Final Justice (8 page)

Alma reached out for Tammy, and Matt let her go as he saw Dr. Ben Campbell coming out from the back. Dr. Campbell glanced about with a frown, annoyed by all the commotion. "Is Mrs. Ballard here?" Alma stumbled forward, and he motioned her to go with him. Matt was right behind them, and so was Kirby, still holding Emma Jean.

Once the doors to the waiting room were closed, Dr. Campbell demanded, exasperated, "What are all of you doing back here? I only asked for Mrs. Ballard." Then he noticed the blood on Emma Jean. "What happened to her?"

"We aren't sure," Matt said. "And it's not her blood. She isn't hurt. Not physically anyway." He quickly explained how she was apparently in shock and also under arrest for the murder of her husband. Either he or Kirby would have to stay with her. "And we needed to get her out of sight," he was quick to add, "or else we were going to have a riot on our hands when the Veazey family gets here."

Dr. Campbell motioned to a nurse. "Get this woman to a room. I'll be in to check her over as soon as I can." He put his hand on Alma's shoulder. "Come with me."

Matt trailed after them, leaving Kirby with Emma Jean.

Once inside an empty cubicle, Dr. Campbell gently told Alma, "Luke is in critical condition. We're moving him to Birmingham." He described Luke's wounds, how he had been shot three times, probably with a .22 rifle. "The bullets that hit his shoulder and thigh didn't do much damage. They went through clean without shattering bone. It's the one still in his head I'm worried about. It struck the top of his head at an acute angle of, I'd say, between twenty to thirty degrees, probably as he was falling from his other wounds. Had he been standing erect, he'd have been killed instantly."

Matt snatched at the hope, "Will the doctors in Birmingham be able to get it out?"

"I can't answer that. I only know we don't have a surgeon to do it here." He thought about what the x-rays had shown, how the bullet had gone through the left side of the cerebrum, hit the inside of the skull, then slid down into the temporal lobe. So far, there was no sign of a subdural or extradural hemorrhage and no sinus laceration. The bullet might also eventually shift around and damage pulmonary arteries. If not removed, Luke would die. But it was also possible that surgery might dislodge the bullet and cause instant death. Lord, he was glad it was all being taken out of his hands.

"Is he awake?" Matt asked. "I'd like to find out if he can tell me anything about who did it."

"He's in a coma." Dr. Campbell turned to Alma. "We'll be loading him in the ambulance in a few minutes. You'll need to get someone to drive you to Birmingham because it's best you don't ride with him."

Alma, who had remained composed throughout the conversation, quietly said, "I'm sure I can find somebody." She walked out.

When they were alone, Matt looked Dr. Campbell straight in the eye. "Okay. Give it to me straight. What are his chances?"

Grim-faced, Dr. Campbell replied, "Frankly, Matt, I'll be surprised if he makes it to Birmingham."

Chapter 5

August 1965

Luke stared out the window of the bus at the rolling Alabama hills. He always hated coming home and hadn't been there in quite a while. He and Alma had never gotten along and never would. Tammy was spoiled rotten and acted like she couldn't stand him. He couldn't wait to get away, despite his mother's wanting him to stay. She was the only reason he came back anyway. She was after him not to reenlist when his time was up in a few more months, but his life was the army.

Alma didn't care, but his mother argued Tammy needed a father. His defense was that it was Alma's choice not to move to California to be with him. Not that he wanted her. He liked his life just fine like it was.

A sniper's bullet to his left thigh had bought him a ticket back to the states, and now he was a drill sergeant, whipping new recruits into shape. He was stationed at Camp Pendleton, assigned to the Marines, and loved California. He lived off base in a shack on the beach with a little Mexican gal hotter than a chili pepper who knew a zillion ways to take him around the world.

He was happy, Alma seemed content with the way things were, and his mother had stayed so drunk the past few years she didn't know whether she was coming or going most of the time anyway. But now she was
going,
according to what the doctor told Alma. At forty-two, her liver was giving out, her heart was acting up, and there just wasn't anything anybody could do. She had lived a hard life, and that, plus the whiskey, had taken its toll. He knew it was time for him and Alma to have a serious talk because, once his mother died, it made sense they should get a divorce since he didn't plan on ever coming back.

He smelled the odor of rotten eggs—sulphur from the paper mill. That meant he was getting real close to Hampton. Seeing familiar landmarks triggered memories like reading lines in a diary. Sadly, few were pleasant.

The bus lumbered past the football stadium where, in his senior year as quarterback, he was leading the team to a second 2-A division championship when the coach called him into his office one day to tell him there had been a change concerning homecoming weekend. As captain, Luke was supposed to escort Julie Faircloth, who was the team's candidate for queen, onto the field for the pre-game ceremony. But Coach Martin said Tim Speight would take her instead.

Luke wanted an explanation, and Coach Martin said he hated to be blunt, but the fact was that Julie's father was the mayor. He wanted someone from a prominent family to escort his daughter since there would be pictures in the paper, the school annual, and so forth. Luke understood then because he had put up with snubs all his life. Mayor Faircloth did not want his daughter escorted and photographed with Orlena Ballard's bastard son.

Luke had said it didn't matter to him, then took out the rage boiling inside by playing his guts out at the homecoming game.

He hogged the ball, even running when the play called for him to pass. He got tackled a lot and fumbled a few times. Some of his teammates got annoyed and accused him of show-boating, but the final score shut them up. The Hampton High Bulldogs won 49-0, and Luke had scored every touchdown.

