The Right Side of Wrong (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

A month later, Miss Becky was sorting a load of clothes for her new washer when Ned came through the screen door. After more than forty years of marriage, washing clothes suddenly bordered dangerously close to enjoyable for a woman who'd been filling a round tub washer by hand most of her life.

Right after they were married, Miss Becky used a pair of laundry tubs to scrub Ned's overalls. The galvanized tubs he bought tenth-hand down at the cotton gin worked for years, until he came home one day not long after the war with the freestanding round washer. She was delighted with the wringer attached to the top, but she still had to roll the machine out on the porch, fill it with water heated to a boil on the stove, and then rinse with cold water drawn from the tap under her rough kitchen counter.

The new washer directly attached to water and electricity made the common chore a pleasure and kept both Ned and Top in clean clothes brightened by liberal applications of Mrs. Stewart's bluing. Now all she needed was to get someone to run water lines up through the plywood kitchen counter top and install a sink so she could get rid of the two WWII era dish pans.

She was already thinking about a clothes dryer.

Ned couldn't get used to the loud machine in the kitchen. Its constant hum, slosh, and gurgling weighed on his mind every time he entered the house, and this time was no exception. Ned laid two Chick-O-Sticks candies on the table. It was his custom to bring something from the store each time he went, whether it be candy, apples, cantaloupes, or even onion sets or tomato plants, if the season was right. It was his way of supporting the small businesses with the loose change in his pockets. This time he'd been to Arthur City, and the little store there didn't have much more on the shelves than candy and tobacco.

He hadn't even taken off his hat when a car pulled into the long driveway in front of the house. Through the screen door, Ned watched Cody's El Camino slowly crunching across the gravel.

“Looky who's here.”

Miss Becky immediately went to the Frigidaire and removed a bowl of leftovers. “I bet he's starving.”

“He has a wife at home. I imagine he eats enough.”

Cody honked when the car stopped.

“He ain't coming in to eat.” Ned stepped outside.

Cody called through the open passenger window. “Come go with me up to the domino hall. I got a call that Carl Gibbs is there and drunk as a skunk.”

“I'll be back directly, Mama.” The screen door slapped behind him and Ned joined Cody in his El Camino. He settled in, trying to fit his round frame into the tight front seat. “You need a haircut.”

Cody grinned, knowing the curls over his collar bothered Ned. It was a far cry from the Boy's Regular that Top wore, or Ned's crown of hair trimmed short around a bald pate. The truth was, he intended to go up to his Uncle Buck's front porch barbershop that same morning, but the call had interrupted his plans.

For Ned's sake, Cody lowered the volume on the radio so the Beatles singing “Eight Days a Week” wouldn't annoy him any more than he already was.

Ned twisted the knob even more, to silence the radio. “What'd Carl do this time?”

“He's trying to start a fight with anybody he can drag in. Neal called from the store and said we might want to get over there.”

Neal Box owned one of the two wood-framed general stores bracketing the rough domino hall. His store was originally the Center Springs courthouse that fell in disrepair and was in danger of rotting away. Neal bought the one room building, moved it next to the domino hall in competition with Oak Peterson's store on the opposite side, and after a facelift, stocked the shelves with bread, canned goods, feed, harnesses, and other small farming implements.

“You feel like fooling with this today?” Ned watched bodark fence posts flash past his window. Cut from the hard wood of scraggly bodark trees, the usually crooked posts defined the fences of northeast Texas. “I'm not completely sure you're healed up.”

Cody liked to drive fast. “I'm fine. For a while there I got tired easy, but I'm feeling good enough to think about taking the kids fishing up on the Little River.”

The ancient Kiamichi Mountains were worn to nothing more than what could be truly called foothills. The rolling, heavily-timbered country was fractured with rocky streams full of smallmouthed bass and fat blue catfish.

“You think that's a good idea? There ain't much up there north of Cloudy if y'all get into trouble.”

“You took me up there from the time the top of my head reached your belt. Nobody'll mess with me up in Oklahoma.” Cody steered into Neal's bottlecap-paved parking lot. “I thought we'd do a little bank fishing in a couple of those holes you showed me.”

