“Theo, wake up,” John said, “we’re going to pay Mr. Payne a visit.” Theo was a heavy sleeper like his father. “Theo,” he said tapping him on the shoulder as he lay in a deep sleep, “wake up.”
Theo groaned, turned on his side, and saw a figure standing at his bedside. He rubbed his eyes, wondering whether he was dreaming. His father’s brown fustian trousers came into focus, then his father’s mahogany face, as his eyes drifted upward in an effort to understand why his peaceful sleep had just been punctuated. “Pa, it’s early in the morning.”
“That’s the time to catch him—in the act. We talked about this yesterday. Now hurry up and get dressed. And be quiet. Don’t wake up the rest of the family.”
They strode toward the rental. The sun was pushing itself up in the sky. The early morning temperature gave a hint of the hot day that lie ahead. “Okay, son, go put your rifle behind the tree like I told you. And hurry back.”
John checked to make sure his revolver was in place in the holster. He closed the jacket to his brown sack suit to hide the gun.
“Okay, let’s go knock on the door,” John said.
John knocked three times. No sounds could be heard coming from the house. It was quiet except for the early morning relaxing sounds of a few songbirds.
John looked at Theo, who was an inch taller than he. “Son, you’re taller than me; when did you pass your pa?” John said.
Theo shrugged his shoulders.
John knocked again. Nothing.
John said in a firm voice, “Mr. Payne, it’s John Davis. I need to talk to you.”
Theo looked at John. “You suppose he’s not home, Pa?”
“Could be, son, but I’m not leaving here till I find out.”
John knocked again. Nothing. John removed the door key from his pants pocket and inserted it in the keyhole. “I know this is the key to this door.” He turned it back and forth several times. “It’s not working. He changed the lock. I own this house. He’s in a heap of trouble.”
“Looks like we gotta break in, Pa.”
“You’re right, son.” John removed the revolver from his holster and cocked it, holding it tightly in his right hand. “Step back, son.” John kicked the door with his right foot. It gave a little. The next kick caused the door to fling open. “Quick, go get your rifle.”
The stench was quick to assault their olfactory nerves. Theo opened the living room window to remove the fug, but it wasn’t likely to do any good as the air outside was still and misty. They looked at the dice and playing cards on the gambling table in the living room. Open bottles of whiskey were strewn on the floor. John walked to the kitchen. Theo didn’t follow; he was sidetracked by pictures of naked woman plastered on the living room wall.
Payne was sitting in a chair slumped over the kitchen table. John grabbed the back of his shirt to raise his head. The front of his white pullover shirt was soaked in blood. John could see the entry wound. He was shot in the chest. John shook his head in disgust and slowly lowered Payne’s head back to the table.
John walked out of the kitchen and looked at Theo who was still gawking at the pictures. He wondered whether his fifteen-year-old son had ever seen a naked woman. It was too much to consider, and he quickly purged the thought from his mind. “Son,” John said breaking Theo’s concentration, “Mr. Payne’s dead. Someone shot him. Nothing good can come out of what he was doing. You remember that.”
Theo nodded.
“I’m going to look around some more down here; you see what’s upstairs,” John said.
“Anybody here?” Theo said as he opened one of the bedroom doors. He saw an unmade bed and a whiskey bottle on the nightstand.
He turned the knob to another bedroom door, but the door didn’t open; the door was jammed. He bore into the door with his right shoulder using enough force to cause the door to fling open. He immediately saw a girl under a thin bed sheet. She began to tremble at the sight of Theo’s rifle. As Theo started to say something, he noticed that her eyes darted about like a bird looking for a safe place to land. Her eyes settled on a closet. Theo put his left index finger to his mouth, telling the girl not to make any noise. Theo held the rifle in his right hand as he opened the door with his left hand.
As Theo turned around, a man leaped from behind the chest of drawers and rushed Theo, knocking the rifle to the floor. The man, at least thirty pounds heavier than Theo, had Theo pinned on the floor. Theo was a scrappy lad and had prided himself on his pugilistic skills, but this was a fight where there were no rules. Theo grabbed him tightly around the waist to limit the man’s ability to throw punches. But the man broke Theo’s clutch and punched Theo in the mouth. Theo yelled and covered his face with his hand to deter more damaged to the face. The man began to punch Theo in the ribs.
“Let my son go or I’ll kill you right where you are,” John said, pointing his revolver at the man’s head.
The naked man stood up, revealing a dumpy frame and thick arms that seemed designed to lift heavy objects and that would be useful in a brawl. Theo slid a few feet where he came to a rest against the wall; he felt his puffy upper lip and spit out blood.
“Get over there,” John said still pointing his revolver at the man. “Where’re your clothes?”
The man pointed to a pile of togs near the foot of the bed. John grabbed the man’s pants and shirt, and searched them for any kind of weapon. John threw the clothes at the man and said, “Put them on.” The man stood still with eyes that exuded fear. “Now!” John screamed at the man.
With a slightly calmer voice, John said to the girl, “I guess this is your dress,” as he held up the dress for the her to see.
She nodded.
“Here,” John said tossing it to the girl. The girl looked about Bessie’s age. “How old are you?” John asked.
“Fourteen.”
John looked at the man. “What about you? How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
John was incredulous; the grayish-black hair and deeply wrinkled forehead made him seem older. But John saw no need to quibble with the man about his age. “I own this place. Get the hell out of here.”
The man bounced down the steps with John behind him holding his rifle. As the man reached the front door, John said, “Hold it right there. Mr. Payne is dead. Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
“Go now. Don’t come this way again,” John said.
John turned around and saw the girl in her tattered dress traipsing down the steps. “Where’s my son?” he asked her. “He’s right there,” she said softly and pointed to the hallway on the second floor.
“I’m coming, Pa.”
“What’s your name?” John asked the girl.
“Hanna.”
Hanna’s vacuous eyes looked like those of a person who hadn’t eaten for days, like something emanating from a barren soul. She was afraid. “Hanna, you’re a pretty girl,” John said. She smiled a smile which seemed too womanly and sly for a young girl. John continued: “You shouldn’t be involved in this mess. You go to church?”
She shook her head.
“There are people who can help you. I want you to find your way to First Baptist. People there will help you. You hear?” John said, hoping she’d seek the church’s help to keep her off the road to perdition.
She nodded.
“You got a place to go?” John asked.
She nodded again.
“Go on,” John said.
John looked at Theo’s puffy upper lip and was glad he got there in time to prevent more harm to Theo. “Let’s get you home and fixed up. Your mama’s going to be upset.”
Theo felt his lip, then tugged on an incisor, wondering whether it would stay in its socket.
John closed the front door. “Son, we’re gonna need to get this house in repair to rent again. We need the money. Your mama’s going to have another baby.”