Zeke

By Coy D. Roper

Zeke, a high school drop out, undistinguished veteran, and reformed alcoholic, almost accidentally becomes the elected police chief of a northeastern Oklahoma collage town in the 1960's. There he has a surprisingly successful term in office, dealing with public demonstrations, arresting burglars, overcoming prominent adversaries, and solving murders.
Zeke's personal life does not run smoothly. His wife starts going to church, and the two of them are converted, only to learn that the preacher is a pornography addict. He starts to collage only to witness a collage student on drugs commit suicide. He and Flo lose their only son, first to drugs, then to the Tet Offensive in Vietnam.
However in spite of personal challenges, Zeke earns a collage degree. And eventually he exposes, and brings about the destruction of "Trinity," a criminal organization which controls the drug trade. His exploits are publicized state wide, with the result that he is recruited to run for governor. But his corrupt opponent, financed by the Chicago mob, forces him from the race. he ultimately brings the mob boss to justice, and ends up teaching in elementary school --- the job he decides he was meant to do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coy D. Roper
• Release date: Jul 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463966761

Coy D. Roper

Dr. Coy D. Roper, born in Dill City, Oklahoma, has served as a preacher, teacher, and writer throughout his life-long ministry. After graduating with a B.S. degree in Bible from Abilene Christian University (1958), he earned the M.T. in secondary education at Northeastern State University (1966). Roper then completed the M.S. in Bible and missions from Abilene Christian University (1977), and he finished his Ph.D. from the University of Michigan's Department of Near Eastern Studies with an Old Testament concentration (1988). Roper earned the M.A. from Heritage Christian University with an emphasis in Greek (2007). Roper began preaching in 1955 for the church in Charlie, Texas. Since that time, he has preached in Oklahoma, Tennessee, Michigan, Canada, and Australia. In addition, he has taught at Western Christian College, Macquarie School of Preaching (North Ryde, Australia), Michigan Christian College, Lipscomb University, and Heritage Christian University. From 2000 to 2005, Roper served as the director of graduate studies at Heritage Christian. At present, he preaches for the Trent Church of Christ (Trent, Texas) and writes for Truth for Today World Mission School in Searcy, Arkansas. Coy and his wife, Sharlotte, have three children and ten grandchildren.

Book preview

ZEKE

A Novel

by

Coy D. Roper

Copyright © 2018 Coy D. Roper

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction.

The characters and events described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or to real persons alive or dead.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

ISBN: 9780463966761

Distributed by Smashwords

Cover Illustration by Katie Boren

Ebook formatting by ebooklaunch.com

CONTENTS

PREFACE: CLEAR CREEK AND ITS POLICE STATION

1. THE BADGE: January, 1965

2. THE BOY WHO THOUGHT HE COULD FLY: March, 1965

3. THE PREACHER: March – December, 1965

4. THE ELECTION: March – May, 1966

5. THE HUNTING ACCIDENT: November, 1966

6. THE KID: 1967

7. THE DEMONSTRATION: February, 1968

8. THE HASKELL KINDER CASE: November, 1968

9. THE TRINITY: February, 1969

10. THE GUBERNATORIAL CANDIDATE AND THE SCHOOL TEACHER: May, 1969 – February,1970

PREFACE

CLEAR CREEK AND ITS POLICE STATION

Clear Creek (1960 population 7,432) got its name when the white people who moved into Indian territory in northeastern Oklahoma in the 1890’s couldn’t pronounce the Indian word for the village where they settled, so they named the town after the creek that ran through it. It was, in fact, a clear stream that began somewhere west of town, flowed through the city, and then meandered through the Ozark foothills till it flowed into the Illinois river about ten miles east of town.

Located about seventy miles southeast of Tulsa, thirty miles north of Madison, and about forty-five miles from the Arkansas state line, Clear Creek was situated in the foothills of the Ozark mountains. Go north and east from Clear Creek and you’d soon be in the Ozarks; go south and west and you’d find yourself in the rolling plains and blackjack groves that dominate central Oklahoma.

The town was built around the courthouse square. The courthouse itself dated from Indian territory days. Since Clear Creek was the county seat—there were several other smaller towns in the county—the courthouse was owned by the county and contained the county offices—the sheriff’s office, the county commissioners’ office, the county assessor’s office, etc.—but the county rented out some of the courthouse space to the city. For instance, the city council met there. And its courtroom and judge’s chambers served both the county and the city.

