HANK TESTIFIES HOW HE MET CHUBBY ...
HE’S
IN THE CROWD, WHEN THEY BRING
me
in. We looks at each other, but he pretends; nothing to see, or
remember. These masks sure do change things. I think I can recognize
most people, mostly by their clothes, some just wear the same thing
day after day. Eyes. You gotta look a lot closer now, ’cause you
just see
their eyes. But – him? His walk alone tells you it’s him, long,
striding with
a little bop in it, some kind of internal rhythm generated flex, and he
is sure as black as black can be, even through his hat, mega-mask,
and wrap-around
sunglasses. I turn away, look again, and he is gone. Well, this
fast-talking Island brother – so black, you’d think he was
African – he
told me Bart knows, but is pretending he doesn’t, at least not in
the way
he really knows. Of course, I know Bart and he knows me – he and Granddad
had a go-around a few years back. I suppose he is wondering if
I am gonna let on. Easy Peasy. I let my eyes dart around, about –
five people
watching me. Well, I guess I caused quite a stir. There is no way out.
How much more time have I left? That Island blood told me that Bart
is counting on me, I’ll not let him down, no matter. Point of
pride, he
understands it, although I am sure in the back of his mind he wonders what
will make me break and call him out. But I won’t, no matter. They might
think I am slow, but I know what’s going on. I am never getting out of
here. I can’t. Nothing’s gonna change that.
I
know this sounds funny, but there is a lot of strange stuff I really wanted
to do. I mean when I am out on my raft, I think about a lot of things.
On a hot summer day, when the river isn’t really running high or fast,
it is so easy to float out there, and I wonder about the stars, and ancient
stuff, like who built the pyramids? Maybe we have done all this before?
Maybe somebody like me thought all this before. Nothing’s new, I know
that. I know this stuff with Real-Prez – it’s old hat, everybody
knows that.
This ain’t the first time somebody like him took over. I read about how
the Romans just gave up and let Caesar run things. Or maybe it was the
other guy? Anyway, I know we have all been here before, and will
again too.
Probably. Maybe – if we even get that far.
But
now things are getting really strange. Mind-reading machines. I hear
about them and I want to try it myself. I thought about that whole deal
once, and had it all figured out. If we could really see what was in people’s
mind, wouldn’t that fix so much? We would see what really bad people
was thinking, even if they seemed to be acting good, and the other way
too. I hear people are “hooking up” – that’s what they say –
with that
C2B, or See-to-Be, whatever it’s called, advertisements for it all
over, everywhere.
People just lettin’ it take over their mind. Supposed to be those guys
in turbans playing the flute for cobra snakes that do it, combined
with some
techno gizmo. Well, now that I think about it, it might be bad too – ’cause
what if what you think is good is what is against the bad people?
And
they find out that I’m against ’em? ’Cause I am. They
say they’re gonna hook me up, to find out what I know, who helped
me. Still, C2B sounds pretty interesting, gotta admit I am curious. Oh
I am not afraid neither, my mind is my own, they can’t take it. But I’ll
probably never get to find out. It’s supposed to let you learn a
whole college
book in a couple of hours, or so they say. Learn a foreign language in
a week – parley voo fransay, hab low esplanada – at least that is
what they
say. I saw people up in St Loo last week toting a box around in a backpack,
connected to one of those sticky hats of criss-crossed plastic on their
heads, staring off in their own world, barely able to avoid running into
people. I’d like to try it.
But
they’re talking about hooking me up, to see if the gizmo can tell
if I am
lying. Shit, if they beat me, I’ll tell something, but I ain’t
gonna really say
nothing. They is looking at me as if I was a catfish, stinkin’ in
the sun.
I
see a lot of other faces too, a woman dressed nice, a couple others mostly
angry and ugly. That’s just the audience. Well whatever they are gonna
do to me, they probably won’t do it here, at least. Might as well enjoy
what time I got left.
“How
did you know when to be there?”
