Swift Justice: The Southern Way (13 page)

“Who shot them?”

“Someone … someone was at the warehouse. I think they had a rifle. They shot Cueball … and then they shot Stevie. I shot at him and started running. He missed me on his first try, but got me on the way out on my arm, by my shoulder. It’s killing me.”

“Wait a second. What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. I really couldn’t see him. He was in the darkness. I could only see an outline of him. Then I ran, and he chased after me, but I was able to get away from him. He only chased me for a short while.”

“What was he wearing?”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, I couldn’t see.”

“How tall was he?”

“He was about average height. He wasn’t tall—he wasn’t short.”

“Was he a nigger?”

“Sheriff, I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”

The Sheriff paused. “Holy shit! Where’s Deron at?”

“Um, as far as I know he is still at the warehouse. He was cuffed to the table.”

The Sheriff was silent for a moment. “Oh no, hang there by the hospital. I’ll get someone to pick you up after the doctor is done with you. Oh my God, I’m not sure what we’re going to do. This is terrible. All right, hang in there. I’m sorry about your brothers. I hope they’re okay. We’ll check them out right away.”

“Be careful, Sheriff. There’s a fuckin’ killer out there.”

~~~~

Deron cautiously studied the two men on the ground. They were not moving, and they appeared dead. For his self-defense, he took one of the revolvers that lay by one of the men and stuffed in his pant pocket.

Deron knew he had to get out of the warehouse quickly. He wasn’t sure if the guy who escaped was still out there and might come back for him. He realized that he had the same dilemma that his brother, Leon, had on how to get home, but his situation was a little better. Deron knew exactly where he was at because everyone knew about the old ammunition plant. It had employed many Negroes.

The warehouse was located to the west of the downtown and residential areas but slightly southeast of the lake, so Deron figured that he was only a couple miles from the railroad tracks—the dividing line between the Negroes and the whites. Deron hoped that no one would notice him if could maneuver his way through the maze of other warehouses and manufacturing plants.

Deron opened the door and peered around to see if anyone was around. He waited but couldn’t hear anything, so he started jogging south towards the railroad tracks.

While he was jogging, he was thinking of where he could go. He definitely couldn’t go the police—they just tried to kill him. The Sheriff dropped him off, and three guys tried to kill him. He figured that the Sheriff was behind the whole thing. Plus, the police would probably blame him for the murders just like they did with his poor little brother, Leon.

Okay, he knew he couldn’t also go home because that would be the first place the police would check. Maybe he should go to the black saloon on Vine Street. No, it would be closed by now, he realized. Where could he go? He didn’t want to jeopardize anyone and make them a target, so he couldn’t go to a friend’s house. He could hide somewhere even from his friends, but he was hungry, very thirsty, and cold. Maybe he could sneak into one of the churches and sleep there. Maybe even wake the Pastor and get some food. He hated the idea of jeopardizing a pastor, but it was probably the best idea. The white man might be hesitant to hurt a pastor. Plus, the pastor would be more than willing to help a fellow Negro. They were leaders in the black community and highly respected. They would help a black man on the run from the Klan.

Finally, Deron reached the railroad tracks. He was breathing heavily as he wasn’t in as good as shape as he used to be. The nearest church was the Southridge Baptist Church. It wasn’t his church, but he was sure the pastor would help. The pastor’s name was Pastor Floyd Bryant. The streets were empty at this late hour, so he darted down the streets and arrived at the church in about five minutes.

The Pastor’s residence was adjacent to the church. Deron didn’t want to draw attention to himself by knocking on the front door, so he snuck into the backyard by hopping over the chain-link fence. To his chagrin, a dog started barking from within the house. Damn, Deron did not want to draw attention to himself. Then, the lights came on from inside the house. Deron ran up the back stairs to knock on the door.

Before he got up there, though, the Pastor opened the door and pointed a shotgun at Deron. “Hold it right there, boy,” yelled the Pastor.

Deron instinctively held his hands up. “Pastor Bryant! Don’t shoot! I’m Deron Brooks from the neighborhood.”

“What are you doing here? What are doing in my backyard?”

“The white man just tried to kill me tonight just like they tried to kill my brother, Leon.”

“Oh, so you’re the family that the police have in jail. How did you get out?”

Deron still held his hands up. “Sir, can I come in and explain everything to you. I was hoping that you would help me. Please, sir, they are probably looking for me right now. Please.”

The Pastor pointed his shotgun down towards the floor, away from Deron. “Sure, sure, by all means, come on in.”

