Fiction Friday

SUNDOWN IN ZION

CHAPTER FOR

(Our hero, Gideon Nelson entertains a young friend who is upset over the murder of a friend and classmate. Last week, Nelson suggested that young Martin tell him the whole story.)

While Martin collected his thoughts, Nelson rose from the table and walked to a kitchen counter where he grabbed a sack of chips. He opened it and laid the bag in front of Martin. “Take your time,” he said.

            Martin reached and took chip but didn’t eat it. He looked at it and then at Nelson. He placed the chip on the table and looked at his drink. Finally, he said, “Her name is, … was, Abbey Stubblefield and she was special.”

            Nelson nodded but said nothing.

            “She was probably the smartest person in our class. I have a higher grade-point because she liked to argue a little too much for some of the teachers.” He toyed with the chip. “But she was smarter. She was smarter than anyone.” He stopped talking looked at the ceiling.

            “Go on,” Nelson said.

            “She … her family that is, lived in Jacksonville, then moved to Little Rock so could attend Central High. That’s the best school in the state next to the Math and Sciences School.”

            Nelson said, “Jacksonville …where the Air Force Base is?”

            “Yessir, her father is retired military. He was originally from the backwoods of Alabama somewhere but they stayed in Arkansas after his retirement.” Martin stopped again and thought. “He doesn’t talk much about his life before the Air Force.”

            “Brothers and sisters?”

            “She was an only child.” This time Martin took longer to regain his composure. “Mr. Nelson, I can’t begin to tell you how much she meant to that man and his wife.”

            This time it was Nelson who had difficulty talking. “I can only imagine,” he said.

            Martin continued, suddenly seeming to be in a hurry. “She was a little adventurous,” he said. “Like I say, she would argue about anything, but she wasn’t arrogant. It was cute ..” he stopped. “I can’t use that word for her. It was …,” he thought, “disarming.”

            He took a sip from his drink and continued. “She just liked to explore things to their fullest. Do you know what I mean?’

            “I think I do,” said Nelson. “Go on.”

            “Well she had started studying religion,” he said. “If you ask me, it was from a scientific angle, not a spiritual one.”

            “How do you mean?”

            “She would go to these different churches,” Martin said. “She told me she was trying to figure out why there were so many different doctrines.” He smiled, “She would laugh and say she wanted to find out which one of them was right, so she could choose wisely.”

            “Was she a believer?”

            “She was a scientist,” Mr. Nelson. “And she would have been one of the greatest.”

            “So what happened?”

            “She went to this church over at Connerville,” Martin said. “and that’s when it started.”

            “What started?”

            “We all told her not to go,” Martin said, ignoring Nelson. “They don’t like black folk over there one bit. We said she was crazy to even think about it.”

            “What did she say?”

            “She said, ‘Hell man, it’s a damn church. They got to love everybody, even little black girls.’”

            “She say anything else?”

            “She said, ‘I’ll win them over with my smile.’”

            “Did she?”

            Martin looked at him and squinted. “Not hardly.”

            “What happened.?”

            “Well,” said Martin, drinking from his glass, “the first time she went they just ignored her. She said she thought she had turned invisible or something. The preacher did shake her hand when she left.” He stopped.

            “But?”

            “But he sure as hell didn’t ask her back.”

            “So?”

            “She went back anyway. She usually only went to a particular church once. But this time she went back.”

            “Why?”

            “Mr, Nelson, if I knew I would tell you. She was just that way. Her daddy says she always has been.” He smiled at a thought. “He told me one funny story on her.”

            “What was that?”

            “They were stationed in South Carolina when she was in the seventh grade and she entered the science fair. She built this series of interconnected fish tanks and bred male fish with different sized tail fins. She could open gates between the tanks and demonstrate how females of the species would select males with the largest fins. Her parents said it was really something.”

            “And?”

            “First prize went to a white boy who grew plants watered with different liquids—pure water, water mixed with blood, milk, and other things.”

            “He won for that?”

            “It was South Carolina, Mr. Nelson.”

            “I see. So what did she do?’

            “She showed up at the awards ceremony in a white lab code, carrying a clipboard, and wearing a friend’s old graduation cap. Marched up on the stage just before the ceremony started and began asking the judges questions about the standards they employed in their decisions. She was taking notes like she was some serious academic.”

            “And?”

            “She got expelled.”

“Expelled?”

“Expelled. Only reason it didn’t stay on her permanent record was her dad’s base commander liked her and had sort of taken her under his wing. He got involved.”