“Be
where? You mean with my boat? I don’t got no fone no more,
but I still get messages and check them once or twice a week
on the pooter in the library. Lots of people seen me there. I
still need to pay my fone bill, and I will, and get my fone back, because
after 90 days they take away your messages, and I need that.
That is how I get business. I get the messages to pick up guys,
stuff, do shit around the river. I could make a lot more money
than I do, you know. I turn down a lot of work.”
“We
checked your messages, Hank, and there was no message from
anyone named ‘Chubby’ or anybody else who wanted to hire
you to take them up the river.”
“I
know. I delete my messages as soon as I hear them. I am really
sorry I did pick him up.”
“Why?”
“Why
do I delete them? ’Cause
I don’t want the phone company to
know I am getting messages I ain’t paying for. I always delete
’em
permanent too. Gone.”
“It’s
not permanent, Hank. But regardless – why are you sorry you
picked him up?”
“Why?
What am I gonna do? I left my raft docked upriver by the
Randall bend. I am gonna lose it for sure. Who is gonna pay for
that?”
I
know, I know, you all are wondering why I worry ’bout that? Who gives
a floating turd about the raft with a tin wigwam right? Yeah, maybe, but
I don’t want these people thinking they have me figured out,
’cause, see, I’m
“touched” a bit. Sometimes it pays to be misunder-estimated.
Somebody
in the back said, “We don’t have time for this.”
“Hank,
why don’t you just tell us in your own words what happened.”
I
just stared at him, like I didn’t hear him correctly.
“We
will make sure you get your raft back, when this is over,
if,
as you say, you are innocent.”
“My
boat and my raft. That’s all I wanted to hear. OK?”
“And
your boat too.”
They
look at me all sad like I don’t even know what is going on.
“I
had been pushed up on the beach there for about an hour when
I heard the shouting. I was scared to bejeezus, because I wasn’t
at all sure if I was doing something right or not. I mean, maybe
I am not – I mean, I didn’t mean anything bad to happen. I
lived around the Cape all my life, and I knew how people think. Not
everybody, but most of them. Mostly good people. Right? I just
thought this guy was like everybody else.”
“So
who told you to wait there?”
“Who
told me? Nobody actually, I mean, I have been talking to
people for quite a while about this Real-Prez business, and then
I get a message saying they need my help, so I said I would do
what I can…”
“Who
gave you the message?”
Who?
You did, Bart, you sneaky bastard. That’s how that Island dude
who never told me his name got me in on it! You, Bart – you who tried
to shut my granddad down for putting that Klan bastard on his show.
Is that why Granddaddy don’t talk to Momma no more? Bart was sweet
on Momma when they was in high school, she said. Granddaddy liked
him too much though, so she and my real daddy made me. Bart went away
then comes back all lawyer-like, but he don’t like Granddaddy no more.
Granddaddy don’t like him. Don’t like me neither. Twice he
offered me
money to leave town for good. I try not to smile. Momma is his only child
and I am hers. He told Momma he is giving everything to the church.
Bart,
not even smiling a little – this was kinda fun, ’cause I knows he knows
and him knowing I knows, but nobody else knowing we both know – my
Island buddy said never, ever tell anyone who or how or what.
“I
shoulda suspected then,” I
says out loud, “I
know. I had no notion
about this thing happen outside Hot Shots.”
“This
thing?”
“You
know, the toorrist bombing.” I
look around at their blank stares.
“I
didn’t know.”
“Uh
huh,” said his interrogator, who stopped and just stared at
Hank.
“What
are we doing?” Alvin
Hinkle, who owns a shitty landscape company
I worked for years ago, and who accused me of stealing a lawn mower,
when I didn’t, is talking now. “This
is a waste of time. I got a rope
in my truck.” It
don’t matter now, he said it, and everyone heard it.
A rope. That Island black dude, who I never seen before and who set this
up, said Bart would be there to help, and now, he’s leading the
investigation. So,
I figure I have to be scared and sorry about it all, but really, I ain’t.
