“These men are of quality stock—they’ll do nicely.” Thomas Diggs, the next day, examined the railroad workers the way he judged whether black men would make good slaves.
“Strong legs, big arms, muscular shoulders—I guess that’s attributable to you lifting things all day,” he said. “Are you any good with guns?”
Seven of Robert Culliver’s former co-workers queued on the barren railroad platform during their lunch break to meet Diggs. The next train to Spartanburg would arrive in sixty minutes. Franklin and Lyle sat on a nearby bench and watched their boss.
“We all served,” said Delbert Johnson, who spoke for the workers, not one of whom stood shorter than six feet. They wore different types of cowboy hats to block the sun. Each filled out greasy white T-shirts underneath blue overalls to convey uniformity. Their other common trait was the stink of men engaged in heavy labor.
“Why didn’t you join that Culliver chap and the other fellows when they decided to attack that wheat farmer?”
“Glad we didn’t.”
“Answer, please.”
“Found out about it kind of late. We wanted in on it, but their plans were pretty far along. Plus, we’re not too into camping in the woods. Right boys?”
The men grunted.
“Personally I didn’t see the need for all that sneaking around,” Johnson said. “The more you do it, the more likely you are to get caught by the Army or whoever.”
“Now we’re thinking alike. The sheriff’s men are a bother, but I’m confident we can elude them if we do this right,” Diggs said. “You see, I’m currently in the middle of a complicated real estate transaction.”
“You don’t usually bring guns to a land deal.”
“You do if one of the parties refuses to sell.”
Diggs briefed the railroad workers, and they couldn’t wait to participate once they learned the intended target.
“He has, we believe, men working for him—and that necessitates you boys joining us to eliminate them, if it comes down to that, and I suspect it will. They are skilled with blades, and likely proficient at hand-to-hand combat. Rumor has it they attacked the Sheriff’s Office last night and killed your friend.” Diggs paused, and then: “My condolences, of course. Now, the men you’ll be working with have had two separate encounters with this farmer, and not once were they shot at, but they came very close to being slaughtered like your colleagues.”
“Maybe they’re ninjas!” Franklin jumped from his seat, craving affirmation. “I read about them in the library. They’re these sneaky Japanese warriors that dress in black so you can’t see them. And they hop around and are good with swords.”
Diggs spun on his heels to address his employee.
“I don’t know which is more astonishing—that Franklin has identified a possible yet improbable explanation, or that Franklin can read.”
Lyle smirked while the others chuckled.
“Do me a favor, boy, remain quiet whenever you are in my presence except when I call on you for an opinion, which I can guarantee you will not be often.” Diggs did not look away from Franklin until he retook his seat awash in humiliation.
“I’m not going to ask you to kill anyone,” Diggs continued. “But you should be prepared to do it. If you’re not comfortable with that, please walk away now.”
“That’s all fine, but it’s not like we can drop everything and leave work when you want us to,” Johnson said.
“Nor would I expect you to. You’ll be notified at least two days in advance. Five-hundred dollars a man.”
The workers all nodded at each other while making happy man sounds.
“As a token of my appreciation, my men over there will pay you each twenty dollars for graciously agreeing to lend me a moment of your time.”
“When we doing this?” Johnson said.
“Soon. That’s all I can say. Despite what you might think, Toby Jenkins is an intelligent man and he surely knows an attack is coming. I won’t be rushing any of you into a situation where you could be blindsided. I won’t be standing idly by, either. I will be joining you in battle, so to speak. Although I’m hoping we won’t have to fire a shot until it comes time to putting a bullet into Jenkins’s head.”
The men said nothing. Five-hundred dollars would greatly supplement their meager incomes. They might have trouble sleeping after killing a former slave and his family, but they’d take the money all the same.
“Lyle, pay these gentlemen.”
The lackey rose and fished a wad of cash from his pocket. Diggs tipped his top hat to bid them adieu and praised Lyle as he approached.
“Very good suggestion, checking with these men.”
“Thank you, Mister Diggs.” Lyle made new friends while handing out the money.
Franklin sat hunched in his seat, sulking.
“Oh, get over it, boy.” Diggs walked over to him. “It’s not the first or last time someone’s put you in your place. Here.” He pulled from his pocket a ten-dollar bill and dangled it in front of Franklin, who reached up and grabbed the cash without looking at or thanking Diggs.
“Money don’t always make things better, Mister Diggs,” Franklin said to the ground.
“No, but seldom does it make things worse. Or would you like to give it back to me?”
“Nossir.”
“I don’t ask much of you, Franklin, and what I do ask for usually involves me paying you handsomely.”
“Never said you didn’t.”
“Good. Understand this: Part of your employment requires you take what’s coming to you when you get out of line—a little tongue-lashing never hurt anyone.”
“I ain’t your slave.”
“You’re most certainly not. My slaves knew their places after a while.”
“You know something? I don’t have to work for you.” Franklin still avoided eye contact.
“Then why do you?”
Franklin didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you why.” Diggs bent down to Franklin’s ear. “Men like you were created for a single purpose: To toil for men like me. I can exist without you. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t last long without me. Lyle said you were unemployed before he dragged you onto my plantation. I take it you couldn’t even hack it as one of those railroad men. Lyle informed me you worked on this very platform six months ago for all of one day. How many times did you drop a crate on your boss’s foot? Two times? Three?”
Franklin finally faced Diggs, who smiled and stepped back. “My boss bumped into me.”
“And that’s why I’m a better boss than that man. I don’t have to be around you when you work. That makes you more tolerable. I’m the brain, you’re the muscle. Never forget it.”
Diggs patted Franklin on the shoulder and left him. Franklin opened his huge right hand and saw the crumpled ten-dollar bill. He opted to spend some of it at the Tavern to hopefully make the pain vanish for a time.