Around the courthouse square were some of the more well-known stores in town, including the Harris Department Store, Sam’s Bar (in the mid-1960’s Oklahoma had been wet less than ten years, but it didn’t take long for enterprising entrepreneurs to find ways to slake Oklahoma’s drinkers’ collective thirst), the Downtown Café, the Rexall Drug Store, Harold Warpole’s Barber Shop, a hardware store, the Paramount Theatre, and beside it an ice cream store named Yummy.

Highway 47 came up from Madison, ran through the town—and around the square—, and continued on northwest to Tulsa. It had also become Clear Creek’s main street, with shops and restaurants of all shapes and sizes beckoning customers for a quarter mile on either side of the square. And there were some business enterprises on side streets running into main street, such as Myrtle’s Souvenir and Gift Shop and Hardin’s Package Store.

Another highway, 311, coming from the west, crossed highway 47 just south of town and continued on east to Arkansas. It basically skirted the city on the south and east sides before turning to face the Ozarks head-on. Several businesses were located on or near 311 as it passed through, or ran beside, the city—Joiner’s Lumber Yard, for instance, and Alma’s All Night Café and Truck Stop. The Moonshine Club did business on the south side of highway 311 just east of Clear Creek.

Clear Creek ran through town just north of the main shopping area, and pretty much served as the boundary between the town and the campus of Sequoyah State College (student enrollment: about 2,500). Where Main Street crossed the creek, on the south side of the creek, was Rose Park—a small but pretty park featuring lots of green grass, planted shrubs and flowers, picnic tables, and a slide and swings. North of the creek, Chandler Drive ran parallel to the creek and featured shops and stores (like the Sweet Shoppe and Bulldog Inn) catering to the college crowd. On the other side of the street the campus began, with its classroom buildings, student center, administration building, dormitories, gymnasium, auditorium, football field, etc.

North of the campus the Old Mill Road ran east from Highway 47 into the woods where there had once been a lumber production operation.

On the west side of town were the older, more modest homes; and in the northwest were the city’s junior high and high school buildings and sports fields. On the northeast, near the college, were the older, larger homes of Clear Creek’s more affluent citizens. East of 311 were a couple of trailer parks and some run-down shacks which anywhere else might have been called slums. Just south of the intersection of Highways 47 and 311 was Clear Creek’s new elementary school. Farther south, along Highway 47, barely within the city limits, was the Dancing Eyes Housing Development—a cluster of recently built expensive new homes. Many of Sequoyah’s professors and administrators chose to live in that rather exclusive suburb.

The county jail was located on the courthouse square, and the fire department was a block south of the square on Main Street. And half a block south of it was the Clear Creek Police Station.

The Police Station was a fairly new (built about 1950) one-story brick building, with parking spaces and a small lawn in front, and a parking lot beside it on the north. In front there was a small porch with a sign over it proclaiming that this was the home of the Clear Creek Police Department.

Inside, the station was divided into two parts. In the back was the city jail: four cells and a storage room, separated from the rest of the building by a wall, with a locked door in its center.

The station itself was basically one large room. Come in the front door and on your right you’d see the receptionist’s desk, with filing cabinets against the wall; and in the far right corner at the front of the room was the dispatcher’s corner. On the left was the Police Chief’s office—an area marked off with a thirty-inch high railing, containing the chief’s desk, a filing cabinet, and a couple of chairs.

The remainder of the space was called the Common Room. In it were a couple of tables, several chairs, a coffee maker, one recliner, and lockers—one for each employee. In the back on the left was a side door that opened out to the parking lot, and behind it was the evidence room, and restrooms for both sexes. Zeke spent a good part of his life in that police station.

CHAPTER ONE

THE BADGE

January, 1965

At the Clear Creek police station, late one Thursday night in January, 1965, the buzzer sounded sharply, signaling an incoming call. Jerry Hays, sitting in the dispatcher’s corner, put down his college algebra book, and spoke sleepily into the headset: Clear Creek Police Department. May I help you?

In what was known as the Common Room, twenty feet away, the domino game halted momentarily with the incoming call, then continued. Zeke Martin, the big raw-boned thirty-eight-year-old policeman in the western shirt and cowboy boots, finished shuffling and pushed the dominoes toward the player on his left, saying, Your down, Elmo.

Elmo Sneed was the other policeman on duty—a five-foot-six fifty-year old dressed in a neat police uniform who always carried a small notebook in his shirt pocket which he used to keep a carefully printed record of everything that happened. Elmo puffed out chubby red cheeks and played the double-five: I’ll take ten.

Me, too, countered Freddy Fenimore, the snake-skinny fireman sitting across from Zeke (the fire station was just half a block away), playing the blank-five.