“Well, it might be smart to stick close to the house for a while until we figure out who it was that took a shot at you.”

No one was outside of the domino hall when they stepped out of the El Camino. Cody settled the Colt 1911 in the holster on his belt and trailed Ned up the three plank steps. The doors and windows were open to catch the breeze and everything inside seemed normal.

To Cody's knowledge, the building had never seen a coat of paint. Though nothing was, or had ever been, for sale inside, the exterior was colored with a variety of advertisements from RC and Double Colas to Ideal Bread. A vertical four-foot metal Orange Crush sign was nailed haphazardly on the west side, not particularly for advertisement, because the bottle itself had been discontinued forty years earlier, but to cover a large hole in the wall.

Half-a-dozen discarded tables with mismatched chairs crowded the single twenty- by-twenty-foot room. A cold wood stove occupied one corner. Bare light bulbs dangled on frayed wires above each table. Three tables sat empty, with loose dominos scattered across the worn surfaces amid empty spit cans and ashtrays.

The other three were in use by a dozen players, squinting at the dots through thick cigar and cigarette smoke. At the only table to the left of the door, and obviously drunk, Carl Gibbs sat beside a scraped and dented metal cooler. The last time Ned saw Carl, he was standing before Judge O.C. Rains that snowy day after Cody was ambushed.

Carl cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “Who called the laws?”

“Howdy, men.” Ned stepped onto the rough plank floor and as a courtesy, was careful not to stand directly behind any of the players.

Cody rested one hip on an empty table near the door, tilted his Stetson back, and watched the play at Carl's table.

A domino slapped the scarred pine surface. “Dime.”

Another slap. “Made a nickel.”

The scorekeeper marked an X on his pad with a pencil sharpened with a pocket knife.

Carl drained a Jax and pitched the empty can out of the open window behind him. He flipped open the lid of his metal cooler and fished around in the ice and water for a replacement.

Cody leaned toward Ned in a stage whisper. “That's what I call drinkin' in public. You'd think he'd act right since he's out on bond.”

“We're setting right
here
, Carl.”

The drunk squinted at Ned. “I see all ya'll.”

The Parker men exchanged grins while the players laughed loud and long. The drunk's smart response was the equivalent of drawing a line in the sand. At that point the only recourse was to take Carl in, but the mood was still light, and neither of the constables wanted to make more than the situation warranted.

“This ish Oklahoma beer. You cain't get drunk on three-two, besides, I bought it at your place, Cody.” Carl dug a church key out of his shirt pocket and levered two triangle-shaped holes in the top of the dripping can.

Ned shot his nephew a disgusted look that spoke volumes. Instead of catching Ned's eye, Cody kept his attention on Carl. The man had a nose like Jimmy Durante, and its size always fascinated Cody. “Why don't we go outside and talk about this?”

“Cain't, we're winning.” Carl tilted the freshly-opened can and sucked down half the contents in one long draught.

“No y'ain't.” Steve Perkins shook the rocks with a disgusted look on his face, shuffling them for the next draw. Somewhat of a dandy, Perkins lived alone in a tiny two-room house up behind the cotton gin and only worked when he needed money for groceries. You could tell it, too, from his smooth hands to hair slicked down with HA hair oil. “We ain't won a hand since you cracked that first beer.”

“Thass'cause you don't shake 'em good enough.”

“Come outside with me for a minute.” Ned motioned for Carl. “You've already been in jail for beatin' on your wife a while back. Let's talk about this so we can all go home.”

“When I'm good and ready. Besides, she provoked me. She'll do that y'know, provoke ya into almost anything.”

The Parkers exchanged looks again. Along with his recent arrest for assault and battery, Carl's admission guaranteed a conviction in the coming trial.

Their conversation was interrupted by a Chevrolet sliding to an abrupt stop in the parking lot. Through the open door, Cody recognized the person who stepped out in a cloud of dust and slammed the door in fury. “Uh oh.”

The men inside went completely silent when Carl's wife, Tamara, stomped up the steps and blew into the room like a tiny Texas cyclone.

