Petting A Lion

By John Miller

If a person knows who and what he or she truly is and believes, then it doesn't matter if a lion comes and roars, as is the lion's nature. That person can wave the lion away, and the lion will go away. If they know themselves more profoundly, who and what they are, and believe, then they can pet the lion and ask the lion to play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641147750

John Miller

John Miller's first novel, The Featherbed, received stellar reviews and earned a devoted readership upon its release in 22. Besides novels, Miller has written on culture and politics, and in his spare time he provides consulting services to local and international non-profit organizations and governments. He lives in Toronto

Book preview

301700-ebook.jpg

Petting a Lion

a novel

John C. Miller

ISBN 978-1-64114-774-3 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64114-775-0 (digital)

Copyright © 2018 by John C. Miller

All rights reserved. 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. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Melville was a community of a few thousand souls in the Deep South. The arrangement and character of the town was much like most such communities in the South—a courthouse in the center of town, and around the courthouse shops and stores and places to gather and have something to eat and drink, and an orderly and friendly townsquare. Around the town square were blocks of houses, a school, a library, churches, services—businesses of various types—and all around the town were farms. The businesses were being kept open mostly by tradition and familiarity. The town had been bypassed by a new highway two miles to the east, and a mall and new businesses had been constructed. A block off the town square was a place that was busy always, the county jail.

The jail was old, and though the structure had been renovated and additions had been made, the place was not much of a penal institution, or a detention center, or a place of confinement even. The cells consisted of one large cell that had been divided close to the middle by bars to make two smaller cells. Mortar around some of the old red bricks was dry and crumbling, and the high ceiling was cracked and stained and looked unsound. There was not much lighting, no TV, no decoration of any kind. No one stayed long enough to add personal touches that might make the accommodations seem less harsh. The walls had little display of graffiti, but there were marks left there—smudges of dirt and greasy tracks where heads had lolled and turned in conversation and tilted upward to the blank ceiling, and a few splotches of dark, dried blood.

Bleak as the jail was, as deep in the South as it was, as so obviously suited for stereotype as it was, there was not the sense of harshness or misery or rejection one might associate with such a place and system and location. It was there to confine for a short time, until other arrangements could be made. The ones who occupied the enclosure were passing through only and did not deposit any hopelessness. It lay ahead of them already. It allowed a variety of villains, good old boys, scoundrels, and innocents to comingle.

Each cell had a large, deep wash basin, almost large enough for a small man to take a bath in, and a toilet stool. The toilets were clean. In the larger cell, there were three double-bunk beds, and in the other cell, there were two single bunks. Across from the cells was a desk. Along the back wall of the room was a shower stall with a plastic shower curtain across a makeshift rod, and against the wall, a wooden table with a hotplate and a coffee-maker on it. The coffee-maker wire was repaired with black electrical tape. The room had one window—a twelve-inch-by-thirty-inch slot in the brick wall, high above the desk across from the cells. The opening was barred and the glass was dirty, but it allowed the ones inside to determine when and if the sun had appeared for another day.

Additions had been made to the front of the building, an office space for the sheriff, if he chose to preside over his custody, which he did infrequently. There was also a room for communication equipment, a copier, fax machine, radio components, supplies storage, and an entranceway to better identify the importance of the structure. There was a reception desk, but the money for a receptionist had not been provided. There was a small room off the cell area that was the personal space for the caretaker, the trusty, and it had a heavy metal door to the outside to allow him to slip out and in for business, personal and otherwise, though there would not be business or mission there without him having some intrinsic interest or motive.

There were guests at the jail—all in the larger cell. Sitting on one of the lower bunks was a man named Wilson. He was writing on a yellow notepad, resting on his pressed together legs, and there were more notepads on the bunk beside him, some of them full of words already. Wilson was forty-one years old. He was clean, and his keen, angular face with a narrow hooked nose, thin lips, and bright light eyes made him look intelligent in an inquisitorial way, as a hawkish bird with its attention drawn to some familiar sight or sound. At the wash basin in the adjoining cell, busy with brushing his teeth, was Maurice, a big, loose-looking black man. He was loose in his clothes, loose in his body. Maurice was a big loose black man, he looked loose, he walked and talked and dressed in loose fashion the caretaker of the jail, the trusty, the one in charge of running the jail.

Lying on one of the upper bunks, the one above Wilson, was Davey. He was young and looked innocent. He was composed and seemed unperturbed by his present plight. He seemed familiar with the surroundings, the system, and his situation. On another upper bunk was Willie, in dress, age, and familiarity with the situation a duplicate of Davey, but Willie looked guilty. Willie was studying a Playboy magazine. He was looking closely at the foldout page of Miss January 1975. She was a few months older. The magazine was four months old. Sitting on a lower bunk, not with the others, was Rossy, a middle-aged man with handsome features and wavy, stylish long gray hair. He wore gray wool trousers, expensive dark tan loafers, a light-blue shirt with a knitted burgundy tie loosened at the collar, and a double-breasted navy blazer. He sat on the bunk with his legs crossed, leaning back on his elbows. He watched Maurice clean his teeth.

Maurice finished brushing his teeth. He put his toothbrush and toothpaste into a leather shaving kit, took out a small mirror, and inspected his teeth and expansive face. He moved the mirror from side to side and up and down. Satisfied with his diligence, he put the mirror into the kit, zipped it closed, and turned to catch Rossy watching him.

Wha’s the mattuh with yo’? he demanded in a gruff voice. Yo’ nevuh seen nobody clean ’is teeth ’fore? He went on with ill humor.

I was merely admiring your thoroughness. That’s all, Maurice, Rossy answered convivially.

Yeah, well, don’ be ’mirin’, Maurice responded.

Rossy smiled sympathetically and shook his head gently. My, you seem to be in a foul mood this morning, Maurice, he said.

Maurice was in a foul mood. Davey had been brought in late the night before, and then after he was resettled for the night, Willie was brought in. So he had been up most of the night.

Ah’m jus’ warnin’ yo’ shut up your mouth, he told Rossy.

