Alabama Moon (28 page)

“Quiet.”

Mr. Wellington walked back to us, picked up the rifle, and gave it to me. “Shoot it, Moon.”

“Want me to make 'em pay?”

“Just shoot the bottle.”

It was nothing to me. I'd done it more than a thousand times with Pap, practicing for the war he always said would come. I brought the rifle up to my shoulder and lined up the iron sights on the bottle. I held my breath and squeezed the trigger. The gun exploded and the aspirin bottle was gone.

I let the rifle down and handed it over to Mr. Wellington. It was a few seconds before anyone said anything. Finally, Sanders spun around and started towards the cars.

“Where you think you're goin'?” Officer Pete said.

“This ain't no way to run a trial! Bunch of tricks and nonsense!” Sanders shouted.

I saw the judge's face go red. “You turn around right now!”

Sanders stopped but didn't turn around. The judge took a few steps in his direction. “I'm gonna tell you this one more time, mister. This ain't your daddy's Sumter County, and I ain't your daddy. This is my county and my trial. Turn around!”

Sanders slowly turned and stared at the ground and clenched his teeth.

“Look at me!” the judge snapped.

Sanders lifted his chin. I thought the judge was about to say
something, but just then we heard a vehicle approaching. Everyone except Sanders looked out at the dirt road. I hung my mouth open when I saw Hal driving towards us in his daddy's truck. Just above the passenger-seat window, the little wiener dog's head watched us curiously. In the bed, curled up on sacks of garbage, were the bloodhounds. “Hey, Hal!” I yelled.

Hal waved at us, and the bloodhounds heard me and tripped around in the garbage trying to stand up. “Recognize those dogs, Sanders?” Mr. Wellington said.

The judge looked back at Mr. Wellington and then at the truck again. The bloodhounds finally made it to their feet and began woofing at me. Sanders spun around and I couldn't see his face. After a second, he mumbled, “Sum-bitch,” and took out running towards the truck.

“Are those his dogs?” the judge said.

“Yes,” Mr. Wellington replied.

“Hold it right there, Sanders!” Officer Pete yelled.

Sanders kept on. Hal mashed the gas pedal and spun the steering wheel so that the truck leaned into a hard turn. The dogs crashed and stumbled around in the garbage, and newspapers and trash flew out into the weeds. Hal straightened up the wheel and sped out the way he'd come. Sanders kept after him for a second, but finally stopped in the road and stared at the dust trail.

“Put him in your car,” the judge said to Officer Pete.

“Which one?”

“That crazy fool out in the road, that's which one. Book him for perjury and I'll think of some more stuff before we get back to town.”

 

The judge rode back from the shooting range with Mr. Wellington and me. “What about Sanders's car?” I said.

“Hell with his car, son. That thing's a disgrace to law enforcement.”

“Am I goin' back to jail?”

The judge didn't answer me. “Wellington, was that the other missin' boy drivin' that truck?”

Mr. Wellington nodded.

“I guess he knows he just turned himself in.”

“He does.”

“And maybe got himself into trouble for bein' on the road without a license.”

“He's a good driver,” I said.

For the first time, I saw Judge Mackin almost smile. He looked at me with one corner of his mouth turned up. “Wellington, if I didn't know better, I'd say your client still hasn't learned a thing about the way the rest of the world operates.”

Mr. Wellington smiled but didn't reply.

“Don't look so smug over there,” the judge said. “If that constable had been half sane, all your fancy show business wouldn't have helped this boy.”

“I'm not trying to fool you, Your Honor. I'm just glad things worked out the way they did.”

“I'll tell you now, somethin's bothered me about this case from the start. I really couldn't put my finger on it until I got that bit settled with the constable.” The judge rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You see, there's this boy who's raised out in the woods and doesn't know a thing about the world but what he's seen within a couple of miles of his stick hut. One day this kid pops out of the woods, ten years old, and starts walkin' down the blacktop. We automatically think we got to put him in the system. Get him in the boys' home. Make him property of the state. Well, everybody can't fit that slot. Why can't you just put the kid on your sofa and help him out a little? Hell, put him on your floor. This kid would've been fine in somebody's barn. You'll kill a boy like this in an institution.”

