger to his lips. After a minute’s silence, he whispered, “A deer, maybe.”
He lifted the pick again just as a rifle cracked and the bullet thudded into the dirt beside them. Henry switched off the lights, and they crouched in the hole as more bullets struck nearby.
“Who the hell is it?” Frank hissed.
“Probably the Castro brothers. Let’s get out of here.”
Frank dropped the pick to the bottom of the pit. “Why don’t they just kill us?”
“They’re probably not sure Andrews would want them to. Let’s go.”
“We can’t go to the truck. It’s too much out in the open.” Frank pointed. “Through those trees there. You go first. I’ll follow.”
“No. You first. I’m not leaving this hole till you’re in that grove. Get going.”
Frank scrambled from the hole and sprinted toward the trees. He stopped behind an enormous oak. The rifle cracked again. He heard Henry climbing out of the pit and coming toward him. He reached for Henry’s arm and pulled him behind the tree. “We’ll have to walk home. They’ll be watching the truck.”
“Let’s go this way, parallel to the highway. We can make it to the road when we get closer to town.”
They crept through the oak grove and skidded into a ravine. There was a small stream in the bottom; Frank felt water oozing into his sneakers. “Damn,” he murmured.
“You get wet, brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.” They struggled up the side of the ravine, clutching at roots and branches, and then stopped to rest a moment at the top.
“I don’t think they’re following us,” Frank said. “I don’t hear anything. It looks like a mesquite thicket ahead. Let’s follow the ravine over to the highway. I think there’s a fence along there. We can walk on this side of the fence and stay out of sight.”
It was after midnight by the time they reached Henry’s house. Frank got clean clothes from the camper and showered while Henry put their muddy clothes through a heavy duty wash.
Frank found it difficult to go to sleep in Henry’s spare bedroom. The street light shone through the blinds; he adjusted the slats. The pillow was flabby; he folded it and stuffed it under his head. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what their next move should be. The Castros would finish digging up the Agent Orange and move it before dawn. The proof they wanted to show the authorities would be gone. All they could do would be to wait for Andrews’ next move. He had them where he wanted them for now.
He thought of Monica Cruz and wondered what she would say about their problem. It would be a good idea to discuss it with her. Right now his biggest problem was Darlene. How could he get her out of the way of Andrews’ goons without alarming her. She would see the doctor Monday; then it would be two weeks till her next appointment.
Maybe it would be necessary to alarm her, to tell her what was happening, to get her to go to Dallas with Trudy. He had warned Henry that Ruby would come rushing home to look after him if she knew the truth. The assumption that Darlene would have no such reaction weighed heavily on him in the darkness of the unfamiliar room. In the daylight of his everyday life, he didn’t allow himself such thoughts. In the frustration and blackness of the night, a quiet misery descended on him and stayed until it was replaced by erratic slumber.
#
Frank woke to see the earliest gray of dawn casting fuzzy shadows around the edges of the blinds. He heard soft noises somewhere in the house; Henry must be up. Maybe he was making coffee. Frank couldn’t think of anything he needed more than a decent cup of coffee. The fragrance of the brew met him as he went downstairs.
Henry sat at the kitchen table with a mug in front of him. He got up and poured for Frank. “We’d better get out there and see what they’ve done to your truck. They may have slashed the tires.”
Frank nodded. “They probably stripped it. It wasn’t locked—it would have been easy for them. I can’t call the police. Andrews might charge us with trespassing, that’s the hell of it.”
Henry winced. “Don’t be using profanity on a Sunday morning, brother. Maybe you want to go to church with me later.”
“Sorry. I need to see about getting Darlene and Trudy out of here. You’d better call Ruby. Make up something about the plumbing. Tell her to stay another week.”
Early morning clouds hid the sun as they drove to Hugh Andrews’ lot. The truck appeared to be untouched. Frank raised the hood and checked underneath. They walked to the pit they dug last night. It had been filled in with the dirt they removed.
“They undoubtedly took the tanks out and refilled the hole,” Henry said.
“I’m positive they did.”
It wasn’t until Frank got into his truck and started it that he noticed a slip of paper under the windshield wiper. He got out and looked at it. Someone had scrawled in pencil, “it not your truck were after man.”
