Justice Like Water

By Morgan Graye

The local residents of Pinewood know each other. They attend church together, meet at the local diner, and wave to passing neighbors. The kids play at the park while the moms gossip on the sidelines. Everyone knows everyone. And everyone knows everyone's secrets.

 

Except the secrets that are kept hidden.

 

The sudden arrival of a stranger sends the town reeling when dark deeds are revealed — and then punished. But as justice rolls slowly down, the stakes grow high for a young woman whose time is running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firestorm Editions
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201620158

Book preview

But let justice run down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream. Amos 5:24

CHAPTER 1

The watery blue eyes of the waitress grew large when the bell above the diner door tinkled. The coffee cup tilted in her hand, spilling hot black liquid on his pants. She didn’t notice her mistake. Her gaze stayed on the man who walked through the door.

That’s hot coffee, Amos said.

She glanced down at him and jumped, as if surprised to see him in the red vinyl booth. Then she snatched the coffee cup away and began stammering, her face so pale that the freckles on her nose and the bruise on her cheek seemed to darken.

I’m so sorry, she said. She grabbed for the towel in her apron pocket and started to reach for his lap. Then, embarrassed, she pulled back and handed him the cloth.

Amos said nothing. He simply took the proffered towel and wiped at his jeans. The spill was minor. Not much more than a splash.

The man who had walked through the door — the one who distracted the waitress — sauntered over to them. He raised a shaggy black eyebrow when his eyes took in the scene before him and he clamped a bony hand on the waitress’ shoulder. She seemed to wither beneath his touch, as if the feel of his fingers carried heavy weights.

His voice, clipped and mean, was too low for anyone else to hear, though the only other customers in the diner were two old men at the counter bar. Did Ruth make another one of her classic mistakes? he asked Amos.

She seemed to shrink even more. Amos could see her trying to move away, but the man’s grip tightened on her shoulder until his knuckles were white. The waitress didn’t whimper, but she winced.

It was an honest mistake, Amos said. He let his dark eyes meet those of the man. The man returned his gaze. For a moment they remained still, neither breaking their stare. Then the man looked away and the moment was over.

The man said nothing more to Amos. He gave Ruth’s shoulder an extra squeeze and then whispered in her ear, You better be more careful.

Her head nodded so vigorously that her blond ponytail bobbed up and down. She scurried away from the table and into the kitchen, carrying the coffee mug in her hand.

The man looked at Amos again and grinned — a man-to-man smirk — before he sauntered to the counter bar and slid onto a stool.

Amos still didn’t have any coffee.

But he no longer wanted breakfast. Now he had new business in the diner.

As the kitchen door swung closed behind her, Ruth dropped the coffee mug into the sink and leaned her back against the concrete wall. She bowed her head and pressed her palms against her eyes. No tears came. She’d stopped crying long ago. Now the fear and pain and oppression overwhelmed her every moment, and mostly she felt numb.

Except when she felt terrified.

You okay? The question came from Shirley, the owner of Shirley’s Diner. She waved a metal spatula in the air as she asked the question, swatting at the flies that had entered through the back door.

Though Ruth had only worked at the diner for a short time, she already knew that Shirley was a woman of few words. Ruth had been hired with a handshake, given instructions in curt sentences, and was dismissed at the end of each shift with a nod. She’d never heard Shirley utter more than six words at a time. The diner owner carried herself like an ex-Marine, and she ran her establishment the same way.

I’m fine. Her reply was so soft that she barely heard it herself, so Ruth repeated the words. I’m fine. She kept her palms pressed against her eyes, trying to blind herself to the misery of her life.

Shirley nodded. She wore her short brown hair tied up in a bandanna since she performed almost every role in the restaurant: cook, owner, dishwasher. To Ruth’s knowledge, waitresses were the only additional employees in the diner, and usually never more than three or four were needed to cover the entire week.

You don’t seem fine, Shirley said.

Surprised by Shirley’s interest, Ruth dropped her hands and opened her eyes. I guess I’m not fine, Ruth said.

You want some advice? Shirley asked. Ditch that man. Men like that never change. They’ve got evil in their hearts. And there’s nothing a regular person like you or me can do about it. And if you don’t leave that man — if you don’t get away from him — he’s going to kill you someday.

It was the most words Ruth had ever heard Shirley speak at one time.

If I try to leave him, he’ll kill me for sure, Ruth said.

Shirley shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not. No one knows when their time is going to be done. But do you really want to spend the rest of your days in the hands of a man who hits you?

Grabbing a tub full of dirty dishes, Shirley strode back to the dishwashing sink. As she dropped a stack of plates into the soapy water, she looked straight at Ruth one more time.

I’m not from this town. Not like most of the folks who were born and raised here all their lives. I moved around a lot. First as an army brat kid, and then because I married an army fellow, too. After he died, I wanted to settle down in a place that was simple. Easy. Small. So I found Pinewood. But when I moved here and opened this diner a few years back, I learned pretty quick that something isn’t right about this town. Something is wrong. It’s as if an ugliness has infected the people here. So I made a promise to myself. My plan was to run my business, make my money, and then close up and move out by the time I’m ready to retire. The way I figure it, I’ve got about five more years of owning this diner. As soon as I’m done, I’m hightailing it out of town. I’m on the downward side of life, and I don’t have many choices left. But you’re young. You’ve got a lot of time ahead of you. You’ve got a lot of choices to make. Try not to make the kind of bad choices that are going to get you killed, like choosing to stay with the lowlife that’s sitting out there eating a jelly doughnut.