Then, on Zeke’s right, Squeaky (also known as Harold Metcalf), said, Likewise, in a high-pitched voice, and played the double-blank, moving his 450 pound body closer to the table as he did so, while the chair he was sitting in groaned under his weight.

Squeaky, an ex-con who had served time in the state pen, had a drinking problem: He worked faithfully for old man Harris as a bookkeeper, but when he got paid every other Thursday, he took his check to Sam’s Bar downtown, cashed it, and drank himself drunk. Being drunk made him hot, so as he walked home he would begin to take off his clothes. Usually someone would call the police, and he would end up spending the night in jail, charged with public drunkenness. Tonight, was one of those nights.

The Call

Jerry had been talking quietly. Now he turned and fixed serious eyes on the group: It’s Mrs. Belcher. She wants to know if there’re any policemen available. Zeke played the five-six on the spinner before replying. What’s she want now? Zeke and Elmo were the two policemen on duty at the time. Elmo had seniority, but he let Zeke take charge. For him, life was easier that way.

Jerry replied, Bunch of students in that big house next to hers on the Old Mill Road having some kind of wild party. Clear Creek was home to Sequoyah State College, and its students often were accused of having wild parties.

Zeke grunted: Tell her we’re all out on patrol and we’ll get around there as soon as we can.

As Jerry turned back to relay the message, Freddy chortled, Yeah, patrolling the domino game at the station.

Elmo laughed. Shucks, we’re hard at work, guarding this dangerous criminal. He pointed at Squeaky, and the big man ducked his head and tried to focus on the dominoes.

Play or get off the pot, Zeke said to Elmo. Forget old lady Belcher. She gets excited any time any college student acts like he’s having fun—expects us to come running every time she calls in the middle of the night.

Jerry looked back up from his book, earnest brown eyes framed by horn-rimmed glasses. She thinks they been taking dope—pep pills, that kind of stuff.

Zeke started momentarily, then growled, Ah, tell her to go clabber her milk. Play, Squeaky.

But as the game settled down to the quiet clacking of the dominoes and the mumbled comments of the players, Zeke’s mind slipped into reverse and replayed for him this afternoon’s scene with his wife Flo.

• • •

Zeke (full name: Ezekiel Bernard Martin) had been born in the hospital in Madison, thirty miles from Clear Creek, on January 15, 1927. He and Flo had been married since December 20, 1944, when, as high school juniors, they dropped out of school to get married. Zeke turned eighteen the following January, was drafted into the Army in March, and their son Brian was born in June, 1945, prematurely they claimed.

Their marriage had survived, but sometimes just barely. Zeke completed his basic training and was preparing to ship out for the invasion of Japan when the war ended. Instead of Japan, he found himself on an army base in California, where he spent the last two years of his time in the service.

Flo and baby Brian joined him for the last year of that time. After he was discharged they stayed in California for several years, then moved to Texas—first to Houston, then to Midland.

Zeke worked at a variety of menial jobs, never being able to get a good job, or to hold any job for long, for several reasons: One, he was a high school dropout, unqualified for most desirable positions. Two, he was short-tempered and often lashed out at customers, bosses, and fellow-workers. In fact, he had spent three weeks in the guardhouse while he was in the army for bashing a sergeant whose attitude he didn’t like. Three, he was an alcoholic. He grew up drinking—his father, Silas Martin, operated a still on the 80-acre family farm—and he learned to drink even more heavily while he was in the army. By the time he was discharged he was a full-blown alcoholic. His character flaws and alcoholism combined to dictate that he would fail at every job he tried.

Flo’s story was somewhat different. She was born Florence Gayle McFarland, the only child of Harvey and Thelma McFarland, and grew up in Duncan in southwestern Oklahoma. When she was in the tenth grade she moved with her parents to Clear Creek where her dad had accepted a job as a linotype operator at Clear Creek Printing and Office Supply. Her parents lived there for three years, until her father was fired because of problems related to his alcoholism, then they moved to Kansas City to live near Thelma’s sister Maddie.

Flo met and fell in love with the big guy Zeke. After their marriage, she could understand Zeke’s alcohol problem though she never drank herself, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She spent her time raising her son, looking through catalogs at things she couldn’t afford to buy, and daydreaming about the life she could have had if she had done things differently.

• • •

Zeke remembered: That afternoon, as he was getting ready to go to work (he and Elmo were working the four to midnight shift), Flo had stood there, dressed in a frumpy housecoat with her hair in curlers, watching him as he buckled on the Colt 45 he wore on duty.

Well, what’re you going to do about it? she asked.