“Careful,” Cody said. “She's got her ears laid back. I believe she's mad.”

The players chuckled.

Ignoring everyone else in the domino hall, Tamara waved a revolver at her husband. “Carl, you
son
of a bitch!”

They reacted as if a mad bobcat had fallen through the roof. Cody would have preferred the bobcat. Chairs clattered on the pine floor as the lighthearted mood vanished and men scrambled out of the way. As if there was no one else in the domino hall, Tamara aimed her fury on her soon-to-be ex-husband. She didn't notice the two constables nearby.

With what appeared to be a practiced move, Cody casually reached out and stripped the gun away in one motion.

Tamara yelped when the trigger guard scraped against her index finger. She glared around the dismal room, suddenly realizing there were others nearby.

“You wait a minute, gal.” Ned stepped between the two. “We're here to take care of your problem, so cool off.”

Cody expertly popped the cylinder, slapped the ejection rod with his palm, and dumped the loads onto the floor. He pitched the empty revolver to Ned and walked around the table. “Tamara, you stand right there and don't do or say nothin' else. Stand up, Carl. I'm gonna put some cuffs on you so we can sort this out.”

He fully intended to cuff Tamara also, for waving a pistol, but he wanted Carl out of the way first.

“I ain't a-goin'.”

“Yes you are.”

Tamara pointed a finger at Carl's face. “Do what they say, you son of a bitch!”

“You done said that, Tamara, now back off.” Ned knew they had to move quickly before things accelerated. “Stand up, Carl.”

“Nossir.”

Shouldering Tamara out of the way, Cody grabbed a handful of Carl's grimy collar and yanked him to his feet. Carl swung an elbow back, catching the young deputy in the chest. Cody staggered back and regained his balance.

Chairs skittered on the dirty floor as they scuffled back and forth. Cody didn't want the arrest to turn into a fist fight, so he worked hard to get the drunk in a headlock. Terrified that Cody'd get hurt again so soon after getting out of the hospital, Ned kicked a table out of the way and grabbed Carl's arm to twist it behind his back.

Carl swung a fist at Ned, who ducked under the blow and pushed both struggling men against the wall. Planks cracked under the impact and metal signs on the outside rattled. The wall bowed outward, almost collapsing into the parking lot.

“Owww! You're tearing my ear off, Cody!”

“Well, quit fighting.”

“I ain't fighting, I'm resisting arrest.”

“Well, give up, you idiot.”

“Let me go!”

Finally getting a good grip on Carl's head, Cody planted his feet, and with fresh leverage, banged the drunk's head into the plank wall.

“Owwww! You're a-hurtin' me, Cody!”

“I'm about to hurt you worse if you don't get them hands behind you!”

Carl stomped Ned's foot and he hopped backward with a curse. Before he could get back into the fray, Tamara leaped onto his back, nearly driving him to the ground.

“What the
hell!!!???
”

A banshee shriek nearly ruptured his eardrum. Ned reached back and grabbed a handful of curly brown hair. He yanked, and Tamara flew over his shoulder to land on her back with a dusty thump on the floor.

“Girl, what the
hell
are you doing?”

“You're hurting my husband!”

Ned suddenly found himself in the type of domestic argument that was often fatal to lawmen trying to help. “We ain't hurtin' him! We're gonna take him to jail until he sobers up.”

“Let him alone!”

“He's drunk! We're taking him in, so you back away until we get the cuffs on him!”

Ned spun back to the fight. Cody had Carl on the floor, one hand twisted behind his back, and cuffed his left arm with a ratcheting series of clicks. Ned hurried over to put his knee on Carl's neck and grab his free arm.

“Awww Ned! You're breaking my neck!”

“Quit fighting!”

Ned twisted Carl's stiff arm and he shrieked again. Before Cody could lock the cuff around the drunk's other wrist, they were hit with what felt like a freight train as Tamara climbed on the table and leaped into the struggle. Ned staggered and Cody lost his hold on Carl's arm. He landed on his back with a thud, but managed to use his knee to catch Tamara's falling body as she rolled off Ned's back a second time. With a grunt, he bucked and threw her halfway across the domino hall.