Davey turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow to take in the exchange between Rossy and Maurice, the first break in the routine of a purposeless day. He sensed nothing more to come from the confrontation, so he decided to make a comment.

Hey, Maurice, he said, how, ’bout somethin’ tuh eat? An’ get some coffee goin’, damn it.

Maurice’s mood may have brightened some, but it was difficult to tell. His big fleshy face registered little change. His large, heavy body often moved on its own, it seemed, and he followed after to catch up. Curious signs of some emotion crossed his countenance.

Aint nuthin’, he muttered, and he may have smiled. His face was plentiful, but he kept close check on the supply. Sheerif su’plies the food, got uh contrac’.

Davey sat up. So? An’ he gits paid for it. An’ we’re meant tuh be fed, he said judiciously.

Maurice’s mood lightened. He began to sense some plenty in his companions’ hunger, and his face came to life. He displayed his freshly groomed teeth—they were pure white against his dark lips—and a sound escaped from behind them, a chuckle deep and sludgy.

There’s nuthin’ in ’ere tuh give us? Davey asked sarcastically.

That’s right, Maurice replied seriously and then brightened visibly and flashed his teeth again. Yo’ll could pay me tuh go get somethin’, course.

I ain’t got any money, Davey answered moodily.

Tough then, aint it, Maurice told him succinctly and darkened his mood again, and followed his burdensome body across the cell.

I would be willing to give you some money to get us all something, Maurice, Rossy said. If you would be kind enough to go get it, he added graciously.

Maurice stopped and turned back to his charges. Good ’nough. Jus’ give me the money, he said.

Rossy got up from the bunk, and Maurice hurried to straighten the bunk he had used. He had a cot in the back room, but the bunks were more comfortable. He sometimes used one if available. He finished and went to the door of the cell. He wore old and faded and patched jeans that were loose on his large body, even though he wore a belt, but to make sure his pants stayed where he wanted them, he wore wide suspenders, once bright red but now faded to a shade of pink.

He had on a clean white T-shirt and on the chair at the desk was a gray button-up sweater. He reached into the right hand pocket of his jeans and brought out a ring of keys. The ring was tied to his belt with a long piece of white twine. He reached through the bars of the cell door and unlocked the door to free himself. He left the cell, relocked the door, dropped the keys into his jeans pocket, went to the desk chair and got his sweater and put it on, and went to the other cell door to meet Rossy.

Rossy took a thin leather wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer and looked at the contents with the solemnity of a cardplayer checking a suspicious hand. After some deliberation, he took a ten dollar bill from the wallet and handed it through the bars to Maurice.

There, Maurice, Rossy said significantly, get us some eggs and coffee. And some bread and butter, perhaps.

Maurice turned the bill in his big meaty fingers as though he might have misread the one side.

What yo’ think this ’ere is? he asked sullenly and handed the bill back to Rossy. Uh, ten dolluh bill won’t buy nuthin’. An’ ah usually git somethin’ fo’ goin’ tuh all the trouble.

Rossy took the bill back and looked into his wallet again. After a few moments, he took out a twenty dollar bill, put the ten in his pocket, and handed the twenty to Maurice, and he gave Maurice a frown at the parting.

Is that better? he asked apologetically.

Maurice checked the denomination of the bill and looked at the wallet in Rossy’s hand.

Bettuh, he uttered, but more’d be more’propriate.

Rossy moved closer to the cell door and motioned Maurice to come closer. I’m getting a little low of cash money, Maurice, and I wonder if, he said, and looked around to check on his cellmates, you might get a check cashed for me.

Maurice’s face and body registered nothing. Ah don’t know uhbout that. Talk tuh the sheeriff, he said noncommittally.

Rossy smiled. All right. Thank you, Maurice. He put the wallet back in his coat pocket. Maybe for a gratuity, you would put in a good word for me to the sheriff, he ventured good-naturedly.

Maurice was not in a mood for good nature. When will the sheriff be in? Rossy went on nevertheless.

Don’t know, Maurice answered and turned away and started to leave but stopped and stood at the bars to watch Wilson at his writing. After a few moments, Wilson sensed he was being watched, and he looked up from his notepad.

What’s all that writin’ ’bout, Wilson? Maurice asked. All day yestuhday, an’ startin’ all bright an’ early tuhday. It yore oughty-by-grafy?

Wilson looked back to the page he had been working on and did not look back to Maurice. My story, he added seriously, an’ other things, ah guess, he said.

Oh, Maurice responded nonchalantly. What yuh doin’ that fore?

Because I want someone tuh know, I reckon, Wilson answered.

Huh? Maurice huffed contemptuously. Tuh know what? he jeered. That yuh shot yore wife an’ uh county police troopuh? Yore real stupid, Wilson.

Wilson worked on his notepad undeterred, and Maurice watched him for a few moments more.

Yo’ don’t hav’tuh work so hard at it, Maurice told him, yore gonnuh have lots uh time.

Maurice stood by the bars and laughed a dry scratchy laugh for a moment, then he turned and made his way slowly, in a shuffling gait and with a shuffling laugh, toward his back room. Maurice had a variety of laughs—he laughed in different ways at different things, depending on how he was struck. He had become a happy man. He disappeared into the back room, and the others could hear him open the door to the outside and leave the jail.

Davey looked down from his position, at Wilson. Wilson, did yuh really shoot yore wife an’ uh countie mountie? he asked.

For the first time, the cellmates seemed to notice one another, to be affected by each other. They had been brought in at different times and in different states of awareness. Wilson lived far out in the country, away from the town, and his case was a peculiar one. Sometimes it took a while for news to circulate, but it did always.

Wilson stopped writing, and after a pause to note how far along he was in his story, he looked up at Davey. Willie looked over from his bunk and put down the Playboy magazine. Wilson smiled weakly.

Yeah, he said.

Damn, Wilson! Davey exclaimed and became more interested.

Willie sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

Rossy stood and watched and listened.

Wilson looked around at them and determined he was supposed to relate what had happened. He looked back to his notes.

