Authors: Patricia Hagan
"Nothing this morning," the clerk said without having to check. He had been on duty since seven and was aware of everything that had come in.
"I'll wait then."
"Suit yourself." The clerk went back to reading the morning paper.
Luke settled into a chair and picked up an old copy of
National Geographic
and absently leafed through it. Glancing at the wall clock often, he watched the time creep to noon. Finally, a bell tinkled as the door opened. Luke saw it was a negro man and continued flipping magazine pages. He hoped C. Swain,
Carl Swain,
would hurry up. He didn't want to spend all day in Birmingham. He wanted to get back to Hampton, catch up on all his work, and make ready for a nice, quiet evening with Emma Jean. He'd rather take her to a motel, though. He didn't like making love to her in Rudy's bed, but she said it gave her good memories for the times when... Luke shook away the thought of her and Rudy in bed.
"Count it yourself, Carl. It's twice as much as usual."
Luke's head snapped up.
"Oh, I trust you, suh," the old negro responded. He stuffed the money into his pocket, signed the receipt the agent shoved across the counter, then left.
The agent met Luke's inquiring eyes with a snicker. "Yeah, I know. That's a lot of dough for a colored, but it's been rolling in ever since I've been working here."
Luke strained to keep his voice even, to hide the excitement he felt bubbling from deep within. "And how long is that?"
"Nine years now."
"And he gets money every month?"
"Most of the time."
"Wonder where it comes from."
"The office in Talladega. Me and the agent there have talked about it from time to time. He says a white woman brings it in, but she never says nothin', just pays the fee to wire it."
"Well, maybe he works for white people and picks it up for them."
"Naw. I don't think so. But it's sure funny."
"What's his last name?"
"Swain. Why?"
"No reason. Just curious." Luke stood, stretched and forced a yawn. "Well, evidently my ship's not coming in today. I'll check tomorrow."
"I'll be here," the agent said in dismissal.
* * *
Luke burned up the highway and was in Hampton in time to change back into his uniform before Alma got off work. Then he drove straight to Murline's house but was not surprised she wasn't home yet. She was taking advantage of her day off after going to Talladega. He radioed Wilma to let her know he was back in service, then spent the rest of the afternoon just cruising around town, frequently checking to see if Murline had returned.
Around four, he finally saw her car parked in the driveway. He pulled in and started to get out, then reached under the seat where he had stashed her shoe and stuffed it in his pocket in case she needed reminding. He walked right up to the front door but did not have to knock. She was waiting for him, her face pale and drawn, stepping back as he entered.
"Are you alone?"
She nodded, twisting her hands together in that way she had when she was nervous. He told her to sit down, and she did. Then, barely able to contain his rage, he grasped the arms of the chair and leaned right into her face. "Why didn't you tell me Buddy's mistress is colored?"
She tried not to meet his fiery gaze, but his eyes were mere inches from hers. "I... I couldn't," she said feebly. "It... it wasn't my place."
"And you were hoping I'd eventually give up and not find out, weren't you?"
"Yes. Because I didn't want Juanita or her son hurt."
"And you thought I'd do that?"
"I didn't know, especially when you kept digging even after you found out Buddy was involved in the Klan. Why couldn't that have been enough for you?"
With a sudden wave of bravado, she lifted her chin to demand, "Good Lord, Luke, what
do
you want? And why are you after Buddy, anyway? What's he ever done to you that you hate him so much?"
"That's my business." He moved away from her but did not sit down. Instead, he turned to the window to stare out at the falling leaves.
Murline persisted. "Well, whatever it is, please don't hurt Juanita. Her relationship with Buddy has been a secret all these years, but if you..."
He cut her off. "What about her son? Does he pass for white or colored?"
"Why... why colored, of course."
"Does he
look
colored?"
"Yes, he does. Buddy showed me a picture of him in his cap and gown when he graduated. He's a handsome young man, and he definitely passes for colored."
At that, Luke whirled about to explode, "Damn the hypocritical asshole! He's involved with the Klan big-time. He gives the order for colored people to be beaten, maybe even killed, and yet he proudly shows off a picture of his half-colored son?"
"He's not proud," Murline was quick to dispute. "If he were, he wouldn't hide it, would he? No, he's not
proud
, Luke. He just loves his son's mother. And his son, too, I suppose. But society and circumstances dictate he has to keep them both secret, and that's how they'll stay unless you tell, and if you do..."
Her voice trailed hesitantly, and Luke challenged, "Go on. Finish."
"I'll believe you really are a bastard."
He almost winced but didn't. He could understand her fear that innocent people would be hurt for whatever his motive. "You don't have to worry."
Her sigh came from her very soul. "Thank you."
"So what is the boy going to do now that he's through with college?"
"He's got a job lined up in Detroit. Buddy said he was sending extra money this time so he can buy some nice new clothes and get set up in an apartment. He also said Juanita was upset over his leaving home, but they both know there really aren't any good job opportunities for negroes around here. He's a bright boy, too. Made the Dean's List all through college. He should do real well up north."
Luke laughed softly and shook his head to think about Buddy Hampton bragging about his half-negro son's college grades to his ex-mistress when all the while he was one of the biggest racists in the state of Alabama.
Murline ventured to ask, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking," he said, reaching into his pocket, "how I'd rather be a bastard than a hypocrite."
She took it the wrong way and cried, "No. You promised you wouldn't..."
"And I won't," he was quick to assure. "Thanks for everything, Murline. And you can stop worrying. Your fairy godfather said so."
He dropped her shoe in her lap and walked out.