If they is that good, maybe I got a chance! Or maybe I get
sacrificed. Like
Abraham was fixing to do, when the Lord stayed his hand. Maybe this
time, I’m just like Abraham’s son, only maybe God don’t call it
off at the
last minute. I just gotta lie here like Eye-zac. What if I slip up or
get really
scared? It’s all on me. But, then, Bart is in as much danger as I am.
Stick together – I hope we are together – and hope for a sign –
that’s my
ticket! Lay it on Hanky boy!
“Oh,
no, no, Oh God, please don’t, I am telling you the truth!”
Got
dem tears coming!
I
see Bart look at Dumphy, and point at Hinkle. Deputy Dumphy walks
over and touches him on the shoulder and signals him to leave. He does,
shaking his head ’bout “wasting county money on a half-breed
parasite.”
I
do admit after he accused me of stealing his lawnmower, I sugared the
tank of his backhoe. He never mentioned it that I know of, but I
heard he
sold it to Matt Honeycutt’s outfit and they had a ruckus about it.
“Well,
we aren’t going to hang you, Hank. Or torture you.”
He
signals for the other deputy (who I don’t know, but his name tag
says “Black”)
to remove my handcuffs. I do know that he is the only black working for
Sheriff Garrett. “Would
you like something to eat, Hank?”
I
shake my head. I was playing a game with myself, gotta make me forget
what I know. Keep control, stay in my own mind. Sob a little, Hank.
“On second thought, yee-ah, maybe a cheeseburger. You got any
of that good catsup?”
“Sure,
Hank.” He
looks around and I see him signal Dumphy to take
care of it. Everybody around here knows what the good catsup is!“The
more you tell us about this guy you say gave you the message
the – know what I am saying, Hank?”
“I
don’t know who it was.”
“Was
he white?”
“I
don’t know – he sounded foreign. I never seen him – never seen
his face I mean.”
“What?”
“Long
brown pants, long-sleeve bright green shirt with flowers on
it. Looked nylon or something flimsy. Wore a hat and a big white
hospital mask, I mean it covered almost everything. And sunglasses.
Just glanced at him, and he was gone. Listen, some of
you, you know me. I do a little independent business, you all know
that. I move up and down the river, sometimes up above St.
Loo…”
“How
about Minneapolis?”
“Naw,
that be up a tributary. I stay on the main river. My raft’s
been to Kansas City. Maybe someday, I go to Montana.”
There
was laughter in the room.
“And
sometimes down to Memphis too, right?” Bart snapped as
the laughter subsided.
“Not
lately.”
“What
do you mean, when were you last in Memphis?”
“Well,
you know, since the trouble down there, not much traffic
going down or coming up, and you know how the – I don’t want
to say who asked me, but I brought back a few cases of that good,
that real good bourbon, and up and sold it. Couple months ago.
Before all that hecka-booloo out in Or-ee-gon I mean.”
“Meet
anybody there about this thing here? About meeting this
‘Chubby,’ as you call him?”
“Hell
no! Just some man at that distillery on the river from, what’s
it called, ‘Blue Note’?”
“How
long it take you?”
“Going
down river, about two days. Coming back, almost a week.
River was running high last June. I had a breakdown too.”
“So
you take ten days to float down the river, and back, to pick up
a couple cases of whiskey, to sell? How much did you make?”
“Maybe
fifty bucks. That covered my gas, which was almost that
much, I guess it’s hard to get good bourbon. Anyways, you know
I just like being on the river.”
“OK.
So you met nobody in Memphis except some guy at the bourbon
distiller. Did you go out, drink, eat?”
“No.
I ate on the raft.” I
can’t do more than shrug. They don’t believe
me. Maybe one or two do, but I need mo’! I just know they gonna beat
me later.
“Well,
Hank, you think about it. We will come back to talk about
your Memphis business more thoroughly later.”