Hit my wife in the arm, he said softly, without looking up.

An’ the officer in the backside. But didn’t aim to, he continued. He looked up and smiled glumly, and the others laughed.

Why’d yuh do it? Davey asked eagerly.

Wilson looked back to the notepad and back up with a look of indecision on his face, not as to why he acted as he did, but whether or not he wished to try to explain why. He looked back to his scribbling and seemed to find an answer.

Cause I hated her, he began. She treated me like I was nothin’. I don’t know why we ever got tuhgether. Well, I guess, ’cause I needed someone an’ didn’t ever think I’d get anyone. But she jus’ seemed tuh become someone else, someone other than the one I met. She called me lowly names an’ said I was uh failure at everything. Wilson consulted his note pad once more. Always tauntin’ me an’ tryin’ tuh make me feel like I wasn’t uh man. She’d get mad at me ’cause I liked tuh read and study things out. He looked around at the others and smiled thinly. Just tryin’ tuh make me mad, ah know. Really. She just loved tuh cause disruption, that’s all. He let out of his mouth a peculiar peeping noise, not to denote any feeling, just to punctuate his tale. Well, she did, aw’right. All the time. Then she’d laugh an’ say she wasn’t ’fraid of me, an’ I knew that for fact. So I’d get low, feel low. I couldn’t leave, an’ she wouldn’t leave.

So what finally happened? Davey asked.

Nothin’, Wilson answered weakly, and he tried to compress his knees together more tightly. Jus’ more of the same things. She was yellin’ at me ’bout somethin’ ah did, or didn’t do. ’Bout not bein’ anything, worth nothin’ an’ how I was even uh failure in the bedroom. He laughed sharply before going on, just a tapered exclamation pointed downward and inward. But that didn’t bother me none ’cause I knew that was more tuh do with her than me. I didn’t want tuh be somethin’ in the bedroom with her. But I understood ah’d had enough, somethin’ was different. Don’t know what. Don’t know what caused it. Maybe ’cause I feel my life gettin’ shorter an’ shorter, not as much left as used tuh be. He smiled. Somethin’ ah’d been thinkin’ ’bout uh lot. So I went an’ got my old twenty-two …

Shoot, Wilson! Davey hooted derisively. Uh twenty-two? That wouldn’t do no harm!

Yeah. Ah know, Wilson said wistfully, but that’s all I ever had. I just wanted tuh show ’er, tuh do somethin’ tuh show ’er. I didn’t know what I was gonnuh do. It was jus’ for show.

Davey smiled. What’d she do when she saw the gun? he asked.

Just laughed, Wilson told him.

Then what’d yuh do? Davey asked.

Shot her. In the arm.

Davey and Willie whooped and snorted; Rossy looked at them and smiled humorlessly. Wilson looked around at all of them, then studied his notepad until they quieted.

Then somethin’ happened, Wilson began again, without looking up from his lap. She got scared. He paused and looked at the others again. She saw me shoot her. She saw the blood on her dress. Wasn’t much blood, really, an’ she saw that I wasn’t scared. Wilson looked away as if to better view the memory of his wife’s face.

There was uh look on her face, he continued when the others remained silent, surprise, for sure, but somethin’ else. There was some kind of hint of some respect. Of uh sort. Kind of uh different notice. Yuh know? Wilson looked around to the other faces in his circle to see if they knew. Jus’ that ah had done somethin’. He paused and let the memory go where it would. Then I jus’ turned an’ walked out of the house. I didn’t know what tuh do. I didn’t know where tuh go. I didn’t know what tuh feel. I didn’t hate ’er anymore. Once ah saw that look in ’er face, ah knew ah was free. Jus’ started walkin’ down the road, an’ for long this young county deputy pulled up an’ stopped an’ got out of his car an’ started walkin’ toward me. He got his pistol out. I was still carryin’ the rifle, though ah didn’t know ah had it in my hand. He looked kind of scared, too. I wasn’t scared still. Ah raised mah hands an’ the gun went off. He turned an’ it hit him in the behind.

Whooty, whooty! Shit! Davey yelled. What’d he do then? he asked.

He grabbed his butt. I went over tuh ’im, Wilson went on patiently, an’ asked what ah could do. I took ’im tuh the hospital.

The others watched Wilson for several moments with no further comment, and Wilson took up his pen from the bunk.

Whattuh yuh gonnuh get for all that? Davey asked quietly.

Wilson shrugged. Don’t know. Years, ah guess.

Davey sat and stared down at the hard cement floor for several moments. Wilson put his pen to his notepad again but only toyed with a word or two.

Yore goin’ tuh prison for uh long time, Wilson, Davey uttered pensively.

Prob’bly, Wilson answered.

Yeah. Davey mused.

They were silent for a time. Willie said, Uh, long time.

Davey glanced over to Willie disdainfully and looked back to the floor. Whattuh ’bout uh road gang? he asked no one in particular.

I don’t mind much goin’ tuh prison, ah guess, Wilson said, ’cause ah feel ah don’t have uh lot of time left, an’ I could read all ah want. An’ write, if ah want. Could study uh lot of things.

Fine for you, Wilson, Davey said testily, but ah don’t give uh shit ’bout readin’ an’ writin’ an’ studyin’.

Jus’ what the hell yuh in for anyway? Willie asked Davey. Davey looked over to Willie and sat more erect on his bunk.

Yuh didn’t hear ’bout it? Same as Wilson, ah s’pose. ’Tempted murder.

Willie laughed. ’Tempted murder of who? he asked and continued to laugh. Ah heard yuh got in tuh uh fight an’ got yore ass whooped.

Davey stared over at Willie for several moments and answered with his stare on Willie still. Cloyd.

Yore brother-in-law?

Right.

C’mon.

True.

Why?

Got mad at ’im. An’ I was uh little drunk.

What happened?

It was over uh dart game.

Willie laughed some more, only harder. Uh dart game! he exclaimed and jeered with a vulgar sound.

