Authors: Gerald W. Darnell
O
n my way back to Chiefs, I decided to take a look at this place Dick called the ‘
Sugar Shack’
.
From Highway 45 I followed the Medina highway for only a couple of miles, then took a left turn on Pleasant Hill Road and drove a mile and a half to the bottom of a small hill.
Joining from the right was a hidden dirt farm road that was unmarked and unnoticed.
Only those familiar with the geography knew it existed.
Less than a quarter mile up this dirt road sat a small, old sharcropper shack.
It backed up to a small woods and required a short drive across a harvested cotton field to reach the building.
I had visited the
‘Sugar Shack’
before, but it had been many years ago.
Numerous tire tracks were evidence that the
‘Sugar Shack’
had not lost its popularity, and the empty beer cans and whiskey bottles told me the teenagers of Humboldt knew exactly where to come when wanting to hide their activities.
Following the well used driving path; I pulled behind the building and parked, where hundreds had parked before me.
The back door was open; in fact, the back door was missing, having been used for firewood or some other unknown purpose.
Taking the single step up from the ground to the floor, I entered what had once been a kitchen.
A filthy sink was still in its place, and if you had a good imagination, you could see how a family had once called this home.
Trash littered this area, as well as a small bedroom and living room – the three rooms in the building called the
‘Sugar Shack’
.
Furniture had long ago left this house and it had been many years since anyone called it home.
I wondered why the landowner had not already torn it down or just burned it.
I also wondered why Dick Valentine had sent me here.
According to him, I should ask Officer Carl Menard about the
‘Sugar Shack’,
and I intended to do that, but I would like to have a better understanding of ‘why’ before I asked that question.
I searched the
‘Sugar Shack’
for anything that might provide that information or indicate the presence of Carl Menard, Tammy Blurton, Henry Walker or anybody else - I didn’t find anything.
However, the trash was unbelievable, and I could have been looking at something important and not know it.
I did find various pieces of old clothing, and even a pair of shoes, but nothing I figured had any connection to Tammy Blurton.
Maybe somehow, I could make all this work in my favor.
~
I
left the ‘
Sugar Shack’
and made the quick drive back to Chiefs.
I had a few hours before Mary Ellen’s party at the Country Club, and I was ready for a drink and needed to check my messages.
I was also concerned whether or not Joe had arrived back in Memphis safely.
Parking in front of my cabin, I yelled at Tommy Trubush when he walked out of the carhop service entrance.
“Tommy, you got a minute?” I waved.
“Sure,” he said walking up to my car.
“I know you talk with these teenagers, what can you tell me about a place called the
‘Sugar Shack’
?” I asked.
Tommy laughed. “Now, don’t tell me you grew up around Humboldt and didn’t know about the
‘Sugar Shack’
?”
“Yes, I know what they do at the
‘Sugar Shack’
,” I answered seriously. “But, I’ve got some reasons to suspect that it may be involved in this current situation, and not just a place for the kid’s to go and party.”
“How’s that?” Tommy asked.
“When I asked former Chief of Police, Dick Valentine, about a Humboldt police officer, Carl Menard, he told me to ask him about the
‘Sugar Shack’
.
Now, I will eventually do that, but I just wondered if you might have heard any of the kids talking about the Humboldt Police and the
‘Sugar Shack'’
?”
“Carson, I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll ask some of the folks who might know.
Will that be okay?” Tommy asked.
“Yep, please do and please keep it discrete.
By the way, do you know Officer Carl Menard?”
“Not really,” Tommy answered shaking his head. “I’ve seen him, and of course, he has made a few trips around Chiefs, but I don’t really know him.
Sorry.”
“Okay, let me know,” I said heading in the back door of Chiefs.
To my surprise, Leroy Epsee was sitting on a barstool.
And to my GREATER surprise, he was not in uniform and was actually having a drink.
I took a stool next to him and offered with a big grin, “You get fired or quit?”
“Shut up,” Leroy said not looking at me. “Because of you, I’ve got to attend this party at the Country Club tonight and I really don’t have the time or the ambition!”
“Me?
How is it my fault?” I said as I signaled Nickie to bring me a drink.
“My wife.
She claims we need to be more involved in the community and wants to know why Carson Reno is always attending these events while she and I never do!
So, it is your fault!”
“Good,” I said laughing. “Be sure to put on your ‘boredom belt’ because that is exactly what these things are – boring!”
“For some reason,” Leroy continued, “my wife was not going to take no for an answer on this one.
The mayor and all the city’s ‘big shots’ will be there so she insisted we attend.
And please remember, I am blaming you for what ever happens this whole evening!”
“Ouch,” I giggled. “Well, just have a few cocktails and enjoy yourself.
I do suggest you protect your checkbook because that can get out of hand.”
“Well anyway, I’m glad you’re here,” Leroy said seriously. “We’ve got some things to talk about.”
“Hold that thought, I need to call Memphis and check on Joe,” I said getting up and heading for the front door and the payphone.
Joe was in his office and didn’t sound as ‘chipper’ as he had this morning.
I assumed some of the pain medication had worn off and he was feeling his injuries.