Oh,
later! I doubt there will be a later.
“So
you say you get this call to meet a guy near the Shawnee Bridge?”
“Yeah,
he said he give me fifty bucks.”
“Again,
fifty bucks. Is that your going rate?” This
gets a laugh. I
smile too, at first.
“At
least it ain’t thirty pieces of silver!” A
bunch of ’em laugh even
more. Maybe I shouldn’t a said that.
“Where
were you supposed to take him?”
“Down
the river, that is what he seemed to mean. Just a short trip.”
“Down
the river – you mean across, to Illinois. And this was right
near the bridge?”
I
give them all a dumb look, like that was the first time I had thought it
odd. I shake my head.
“He never said across. I took him down to Gray’s
Point. Let him out by that bit of beach near Nash Road.
He
seen some headlights flash and run to it.”
“OK.
What happened next?”
“I
head back up the river to my raft parked up by Bainbridge Creek.”
“About
8 miles upriver from the Cape here, right?”
“That’s
right. I been parking the raft there for years. Sometimes I
go across to Illinois, but I stay there mostly.”
“Bart,
he is stalling!” I
look over at Deputy Dumphy. He’s been riding
me since grammar school.
“Darryl,
where’s that hamburger I asked about?” Bart,
he looks hard
at Dumphy.
“Cheeseburger,”
I
say quietly. I was gonna say something about the catsup
too, but the good lord mercifully put a stop in my mouth.
“Yes,
cheeseburger,” says
Bart, and everybody laughs quiet-like. Darryl
leaves the room, shakin’ his head. “How
did you know to pick him
up, Hank?”
“So
I gets this call,” I
says,
“he said his name was Chubby. That
he would pay $50 to pick him up just before sundown at the
base of Morgan Oaks Street, where the levee breaks off, and you
can walk from Water Street to the beach. Just upriver from the
Shawnee Bridge.”
“It
was getting dark about then, right?”
“Nearly.”
“Did
you hear the explosion?”
“I
sure did. I expect everybody in town did.”
“And
when did this ‘Chubby’ fellow…”
“That’s
what he said – to call him, ‘Chubby.’ He was pretty – pretty
big, as they say. Every part of him was pretty thick. Not exactly
fat though.”
“What
else?”
“His
hair was real short, like he shaved his head not too long ago.
Missing a tooth. Weird beard, long stash – sideburns – old-timey looking.”
“OK.”
Bart
is writing something down, and there is a murmur and a bunch of whispering.
A guy I don’t know whispers something to Bart, and Bart nods.
“Right,
that fits with other descriptions we have. So how long after
the explosion did he show up?”
“Five
minutes. Maybe less.”
“Did
you see him on a bicycle?”
“Bicycle?
No.”
“Where
did you go?”
“He
said he wanted to go down a ways, down past town. He had
one of them picture maps, a photo from high up in a plane and
I recognize Gray’s Point.”
“You
mean the big bend in the river south of town?”
“Well
– yeah. It was just ’bout
dark by then, but I knew the way.
I let him off, and he gave me a hundred bucks. Five twenties. I
wasn’t unhappy, I do say that, even though I sure am now.”
“You
helped a terrorist escape. You know what that makes you?”
“Stupid,
I suppose.”
No
one answers that. Actually, we did go down to Gray’s Point, then we
turned around and he pulled the tarp on his self and I crossed over
and hugged
the Illinois shore and took him about 8 miles up and I was fixin’ to
let him off on the Illinois side. But he changed his mind, so we
crossed back
over and hid out inside my raft. Waited all night and all day, then the
next night, I took him over to Illinois near Ware. And he was gone.
