Chapter 85
“The day of reckoning is here.”
Richard Goode didn’t realize he was being followed until he was halfway across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. Thoughts about his new demimonde distracted him, having finally found a black prostitute willing to do all the things Marguerite used to do. His preoccupation with black whores caused him many sleepless nights. Being a preacher with such thoughts about women, especially black women, produced a moral battle within him.
He fought long and hard against his flesh, but in the end, his flesh won out more times than he’d like to remember. Recalling that the Apostle Paul was known to beat his body to bring it into submission was an idea that would surely work for him. In his twisted mind, he needed to be severely beaten for being who he was—the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Who better to punish him for his bisexual tendencies than a black woman who he swore never to bed? Besides, no self-respecting white woman would do such things, even if she were a whore. However, another problem arose.
At some point, he began to enjoy the beating. In fact, the idea of being beaten with a riding crop appealed to his latent homosexuality. Before long, he gave into that as well. Soon, he accepted who he was—a hedonistic bisexual whose political beliefs mirrored those of Adolf Hitler.
He decided to wait until he was off the twenty-nine mile bridge before he made a run for it. The plan was to get home and get his shotgun. Exiting the bridge, he immediately turned off the headlights and floored it. Constantly looking in his rearview mirror, he could see dust flying everywhere. It wasn’t long before he saw the Cajun restaurant where he met Marguerite. Whoever was following him, they were gaining ground, he thought.
Up ahead, he saw the lights of his farm about three miles away. Seconds later, Bubbles pulled up right next to him. Something inside Goode compelled him to see who was chasing him. He looked over and saw Napoleon and Bubbles; both were smiling. Instantly, Napoleon pulled out the German Luger and pointed it at him. Fear gripped Goode and he swerved off the road into a ditch. Goode managed to get out of the wrecked car and ran through the cornfields toward his house.
“He’s heading for the house!” Bubbles shouted. “Lucas, drive up there and we’ll run him right to you.”
Lucas’ tires spun, throwing dirt and gravel. His adrenaline flowed and he found the excitement intoxicating. Goode was only about thirty yards ahead of Bubbles and Napoleon, but he was running for his life. His only chance was to get to the barn before they caught up with him. His heart beat like kettle drums, but he was almost there, almost safe. Goode was just about to run into the barn when Lucas, running at full speed, tackled him with the ferociousness of a Lawrence Taylor sack.
Goode screamed when several of his ribs almost gave way to Lucas’ broad shoulder. The timing of the hit was executed perfectly. Lucas stood over his victim and said, “Now, that’s how you hit a muthafucka. Eat your heart out, Grambling.”
Just then, Napoleon and Bubbles arrived, panting and sweating profusely.
“Let’s finish this bastard!” Lucas shouted, kicking him in the ribs.
“Wait,” Napoleon commanded. “Let me catch my breath.”
Johnnie watched what was happening from the car, taking it all in. She needed to see him. She needed to look into his face and see this evil man who killed her mother.
“What’s going on, fellas?” Goode finally said, catching his breath. “What did I ever do to you?”
Goode heard the car door slam shut and heard footsteps coming toward him. As the person came closer, he could tell it was a woman.
Johnnie looked down at him with a disgusted look on her face. “The day of reckoning is here, preacher,” she said.
Narrowing his eyes, Goode began to recognize the woman. “I know you,” he said, “You’re Marguerite’s daughter.”
Bubbles grabbed Goode by the lapels and snatched him to his feet. “Stand up when you address a lady.”
Goode laughed. “A lady? Ha! I bet she’s a whore just like her bitch of a mother was before I put her outta her misery.” He laughed again. Lucas hit him in the nose, then in the body.
“All right,” Napoleon said. “Let’s get this over with. Johnnie, you got anything you wanna say to this worthless piece of shit?”
“Yeah. I wanna know why you did it. Why did you kill my mother?”
“Because the black bitch tried to blackmail me, that’s why! She threatened to go to the Sentinel about our arrangement. Wanted me to buy her a house in niggertown so she could be near you. The dumb bitch actually believed me when I agreed to do it.” He laughed. “If you sow to the wind, you reap the whirlwind. She got what was comin’ to her, and I’m gonna get what’s comin’ to me, and I don’t regret a damned thing. Now, let’s get it over with.”
“Anything else, Johnnie?” Bubbles asked.
“No, nothing,” she said sadly, realizing that her good fortune had in some way caused the death of her mother.
“You’re just like her,” Goode shouted just before the beating began. “You’re a good for nothin’ black nigger whore! Don’t forget that! You can’t change what you are!”
From the car, she watched the professional beating. The first blow to the nose with the German Luger was difficult to watch. His blood sprayed like a mist when the gun connected. Lucas and Bubbles took turns beating him mercilessly with brass knuckles and the Luger. The repeated blows to the face nauseated her, but Johnnie found the strength to continue watching—she owed it to her mother. Surprisingly, Goode never cried out, never begged for his life. With each blow, he looked at her and smiled. Is he enjoying this, Johnnie wondered?
It’s true. What Richard Simmons told me is true. She was beating him in that hotel room. Am I just like her? Or am I worse? I don’t know anymore.
“Is that enough, Johnnie?” Napoleon asked after taking a drag of a cigarette.
Johnnie snapped out of her moment of introspection. She looked at Goode, who still had a superior grin on his pulverized face. “I want him to feel what she felt. I don’t want him smiling before he dies.”
“This sick son-of-a-bitch ain’t gon’ ever feel like that, Johnnie,” Bubbles said. “He loves this shit. I’m gettin’ tired of whipping his ass.”
“Lucas, take his pants off,” Napoleon ordered. “We’re gonna cut the muthafucka’s nuts off.”
“No!” Goode shouted, suddenly gripped by fear. “Don’t cut my balls off.”
“Oh, you afraid now, huh?” Bubbles asked sarcastically.
“No! Don’t do it. Please don’t do it,” Goode pleaded.
Bubbles and Lucas held the half-naked man down while Napoleon castrated him. “Aaaagh!” Goode screamed when he felt the sharp blade cut into his flesh.
Johnnie had seen enough. She could no longer watch the mutilation. She turned away and covered her ears. Even with them covered, she could hear his screams. “Enough!” Johnnie shouted, still looking away. “Just do it.” And with that, Bubbles put the Luger to the Klansman’s head and fired.