A Crying Shame (9 page)

Culture in Fountain Parish.

 

There isn't a great deal of violence in Fountain Parish, other than the usual and expected barroom fights on weekends. One redneck punching another redneck is something those who do not patronize the local joints don't really care to read about, so it is seldom reported in the local newspaper. There has never been a bank robbery; shootings are rare occurrences (even though nearly everyone owns at least one gun—four is the average); and day-to-day life, for the most part, is peaceful in Fountain Parish.

Chief Deputy Joe Ratliff, on this fine summer's day, was motoring out toward Despair Plantation, rehearsing what he would say to Ms. Breaux concerning the department's failure to respond to her prowler call the previous evening. He went over it in his mind, then tried it vocally, just wrapping it up when he pulled into the driveway of Despair.

That's when his vocal cords locked, his eyes bugged, his hands got sweaty, and his stomach did a flip-flop.

Oh, my sweet precious Jesus!” Joe finally managed to blurt, his eyes sweeping the dewy grounds. Despair Plantation was so beautiful. But Joe noticed no beauty on this morning.

What remained of Paul Breaux lay scattered on the porch, in front of the porch, on an azalea bush; and his head was sitting on the still-damp ground, grinning grotesquely in death.

Joe grappled for his mike and called in, his shaking fingers barely able to key the mike. He got the sheriff.
Get out to Despair right now, Sheriff!” he sputtered.
Rightnowrightnowrightnow!”

Joe? What's wrong?”

GET OUT HERE!”
Joe screamed.

 

Have you looked in the house?” Mike asked, having arrived just minutes after receiving the almost-hysterical call.

I haven't left this fuckin' car!” Joe responded, momentarily losing his deep-rooted religion. He caught himself.
Lord forgive me for sayin' that,” he pleaded.

I'm sure He will,” Mike assured the man.
Come on, let's take a look around.”

Mack Atkins, the Louisiana Highway Patrolman assigned to the parish, working plain-clothes, swallowed almost audibly as he walked with the sheriff up to the porch of the magnificent old home. He stopped, sticking out his arm, halting the sheriff.

Sheriff Saucier ... look.” He pointed at the strange footprints in the mud by the porch steps.

What in God's name made that?” Mike said. He had never seen a print like it.