“I'm guilty, too,” Mr. Wellington said.

“We all are. Damn system. This kid needs somethin' different.” The judge turned around and looked at me again like he was trying to figure out what I needed. “Boy, what're we gonna do with you now?”

“I don't care anymore.”

“You don't care, huh?”

“Nossir.”

“Your Honor, I've got it worked out where Moon will go,” said Mr. Wellington.

“Okay.”

“I've located his uncle. He says he'll adopt him.”

“Uncle?” I said.

“Where's this uncle while wild boy's raisin' Joe Cain all over central Alabama?”

“He's been in Mobile, Your Honor. He didn't know anything of the situation.”

 

We dropped the judge off on the steps of the courthouse. All of the reporters were gone and the place seemed empty. He got out of the car and stretched his arms over his head like he'd had a long day. After a second, he turned around. “Looks like we gave the press the slip. You two wait here a minute while I get somethin'.”

I climbed onto the front seat and began studying all the dashboard controls. “Where'd you get this car?”

“This is what I use when I'm trying to be fancy, Moon.”

“Lots of lights and buttons.”

It wasn't long before the judge returned with my hats in his hand. He leaned into the window and dropped them into Mr. Wellington's lap. “Moon, you write me a letter and let me know what it's like in Mobile.”

“Okay.”

“Wellington, he's under your care until his uncle comes for him.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Thank you for not wastin' my time today.” The judge stood up, tapped the top of the car, and then turned away.

Neither of us said anything as we drove out of town. I found a button that made my seat lean back and another that made the window go down. I stretched out and watched the tops of the trees go by and the clear blue sky beyond. It was good to know Sanders was locked up and that Kit would be
okay. It seemed like all of a sudden my mind was working easier and I felt better all over.

“What's my uncle look like?” I finally asked.

“You've seen the picture.”

“I didn't pay attention to it then.”

“It's in that envelope under the seat if you want to see it again.”

I sat up and reached under the seat and pulled out a brown envelope. “Where's Pap's personal box?”

“It's in the trunk with your other stuff.”

“How'd you get it all?”

“What do you think I've been doing for the past two days? Mr. Gene over there at Pinson's not real eager to help you, you know.”

“Did you get my rifle, too?”

“Well, that's still at the Livingston police station, but I think I can get them to release it to me after the paperwork's complete.”

I leaned back and dumped the contents of the envelope into my lap. Pap's watch and the money and the pictures were all there. The man in the photo was much shorter and skinnier than Pap but had the same face in a more boyish version. He seemed excited and energetic.

“He looks like he's gotta pee.”

Mr. Wellington smiled. “I imagine if he's related to you, he might have a little twitch in him.”

“You know what he's like?”

“I haven't met him, but I've talked to him on the phone. He sounds like a nice man.”

“What's he do?”

“He's in the tree-trimming business.”

“I've never heard of anybody doin' that.”

“Well, it's done all the time. A man can make a decent living at it.”

“How'd you find him?”

Mr. Wellington reached into his pocket and pulled out a penknife and gave it to me. “Pry open the back of that watch.”

“The back of it?”

“That's right.”

I opened the knife and inserted the tip of the blade into a small depression in the gear cover. It popped off and fell into my lap. I picked it up and studied the writing on the inside. It said “Zundel's Jewelers.”

“That's the name of a jewelry company in Mobile that I happen to know about. I called them, and they told me the Blakes they knew. Eventually, I ran across the right one.”

I folded the knife and gave it to him. After I put the watch back together, I put everything into the envelope again and looked out the window. “I oughta whip Hal good for doin' what he did today.”

“I told him he didn't have to come. Once I got your pap's rifle from him, I said we already had enough evidence. However, he said it's what he wanted to do. He said that his time was up anyway and that you'd had a rough go with the world. He wanted to do all he could to get Sanders off your back.”