Vengeance had been sweet. So many pictures of Luke were plastered on the front page of the
Hampton Herald
that coverage of the homecoming ceremonies was reduced to one paragraph announcing Julie had been crowned queen with no room for a photo.

The bus rolled by the Bulldog Cafe, and Luke imagined he could still see the blood on the sidewalk from that summer night in '56. He had taken Judy Turnage to the movies and had enough money left over from his week's pay as a bag boy at the A&P to buy her a burger and a Coke. But when they got to the cafe, Rudy Veazey was there, mad as hell to see Judy out with Luke, because he had been dating her.

Just then Rudy spotted Luke's mother riding by with Junior Kearney in his pickup truck and yelled to ask Luke how come his last name wasn't
Kearney
since everybody in town figured Junior was his daddy. Luke was furious but ignored Rudy's insults and steered Judy on inside. Then, just before the door closed after them, Rudy laughed to his buddies that maybe Luke should be called Luke
Heinz
instead, like in
Heinz-57,
since his whore-momma probably screwed fifty-seven guys the night she got knocked up.

Luke had whirled about so fast his hand missed the doorknob and went through the glass instead. A lot of the blood spilled on the sidewalk that night was probably his, but most of it had to have been Rudy's by the time Luke finished with him. They were both arrested for fighting but let off with a stern lecture. They had hated each other's guts ever since.

Luke didn't look for trouble, but he didn't run from a fight either. Yeah, he had worn his hair long back then. A "DA" it was called. Duck's ass slicked back and plastered with Vitalis. But he was no punk. And his mother was no whore.

Sure, she had been Junior's woman for a long time. What other choice did she have when her folks kicked her out, pregnant, with no place to go? But when Junior tossed her aside after she lost her looks because of heavy drinking and hard work, he had let her keep on working at the motor court. She cleaned cabins, and she also worked as a waitress in the cafe. She didn't mess with other men, no matter what folks said.

Passing the park, Luke was reminded of another slight, the Easter he was nine years old when his mother dyed a basket of eggs and took him there for the annual egg hunt. The ladies in charge had turned as many colors as the eggs scattered in the grass when they saw Orlena and her bastard kid in tow. It had been Ramona Hampton—Mrs. Cleve Hampton, herself—who had curtly told Orlena that they had way too many children, and, goodness, she was so sorry.

Luke remembered how his mother had blinked back humiliated tears as she squeezed his hand and whispered to him that it didn't matter and turned to lead him away. But Luke had hung back just long enough to snatch an egg out of the basket and sail it through the air to smash on the back of Mrs. Hampton's head. Then he and his mother had took off running, laughing all the while. Later she scolded him and said he shouldn't have done it, but he knew she was secretly glad.

He saw the First Baptist Church with its tall white steeple and manicured lawn and recalled another of his mother's futile attempts to have him accepted. She had offered to teach vacation Bible school one summer and, again, was rudely rejected, this time by Irene Cleghorn, who cruelly told Orlena she was unqualified. So his mother had sent him anyway, but Mrs. Cleghorn had turned him away, claiming there was no room for him.

To keep from hurting his mother, Luke had left home every morning like he was going to Bible school, then hidden till after it was over. She had never questioned why he didn't bring home handicrafts like the other kids, and he had wondered if he managed to fool her after all.

The bus pulled in behind Creech's gas station, which served as the depot. Luke waited till everybody else got off, then took his duffle bag from the overhead rack and made his way out. The heat slapped him in the face like an invisible hand. Only hell could be hotter than Alabama in August. His uniform felt like he was wearing a thick wool blanket, but it, along with the coveted green beret denoting Special Forces, and the ribbon for the Silver Star he'd been awarded for heroics in Vietnam, were the only things he'd ever had to hold his head up about in his life, and he wore both proudly.

Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped at his brow and neck as he glanced about. He wasn't surprised no one was there to meet him. His mother was in the hospital, and Alma would be working.

"Luke. Luke Ballard. Is that really you?"

He turned toward the gas pump and saw a girl waving at him from the window of a black Ford pickup. "I don't believe it."

She jumped out of the truck and started toward him. He grinned when he recognized Sara Daughtry. Only she was Sara Daughtry Speight now, and every bit as pixie cute as she had been when he fancied himself in love with her back in 1956. Her cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and cutoff jeans revealed her shapely, tanned legs. A sleeveless blouse, the tails tied in a knot beneath her bosom, accented her still narrow waist and flat stomach even though she'd had two kids. She threw herself at him, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. Sara was, and always would be, special.

Aware that the guys working at the station, as well as a few customers, were watching, he let her go. "You look just like you did when you'd run to meet me on the field after a game, Sara. I swear, you haven't changed a bit."

"Oh, really?" she laughed and gave her waist a pinch. "If I tried to get into my old cheerleading outfit I'd bust the zipper. That was eight years and twice that many pounds ago."

"Well, I'm way ahead of you."

"You're still gorgeous."

"Hey, enough of this or I'll grab you like I did back then and take you parking in the cotton field and try to get that zipper undone myself."

She gave him a playful punch under his chin. "You've got more important things to do than flirt with me. I know you've come home because of your mom. I heard she was in the hospital. Come on, and I'll take you to the mill to get your car from Alma."

He hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Thanks. I don't think I'd enjoy walking in this heat."

"I'm glad to do it. It's not much out of the way, and Dewey won't care when I tell him why I took so long getting back."