SUNDOWN IN ZION
CHAPTER SEVEN
(Our hero does his morning exercise and makes new acquaintances)
On Sunday morning, Nelson began his
run early. He reached the place where he practiced his kicks and moves as the
sun had begun casting its long shadows across the park grounds. As he spun and
kicked, he would emit a soft but sharp “kihap,” adding force and violence to
his movements. Nothing this morning interrupted his exercise, and sweat began
to bead on his forehead. He finished his routine and uttered “shiuh” into the
morning stillness. He bowed to an imaginary opponent and turned toward the
river.
It was then
that he saw a face peering from behind the row of vegetation bordering the
river. He snapped into a defensive posture and quickly glanced to his right and
to his left. He then turned his attention to the face and prepared for action.
“Hey, hey,”
a voice said from behind the vegetation. “No sweat. Just me. Old homeless bum
me. Not a problem.”
When Nelson
didn’t respond, a man rose from behind the growth. He was a thin, brown-haired
man with a stubble of dark beard, wearing a faded windbreaker and jeans. He
raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just watching you move,” he said.
“No harm intended.”
Nelson
relaxed from his crouching position and stood. “Who are you?”
“Just old
Charlie,” he said. “Can I come out?”
“Sure,”
Nelson said. “What are you doing here?”
“I live
here,” the man said as he walked forward.
“Here? In
the park?”
“Right
here,” Charlie said, coming closer. “Down there,” he pointed to the river, “on
the bank, out of sight. They say it’s okay. Bill Clinton himself told me
‘Charlie I want you live right here and keep an eye on things for me.’ So I
do.” Part of this he said in perfect imitation of the voice of President
Clinton. Nelson laughed.
“So you are
the grounds custodian?”
“Might say
I am,” Charlie said. “Might say I am.” He was standing with Nelson now and
studied him carefully. “Who the hell are you? You look familiar.”
“Nelson.
Gideon Nelson. You look a little familiar yourself. Ever been in the Navy?”
“Hell no,”
Charlie said, “Marines,” then “I got it. You were at the VA Hospital.”
Nelson
looked at him with renewed interest. “By god, you’re right,” he said. “We
swapped lies out in front of the building. At least some of us did. You just
stood there.”
“Howdy
brother,” Charlie said, extending his hand. Nelson shook it.
“You
weren’t the one with all the wives,” he said.
“No,”
Charlie said. “That was some other feller. I’ve just had two.”
“Two?”
“One died,”
Charlie said, “the other kicked my ass out of the house two months ago.”
“What for?
Drinking?”
“Hell no,”
Charlie said. “She was making room.”
“Making
room for what?”
“Someone
who could service her.” He took on a somber look. “She moved herself a younger
man in.”
Nelson
didn’t speak for a moment. “You don’t look that old to me.”
“Just
turned 40.”
“She
thought that was old?”
Charlie
looked off and then back at Nelson with sadness on his face. “It was more than
that.”
“So you
live here now?”
“Temporarily,
I hope.”
“Doesn’t
the VA have somewhere you could stay?”
“I can’t
get help other than medical ‘cause I ‘m still married and she has an income. I
mean a job, in addition to my disability pay that she gets, and, which is why
she won’t file for divorce.” He spat. “Says she needs the money.”
“You must
have really pissed her off.”
“That last
bullet pissed her off.”
“What last
bullet?”
“The last
one I got in Iraq. Doctors say it clipped something, some nerve or gland
something, and it just got more and more, you know … difficult to perform on
demand, maybe the stress from being commanded to do something that you should
volunteer for.”
Nelson took
in a deep breath and exhaled. “Jesus,” he said.
“Yeah,”
Charlie said. “Jesus”
“Family?”
“Folks both
dead. I do have a brother but he lives in New York and teaches at Columbia. He
hasn’t spoken to me since I joined the Marines.”
Nelson
shifted the topic. “Are you from around here?”
“South of
here. City of Pine Bluff.”
“Are you
familiar with this town called Connorville?”
The other
man looked at him and frowned. “Don’t mix me up with those folks,” he said.
“That’s one badass bunch.”
“That seems
to be the general consensus,” Nelson said.
