Chapter 35
“The Pay-Off”
Marguerite, overcome by deep-seated jealousy, was sitting in her Oldsmobile waiting for Richard Goode in the parking lot of a Cajun restaurant on the outskirts of town. All she could think about was how her sixteen-year-old daughter had bettered her. Johnnie had a nice house and Marguerite thought she deserved one too. After all, she had earned it, she told herself. If she was going to get a nice house like that, she was going to have to take some drastic steps. Marguerite threatened to tell the Sentinel, a liberal New Orleans newspaper, of Richard Goode’s double life as the Grand Wizard preacher who regularly sleeps with a known black whore, if he didn’t fork over twenty-five thousand dollars.
Goode quickly agreed to pay her off. He couldn’t afford to have the Klan know of his flagrant hypocrisy. He had led them to believe that race mixing was not only evil, but no self-respecting white man would ever do such a thing. When he was asked why so many well-to-do white men did it during slavery, he explained it was necessary to create more mud people to increase profits. Since slavery was over, there was no need to create more mud people who would only end up dependent on good white Christians for their survival.
Goode told her he would pay her, but their relationship was over. Marguerite suggested meeting at their usual corner, but Goode refused that or the Savoy. He told her that not only didn’t he trust her, he didn’t trust Simmons or any other nigger anymore. Goode went on to tell her that if she could blackmail him, so could Simmons for the same reasons.
Marguerite smoked a cigarette while she waited and daydreamed about the kind of house she would buy in Ashland Estates. Johnnie told her that Earl paid twenty-five thousand for her house, and she hoped she could get one similar to hers for the same amount. Marguerite could see Goode’s dark blue Chevrolet in her rearview mirror. Goode slowed down enough for her to see that it was him. She started the car and followed him. They drove about twenty minutes south of the restaurant on a dark road. Finally, Goode pulled over and got out of the car. He was holding a duffel bag. Anxious to get the money he promised, Marguerite got out of the Oldsmobile and walked over to Goode with a bright smile.
“Hi, Richard, honey.” Marguerite laughed. “Just to show you there’s no hard feelin’s, I’ll give you one last spanking on the house.”
“Get in the car, bitch!”
Marguerite laughed a little more. She thought he was just playing his role as the dominant white man like they had done a hundred times before. She blinked twice when he pulled out the German Luger. She stared at the gun as though seeing a mirage.
“Get in, bitch!” he snarled and hit her in the head with the gun.
The blunt blow sent her reeling as a wave of blackness washed over her. She staggered like an old boxer fighting to maintain balance, and lost when her knees buckled. Marguerite heard another thump then she felt the pain just before crumbling to the ground. She could feel blood running down the side of her face. Desperate and weakened by the abrupt blows, she tried to crawl away from her brutal attacker.
“You black bitch!” Goode shouted and kicked her in the side as she crawled. “Did you really think you could blackmail me?”
“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!” Marguerite shouted, her mouth full of salty blood.
Goode kicked her again and she fell onto her back.
“Please don’t kill me, Mr. Goode,” Marguerite pleaded. “Please don’t kill me! I’ll do whatever you want! I won’t tell nobody! I swear I won’t! Just don’t kill me!”
Goode walked over to her and kicked her in the face. Marguerite could feel the side of her face swell like a helium-filled balloon. Somehow, she was able to get back on all fours. Her heart was pounding from intense fear. She crawled over to where he was standing and grabbed his boot, holding on for dear life.
“Beat me, Mr. Goode! But don’t kill me!”
Goode reached down and grabbed her blouse, pulling her limp body forward with each blow he delivered with the Luger. The beating was so severe that blood began to spurt from her broken nose. Lying on the ground, unable to move and barely conscious, Marguerite realized he would kill her no matter what. Her only chance was to try to get the gun from him, but she was too debilitated.
“Get up, you black nigger bitch!”
Marguerite tried to lift her head, but couldn’t. She knew she only had one chance to get the gun. She hoped he would come closer so she could try.
Goode stooped to see if she was conscious. When he tried to pick her up to continue the beating, Marguerite reached for the gun. She was so weak, all she could do was get her hand on it. He snatched the gun away with ease and backhanded her with it. She fell backward to the ground again. This time she was out cold. He went over to her car and let the air out of the driver’s side front tire. He wanted it to look like she had gotten a flat. That way, people would think someone came along and killed her.
But Sheriff Tate was sitting in his squad car watching it all. Tate had followed Marguerite to the Cajun restaurant without being spotted. He felt powerless to do anything now. The Klan was powerful. Tate was afraid that if he did anything, it would give the Klan a reason to go on a rampage, maybe even kill him and his family. He sat in his squad car, hoping Goode wouldn’t kill Margurite.
By the time Goode got back to Marguerite, she was conscious again, trying to crawl away. He kicked her in the side and she fell onto her back again. He put the Luger to her forehead and looked into her eyes. The terror he saw in them gave him a rush.
“Please, Mr. Goode,” she pleaded through bloody lips that had swollen to twice their original size. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t—”
Without mercy, Goode squeezed the trigger while she was still pleading, and ended her life. Pow! Then he got into his car and slowly drove away.
Sheriff Tate’s body jerked violently when he heard the shot and saw a quick flash of light. He knew Marguerite was dead and he wept.