Yeah. So what? We were drinkin’ an’ throwin’ some darts down at Sissy’s. I was winnin’ an’ when ah went up tuh get mah darts outtuh the board, he threw one at me. Davey reached back of his shoulder and rubbed reflectively. It stuck in mah shoulder, so ah turned ’round an’ threw one back at ’im, but he knocked it down an’ threw his beer at me. He touched a spot above his left eye. Ah guess ah jus’ went crazy ’cause ah hit ’im and knocked ’im down an’ ’fore ah knew what ah was doin’, ah stabbed ’im with the darts in mah hand. ’Fore anyone could pull me off ’im ah’d stabbed ’im. He had little holes in ’is chest an’ arms.

Willie snorted. An they got yuh in ’ere for uh-tempt-ted murder with darts? he said and nearly rolled off the bunk with his raucous laughing.

Davey glared over at Willie and looked as though he might get off his bunk and confront him, but then his gaze seemed to turn inward. He slumped back on the bunk and went back to looking at the mottled ceiling.

Willie stopped laughing. Uh-tempt-ted murder with darts, he went on to himself and continued to snicker.

Guess so, Davey muttered.

That’s really dumb, Willie kept on after he stopped making wet wheezy sounds.

Davey sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk; he sat with his hands on the edge of the bunk ready to jump down and stared over at Willie, then he heaved himself up and jumped down to the floor and moved toward Willie’s bunk. Willie looked down at him and positioned himself to jump down, but then he seemed to think better to let the contention pass. He sat on the edge of his bunk and just stared at Davey. They held those positions for a few moments, and then Davey relaxed his stance.

Whattuh ’bout yore brother-in-law? Willie asked.

He’s aw’right, Davey answered and stuck his hands in his pockets and stood casually. He looked around at Rossy and over to Wilson, and they were watching him. He went over to the bars of the door to the cell and leaned against them. I sure don’t wanttuh go tuh no prison. He began seriously. Wouldn’t mind so much goin’ on uh road gang of some kind, or somethin’ like that. Or jail. Jus’ jail. But prison? That’s damn big time. Too damn big for some little shit smart-ass like me. An’ so all damn closed up. Confined.

He looked up and checked Willie, and over to Rossy, and then to Wilson. Y’all think ah could get put on uh road gang, where’d I’d be outside some? he asked.

After a few moments, Rossy answered. I don’t know.

Wilson looked at him and tightened his thin lips into a straight hard line.

Darts, Willie went on once more, as he worried at the subject as a puppy with a troublesome slipper until he got into trouble.

Davey took his hands out of his pockets and stepped toward the bunk where Willie was perched.

Whattuh ’bout you, butthole? Whattuh you in ’ere for? Davey demanded.

Willie jumped down from the bunk and landed in front of Davey, and they stood within swinging their fists at each other distance.

Stole uh car, Willie said defiantly. Uh Corvette.

Davey smiled. An’ yuh got caught? he said sarcastically.

Yuh must be uh piss-poor driver, he went on and continued to stare Willie in the eyes, ready to escalate the hostility.

Ah was passed out, Willie answered with little defense. Stopped outside Sherri’s house, he added weakly.

Davey hooted convulsively. After he quieted, he turned to Rossy. Well, that jus’ leaves you, he said roughly.

Oh, nothing so romantic or adventuresome, I’m afraid, Rossy answered, smiled, and raised his hands before him in a deprecating gesture. I’m a simple salesman. Automotive antisway bars, and other items and wares. And it seems there is some question as to the efficacy of one or two of my products by some in the community. Rossy smiled warmly, perhaps slyly, the smile was worn well and genuine, used not to beguile, persuade a reluctant customer, maybe, but never to falsify its origin. And there seems to be some problem with my bank draft transfers. A simple error on my part, I’m sure, and a simple matter to rectify. He smiled again, and the others smiled with him in a sense of some small conspiracy. They nodded knowingly and then turned their attentions on themselves again.

Wilson looked up at Rossy. Thank you for buyin’ us all somethin’ tuh eat, Mr. Rossy, he said.

Rossy smiled at him. My pleasure, Mr. Wilson, he replied.

Wilson went back to his writing, Rossy walked over to his bunk and sat there, and Davey climbed back up onto his bunk. Willie stood alone for a moment, then heaved himself back onto his bunk.

The four men attended to their own thoughts and business, the limited affairs they could see to in such close company. Rossy sat quietly for a few moments, then he reached under his bunk and brought out a backpack with straps and large pockets. It was fine tan leather from an exclusive shop. He placed it on the bunk beside him. Everything about Rossy’s appearance and movement was neat, not wasted or superfluous, used to good purpose. The leather bag and his clothes were expensive, they showed his taste. He sensed that taste and expense would give better in the long run. On Rossy, the bag would look right, casually thrown over his shoulder, acceptable, not an affectation or a guise. It was just the way a traveling gentleman would transport life’s little necessities. Rossy took from the bag a deck of cards and began playing with them on the heavy army surplus blanket on his bunk. He had spread and tucked the blanket around the bedding on his bunk and had lain on top of the blanket. He had been brought in late in the afternoon the day before. Davey took his position to best study the ceiling’s deteriorating codes. Willie went back to the Playboy magazine, and Wilson wrote industriously again, as if reliving one of his least vague periods. The men had become a fellowship of sorts, a strange coming together, a singular group with shared experience and knowledge, and though they did not know, they had influenced one another, slightly, or otherwise, in a lasting form, unknown influence.

They might never guess, might never realize, that influence has a long lifetime, as long as a memory and longer, and is never static, as the mind’s existence, a constant sparking in one form or another. They were limited to the world order around them for a time, and they had become a small society of their own, with an order.

There was quiet for several minutes, then from down the hallway to the sheriff’s office, the sound of doors being opened broke their tenuous harmony.