If they
catch him, they will put it together, and I will get the needle for
sure. People
been talking about hanging though, probably so they can all watch. Probably
will anyway. Al Hinkle has a bunch of friends who would help hoist
me up. So it don’t matter anymore. Probably pulled Momma in for it
too, but Granddaddy will help her, at least I hope he will. Anyway,
how did
he – he did call his self? Dean, Dane? That Island blood did
actually say
his name real fast, but I could hardly understand him when he talked. Had
all the cool – like a slick city brother, but more like a hippie,
and then the
Island too – Bob Marley but unplugged. He’s the one I met in
Memphis and
figured out somehow I was secretly for Colonel Coleman and the whole
Memphis thing. Al Den. Albert Dennis? I really can’t remember, which
is good, I guess. It was something like that. I suppose he looked at my
skin tone. Or else he got a message from Bart here. I just gotta let
it ride.
Don’t wish for nothing, keep my mouth shut, see how it plays.
Probably – I
am dead. Nothing to be done. No point squealing, won’t help, besides.
I have never tried to pass for white, even though I think I could, better
than Michael Jackson anyway. Fuck, the older I get, the more happy I
ain’t white! If anybody asks – I am glad to tell them my black
daddy was
Ezekial Moncrief, who everybody around here knows, or at least heard him
play the saxophone a few times. And they also know my momma was the
daughter of the owner of the local FOX station, as well as a number of
other businesses, mostly to do with real estate and construction, and he
was mayor some years back. When she went to the hospital, she said Jack
Ford was my daddy. Jack’s a white man of course, or at least was. But
Momma never married him, and he drowned when I was a baby. So everybody
knows me, and they think I am touched, and I may well be. My
granddaddy tried to get me to work for him, but he refuses to forgive Momma
for making me the way she did. So I’ll be damned to hell and back
if I am gonna work for him! Anyway, I know everything about that river,
and have been from one end up in Minny-soda too, and yeah way up
the Mizzoo too, down to Big Easy. I figured what else do I need? My dream
– what I always thought maybe I could do someday is work on one of
them barges, maybe be captain someday, but I know this stuff – this thing
I did – well, I ain’t ever gonna get a job like that now. At
least not the
way things are now.
“Anyway,
this guy, Chubby, the same man said for me to be at
the levee directly by Morgan Oaks Street, before sundown, so
I was. All Chubby said was, ‘Be ready,’ and I was. There was another
man talked to me about it earlier, it’s true. He must of told
Chubby, as good as I can figure.”
I
looked out at all the faces, and they didn’t look too happy at
all.
“Other
man?”
“Yeah.
A couple days ago. Said I could make some fast money if
I want, take a guy down river some. A Black come up to me outside
the Quick Mart, over on Townsend Street. I come in there mostly
on Wednesday night to check on the Powerball numbers. And
buy a ticket for next week.”
“Never
seen this Black guy before?”
“Never
in my life!”
“And
that’s where you met this Chubby?”
“Yeah
– told me to come back the next night. That’s where I first
seen this Chubby.”
“So
what were you doing when it happened, Hank? Didn’t it make
you suspicious it being a rush job. And a secret?”
“Well
I was there, expecting to make a little money, as I said.
I thought maybe – I don’t really know what I think, except about
the money. Anyway, I was waiting there on the beach near Morgan
Oaks. I was dabbing some glue onto a patch of fiberglass I put
on the bottom of my skiff when I heard the loudest explosion I
ever known, felt real close too. Hurt my eardrums for a minute or
two. Then, I don’t know – five minutes, maybe longer, I turn and
this Chubby is walking real fast, right at me. Nobody behind him
at least. He looked kind of funny, at the time anyway.”
“What
did he say to you?”
“He
said something that I couldn’t make out ’cause I think the
explosion made my ears a little deef, just a little, you know, ’cause
I was a good – well not a half mile away, if that, if it happened by
Hot Shots, as I hear it happened. This Chubby fella, he
just jumped into my boat and stared at me. “Let’s go!” he yelled,
pointing downstream. I pulled the cord on my outboard and
we took off headin’ down river. I decided to ride nice and slow.
