Skeeter Crewes didn’t sleep the night after his ‘ride’ with Cedrick Hamilton. Nor the next, nor the next. He was more than troubled; he was scared, not so much by Hamilton’s offer or threat as he was by his own vulnerability. The money could change his life and the lives of Ettie and the children. It was a way out of a four-walled room of helplessness with no doors. A high school diploma only qualified you for pumping gas or flipping burgers, and, hell, where he lived you had to have transportation to do even that. Maybe it was the opportunity he had been waiting for, or maybe it was what the Covington County schools had prepared him for.
On the other hand, he had never purposefully broken the law in his life, and, despite the fact that he “would only be taking a three-day vacation”, as Cedrick characterized it, the implications went far deeper than that. He was astounded that Cedrick had allowed himself to get involved in drug smuggling. Because it was virtually impossible to effectively patrol all of the creeks, inlets and estuaries along the coastline, smuggling was rampant in the lowcountry, had been since Joe Kennedy brought his scotch in during Prohibition, but to think that Cedrick Hamilton, Covington County’s black superstar, was part of it was hard to believe. He was one slick operator. Skeeter wondered who else might be involved.
And what if they got caught? He would get caught, too. Nobody was going to protect Skeeter Crewes if they could deal him for a few years reduction in sentence. What would Ettie and the kids do if he went to jail? They couldn’t survive. Welfare wasn’t an option. They made a pact when they married that welfare would never be their solution for want or need. Neither he nor Ettie wanted to be a part of that stereotype. Before she accepted his proposal, she had looked him square in the eyes and asked, “Am I gonna ever see you sittin’ on the porch or around a spool table eatin’ pork rinds and drinkin’ beer on government money?” He had answered, “No”. She never had and he never would. That was another train of thought. Problem was the two trains weren’t on the same track. They were going in opposite directions, and he was in the middle.
There are times, he thought, when a man can’t go to his wife for help, no matter how much he loves her or respects her wisdom. There are decisions a man has to make to protect his loved ones from the pain of that decision-making process and its results. In those moments he is completely alone. For three days he had walked around with heavy lids, longing for sleep that wouldn’t come, for an answer, a direction. He even said a few prayers, but he wasn’t very faithful about going to church, so he was sure God wasn’t listening.
All of this was taking his life away, and he wasn’t even seriously considering what Cedrick and his group might do if he said no. The man had flashed a gun in response to that question. Cedrick wouldn’t do it, but someone else might. From a man of respect and admiration, an icon for every young black man and child in the county or country to emulate, Cedrick Hamilton had, in Skeeter Crewes’ mind, degenerated into just another worthless nigger who educated himself in order to take advantage of his brothers along with the whites he pandered to. The man had become everything he hated, if he hated anything. He was no salvation for anyone, black or white, maybe not even Cedrick Hamilton.
Skeeter was sitting on his front porch in a cane-bottomed rocking chair that Ettie had just redone. It wasn’t quite comfortable yet; that would take some wearing in. Finishing the woven seat and back had taken her awhile. A lot of years had passed since she spent her days at her momma’s side, weaving the sweet grass baskets they sold on the roadside on Route 37. She told him that even as a little girl, she would go to bed with her fingers aching and sometimes bleeding from grass cuts. She was a better-than-good woman, he thought, as he watched the sun burning out on the horizon. No way on earth could he hurt her.
There were no answers in the yard he was staring at, nor in the trees nor up in the sky where God was supposed to live. That made him angry. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in his life looking for answers because he didn’t have many questions. He was what he was. He accepted that, but it seemed that when you did need an answer, there should be one there for the taking. He was also where he was: back in that four-walled room, wearing a pair of Chinese finger-cuffs that left him helpless. He smiled when he remembered the little woven tubes they played with when they were children. Put a finger in each end, try to pull them out, and you were stuck. The harder you pulled, the more firmly caught they became. He wondered what brought that memory to the surface. A lot of strange thoughts occurred when one felt trapped, he guessed.
“Ettie,” he called out from where he was sitting, “I’m gonna walk over to Sam’s.” He had made his decision.
“Okay,” he heard from inside the house. “You be long?” She didn’t question her husband; he did the best he could. She never doubted that.
“I don’t think so. I’ll be back directly. I’ll see if I can talk Sam into bringing me back.”
“Be careful,” she said. Ettie always said “be careful” no matter who was leaving or what anyone was going to do.
It was a twenty-minute walk to Sam Larkin’s house, which would give him time to think and make sure he was doing the right thing. He trusted Sam, but it still amused him that a white, coon-ass from Louisiana had come to be his best friend.
