Déjà Vu

Sundown in zion

Chapter forty-two

            “Tell you what,” Sheriff Love said. “I’ve a terrible bad taste in my mouth. Let’s you and I stroll over to the Cotton Bowl and have a fresh cup of coffee and a sandwich.”
            “Couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself,” Nelson said.

            The cool morning had turned into a humid afternoon as the men walked slowly along the two blocks to the diner. Sheriff Love pointed to the improvements around the square where old buildings had received new life with tasteful renovations and a new generation of businesses in each. “We had a young lady from the state come over and give us advice on how to restore these tired old structures,” giving a short history of each building. “They were all built by the good old boys of the day,” he said. “Know what made them different from the shakers and movers running things today?”

            “They didn’t have cell phones?”

 “Didn’t need them,” the sheriff said. “Anybody that was of any use to them was within shouting distance.”

            “So what then,” Nelson said. “Were they more honest?”

            “Oh hell no,” the sheriff said. “You’d never find a more greedy and squirmy bunch.” He stopped to pick an empty coffee cup from the sidewalk. He pitched it into a receptacle along the way and continued. “No,” he said, “the difference was that after they had taken care of themselves, and their buddies, they did, oftentimes, take care of the citizens.” He stopped, thought, and then said, “At least the white ones.”

            “And now?” Nelson said.

            “A bunch of greedy and morally-bankrupted souls who wouldn’t help a crippled widow across the street. This new bunch is mean. I’m saying mean-spirited and vicious. They don’t want to help anyone, white or black. In a way, you might say, they want to treat everyone the way their ancestors just treated black folks.”

            “You always manage to cheer me up, Sheriff,” Nelson said.

            “Just don’t trust anyone around here,” the sheriff said. “Even me.” He laughed, opened the door to the diner, and ushered Nelson inside.

           The diner was empty as its two waitresses sat drinking coffee and resting from the noon crowd. One motioned the two arrivals to sit anywhere, rose, picked up two menus and ambled to where they had chosen to sit. “Hey Hon,” she said to Sheriff Love, “who’s the cutie you brought with you?”

            “A dangerous sex offender I’m feeding before I transport him to death row, His specialty is strangling his victims just when they start yelling ‘Oh god, oh god.’ He calls it “Coming through the die.’ Want to take him back in the storeroom with you?”

            “Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “My feet hurt too bad today. Y’all want something to drink?” We don’t serve beer to public officials or sex offenders.”

            “Some fresh coffee and a glass of water would suit me fine,” the Sheriff said. He opened the menu and began to study it.

            Nelson nodded to the waitress for the same. She started to turn, but stopped. “Tell me something,” she said to Sheriff Love.

 “I’m still married and not allowed to without a permission-slip,” he said. “And you know how many times she’s refused to grant me one so far, even for you.”

            She ignored the comment. “Why do you always study that menu. You know you’re gonna order the same damn thing you always do.”

         “I think today I’ll have the cheese sandwich, instead,” he said. He turned to Nelson.

“They make the best cheese sandwiches on the block.” He handed his menu to the waitress.  She rolled her eyes. “Bite me,” she said. “I’m not even gonna bring you a menu next time.” She looked at Nelson. “You need some time, Hon?”

            “Cheese sandwich sounds fine to me as well,” he said.

            “Hummf,” she said before taking the menus and wandering away.

            Nelson winked at the Sheriff. “An admirer?”

            “Her old man runs a feed store,” the sheriff said. “They say he has the biggest schlong in Armistead County. She wouldn’t hold hands with another man for ten thousand dollars, but waitresses that can put on the act make lots in tips.”

            “So, you found out nothing this morning?” Nelson asked.

            “Didn’t expect to. But I sure pissed some assholes off. Wasn’t that the plan?”

            “The plan exactly,” Nelson said. “Did you talk to the police chief in Connorville?”

            “His ass is working buttonholes trying to figure out what I’m up to.”

            Nelson laughed. He leaned forward and spoke with a low voice, gesturing in great motions with his arms. “And if this place is the communication center I’ve always heard it is, the news will be out that you and I were here on some real hush, hush business today. Would I be correct in assuming that’s why you brought me here?”

         “You’re pretty smart for a sailor,” he sheriff said. He pointed his hand in the direction of

Connorville and then swung to point it to the southwest. Continuing the act, he leaned toward Nelson. “You did hear the one about the one bosun’s mate that was so dumb the other bosun’s mates began to notice, didn’t you?”

         Nelson laughed. “I won’t make any ‘jarhead’ jokes,” he said. “They saved my bacon too many times.”

        “That’s our motto,” the sheriff said. “Semper Fidelimous.” As the waitress approached, he leaned back and said, “And if that don’t work, we’ll switch to Plan B.”