Ruth bowed her head, her face burning with shame. She knew Shirley was speaking the truth. She knew she should leave Ken. She touched the bruise on her cheek. Ken’s latest mark. He’d left it because she’d forgotten to put the cap on the toothpaste. Not that he cared about neatness or cleanliness. He often left his smelly underwear in piles on the bathroom floor and his dirty dishes on the table. No, he hadn’t really cared about the toothpaste cap. He’d just been looking for a reason to hit her.

Ruth. Shirley spoke her name. Ruth raised her eyes.

Yes? Ruth held her breath, waiting for the next sentence from her boss, who now seemed so full of wisdom.

You’ve got a customer out there who’s waiting for his coffee.

Ruth’s cheeks flushed again, and she hurried out the kitchen door.

Amos shifted in the booth and poked a fork at his scrambled eggs. Cooked until dry and rubbery, they sat beside two slices of cold toast. But breakfast was the last thing on his mind.

He watched as the waitress — Ruth — came out of the kitchen door and walked to the coffee pots. He heard the man at the counter call her name.

I’m working, Ken, she responded in a low voice. Can we please talk later?

Ken. Now Amos had a name for the man. A name he would remember.

We’ll talk when I say we talk, Ken hissed. And I say we talk now. He grabbed her arm with his fingers, his grip so tight that Amos was certain it would leave small, round bruises on Ruth’s flesh.

If I don’t take care of my customers, I’ll get lousy tips. I won’t make any money. She was pleading. Begging. Using the words and voice of a woman who’d spent her life as a servant.

Ken relented, releasing her arm. Get to work, he growled.

She scurried to Amos and placed the coffee cup on the table. Without meeting his eyes she said, Would you like cream for that?

No, he replied. I drink my coffee black.

Something in his voice caused her to glance at him, and for the first time she seemed to notice him. His short black hair and dark eyes. The angled hook of his nose. The black leather jacket that covered his broad shoulders.

Is this your first time in the diner? Ruth asked. You don’t look familiar, and we don’t usually get strangers.

Amos nodded, his dark eyes never leaving her face. I’m just a visitor, he said. In fact, I’m looking for a place to stay. Do you have any recommendations?

There’s only one motel in town, Ruth said. It’s on the south end of Route 16, about a mile from the supermarket.

The coffee seared his throat as he gulped the hot liquid. Thanks, he said. And I’m ready to pay whenever you have my bill ready.

She nodded and turned away, and Amos turned his attention back to the man at the counter.

Ken had crammed another jelly doughnut in his mouth and was smacking his lips with satisfaction, his small eyes roaming the diner. When they lit upon Ruth he slid off his stool and walked to her. I’m leaving, he announced. Don’t forget to pay for my food. Come home as soon as your shift is over.

Without waiting for a response, he gave her arm another squeeze — this one looked even tighter than the last — and then sauntered out the door.

Amos thought about leaving. Thought about going after Ken. But something stopped him. Not here, he thought. Not quite yet.

Pinewood was a small town. A very small town. He knew he’d have no trouble finding Ken when the time was right.

Amos traveled on foot. Sometimes he hitched a ride when the journey was long. But these days, not many people would stop for a hitchhiker. Occasionally a trucker would pick him up along the highway, but more often than not the trucker would have perverted ideas in his mind, and Amos would have to explain — sometimes forcefully — that he only wanted a ride.

Walking was something Amos was glad to do. It cleared his mind. It kept him in good physical shape. And it was a fine time to pray. Something about the methodical act of putting one foot in front of the other allowed him to open his heart and his mind to the sound of God’s voice. It was always easier for Amos to hear the Truth when his feet were moving.

So when he left the restaurant, he started walking.

His first steps led him toward the center of town. There were three stop lights in Pinewood: one as traffic entered into town, one in the town square, and one as traffic exited to the fields and farmland that surrounded the cluster of buildings and short strips of sidewalk.

The crisp autumn air swirled around him, carrying the scent of dried leaves and dying grass. He passed no other pedestrians on the street, although the occasional car drove past him. Two young boys on bicycles navigated the road, and one motorcycle left fumes of exhaust in his face. Otherwise, the streets were quiet. It was a little past noon, and in a town like Pinewood most people spent their afternoons working or resting or studying in school.

Amos’ feet carried him past a liquor store, a deli, a hardware store, and a gas station. His destination was the other side of town — a distance of about two miles. He remembered it from when he first arrived in Pinewood that morning.

During his travels, Amos had passed through many small towns. And each one had one thing in common: a bar. Pinewood was no exception.

As he walked, he prayed. He asked God for guidance. For protection. For grace and understanding. He prayed that the job before him would be over quickly. And, as always, he asked that the job that he had been given be taken away from him, if it was God’s will.

Mostly, though, he asked God for the gift of self control.

Amos knew that God would answer some of his prayers, but not all of them. Not yet. Though his soul burned with the desire to be free of the burden of his work, God kept placing the jobs