            “Hard-headed, then?”

            “She could be."

            Nelson sipped his whiskey and freshened it. “So she went back to the church?”

            “The very next Sunday.”

            “How were they this time?”

            “She said this time they weren’t warm and friendly like before.”

            Nelson looked surprised.

            “She was being sarcastic, Mr. Nelson.”

            “Tell you what, Martin, why don’t you try ‘Gideon’ on for size. I’m already feeling old and missing your point makes it worse.”

            Martin laughed. “Okay Mr… Gideon. Anyway, she said the second time she got there before the crowd and took a seat in an empty aisle. Before she knew it, two large boys moved in from her left, two from her right, and two more sat right behind her.”

            “What then?”

            “They began to squeeze her from either side until she felt, as she put it, ‘like her butt was getting a mammogram,’ whatever that means.”

            Nelson laughed. “She sounds witty.”

            “She is …,” Martin said. “Was.”

            “So did they do anything else?”

            “The one in back would lean forward and cough on the back of her neck. A nasty sort of cough if you know what I mean.”

            “Afraid so. Did anyone witness this?”

            “They must have,” Martin said. “But nobody intervened.”

            “So she didn’t go back?”

            “She was going to,” Martin said. “She said she flashed her Number One Point-Five smile at the preacher when she left and said ‘I’ll see you next Sunday’ but he didn’t look too happy about it.”

            “Why didn’t she go back?”

            “We had a project due at school and we all stayed there for the next weekend. Anyway, someone found out who she was and,” he reached for his backpack, “these started showing up on her e-mail.”

            He fumbled with a stack of papers and Nelson said, “How did they find her, do you reckon?”

            “Somebody must have recognized her. Connerville isn’t that far away and Abbey was pretty well known in the area for her academics and sports.”

            “Sports?”

            “She was a world-class swimmer.” He laid some papers on the table and pointed to them. “These came on her e-mail and she forwarded them to me. I made copies for you.”

            Nelson pulled the papers toward him but before he read them, he looked at Martin. “But she didn’t go back?”

            “She got killed the next Saturday. So, no, she never went back.”

            Nelson nodded in understanding and read the first copy.

            An email from “hisworker” read, “We think you would be happier at a nigger church, bitch. Don’t come back to ours.” Nelson turned it over and laid it aside.

            Another one, this one from “hisgreaterglory” read, “if u come back to our church u want be welcome and it will be a denger to u.”

            The third was more menacing still, “hisharvestworker” wrote, “The only nigger we want in our church is a dead one so we can teach our dogs what to hunt.”

            Nelson stopped at this point. “Are the rest the same?”

            “Pretty much so,” Martin said. “There is one that asks if she want to meet him for sex so she can say she achieved her dream of doing with a real man before she died.”

            “I’ll take your word for it,” Nelson said. “Seems like a nice bunch of folks. Tell me about this church.”

            “It’s a big one,” Martin said. “one of the biggest in this area … ‘Connorville Baptist Tabernacle,’ they call it.”

            “Odd name for it,” Nelson said.

            Martin nodded. “You may have heard of it,” he said. “They get in trouble every time there’s an election.”

            “An election?”

            “For telling their folks who to vote for,” Martin said. “and it isn’t the candidate who likes black folks the most.”

            Nelson nodded. “Let’s get back to Abbey. Do they have any idea who murdered her?”

            “That’s what the problem is,” said Martin. “they, the police in Connerville,  don’t seem to care who murdered her.”

            Nelson said, “What do you mean, they don’t care?”

            “They say it isn’t their problem. The Chief of Police says he is through with it.”

            Nelson leaned back in his chair and thought. Then he said, “Someone is found murdered in their city and they say it isn’t their problem.”

            “They set her up in their report like she was a gangbanger and said she was likely murdered in Little Rock and just dumped in Connorville.” He began to tremble slightly and stopped to compose himself. “They say she is Little Rock’s problem if she is anybody’s.” His voice trembled.

            Nelson waited and sipped his whiskey.

            Martin said, “They act like she was some abandoned car the found on the side of the road.”

            “What did they think about the e-mails?”

            “They don’t know about the e-mails.”

            “Didn’t you report them?”

            “I tried.”

            “What happened?”

            “I called the police department and told them I had some information to report. The Chief called me back and said to call the Little Rock Police Department.”

            “I tried, but they said it wasn’t their case. So I called Connorville back.”

            “And?”

            “The Chief told me that I would have a much brighter career if I were to mind my own goddam business.”