            Nelson nodded as the waitress set their food and drinks on the table. “Ya’ll look like you’re plottin’ some sure-fire destruction,” she said.

            “Just trying to figure out how to destroy your virginity,” Sheriff Love said.

 “Decades late and many dollars short for that,” she said. “Ya’ll figured out who killed that colored girl yet?”

            “Why? Do you know anything about it?”

           “Talk is some gangbangers in Little Rock did it,” she said. “At least that’s the talk we hear around here.”

          “Make a note of that, Gideon,” the sheriff said. “This is a lead that might put a new light on Plan B.”

            “Kiss my big white ass,” the waitress said. She smiled and walked away.

            The men had just started their meals when the sheriff’s cell phone rang. “Dammit to god almighty hell,” he said. “There must be a device in that thing that lets people know I just took a bite of food. He placed the phone to his ear. “Love,” he said. He listened and Nelson could see his face darken. “Where?” he said into the phone. He listened again, and then said, “Do we know who she is?” When he heard the response, he lowered the phone, “Sweet fucking Jesus on a rosewood cross,” he said to no one in particular. He composed himself and spoke into the phone. “I’m on my way,” he said. Turning to Nelson he spoke so no one else could hear. “We’ve got another dead girl.”

            “Who?”

            “One of those you interviewed: the fat one.”

            “Bonnie Sue? The Anderson girl.?”

            “That’s the one.”

            Nelson had started to take a bite of his sandwich, but slowly lowered it to his plate. “Jesus,” he said softly. “How?”

            “Shot. That’s all I know now.” The sheriff folded the remains of his sandwich into a paper napkin and rose. “I’ve got to go to the crime scene. When I make the ID for sure, I’ll call you. Would you be willing to break the news to her mother then, since you’ve met her?”  “I will,” Nelson said, staring into space.

            “Put all this on my bill,” the sheriff said to the waitress. He waved his hand across the table. The usual tip.” Gathering his sandwich, he left Nelson alone.

            “You gonna finish yours?” the waitress stood looking at Nelson as if she held a hope that she might learn what just happened.

            “Sure,” Nelson said. He sipped his coffee and stared at the remains of the sandwich.

“Sure,” he said. “I guess so.” He didn’t move.

            The waitress stood watching. “Something big come up?”    “The sheriff had to leave,” Nelson said.

            “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, smiling.

            “Sheriff business,” Nelson said.

            “You’re a real fountain of info,” she said while removing the remains of the sheriff’s meal.

            Nelson continued to eat slowly. He fell so deeply into thought that he didn’t respond when the diner’s door opened and a group of young men filed into the room.

It was the Soul Warriors.

They marched in as if under command and took seats surrounding Nelson. Bully Bridges took the seat that the Sheriff had vacated. As he sat, Nelson looked up from his sandwich, then he took another bite and chewed slowly. Neither man spoke.

Nelson swallowed and held the last bite of his meal in his hand. His eyes narrowed and met those of Bridges, who stared directly back at Nelson. Two pairs of eyes locked in silence, announcing a war of wills. Not a sound in the room invaded the contest. Both men just stared in the silence.

As the staring continued, the left eye of Bridges twitched slightly. Those of Nelson—eyes that had neither closed nor moved as the frigid waters of the Pacific surf off Coronado Island had pounded him all night in his fiercest test ever—took on a calm look, almost a restful one.

A chair squeaked as one of the Soul Warriors moved slightly.

Seconds passed. Another of the men stirred and as he did, Bridges blinked. Nelson continued to stare, and an almost imperceptible smile crossed his face. Bridges looked down. Nelson held his stare and moved the last bite of sandwich to his mouth. Still staring, as if into what remained of the soul of Bully Bridges, Nelson chewed. “Soon,” Bridges said. “Real soon.” Nelson said nothing.

Bridges slid his chair back and stood. He performed a military-style “right-face” and marched away from the table. He motioned to the others and they filed in behind him. In perfect unison, they marched to the door and exited. Nelson lifted his coffee cup and drank. He lowered in, touched his napkin to his lips, and shoved the leftovers away to be removed.

Sounds of life returned to the diner. The staff, who had disappeared with the entrance of the Soul Warriors, returned and took their places. The waitress serving Nelson walked slowly to the table and began gathering the dishes. She took three steps toward the kitchen, but slowly turned and walked back to face Nelson, who was about to rise.

She looked at him, differently this time. Gone was the flirtatious server who had verbally jousted with Sheriff Love. Gone, in fact, was any mannerism of one long accustomed to maintaining an air of superficial friendliness. The replacement was a look of wonder, a look seeking genuine and important information. Cocking her head slightly to one side, she searched for words before speaking. Then she spoke slowly, and without guile. “Just who the hell are you, Mister?”