~~~~

As soon as the Sheriff ended his call with Paul Sawyer, he sprang into action the whole police force. Every officer was called and required to meet at the warehouse immediately even if they had to take their personal vehicles. The Sheriff told them to come armed and be on the lookout for an average-height man on the loose.

The Sheriff and a few officers, who were working the midnight shift, arrived first. The Sheriff waited until the others arrived about five minutes later. The Sheriff instructed Junior and another officer to enter from the rear. Once everyone was in position, the Sheriff gave the signal for everyone to enter.

The Sheriff wondered if Deron was still in there and whether Cueball shot him. Holding a gun with one hand and a flashlight with the other, he opened the door and entered quickly. Deep down inside, he figured that the shooter must have left already, so he wasn’t actually that scared.

The dim lights were still on, and the Sheriff could see that Deron was gone. He then saw the sick scene of two men on the ground motionless and blood spread out over the floor. He studied the men and could see that they were dead.

“Okay, we need to search this whole place to see if the shooters are still here,” the Sheriff ordered. “Then, we need to check the surrounding area.”

The Sheriff could hear cars approaching from the outside. “Who the hell could that be?” asked the Sheriff to one of the officers.

The Sheriff instructed everyone to continue the search while he went outside. He saw a state trooper car and another car. They parked. The Sheriff had his gun drawn because he didn’t know what the other car was doing there. The Sheriff shined his flashlight and could see it was the state trooper from Austin. He was getting out of his squad car, and then he saw that lawyer and the annoying newspaper guy.

Oh, shit! The Sheriff thought. This was the worst time for outsiders to be probing. What was he going to tell them? He wished he could converse with the Judge or Acton to figure out a consistent story. He had to address them, though. He didn’t want his men to speak to them because they might say something stupid.

The Sheriff approached the men. “What are y’all doing here?” asked the Sheriff gruffly.

“I heard the call on the radio, so I came to see if you need any help,” said the state trooper.

“What happened?” asked Ryan Ward, the reporter.

The Sheriff was speechless—he didn’t know what to say. Should he tell them that there was a double homicide or keep them in the dark. Shit, he didn’t know what to do, but they kept staring at him. He figured that they would eventually find out, so he might as well tell them.

“Sheriff, what happened here?” Ryan asked again. “Are you okay?”

The Sheriff sighed. “It looks like two white men have been murdered inside, and the killer is on the loose.”

“What?” asked Goldstein.

“Yeah, and we’re looking for the killer, so I can’t be bothered. You’re interrupting a crime scene. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Who was killed?” asked Ryan.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you again. Get out of here. We have to find this killer.” The Sheriff turned and walked back to the warehouse’s entrance.

“Well, it’s clearly not my guys who are in jail,” said Goldstein.

The Sheriff stopped and turned around to face them again. “Don’t be so sure,” the Sheriff responded. “Deron escaped tonight, and he is a suspect again.” The Sheriff regretted saying this as soon as it left his mouth. He needed to consult with the Judge and Acton before making a statement like that. Now there was no turning back. He would have to argue that it was Deron that killed the two men and probably the other three men.

Goldstein, Ryan Ward, and Jake glanced at each other in puzzlement.

Goldstein spoke. “What? You got to be kidding. There’s no way that Deron escaped. He is no suspect.”

“I’m telling you. He’s missing.”

“How did he escape?” asked Goldstein.

“Look, I don’t got time to discuss this matter. If you want to help me, find Deron and bring him to the police station right away.”

Goldstein shook his head in bewilderment. “Okay, we’ll see if we can find him.”

“Be careful,” said the Sheriff. “He’s a fuckin’ killer.”