About what?

About Brian! That’s what.

What’s he done now?

He hasn’t done anything. That’s just the trouble. All he does is go out every night and party.

So what’s the matter with that? It seemed to Zeke that he and Flo had been fighting continually since their marriage, twenty long years before. Lately it had been mostly about Brian.

What’s the matter with that? she mocked him. Just that he’s going to flunk out of college and end up being just like his dad—a punk policeman in a one-horse town at a lousy salary!

His jaw set in a determined line as he jerked his gun belt a notch tighter than usual, but he said calmly enough. Aw, stop your—he started to swear, but remembered that one condition for keeping his job was that he had to clean up his speech, so instead he said—confounded whining. I’ll take care of Brian. Dropping his badge into his shirt pocket, he started to leave.

But Flo wasn’t through. She flung herself in front of him and blocked the door, oblivious to a strand of straggly hair which had collapsed over her face. Shrilly she cried, Yeah, you’ll take care of him. won’t you? Just like you always have?

Maybe that was the trouble. Zeke thought—the kind of care he’d taken of his boy. When he and Flo were dating in high school, Flo had looked forward to soft lights and roses, but Brian had come while Zeke was in basic training and there had been a runny nose and dirty diapers instead—and, Zeke had to admit, an alcoholic husband who had trouble making a living. He supposed maybe her disappointment with marriage had produced her unhappiness and sloppiness. And maybe his disappointment with her had caused him to give Brian too much attention.

He remembered that when he first saw Flo at Clear Creek High School he thought she was about the prettiest, sweetest thing he had ever seen—tall, slim but not skinny, with long brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a sweet but sassy disposition—besides which, she was one of the smarter kids in their class. But it seemed to him that marriage and childbirth—and, probably, an alcoholic husband—had soured her nature and produced a lack of concern about her looks. He was pretty sure that, whatever her faults, he had contributed to them.

Anyway, as he went from job to job, from one meagre salary to another, he always managed to provide his son with everything he wanted. In fact, just this past fall, to celebrate Brian’s completion of his first year of college, Zeke had gone into debt to buy him a new black Mustang—the payments on which he and Flo were struggling to make on time.

So Brian was spoiled, so what, thought Zeke. So were lots of kids. But worry gnawed at the edges of his mind: Brian had been in trouble before. Of course, they were just minor scrapes, little things, that Zeke had bought his way out of.

Still, the worry made him rough. He had pushed his way around Flo and opened the door. But she had grabbed his arm and screamed, He’s been taking dope! Pills! See! She took a small pill bottle from her pocket and stuck it in his face. He shoved her arm aside and hurried out to the car, her last words ringing in his ears: I found them in Brian’s coat! He’s an addict!

• • •

Zeke’s reverie and the domino game were interrupted by the banging of the front door as a short thin thirtyish man wearing glasses, an intense look, and rumpled hair burst into the room, a camera in a sling over his shoulder.

Freddy looked up from shuffling long enough to call out derisively: Well, well, here’s old Joe Barnhill, the fearless editor of the Clear Creek Tattler. Isn’t that the paper’s name, Joe?

The newcomer grimaced and said with humor, Yeah, that, or the Times—I forget which.

Elmo smiled. What scandal you cooking up tonight, Joe?

Nothing much, I reckon; he replied, just wanted to see that our stalwart police force is on the job. Such a comfort to see them braving the dangers of the asphalt jungle to keep our city safe.

All right, Mr. Smart Aleck, answered Elmo, what’d you want us to do? Go murder someone so we’ll have some business?

I hear you already got some business. Mrs. Belcher called me about some kids who’re tearing the neighborhood apart.

Aw, don’t get your bowels in an uproar, Zeke mumbled as he played. She ought to let the kids have a little fun.

Joe exploded: Sure, let them have a little fun! He swooped down on the table and scattered the dominoes with one sweep of his hand. Let them booze, and take dope, and tear down houses, and steal us blind—and while they do it, you big policemen sit here and play dominoes! What they got to do—kill someone? —before you do anything about it?

Zeke rose menacingly above him, grabbed him by the collar, and snapped, Why you little . . .—he came close to swearing, but checked himself— I ought to bust your gut! At that moment, the buzzer signaled an incoming call. As the others stood transfixed, Jerry answered.

What? Yes, ma’am, I understand. Yes, I’ll try to locate them. They should be there soon. Yes, ma’am, right away. Hanging up, he turned to say, They’re shooting now.

Zeke said, What?

"Yeah. Seems they have some kind of pistol and they’re in the backyard shooting bottles off a fence. Using a