The sheriff appeared with a new prisoner. The sheriff had a flourish about him, although he was ordinary. He was not fat and offensive, a stereotype for his profession and position, not tall and lanky. He was not blustery or stony, just average and not easy to predetermine. He was of average height and weight and wore a plain clean outfit that matched, khaki and no off–color pocket flaps or epaulets, and the uniform fit him comfortably. He did wear his revolver rakishly reversed—butt first, above his left hip, tight against his waist—and the brown leather of his belt and holster and shoes had been saddle soaped and polished.

The new prisoner was different. He was young, twenty-one, but looked older. He was overweight, a lot, from overeating and more so from lack of exercise, not sloppy fat yet, but close to being so. He had a large round head. He wore a dark, floppy, crewneck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath that showed above the stretched neckline of the sweater, and baggy corduroy trousers. He had on a new pair of sneakers but no socks. His appearance and expression and demeanor made him distinct and strange, and it could be imagined that were he to go unchecked in eating pattern and way of life for a few more years, he would be alone and lonely. It was not evident that he was upset in his predicament.

The sheriff looked around the confines and determined that Maurice was not there and called for him. Maurice! His voice was full and rich with a soft accent that was smooth around each syllable and word. There was an eloquence in tone and lilt in the way he called for his assistant. There was an obvious familiarity of their places and roles. They knew each other well, and it had been so for a long time.

Maurice, he called again and looked into the cell at his other prisoners, his commission, and he tugged reflexively at his shiny holster. The sheriff seemed to know his gifts and significance.

The occupants of the cell got up and became attentive.

Maurice, the sheriff called once more in a pleasant way that indicated he understood his associate and his ways.

Rossy took a step toward the bars. Maurice has gone to buy some supplies for our breakfast, sheriff, he informed the sheriff.

The sheriff gave Rossy a long look and checked the others in the cell while he was in the process, then he nodded once. He guided the new prisoner to the cell and unlocked the door with a single key he took from his shirt pocket. The new offender entered without any prodding, and the sheriff relocked the door and returned the key to his pocket. Davey and Willie jumped down from their bunks and approached their new cellmate.

Newton, what the ’ell yuh doin’ ’ere? Davey asked the new addition to their group.

Rape, the sheriff answered tersely.

Rape! Davey exclaimed. Newton? Davey and Willie laughed impulsively, and the sheriff gave them a stern look that halted any further frivolity or discussion, at least in his presence, then he walked out of the room with a stride and an expression of purpose and disgust.

When he was clearly out of the area, the others gathered around Newton, except for Wilson, who kept to his bunk and notepads. Still he took notice of the circumstance.

Newton, Davey began, and smiled. Wha’cha really in for? he asked.

Newton smiled a silly smile back at him. Wilson looked up with some interest in the answer. Rossy and Willie waited close by.

Rape, Newton answered and kept half the silly smile.

C’mon, Davey said, yuh wouldn’t know how tuh do it.

Davey laughed some more and poked Willie with his elbow. Willie poked him back.

The sheriff said so, didn’t he? Newton answered them effusively.

An’ jus’ who was the one s’posed tuh be raped by you? Davey asked.

Sherri Whtehall.

Davey and Willie doubled over with laughter so raucous Rossy looked around to see if it might bring back the sheriff.

Willie gained some control. Newton, yuh moron, he said between snickers, if it’s true, yuh got locked up for takin’ somethin’ yuh could git by askin’.

It’d cost Newton twenty dolluhs, Davey said.

He and Willie laughed and slapped each other and took several moments to sober themselves.

Willie shook his head. What’d yuh do tuh ’er … exactly, Newton? he asked.

Newton looked around at his new friends, not perturbed by the ridicule, it seemed.

How’d all this come ’bout? Davey asked.

Newton hesitated for a moment. We were over at her house, he began, at a party—

Now why’d she have yuh tuh one of ’er parties? Willie interrupted derisively. She want yuh tuh bring the Dr. Peppuh?

Willie and Davey grinned at each other, but Newton was undaunted and waited to go on with his story.

Davey became more serious for a moment. Newton’s twenty-one now. She wanted ’im tuh get some booze, didn’t she, Newton? he said.

Newton looked a bit sheepish. Well, yeah, he admitted. So?

Go on. What happened? Davey went on to Newton.

Newton paused and looked away for a moment. We were having a good time. There was food. Drinks. Some dancing. After a while, she asked me if I would like to go upstairs with her—Davey and Willie exchanged glances—so we went up to her room. Newton looked to see if he had his companions’ attention, and then continued. She closed the door behind us and motioned for me to go over to the bed. Then she told me to sit there, so I did. Then she started walking toward me and taking off her blouse. She pulled her blouse out of her jeans and started unbuttoning it and took it off and threw it on the bed. She had on a bra, he added quickly. She stood there in front of me and looked kind of teasing and flirty and sexy, and then she undid her jeans and wiggled them down to her ankles and stepped out of them. Then she sat next to me on the bed and rubbed her leg against mine and put her hand on my leg, on my … thigh. Newton looked to Willie and Davey. Newton went on, I sat there, not sure what to do, really, and she put her hand between my legs and then laughed. She said she wanted to see if she could get a rise out of me. She said guess not and stood and reached down for her jeans and started to put them back on. I took her arm and tried to get her to sit back down on the bed with me, but she pulled away. So I grabbed her and tore off her bra and panties … and got her down on the bed.

Davey and Willie stared at Newton as he looked from one of them to the other.

Newton, yore nuts, Davey said.

That sounds jus’ like Sherri, though, Willie suggested.

Davey looked at Willie and nodded thoughtfully and turned back to Newton. Then what happened? he asked him.

Newton gave little time to his recollection. The others came rushing into the room. They ran in and grabbed me off her. Then someone called the state police. They couldn’t get the sheriff. They kept me until this morning.

All the others looked at Newton. All were taken by his story, and they were quiet until the sounds of Maurice entering the back room caught their attention.

They moved to the bars, except Wilson, who stayed on his bunk. Maurice entered the cell area with his purchases and moved slowly around the room, arranging and preparing—all in his due course. He seemed to think out each movement before he committed his body. There was much to commit, and he seemed to have come to the conclusion that there was no reason to move with any greater effort. He had come to the reconciliation that there was nowhere for him to go, that he had nowhere he wanted to go, that this was his place.