Sam was dozing in the sun room when he heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to his deck. He couldn’t imagine anyone coming to call on him. He got up and went to the door as Skeeter Crewes was cocking his hand to knock.
“Got me,” Skeeter said.
“Skeeter? Come on in. What brings you out tonight? Anything wrong?”
“No, nothin’s wrong, Sam.”
“Something happen?”
“Naw, nothin’ like that. Well, somethin’ happened all right, but not like at the house or nothin’.”
“Come on in and sit down. I was about half asleep when I heard you. Want a beer?” Sam asked.
“A beer would be fine. Am kinda thirsty.”
When Sam brought in the beers, Skeeter was looking out over the marsh. This was no social call. He put the beers down and sat down himself. Neither of them said anything for a moment; there was no sound, but Sam could hear trouble like an echo in the wind.
“What’s the matter, Skeeter?”
“I’m tired, Sam. Tired of beatin’ my head against a brick wall. Tired of livin’ in a beat-up double-wide where there ain’ decent room for four people. Cain’t even have privacy with your own wife without bein’ worried about the children hearin’. I was thinkin’ the other night, used to be when me and Ettie was gettin’ it on, she’d scream and yell, and I’d grunt and moan, and now we have to be as quiet as if we was in church doin’ it behind the choir loft. Don’ seem much fun. We hardly ever think about it anymore.”
“Did you ever do that? In the church, I mean?” Sam asked with a grin.
“I ain’ tellin’, but you know what I mean.” He looked at Sam, his best friend. “No, I don’t guess you do.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Skeeter. Nothing we can’t take care of.”
“What I’m gonna tell you has to be ’tween us. Nobody else for right now. I ain’ even told Ettie and I don’t plan to.”
“You know me, Skeeter. The only people I ever talk to are you and myself, and I can trust both of them with a secret.”
Skeeter related the story of being picked up by Cedrick Hamilton, all of the innuendoes Hamilton threw at him before he got to the point, and, finally, the offer he made. Sam listened in silence. Nothing he heard was much of a surprise except who had offered it and the amount: twenty-five thousand dollars. That figure made Cedrick a serious player, more serious than he wanted Skeeter to know. That they would pick on Skeeter made him angry. They had done their homework and knew he was defenseless. When he was working in Louisiana, Sam had been offered deals from importers, their thinking being that if they could corrupt an environmental officer, they would be in a candy store of opportunity.
“Cedrick Hamilton. Hard to believe.” Sam was astounded.
“That’s who did it.”
“Does Hamilton have anything to hold over your head, Skeeter?”
“No.”
“I just can’t imagine him offering you that kind of deal without being afraid you’d go to the police. Big chance for him to take.”
“Who’s gonna b’lieve me I tell ‘em Cedrick Hamilton offered me twenty-five thousand dollars to take a vacation. Ain’ nobody,” Skeeter said. Sam knew he was right.
“I don’t like the man even though technically I work for him. Never did feel like he was trustworthy. He’s too slick. Still it’s hard to believe.”
“Sometimes you cain’t make an empty bag stand up.”
“Any idea who he might be in business with?” Sam felt strange when he heard the long-buried law enforcement officer in his thinking and his voice. He was already trying to put pieces together.
“Didn’t mention nobody, but I don’t reckon he would.”
“Well, that answers the question about Turner,” Sam said.
“What do you mean?”
“That had to be what he was doing out here,” Sam said.
“What?”
“Scouting for an off-load site. He was probably checking me out as well.”
“I don’t think they’d ever come on to you, Sam,” Skeeter said.
“They would if they had any leverage. They’re hungry and they’ve got a fork. They’ve got to stick it in something and eat. What’re you gonna do?”
“That’s what I come to ask you about. One minute I think one way, and the next minute I think the other. I ain’ a cryin’ man, but I sure have felt like it a coupla times the last few days.”
“What’s your gut feeling, Skeeter?” It was all getting deeper, becoming a swirling vortex that was sucking him in. Now he knew why Karen Chaney was in Covington. He wondered if she knew about Cedrick Hamilton.
“I don’ want to get in trouble. I cain’t go to prison.”
“No, you don’t want that, believe me.” Skeeter looked at his friend curiously.
“I don’t want to get killed either; that wouldn’t do Ettie and the kids no good; I ain’ got no life insu’ance.”
“Killed? Did Cedrick Hamilton threaten you?”