            Nelson said, “Did you try make them public. Go to the newspaper? The FBI? Any other law enforcement folks?”

            “Not yet. I talked to Dad and he said something about a Negro Rule and that I could talk to you.”

            “Don’t get involved in white folks business,” Nelson said. “Rule Number Two.”

            “That’s the one,” Martin said. “So here I am. Mr. … Gideon, they had her strapped to a sheet of plywood, face down with her arms spread out like Jesus on the cross.”

            “Shot?”

            “Once in the head.” He began to tremble again.

            “Take it easy,” Nelson said. Let that image fade out of your mind and replace it with a better one. Pain is just a thought process. That’s all it is.”

            Martin looked away and breathed in an out. His muscles relaxed and he looked at Nelson. “It worked,” he said. “Where did you learn that?”

            “Have a chip,” Nelson said, pushing the bag closer to him. “I’ll get us some fresh ice.”

            Martin took some chips and began eating while Nelson took another glass from a cabinet and filled it with ice. He returned to the table and poured cubes into each of their drinks. He sat.

            “Why do you think I could help?”

            “You’re the man,” Martin said, smiling. “Everyone knows that.”

            Nelson smiled. “I’m flattered,” he said. “But I’m also just a common old veteran on disability with no training in law enforcement.” He stopped. “The legal type anyway.”

            “You’re not that old,” said Martin. “Dad says maybe 30 or so?”

            “Close,” Nelson said. “But I don’t see what I can do?”

            “You got Bobby Johnson out of the pen when he was sent up for something he didn’t do. You must know something.”

            Nelson said, “I stumbled onto that one. I probably wouldn’t be lucky again.”

            “Gideon,” Martin said. “Somebody’s got to make this right. We can’t let Abbey go down in history as a gangbanger that just got sassy with the wrong person.”

            “I have no authority in this type situation whatsoever,” Nelson said. “I don’t know a soul in the city you mention and I probably know a half-dozen in Little Rock,” he paused. “And of course I didn’t know Abbey all.”

            “At least go talk to her mom and dad,” Martin said. “They’ll tell you all you need to know about her.” He stopped suddenly and looked away. When he looked back, his face showed a new control. “And it would mean a lot to them to know that some white person around here was interested.”

            Nelson shook his head. “I don’t know, Martin.”

            “There is always Negro Rule Three,” Martin said.

            “I didn’t know you knew that one.”

            “I do,” Martin said. “And it is true: white folks’ shit gotta stop someday.”

            They talked on but Nelson never committed beyond asking around if anyone he knew had suggestions. If Martin was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he showed the steady optimism that is so typical of his race. He never allowed Nelson to close the door entirely on this new adventure.  Finally, he said he had best get on the road to Armistead.

            Nelson showed Martin to the door and closed it quietly behind him. He turned back into the room and smiled. He waited until he heard Martin’s car start before he moved. Then, a tingle shot up the back of his neck. He heard a muffled voice from outside.

            He turned and stepped quickly to the door and opened it. Outside, Martin had backed his car onto the street and was turning north. Across the street was a dark pickup truck facing the same direction with the driver’s window open toward Nelson’s house. The driver leaned out and Nelson heard the word “Asshole.” Making out the dark outline of a semi-automatic pistol, he bolted through door.

            As he did, the driver, who wearing a ski mask and baseball cap, saw him and the night exploded with the sound of screeching tires and a screaming engine as the truck shot away. It disappeared quickly. Nelson ran to check on Martin, who immediately rolled down his window.

            “What the …?” Martin said.

            Nelson said, “Did you know him?”

            “I didn’t see him,” Martin said. “I just heard him yell ‘hey asshole’ a couple of times.”

            Nelson stared into the night. “Maybe just some local thug having fun,” he said. “Probably nothing.”

            “Maybe,” Martin said. “Scared the shit out of me, though.”

            “You head straight home,” Nelson said.

            “You think I’m gonna, like, chase him down?” Martin said.

            “Straight home,” Nelson said. “And you watch out for yourself.”

            “Thanks for being here for me,” Martin said. “And please think about doing justice for Abbey.” Before Nelson could respond, Martin rolled up his window and eased away into the city night.

            Nelson watched until he was out of sight before he walked back to his porch. He looked both ways, and went inside. Once in, he walked the table and poured two fingers of whiskey into his glass. He sat and drank. He turned over one of the sheets of paper Martin had left and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. He closed his eyes and thought.

            He wrote down the license number of the truck.