Ah seen the sheriff, he informed his hungry, expectant company, and laughed. The laugh was light, tinkling, as the sound of a glass hitting the floor and breaking, suggesting someone had made a slip. Ah heah thar’ aint no mo’ virgins left in Melville now, eh, Newton? Yo’ was the last one. Maurice laughed deeply, so pitted it disappeared as he went to the back wall and began preparing to fix something for them all. He had made Newton the center of attention again.

Whattuh ’bout yore momma and daddy? Davey asked.

They don’t know, Newton answered. They’re on a trip.

Davey shook his head. You’d bettth get in touch with ’em, Newton, he told him.

I don’t know if I can.

Well, yuh better, Newton, Davey advised him again.

Newton, this ’ere is serious, no mattuh what yuh done, Willie told him.

That’s right, Davey said.

It was just a party. A few drinks. That’s all, Newton said. Nothing really happened.

Newton, Davey said forcefully, yore accused uh rapin’ the ex-mayor’s daughtuh, an’ yore uh strange fat jerk, an everybody in town knows what uh weird fruitcake yuh are, an’ yore momma took up with uh—Davey looked over to Maurice and altered his intended insult—blackman, an’ everybody knows ’bout it. Yuh aint got uh prayer if they go aftuh yuh.

Oh, they’all go aftuh yuh, Newton, Maurice called over his shoulder as he worked at his table, mor’n likely ’cause yore uh fairy-boy, an’ now yuh turn up tuh be uh rapin’ fairy-boy tuh boot. Yore in big trouble aw’right. Maurice laughed beautifully.

Yuh got uh call comin’, Davey told him, yuh bettuh tell someone where yuh are an’ what’s goin’ on, Newton.

Willie advised him, Yuh bettuh call uh lawyer, Newton.

Newton listened and seemed strangely taken by the exchanges. He seemed to sense he might be a catalyst instead of a butt for once.

Rossy had been listening quietly to the conversation, and he seemed the natural one to speak next. He had an air of knowing about such matters as their current situations and how to get out of such situations.

Don’t you have people here, or close by, that you could contact? he asked simply, helpfully, and eased into the interchange.

Not really, Newton answered. I’m staying at the farm by myself while my parents are out of the country. Well, there is the staff, but I don’t know how they could help me.

His father’s uh big shot writer, Davey said knowledgeably, for he seemed to know all that was revelant about the community of Melville and surrounding territory. They live in ’Lanta. Got uh fancy place in New York, big, big place down ’ere. His momma’s took up with uh rich boy up north. Some say rich from drug money. Newton looked at Davey, obviously taken aback by all the information Davey thought he had and took a different stance, one of a little defiance.

My parents are, he began severely, then turned to Rossy and changed his thought. Axel and my mother are just friends. He owns clubs in Manhatten, Chicago, and Atlanta. She helped him with the interior designing. My father is a consultant and has written books on several subjects. Persons who don’t know make up things, I guess.

Rossy folded his arms across his chest and raised his hand to his chin, and then waved his hand as if to swat away Davey’s words. I’m afraid your friends are right in what they say, Newton, Rossy told him calmly. I have spent some time in such environs, in such rural communities, and I have been around various aspects of the practice of law. It’s a peculiar happenstance, I have found, that one can get away with a lot of … mischief … misbehavior … can be a miscreant of quite a stripe, but on certain occasions, an innocent can be caught up in a web there is not a way out to be had. Don’t you know someone, anyone, of some stature, importance, close by you could call? Someone who is well-known in the community that you could contact?

No one spoke for a few moments.

C’mon, Newton, Davey urged, yuh gottuh know somebody.

Willie looked to Davey. Yeah, Newton. C’mon, think.

Davey and Willie had sensed there might be some reward for them in any important connection Newton might have, might be able to bring into their midst.

I could call my cousin, JJ. He’s in Atlanta, and he’s from here, Newton said.

Davey and Willie became more alert.

Rossy studied their reaction before he spoke. Who’s JJ? he asked.

Jackson Montgomery, Davey told him.

The moviemaker? Rossy asked, and looked around at his cellmates. Of the films of—he paused to glance at the faces of his new friends and select the proper phrase for them—a racy nature.

Yes, Newton said. And he owns restaurants and other businesses. He owns land around here still, though not many know that, Newton went on and looked pointedly at Davey.

From Davey’s expression, Newton knew he did not know that fact.

He hasn’t been ’round ’ere for uh long time, Davey offered. Too much bad blood, bad feelin’ ’round ’ere ’bout ’im. He’d nevuh come back ’ere.

He’s your cousin? Rossy asked.

Yes.

No matter. He got outtuh ’ere, Newton, Davey said shortly.

He aint comin’ back. He’s uh rich big shot now an’ aint gonnuh care tuh come down ’ere an’ help yuh outtuh this joke yuh jumped intuh, even if he is yore kin.

He might be yore cousin, Newton, but he aint no fairy godfather tuh yuh, Davey said and started to snicker. Willie joined him in the peculiar spasm.

Davey and Willie continued to make their odd sounds and dance a jig of poking and slapping and shoving each other.

Blood can be pretty thick, Rossy said seriously, and Davey and Willie quieted. You’d better call him, Newton, Rossy told him.

Maurice had moved to his desk to wait for the coffee to be ready, and he had some bacon frying.

Hav’tuh wait on the sheerif tuh make any callin’, Maurice said, as he stood by the desk and moved some items on the desk.

When would that be? Rossy asked agreeably.

No tellin’, Maurice answered.

Newton looked around at his companions and seemed to accept the circumstances without much discomfort, and the others seemed to accept him into their little band.

Oh, well, lad, Rossy said after a few moments, we have some time to kill. He motioned toward his bunk. Come on, he said and took Newton by the arm and led him to the bunk. Do you have any cash with you? he asked.

Sure, Newton told him.

Ah, good, lad. Sit down here, Rossy said and bade Newton to sit.