I stayed real close to the shore, riding under the bridge, right along
the edge. Pretty soon sirens were going off and people were screaming,
you could hear it all because sound travels really clear on
the river. Nobody was paying any attention to me though. I just
kept going.”
“Then
what happened?”
“We
got to the bend in 30–40 minutes or so. He paid me and runned
off toward some flashing headlights.”
“It
was pitch dark out.”
“Yeah,
I know. No moon, neither. He was gone before I could say
boo.”
“Then
what?”
“Then
I turned around, rode up past town. Sirens still going off
as I passed town. I started wondering if I done a bad thing. I got
to the raft and stayed there. I started thinking maybe I done a
bad thing, like I said, so I stayed on the boat for a day, looking at
my money, wondering if it really was like them thirty pieces of silver.
I always wondered what they meant by pieces? Like little rocks
or something? Anyhoo, I stayed on my raft all the next day,
doing little chores. More and more though, I known I done wrong.
So I came back to town, figuring I would tell somebody. Pulled
into the Red Star ramp and then Darryl picked me up real
quick. He threw me around hard, like I was trash. I suppose somebody
seen me.”
“Did
this Chubby say anything when you were on the boat?”
“He
said some guys were looking for him ’cause he was lovin’ on
one of their girlfriends.”
“You
believe him?”
“Yeah,
at first, ’cause I was – you know – I sure didn’t think he
sploded that bomb and kilt people!”
“What’d
you think the big noise was?”
“I
asked him. He shook his head, said it sounded like a propane tank
getting too close to a welding arc. I remember the McKee
boys was putting up some iron struts in the warehouse up
the block they was fixing to make into expensive apartments. I
seen them work, and I knew they was foolish hiring them, so, yeah,
I thought it might be that.”
“You
really thought it was a propane tank?”
“More
likely acetylene or one of them other arc-welding gases. Why
not? How it make sense other-hoo? Who think somebody gonna
do that? It kinda made sense – I figured a really ugly girl with
a mean boyfriend mighta let him do some lovin’, ’cause he was
pretty disturbing to see.”
“So
you didn’t even consider the possibility that this Chubby, who
you describe almost exactly like the other witnesses described
the bomber – you didn’t even suspect he might have something
to do with the bomb?”
“What
bomb? How did I know it was a bomb when it went off?
When this Chubby get on my boat, after he gived me fifty, he
said the splosion must of been some kind of a gas leak or a maybe
a gas tank, real casual. He acted like he had no idea either. Yeah,
I believed him. Him being in a hurry and all, that did concern me,
it’s true, but only later. He paid upfront in cash – and then
after we got going he gave me another fifty, double what we
agreed. That made me pretty happy. I really didn’t think he done
something bad. What else could it be? He seemed a nice guy,
funny. He said he was sorry about Coleman dying down in Memphis,
I suppose ’cause he thought – I don’t know.”
“Because
you’re Black.”
“I
ain’t Black, I am cream, with a touch of coffee.” No one laughed.
“Or the other way. No, I didn’t say nothing one way or the
other about Coleman. When he paid me double, I admit I was pretty
happy and didn’t think more about it. Hundred dollars a lot
of money.”
Actually,
me and Chubby spent the night in my tin wigwam on the raft
and settle in for the night. Up north by Bainbridge Creek. He had some
real good mara-jew-wanna, so we sparked up and that made sleep easier.
That’s when he told me about killing those guys that killed Colonel Coleman.
Boom! I knowd it was something like that. I knowd he did the bombing,
sure, but not why he did it. They ran right next to his bomb and he
fired it off with his fone. Showed me how it worked. He wanted me to come
with him, and get out of the Cape. Leave my raft and boat? I suppose I
should of listened to him. But since I knowd that Bart Jones, sitting
right in
front of me, introduced me to the Island brother, Adean, or whatever
his name
is, I figured I wouldn’t have no trouble. Now he is pretending to
be against
me. Maybe he can get me out of this. But I didn’t think it would be
like this.