“So, you just arrived at the crime scene and already made this determination,” said Ryan.

“Well, it’s not that hard. He escapes and then two white guys end up dead.”

“When did he escape?” asked Ryan.

“Look, I’m done with y’all. I have to find the killer.”

It was about five in the morning, and Deron was hiding in one of the Pastor’s second story bedrooms. While he and the Pastor sat in the darkness—they didn’t want anyone to see them—they peeked out the window. It didn’t seem like five in the morning because there was a lot of commotion—police cars, white men in pickup trucks, black men in pickup trucks, Negroes walking in the streets.

Deron figured that the cops would be looking for him. They were going to blame him for the murders just like they did his brother. It was going to be his word against the Sheriff’s. The Sheriff would never admit that he brought Deron to the warehouse and cuffed him to the table. How was he going to get out of this? Deron hated this town. He was sick of it. Here he was ready to die, and now they’re going to blame him for something he didn’t do. Who knows, they will also blame him for the other murders.

Deron had called his mom to let her know what happened and that he was at Pastor Bryant’s house. He asked her to try to get a hold of the lawyer.

“Roof, roof.” The dog started barking from downstairs.

“Oh, no.” Pastor Bryant said. “I think someone is in the backyard.” The Pastor grabbed his shotgun that was leaning against the wall, and whispered. “You wait here son. Hide in the closet.”

“No, I’m coming down with you.”

“No, stay up here.”

“No, sir, I’m coming down with you.”

“Okay, then be careful.”

When they reached the backdoor, they heard a soft knock.

Deron didn’t think it was the Klan or the cops because they would have pounded on the door or even just broke down the door.

The Pastor asked suspiciously, “Who’s there?”

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Howard Goldstein. I’m Deron Brooks’s attorney. I heard he might be here. Is he here?”

Deron nodded for the Pastor let Goldstein in.

Goldstein, who was by himself, came in.

Deron was so glad to see him because Goldstein would be the only person to help him with the legal system.

“Mr. Goldstein, thank you so much for coming.”

“Sure, no problem. Your mother told me you were here. What happened tonight?” asked Goldstein.

“It’s a long story,” said Deron. “The Sheriff brought me to the warehouse, cuffed me to the table, and then three—”

Goldstein interrupted. “He says that you escaped from jail.”

“What! No, I did not escape. I mean, I eventually escaped. Wait, let me just tell you what happened.” Deron was getting ready to tell the story but paused to say, “I can’t believe he told you that I escaped. Those assholes.”

“Okay, tell me what happened,” said Goldstein.

“Okay, he cuffs me to this table in a dark warehouse by the old ammunition plant. Three white guys come out.”

“Three? You sure it wasn’t two?”

“No, it was three. Three white guys come out, and they said that they were going to kill me because they think I killed the other three white guys. So I think I’m going to die. I’m preparing myself to die, and all of a sudden, someone from behind me in the warehouse shoots two of the guys but misses the other guy, at first. The shooter does hit the other guy on the way out, but it looked like he got him in the shoulder. He then chases after him for a short while, comes back in, shoots the other two guys again probably to make sure that they were dead. He gets the keys from one of the dead guys and gives them to me. I undo my cuffs, and I had leg cuffs on too.”

“They had you in leg cuffs too?” asked Goldstein.

“Yes.”

Goldstein nodded for Deron to continue.

“So, I got the hell out of there.”

“Wow, you’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m sorry you had to have this happen to you. This town is nuts. We’ve got to put an end to this madness. This town is horrible. It’s corrupt.”

“What should we do, Mr. Goldstein?” asked Deron.

“That’s a good question. Let me think about it.” Goldstein paused to ponder the situation. “They’re accusing you of escaping. They’re accusing you of being the killer. And what really happened was the cops kidnapped you, held you in that warehouse, and arranged it for you to be killed.”

“That’s right,” replied Deron.

“If we bring you to the police station, who knows what they will do to you. Needless to say, they will not treat you fairly. What I would like to do is that I heard that the FBI was supposed to be coming to town. Maybe we could go directly to the FBI.”

“Okay, do you think that would work?”