Rossy and Newton sat on the bunk. Willie and Davey went to their bunks and heaved themselves up and lay there. Willie sat up and looked over to Newton.

Yuh really did that stuff tuh Sherri, Newton? he asked.

That’s right, Newton answered.

Davey sat up on his bunk, and he and Willie looked at each other.

Rossy picked up the deck of cards on the bunk and toyed with them idly before he took out of the deck three cards, one an ace, and showed them to Newton. He placed the three cards facedown on the blanket between Newton and himself. Davey and Willie watched from their bunks.

Now, Rossy began pleasantly, just to rate your eye and mind and perception, and for a little fun—Rossy held up the ace—and for a dollar, you pick out the ace when I stop moving the cards around on the blanket. Rossy put the ace back with the other two cards and moved them around and back and forth slowly and took his hand away. Newton tapped one of the cards, and Rossy turned it over to show Newton that it was not the ace. Newton was surprised. Rossy smiled and held out his hand.

My dollar, Rossy said.

Newton reached into his pocket and smiled weakly. I thought we were playing for practice and for fun, he said, as he brought out of his pocket a neatly folded number of bills. I didn’t think we were really playing for money.

Of course we were, Rossy answered with a smile. You heard me say for a dollar. And it’s fun. Rossy smiled his most genuine smile. But we’ll do it again, more slowly, to give you a chance to get your dollar back.

Again Rossy moved the cards around on the blanket and then left them still for Newton to study. Newton looked at the cards more closely than before and then selected a card other than the ace. He looked disappointed but did not hesitate to reach into his pocket for another dollar. Davey and Willie jumped down from their bunks and moved over to better view the transactions. Rossy looked up at them and smiled as he picked up the three cards and slipped them back and forth from one hand to the other before he put them back down on the bunk. One more time, Newton. he said.

Newton seemed happy to lose his money. He smiled and nodded, looked at the three cards for several moments, and turned over a queen.

Ah, Rossy sighed. Too bad. Newton got out more money. Turn the other cards over, he told Newton.

Newton flipped the other two cards over and looked up dumbfounded that there was no ace. There is no ace, he said meekly.

That’s right, and it only cost you a couple of dollars to find out you can always be cheated, anytime, anywhere, Rossy said, and smiled warmly at him. He looked up at Davey and Willie. Got your money ready, boys? he asked.

Hell, no, Davey said and turned toward Maurice. Dammit, Maurice, when we gonnuh get somethin’ tuh eat ’round ’ere? he demanded.

Got coffee ready, Maurice answered slowly. Bacon prob’ly ready by now. Eggs when ah git tuh em.

Then get it over ’ere. Gimme some coffee, Davey went on testily.

Yeah, Willie joined in, and he and Davey went to the bars of the cell.

Maurice was not going to be rushed, but he was ready for some coffee, so he made his way back to the table. He had a huge iron frying pan he cooked everything in, and he treasured it, had cured it just to his liking, and took great care of it and all his untensils. He had put into it two pounds of thick sliced bacon he got at the local grocery store where the owner cut his own meat. He fussed with the bacon for several moments. The hot plate he used was not the best way to cook, but it was the only way he had and he made do. It was slow, but he was never in a hurry. He took off hooks he had in the end of the big wooden table six blue metal coffee cups. He had six cups only. He poured coffee into each cup and slowly walked two of them over to the cell. Davey and Willie took the two cups of coffee. Maurice made the trip two more times and returned to his table. He took the bacon from the pan and began frying eggs, not asking how anyone wanted their eggs. They were going to be fried the way he liked them, the whole dozen. After he had made the eggs as he wanted, he made gravy, and soon everyone was having breakfast.

All of his charges, even Davey and Willie, were effusive in their appreciation and satisfaction with their meal, and if Maurice was taken by any of it, he did not show or say so. He sat at his desk stoically. He ate slowly, filling himself just so, but filling himself. He had taken the greater portion of what he made. When he finished eating, he cleaned his plate and utensils as thoroughly and carefully as he did his teeth, and he told the others, in no uncertain terms, to make sure they cleaned what they used. He poured himself more coffee and carried the pot to the cell door to give what was left to the others, and then he settled at his desk and flopped backward against the wall in his springy old wooden captain’s chair. His prisoners dutifully cleaned all they had used and then gathered at Rossy’s bunk.

Davey and Willie arranged themselves on the bunk, Newton also.

We’ll play poker, Rossy, Davey said. An’ yuh don’t get tuh deal. Wasn’t so smart tuh show us yore uh cheat ’fore we start tuh play.

Rossy smiled harmlessly. Whatever you all say, boys, he said and made himself more comfortable on the bunk. Deal ’em up.

Davey took the cards, shuffled them, and dealt each of them five cards apiece. As the others looked at their cards, Davey groped inside his right boot with his freehand and felt for a wad of bills he had hidden there. The bills were still there, and he left them. He took some change and a couple of bills from his pockets. Bets were made, and Willie searched his pockets and managed to come up with a handful of change and some crumpled bills. He bet a nickel, and the other players stayed in the game since the stakes were low. Unwanted cards were discarded and new ones distributed, bets were placed again, and Newton won with a pair of queens. He raked in the small pile of change when Rossy directed him to take it, and Davey and Willie cursed loudly. Davey gathered the cards and shoved the deck to Willie and another hand was dealt. The hand played with more animation and chatter, but the same small stakes and the same outcome, Newton won. Davey and Willie were incredulous and all the more willing to continue. Newton was happy, and Rossy was gracious, smiling, charming, in his element, as he was in life, large and unpredictable as it is.

Maurice was full and comfortable and in his element, certainly, and was settled in his position and about to doze off when the muffled sound of a phone ringing came from inside the desk. Maurice jerked forward and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He dangled the jumble of keys before his face and tried to find the one he needed. The deep insistent ringing made his fingers shake, and the keys jingle at the end of the twine. Even Maurice knew what only half of the keys were for, but how else would one know the one in charge, in charge of more. He found the key he needed, unlocked the deep bottom drawer at the right of the desk, and got the phone out and onto the desk. The unrestrained ringing disconcerted him more, and he had difficulty holding the receiver in his large hands. He got the piece to his ear and mouth.