“Showed me a gun when I asked what he’d do if I say no.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Sam said.
“I don’t want to think about it. Makes it worse. That’s what keeps changin’ my mind. I cain’t figure why this has to happen to me. I ain’ done nothin’ to nobody.”
“That’s not the way it works, Skeeter. You don’t have to do anything. Things happen. It’s just the luck of the draw. What else did he say?” It was decision time for Sam Larkin, and a decision was the last thing he wanted to make. He had put this kind of stuff behind him, walked away, and that’s what his brain was telling him to do now, but his heart and his conscience wouldn’t let him.
“He didn’t say nothin’ else. Just that he would be in touch with me.”
“Skeeter, I don’t want to get involved in anything. That’s why I came to the lowcountry, but you’re my best friend, maybe the only one I’ve got here. I’ll help you in any way I can, and I might be able to do some things, but you’ve got to decide what side of the fence you’re gonna live on before I can say yes or no.”
“You know me, Sam. You think I could ever join up with them pieces of shit? Cedrick Hamilton ain’t nothin’ but a pimple on a mus’rat’s ass, but I ain’t so sure about who he’s workin’ with. I cain’t put Ettie and the children in no trouble.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about them. I have to believe if Hamilton’s involved, they’re all locals, and locals have to live here. Getting rid of a guy is one thing. But taking out a family or hurting children is not a local’s way of handling things.”
“If you say so,” Skeeter said, not feeling any relief, yet looking for hope. “So what am I s’pose to do?”
“Did he say when he’d get back to you?”
“Naw. Jus’ he’d be in touch. Could be tomorrow.”
“I doubt it. They’ll want you to start spending that twenty-five thousand dollars in your head and convincing yourself you’re doing no wrong. When he does get back to you, you’re going to have to stall him. Whatever you do, don’t say ‘no’.”
“What you gonna do?”
“You’re going to have to trust me, Skeeter, but I promise I won’t let you get hurt. I sure as hell don’t want in on this, but I don’t seem to be able to stay out and that pisses me off.”
“Sam, I didn’t mean to...”
“You didn’t do anything. What’s the point of having a friend if you can’t go to him. And you’re not the only one who’s asking for help. I had a feeling something was about to happen. Know one thing, Skeeter. This is not going to be easy. And we’re going to have to deal with a lot more than Cedrick Hamilton. Like you said, he’s just a pimple on a coon’s ass.”
“Mus’rat’s ass,” Skeeter said and smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”
“You’re welcome. Let me give you a ride home. It’s dark out there.”
“I’ll let you do that. Was plannin’ on it anyway.”
Relief was wonderful, almost as good as an exceptional orgasm. She once heard a therapist on a talk show discussing something called a full body orgasm, wherein all the muscles and nerves of the entire body experience the same physical response and reaction that a small number of nerves and muscles do in what is accepted as a normal climax. Although she had never experienced one herself, she had a friend in New Jersey who claimed several such reactions, describing them as pleasure bordering on pain and requiring a full-day recovery period. Her friend added that it was worth the price.
Morgan was fascinated and did some research to see if such a thing really did exist. She found it was a medical reality. Releasing herself from Bill Reichert and all he brought with him felt almost as good as she imagined that level of orgasm to be. She didn’t realize how uncomfortable and constricting the last few months had been until they were over.
The four days since her return from Mexico had been glorious. Reichert was never a smothering entity in her life—she wouldn’t allow that—but he was a burden, a cloud in the distance that once in awhile passed over, dropping rain at its whim. The days of sunshine they experienced in the beginning became few and far between, which made her wonder why she let it go on so long.
Morgan did not allow negatives much thought. Her husband spent their whole married life and his own life before they were married living frugally to amass a fortune, so they could live well when he retired. There were many things he wanted to do. He told her his dreams, and she shared them with him. It would be a magnificent life. Then, out of the blue, old Master Death visited, pushed him in the chest and left laughing. She vowed that the sum total of her life would never be measured in unfulfilled dreams and presumptions on the future. Needs came first; prudence and frugality be damned.
It was not a good beach day. The sun came out for brief periods, then tucked itself behind light clouds. The day was restless, couldn’t make up its mind what it was going to do and neither could she. Shopping was a consideration, but she didn’t need anything. A movie was a possibility; however, when she looked in the newspaper, there was nothing showing that held any interest for her. Charleston or Savannah were thoughts. She could spend the night, have a nice dinner, and there were friends in both places she could call. It was a plan. While she was mulling over which city she would rather visit, the telephone rang. She made herself comfortable on the couch, looked out to the ocean and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” Her voice wasn’t designed, though a few friends good-naturedly accused her of that. The natural softness of her speech, rounded pronunciation with no hard edges and a pitch that was resonant and earthy, made it gloriously sensuous. It was the way she spoke all the time unless she was angry.