“Don’t know
about that,” Charlie said. “But stay the hell away from there, if you want my
opinion.”
“I hear
they don’t like black folks.”
“They don’t
like anybody who is not like them,” Charlie said, “but they really hate
blacks.” He thought. “Gays too.” He paused. “Jews and Catholics … liberals of
course …Democrats on principle.” He pursed his lips. “But blacks are their
favorites, I guess.”
“Not in a
good way, though?”
“No, not in
a good way.”
“Do you
ever go there?”
Charlie
said, “I used to, when I had a car. I have an old military buddy who lives
there. I am a former Marine but he was Army. Runs a ‘concealed carry’ school.
Does well. I used to go help him every once in a while. I didn’t stick around
any longer than I needed to, though.”
“How long
were you in the Marines before you got hurt?”
“Hurt the
last time?”
“Yes.”
“Fifteen
years. Went in when I was 22.”
“A little
late in life, wasn’t it?”
“Went to
OCS after college.”
“So you
were an officer.”
“Until my
body gave out on me, I was and officer and a gentleman. After that I was just a
freeloading bum sponging off the taxpayers.”
“With a
college degree, you can’t get a job?”
“That
goddam bullet again.”
“How?”
“I have
seizures. Not good for job security.”
Nelson hung
his head. He reached into a pocket and retrieved a bill. It was a ten spot.
“Here,” he said. “It’s all I have but it might help.”
Charlie
looked the bill and then at Nelson but didn’t move to take it. “One vet to
another,” Nelson said.
The bill
hung suspended for several seconds. At last, Charlie took in and closed his
hand around it. “Thanks,” he said. “A man can fall a good ways in life if he
doesn’t watch out where he puts his feet.”
“Semper Fi”
was all Nelson said as he jogged away.
He skipped
his coffee break and was back home and showered by ten o’clock. He put on a
sweatshirt, fresh jeans and and his running shoes. After he had secured the
house, he got into his truck and headed north. A few miles from town, he left
the freeway and followed the old highway. It led him through and area marked by
substantial homes on large lots interspersed with smaller homes and house
trailers, some in deplorable condition. When development gave way to pastures,
he continued until he came to a sign announcing that Connorville was five miles
away.
Before he
reached the city, scattered development began to appear with increasing density
until he reached the city limits. Slowing, he entered the city and observed it
with interest. The highway corridor was devoid of any development pattern.
Homes and metal commercial buildings appeared side by side. Most of the homes
facing the highway were older ones, many in advanced stages of decline. One,
adjacent to a strip commercial center, was graced with sign stating that it was
for sale and was zoned commercial. The commercial development became more
dominant as Nelson drove further north. The highway veered to his left and ran
adjacent to a major rail line. The corridor then intersected with another
highway fronted by more commercial development. Just when a visitor might
expect to find downtown, the commercial development began to disappear and the
highway became flanked by new subdivisions.
Nelson
drove along a non-ending collection of subdivisions, all containing homes of
similar design. Most of the developments were served by one entrance but an
occasional one would sport a second access. There was little diversity of
design and the area took on the appearance of a desert of dark-toned rooftops
and grey bricks. When he came to a church, he turned into the packed parking
lot, circled it, and re-entered the highway headed in the opposite direction.
When he reached the main intersection, he turned right.
This was
apparently the primary commercial corridor of the city. Businesses were packed
haphazardly along it and, even on a Sunday morning, traffic was intense. The
highway comprised four lanes of traffic and a center turn lane, all occupied by
the furious and anxious residents of Connorville. Each business enjoyed a
minimum of two entrance drives and for some, curbs were nonexistent for their
entire frontage, allowing access at any point. This caused Nelson to
concentrate on his driving and he saw little of the garish befuddlement that
characterized the corridor. He did notice a diner ahead to his right and he
turned into its lot. He drove to the rear of the building where he parked.
Stepping from his truck, he surveyed his surroundings before locking it and
walking toward the entrance.
It as a
concrete block structure advertising itself as “Betty and Bob’s Place” and
promising fine home cooking. It sat back a ways from the street with parking in
the front, the side, and the rear. With the exception of Nelson’s truck and a
late-model car, all the other vehicles were parked in front.