Hullo, he called out, and gave the caller little time to respond, sorry, suh. He knew the caller had to be one of four persons, the sheriff, the judge, the mayor, or the colonel at the State Police Post. He listened for a moment then nodded solemnly. Yas, suh … No, suh … Yas, suh … Right. Suh, uh, shore ’nough, suh … Ah, see. No problem. He listened intently for several moments and looked over at the prisoners with a severe expression of authority. Yas, suh, ah does unduhstan’ … Yas, suh … Bye, suh.

Maurice replaced the phone receiver and put the phone back in the desk drawer and locked it away once more. The card players and Wilson looked over at him for some form of explanation or information, but Maurice stared back at them blankly, enigmatically. So they went back to the cards. Maurice shuffled papers on his desk, and Wilson lay back on his bunk, his notepads all around him. There was an old radio on the desk and Maurice turned it on and gave it a hard slap, but it remained silent. Another hand of poker ended with Newton the winner.

Newton, Davey uttered with exasperation, yore the luckiest son-of-uh-bitch ah evuh saw.

Should I deal the next hand, gentlemen? Rossy asked.

No, Davey answered emphatically. Newton, you deal.

Newton gathered the cards and shuffled them awkwardly several times and handed them out deliberately. He made sure to perform the procedure correctly. The players took their cards and studied them closely, and both Willie and Davie seemed more pleased with their lot. Rossy bet a dime, and Davey raised to a quarter, Willie frowned and threw in a quarter. Newton seemed confused but put in his quarter. Rossy decided to stay in the game and added fifteen cents to the pot. Rossy took three cards, Davey one, and Willie one. Newton nearly forgot to include himself in the game, so busy with dealing he had become, but he took three cards. Rossy passed, Davey bet another quarter, Willie stayed in the game, and Newton raised a quarter. Davey looked at Willie, and Willie looked at Davey, and then they both studied Newton. Newton looked at his cards again, not so sure of his hand suddenly. Rossy folded. Davey thought for a moment, and then threw in a quarter. Willie took less time to make up his mind but had to search for some more change. In his shirt pocket he found enough to make twenty-five cents and threw it in the pot. Davey had a pair of kings and a pair of tens, Willie had kings and eights, and Newton three aces.

Davey jumped up from the bunk. Newton, I don’t believe it! he sputtered. Willie picked up his cards and threw them down. Newton looked befuddled, but he raked the money toward him. Rossy smiled and collected the cards.

Willie shook his head. Rossy, yuh aint worth shit without the cards in yore hands, are yuh? he said, an effort to draw Rossy into his frustration. Rossy continued to smile and shrugged cordially. Willie looked up at Davey, who appeared ready to turn the bunks over. He stood with his hands on the upper bunk and his head against the back of his hands. Sit down an’ deal, Davey, Willie said to him.

Davey did not hesitate. He sat on the bunk and took the cards Rossy held out to him. He shuffled the cards quickly and dealt the hand. The hand progressed and Rossy and Newton were the only ones to stay with their hands, and Newton took the pot with two pair.

Davey and Willie threw their cards across the room and got up from the bunk. They stomped around the cell muttering and sputtering and cursing and swearing. After a few minutes, they jumped back up to their bunks and sat fuming silently until something came to Willie.

What’er we gonnuh eat fore lunch, Maurice? he asked angrily.

Don’t know bout yo’ll. Ah’ve got some things in the back for mine. Sheerif says ’e aint comin’ in. So yo’all bettuh think of somethin’, ah guess, Maurice told him.

I’m winner in the card game, Newton said grandly, I’ll buy us all something.

Rossy stood and winked to the others. That’s it, Newton. That’s the old spirit of shared destiny, he said and clapped Newton on the shoulder.

Davey and Willie picked up their cards and returned to Rossy’s bunk and their game that seemed capable of changing fortunes, no matter how large or small or unknown, or grown men and boys could use as telltales against one another to prove some masculine superiority, or could be used to pass some slow moving time and nothing more. Wilson had stopped his writing to observe the interchanges around him, but he seemed little moved by any exchanges of the others, and he seemed able to exist on whatever came his way. He went back to his notepad, filling the pages, and rather than emptying him, the spate of words and emotions seemed to fill him. As he wrote a sentence, scratched out words and replaced them, grimaced and smiled and recalled, he became more assured and complete, perhaps because he was adjusting his life on the straight true lines on the yellow paper, but only he knew what he was writing and why, only he knew what he had lived and why. He smiled at the paper with the realization that he knew one thing more completely than any other person, himself. Even with that knowledge, or because of that knowledge, he knew he was no writer, only that he was doing something he had always wanted to try and had been persuaded he could not do. It did not matter that he would be the only one to read the manuscript. He smiled at the consideration of manuscript. He looked down at the record on the bunk beside him and nodded at the impressive bulk of words. With words on the pages, they looked thicker and heavy. Then, no, he thought, he wouldn’t be the only one to read it. Josie would read it; the look on her face when he walked out of their life was proof of that.

The card game became noisy as Davey won a hand, and he and Willie reveled in their good fortune. Newton was having a good time. He did not care that he lost or won; he was happy to be included and accepted in such a group.

Newton Tyson Broadway had been a weak, sickly child and could not do all the activities and play of the more hearty children of his age and association. He developed a serious eye infection when he was a youngster and was forced to spend much of his time inside, and he did little in his darkened atmosphere. When he did venture out his eyes watered and festered, and left crusty, squinty slits of his eyes, and the condition looked contagious. None of his contemporaries wanted to be near him.

He grew into a tenuous version of good health and ability, but it was too late to help him grow up with a good grasp of social interchange. He had grown so used to being inside during the day he became a full time night student at a small college an hour away, and he spent most of his days inside studying. He was smart and a good student. He read well and easily