He had made it safely to Memphis and was planning to spend the next few days with his parents in Tupelo.
Joe made me promise to keep him updated on the situations in Humboldt and I agreed to call him on a regular basis.
Back inside Chiefs, Nickie had delivered my drink, and I sat back down on the barstool next to Leroy.
“Okay,” I said sipping my first Jack and Coke of the day. “What do you need to talk about?”
“We’ve got a lead on the white truck,” Leroy started. “A young ‘hot-head’ named Billy Joe Bobbitt owns one similar to the truck Joe described.
We are trying to locate him now, but remember, there are a lot of white trucks around here and this is a pretty big county.”
“Well, I don’t care about the size of the county,” I interrupted, “but if it is the same truck, you’ll find red paint from Joe’s car somewhere on it.
They hit him hard enough to do damage to the truck and would certainly have traces of paint on that damage.”
“I understand, and we’ll find him – sooner or later.
I promise,” Leroy added.
“What’s happening with the demonstrations?” I asked. “Is everything still under control?”
“No, it’s not.
And that’s another reason I need to be there and not attending a fund raising event with a bunch of ‘stuffed shirts’.
A fight broke out this morning, and I’ve got my deputies outside trying to keep peace.
Chief Griggs also has a couple of his men there to help, but it could flare up at any time.”
“What happened?” I asked, signaling Nickie to freshen our drinks.
“White guys started cursing, and that just made the colored people from the
‘Nazarene Baptist Church’
sing louder.
That eventually lead to rock throwing and finally one of them threw a punch.
We’ve got him locked up, but it’s just a matter of time until something else happens.” Leroy was shaking his head.
“Carson, I haven’t seen him since this started.
I guess he is directing things from the Booker Motel, but I’m pretty sure you will see him Monday!”
“Monday, why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because they have applied for and have been issued a parade permit for Monday morning.
They intend to march at 9:30 down Main Street to City Hall.
I’ll be transferring Henry that morning; I have orders to have him in court at 10:00.”
“Shit!” I said out loud.
“Yes, I’ve said that many times today already,” Leroy sighed.
“And unless you and Jack can come up with some good reason, Henry will be charged and bound over for trial.
That means this thing could go on for months.”
“I’m afraid that is just exactly what will happen.
Unless I find a miracle tonight or tomorrow, Jack has no choice but to plead him innocent and schedule a trial.”
My disgust was showing.
“I’ve placed a call to Captain Chip Falstaff of the Tennessee Highway Patrol,” Leroy said sipping his drink. “Hopefully, he can spare a couple of troopers to help us with the parade and trouble if/when it breaks out.”
“You don’t have an answer?”
“No, not yet, but he is supposed to call me back this evening.
Assuming I have anybody around to answer the phone when he calls!
But, I expect he will send help, I know he understands the situation.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said finishing my drink. “I’ve got to go get dressed for the evening.
Will you be here for a while?”
“Nope,” Leroy answered quickly. “I’m headed to get Sara and we’ll see you later at the Humboldt Country Club.”
~
I
went to my cabin, took a quick shower, shaved and changed clothes for the evening.
Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting on a barstool at the Humboldt Country Club in front of Nuddy ordering a drink.
Nuddy and I had just started catching up, when the downstairs bar opened and Mayor L.D. Newell entered.
He waved at a few of the customers and walked directly up to where I was sitting.
“Yes, Carson, thanks,” he said as he sat down on the stool next to me. “Nuddy knows my preference.”
Nuddy was already busy preparing the mayor’s favorite libation and he quickly sat it in front of Mayor L.D. Newell.
“How are things in Humboldt?” I asked as he took a sip.
“You know damn well how they are, Carson,” he said turning and speaking directly to me.
“Excuse me?” He had caught me off guard.
“If you think you are helping, you’re not.
Go see your parents, have a drink with your friends, shack up with your girlfriend and then travel your ass back to Memphis.
Your being here is just making things worse and you know it.” We were both looking directly at each other.
“I’m sorry Mayor, I don’t understand.” I was confused and intimidated by his comments.
“Go home, Carson.
Let us deal with this situation without your interference.
Everybody knows you’re here because of your friendship with Henry Walker.
We’ve already had one incident with your partner getting shot, and if you stick around, there will certainly be more.
Let our people handle it, and we’ll get this over with quickly and get this community back to normal.”
“Your people!” I challenged. “What ‘your people’ want to do is rush this thing through quickly and let the colored man pay for the crime – whether he did it or not!
I’m not sure why ‘your people’ believe they can just ignore the truth just because it’s what the community wants.
Damn the community, Mayor.
A man’s life is at stake here, and just because he’s a colored man and just because the available evidence says he is guilty doesn’t necessarily make that true.
I intend to be here until I’m convinced Henry Walker murdered that girl or I find the person who did.
Evidently you, or some of ‘your people’, authorized a parade permit that will allow a ‘marching demonstration’ down Main Street on Monday morning.
Either there is no clear-headed thinking or ‘your people’ are just too stupid to understand the implications.
So, you can tell ‘your people’ that if they don’t like my being here, they know where to find me!” I was pissed.