Nelson
entered the diner, looked around, and settled for a seat at a long counter.
Behind it, a stocky woman with frosted hair and a ruddy complexion moved toward
him. “Coffee?” she said. Nelson nodded and she moved off briskly.
The customers
sat mostly without moving, comprising the “pre-church” crowd who appreciated
the quiet before the rush. When the waitress returned with his coffee, Nelson
ordered ham and eggs. She took his order and he began to drink his coffee and
regard his surroundings. The place was neither new nor old, just one of those
age-defying places that evoke no particular era. The fixtures were not new, but
well maintained. There was a window midway the length of the bar through which
the waitress yelled his order. A large man repeated it and the place became
quiet again.
When the
woman refilled his coffee, Nelson said, “Are you Betty?”
She looked
surprised. “No,” she said. “Why do you want to know?”
“No
reason,” Nelson said. “I just saw the name and wondered if you were the
owners.”
“Betty and
Bob are both dead,” she said, and walked off. In a moment, she returned with
his order. “Two eggs over easy with ham,” she said, placing the plate in front
of him. She asked if he needed anything else. When he shook his head, she
turned away again.
Nelson ate
in silence but when he was half through, an elderly man dressed in khaki work
clothes came in and sat beside him. “Morning stranger,” he said.
“Good
morning,” Nelson said.
“Ain’t seen
you in here before,” the man said.
“Just
passing through town.”
“Pass
through fast,” he man said. He yelled to the waitress, “Charlene … coffee.” She
waved an acknowledgement and he spoke to Nelson again. “Not the best place for
a stranger.”
“You’re not
from here?” Nelson said.
“Born and raised,”
he said. “A rare specimen.”
Nelson
smiled and studied the man. His eyes danced in a face burned by years of
defiance of the sun. Once red hair was losing the battle with gray and his hand
were freckled and scarred. Nelson said, “A specimen of what?”
“Someone
who was born here and lived here before the assholes came.” He laughed. “A real
specimen.”
The
waitress walked up with his coffee. “You eatin’ anything Clifton?”
“Just
coffee.” She walked away.
Nelson
continued eating. When he was nearly finished, he turned to the man. “Did you
know about the young girl whose body was found here in town?”
“Hell,” the
man said. “Everbody knows about that.”
“Do you
know where her body was found?”
“No, but he
does,” the man said, turning and pointing to a man seated at a nearby table.
“Hey Joe,” he said, “come here a minute.”
A
middle-aged man in overalls rose and walked to where the two sat. “This here
man,” Clifton said pointing to Nelson. He stopped, “What did you say your name
was?”
“Gideon
Nelson.”
“Mr. Nelson
here wants to know where they found that little colored girl’s body.”
“On
Cardinal Lane,” the man said. “A block from Calvary Baptist Church, same side
of the street. In the ditch.” He looked and saw the waitress coming. “Hey,” he
said, “I ain’t lookin’ to get involved in this.” He returned to his table.
The
waitress appeared in front of them. “Clifton,” she said, “drink your coffee.
Mr.,” she said, turning to Nelson, “you’re upsetting our customers. We would
appreciate it if you would finish up and leave.”
“I suspect
you would,” he said. Then, ignoring her, he turned to Clifton. “Thanks for the
information,” he said. “Can I pay for your coffee?”
“Hell yes,”
Clifton said. “Hey Charlene,” he said. “Mine on his.”
The
waitress glared at them, spun around, and walked through a swinging door into
the kitchen. In a moment, the cook came to the order window and gave Nelson a
hard look. Nelson turned to Clifton. “A warm and friendly town,” he said.
“Stay the
hell away from here,” Clifton said, drinking his coffee.
Nelson paid
for his meal to a silent hostess and, waving to Clifton, left the diner. He
walked to the rear of the building and was about to get into his truck when he
heard a door open and close behind him. He turned to see the cook standing a
few feet away with a baseball bat in a huge hand. His face flamed with rage and
it formed a snarl as he raised the bat to eye level.
“Mr,” he
said. “I’m about to give you a lesson in minding your own business.”