* * *
Luke eased the patrol car around back. The house was dark, and he thought maybe Emma Jean had given up on him, but then she came running from the shadows where she had been waiting.
"How come no lights are on?" he asked as he hugged her. "I told you it has to look like I'm here on official business, because something scared you, and you called the law."
She giggled. "I
did
get scared that you wouldn't come. But you're here now, and everything is all right." She tugged at his arm. "It's almost ten o'clock. We don't have long."
"Yeah, but first we're going to turn on some lights."
They went inside, and he switched on first the porch light, then the kitchen. "If we hear anybody, we'll come back in here real quick."
In the bedroom, Emma Jean unbuttoned his shirt while he unbuckled his holster. He protested when she tugged at his trousers. "I'll have to leave them on, sugar, and just unzip."
"You took them off before."
"Well, it's best I don't tonight as late as it is."
"That's not fair," she teased. "Look at me."
She opened her robe, and in the light spilling from the kitchen, he saw she was completely naked.
His breath caught in his throat. "Lord, woman... ," and gently, quickly, he pushed her down on the bed to fall on top of her. His hands were everywhere at once as his mouth devoured hers.
"Oh, Luke," she moaned, "I wish it could be like this all the time."
He drew back so he could see her face in the light. "Do you mean that?"
She became still, puzzled by his expression. "Why... sure I do. You've told me how you and Alma never do it, how she never liked to, and how much it's meant to you that I'm always ready. And I've told you I'd never refuse you, that I know what it means to a man to get it when he wants it, and..."
"But that's not what I'm talking about. I... ," he floundered, trying to decide if he was ready to talk about it—
them
—here and now and get it over with. She meant giving him sex when he wanted it. He was thinking about just being able to be with her, damnit, and not have to sneak and worry about getting caught, and...
Emma Jean prodded. "What?"
"Baby, I..."
They both heard the sound and sprang apart.
Panicked, she cried, "Oh, God. It's Rudy. I know his truck."
Luke was yanking on his shirt at the same time he stuffed his feet in his shoes. "Get some clothes on. Quick."
In the faint light she found jeans and a shirt and put them on while Luke zipped his pants and buckled on his holster. Then, desperate and thinking fast, he drew his gun and rushed to the window to smash a lower pane with the butt.
Emma Jean yelped, "What did you do that for?"
"Never mind. Just let me do the talking and back up anything I say. Now let's get to the kitchen."
Emma Jean gave the top sheet one quick yank and ran after him. By the time Rudy jerked open the screen door, red-faced and furious at having seen the patrol car, Luke was casually leaning against the refrigerator. Emma Jean was standing on the other side of the room, arms folded across her bosom and looking appropriately scared.
"It's okay, Rudy," Luke said breezily. "Whoever it was got scared off when your wife screamed."
"Huh?" Rudy, fists clenched at his side, looked from Luke to Emma Jean, then back at Luke. "What the shit are you talkin' about?"
Luke feigned surprise. "Didn't the office call and tell you there'd been a prowler here? I figured you'd rush right home. I've been waiting for you. She was scared to death, and you can see she's still upset."
Rudy snapped, "Ain't nobody told me nothin'."
Emma Jean, having gathered her wits enough to realize what Luke was doing, how he was trying to bluff their way out of it—was able to innocently ask, "Isn't that why you're here early?"
His eyes hooded. "Woman, ain't you learned by now you don't ask me nothin' about what I do and when I do it?"
Luke gritted his teeth, knowing if he hadn't been there, Rudy probably would have hit her.
"I come home 'cause I ain't feelin' good," Rudy said to Luke. "And I don't mind tellin' you it made me mad as hell to see your car in my yard. How do I know you aren't here trying to screw my old lady?"
Emma Jean cried, "Rudy, that's a terrible thing to say!"
Luke gave an exaggerated sigh. "I don't give a damn what you think, but you can go look for yourself. The window's broken. The prowler tried to jimmy it open, I guess. I looked around outside but didn't see anything. Like I said, her screaming probably ran him off."
Rudy glowered at Luke as he brushed by him to go into the bedroom.
Luke was glad he had thought to switch on the overhead light. He looked at Emma Jean. Her face was white as lard, she was shaking all over, and he decided he had better wrap things up quick before she really went to pieces.
"Satisfied?" he asked Rudy, who was staring at the broken window.
Rudy returned to the kitchen before answering. "Yeah, I reckon."
"There's nothing else I can do," Luke said, walking to the back door. "I suggest, though, that you get that window fixed right away." He turned to Emma Jean, "Make sure you keep it locked."
"Oh, I will, Sheriff. I will." Her head bobbed up and down.
He stepped onto the porch and Rudy slammed the door after him.
* * *
Rudy waited till he was sure Luke had driven away, then walked over to Emma Jean and backhanded her so hard she bounced off the refrigerator. She cried out and tried to dart past him, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and painfully twisted as he pulled her face close to his. "You listen to me, bitch. If I ever find that son of a bitch in this house again, I'll kill him and you, too. You got that?"
She tried to nod but he was twisting her hair too tight.
"Yes, Rudy, yes. Please, let me go..."
"I'll let you go when I'm good and ready. Now you listen to somethin' else. Don't you never talk to me in front of nobody like that again, you hear me? I thought by now you would've learned your place, but you keep runnin' that big mouth of yours, don't you?"
She tried again to nod, to agree, to do anything to get him to leave her alone so he would stop hurting her, but he held tight.
"I hate that bastard," he railed on. " 'Cause that's what he is and everybody knows it. I've hated him my whole life, and if I ever thought there was something goin' on between you two, I swear I'd kill him."