I looked at Mr. Wellington. “I haven't had it so bad. Kit's the one that's had it bad.”

Mr. Wellington nodded.

I pulled my legs up and put my feet on the glove box.
“Well, Hal ought not have done that. He could have hid out for a while longer.”

“It'll be a couple of days before they get around to taking him to the Hellenweiler. I'll drive you to see both of your friend tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Good. I was wantin' to do that . . . How long have I got?”

“It'll be a few days before the paperwork's done. You're still property of the state, technically.”

“Then I go to Mobile?”

“That's right.”

“You been there before?”

“Sure. Plenty of times.”

“What's it like?”

“It's a nice place to live. You've got Mobile Bay and the Gulf of Mexico out front. Stays warm most of the year.”

“Got some forest?”

“Yes. It's got plenty of forest.”

“Got a lot of people?”

“Yes. More than Tuscaloosa.”

“That's a lot. I've never seen more than that.”

Mr. Wellington reached over and patted my leg. I looked at the hand and realized it was the first time a grown person had touched me with kindness since my pap. “You'll like it,” he said.

I stayed in Mr. Wellington's guest room again. I got up around midnight and took the picture from the envelope and studied my uncle's face under the lamp. Somewhere in the back of my mind, little black-and-white images of him
flipped around. I thought I saw him standing beside a church. I thought I saw his face hovering over my own and smiling at me. As soon as I tried to hold on to one of these images, though, it fell away and left me with only the face in the photo. Then, a strange thought came to me. I walked across the hall to Mr. Wellington's door. I knocked lightly until he answered me.

“Moon?”

“Yessir?” I opened the door.

“Are you all right?”

“Yessir.”

“What is it, then?”

“Will I have a brother?”

He sat up in his bed in the dark. He rubbed his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “And a sister. You have two first cousins.”

“I never thought about it before.”

“Try to get some sleep. You'll have plenty of time to think about it later.”

 

Mr. Wellington took me to see my friends the next morning. We stopped at Hal's place first, since it was on the way back to Tuscaloosa. I saw dust rising from the clay pit, and I guessed Mr. Mitchell was down there loading a customer. Hal slid out from under the truck when he heard us pull up. He stood and slapped his hands against his jeans, leaving greasy finger swipes. Mr. Wellington stayed in the
cab of his own truck while I got out and went to meet Hal.

“What you doin' here?” he said.

“I'm property of the state for a few more days.”

“Then you goin' to Mobile?”

“That's right.”

“Your lawyer told me about your uncle.”

“Yeah. I've got one, all right. A little one that climbs trees.”

Hal smiled. “You gonna whip up on him?”

I shook my head. “I'm not gonna whip up on him.”

“I gave the lawyer that rifle. He said it might help. I don't guess you want the crappy wheelbarrow back.”

“No, I won't need it anymore.”

“That's good.”

“You didn't have to come out there with the dogs like that.”

“I know.”

“You still got 'em?”

“Sanders's momma come and got the weiner dog. Daddy said he'll keep the bloodhounds for company if nobody comes for 'em. They're probly layin' in the shade down at the shop.”

“Sanders won't be comin',” I said.

“He in jail?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's where he needs to be.”

We walked over to the truck. Hal opened the door and got into the driver's seat. “I got me some holes drilled in the muffler. Listen to her.” He cranked the engine, and it began
popping and snapping small explosions from the rear. He grinned at me.

“I like it,” I said.

“You wanna tell Daddy bye?”

“Yeah.”

“Get in.”

“We're gonna go see Mr. Mitchell,” I called out to Mr. Wellington. He waved at me that it was okay and I climbed into the passenger side of Hal's truck. I held on to the dashboard when Hal straightened out his leg. We fishtailed out of his yard and down the hill towards the clay pit. When we passed the shop, the bloodhounds bolted out of the shade and fell in beside us.