“Is this the lady with the fascinating name?” The question caught her momentarily off-guard. It was a man’s voice, gentle and unfamiliar.
“Some people have said that,” she said, her lips forming a smile. “Who is this?”
“You haven’t told me who you are. How do I know I’m speaking to the right person?”
“You called.”
“So I did. All right, let’s start again. I am trying to reach Morgan Hannah. If you’re not she, you might know her or have seen her: lovely, blond, wouldn’t dare guess her age, tall, statuesque and elegant. From a purely physical stand point. Of course I’ve never had a conversation with her, so she might have the intelligence of a fig. I really couldn’t say. Know her? Seen her around?” Morgan was amused.
“Are you insane?”
“Some people have said that.”
“Touché. Yes, I am Morgan Hannah and I’m quite smart. Though I’m not a member of Mensa, I do read books that require above average intelligence. I also read some that don’t require much beyond the ability to read. Now that you have my resume would you please tell me who you are before I hang up?”
“If I tell you my name, you won’t know me; few people if any do.” He heard the line disconnect.
Morgan Hannah did not put the telephone down. She sat back, watched the ocean and waited. Within a minute the telephone rang again.
“Is this the madman?” she asked.
“Some people have said that. My name is Brad Coleman. I’m sure you don’t remember me.”
“Walking on the beach with Charles Clay.” Morgan felt an acceleration in her chest, not only because she had probably blasted him out of his chair with her memory, but also that he called. Twice. It was hard to forget the tanned, lean body, its height, the sandy-colored hair and the warm smile. Nor had she forgotten the gentlemanly, if somewhat reserved, attitude he displayed in their brief meeting. There was little about what she had seen of Brad Coleman that was forgotten.
“You are amazing,” he said.
“I don’t think you believe that. I’m sure you fully expected me to remember you, or you wouldn’t have called and tried to overwhelm me with glibness.” She was smiling. She didn’t know him, as he said, but, given the opportunity, she intended to correct that.
“Hope and surety are far apart.”
“May I ask what brings this call? And, by the way, how did you remember me? Are you amazing, too? And don’t say, ‘Some people have said that.’”
“You are a memorable woman. Whether my remembering you qualifies as amazing, I don’t know, but I’m certain you know all that. The reason for my call is that I am going to be staying at Charles’ beach house for a few days next week and wanted to ask if you might show me around if you’re free.”
“I’m flattered. I think that would be lovely. When are you arriving?”
“Probably Thursday.”
“I shall look forward to it,” Morgan said.
“I’m not a madman.”
“That will have to be determined,” she said. “Call me when you get here.”
“I will do that,” he said, “and thank you.”
Morgan Hannah got the feeling that she was about to embark on an adventure new to her experience. She had thought about Brad Coleman a few times, wondered who he was and why he was with Charles Clay. He was handsome with an élan that was not distinguishable in any of the men she knew in Covington. It would be interesting. His call made her decision about the day. Charleston. Shopping. Now there were things she needed. She was humming as she began to dress.
Charley Clay sat at the desk in his office, looking over a report he had received from an aide to the Covington Congressional District’s representative. It had taken some fancy finagling, money and pressure to get the information on the school district audit, and he wasn’t pleased with what he saw. What he now realized, what Cedrick Hamilton neglected to tell him, was that the audit was just a small part of a massive effort to clean house. He wondered if Cedrick knew he was about to be skewered. It would take time, of course, months, maybe a year or two, but whoever was behind the investigation was serious. It had gone into places no one ever looked.
According to the report, there were conflicts of interest in awarding virtually all new construction contracts to the district finance officer’s brother, unfair hiring practices, fraud involving the money path between individual school’s budget requests and disbursements that allowed thousands of dollars to go unaccounted for, possibilities of sales tax fraud, secret board meetings that violated the Freedom of Information Act, kickbacks, falsification of certification records, civil liberties violations and more. It was a mess that was beyond Charley Clay’s ability and influence to handle. Cedrick Hamilton had put himself in an untenable position. He was becoming a liability, which was one thing The Company did not need. Nothing would happen before the next venture, but that was not a great relief. The man might survive the locals and the state, but not the federal government. Someone with a knowledge of what he was doing had blown the whistle.