Lucky was laying on his back. Lucky’s whole shirt was covered in blood, so the Sheriff couldn’t decipher what caused the blood. It was probably a gunshot, he speculated—a powerful one.
He walked over to Tom Jenkins’s body. Jenkins was laying on his stomach. Similar to Lucky, Jenkins’s shirt was covered in blood. Although the Sheriff couldn’t tell the actual cause of death, the more he thought about the more he thought it must have been a gunshot. It was highly unlikely that men came there and were able to knife three armed men to death. This prompted the Sheriff to inspect Jenkins’s hand to see if there were any defensive wounds, but there were none. Thus, the Sheriff concluded that they must have been shot.
But who could have shot them? He wondered. He thought two things were for sure: they were black and there was more than one—there was a gang of black people who did this. He figured this was the only explanation. There was no way one person would be able to do this to Lucky and his wrecking crew. Lucky was always armed when he did his jobs. He was a perfectionist.
Now that he narrowed down that it must have been a gang of black people, he had to determine who would have done this. He figured that it had to be someone close to Leon, who wanted to save him. He figured it had to be Leon’s family or close friends.
The Sheriff heard a crunching noise from the woods that startled him, so he drew his gun out of the holster for protection.
Junior emerged, saw his father with the gun pointed at himself, and put his hands up. “Whoa, Dad, it’s me.”
“Oh, okay,” said the Sheriff. “Did you radio it in, and did you get the crime-scene tape?”
Junior was breathing heavily and could barely speak clearly, “Dad, Sam, Finley, and Ryan have Leon and his friends laying on the ground just over yonder.”
“Really? How did they get here?”
“Ah, I don’t know, but I was almost ready to shoot Leon. That fuckin’ murderer. He killed our boys.”
“Holy shit. So you got Leon.”
“Yes.”
“So they came this quickly after you called it in?”
“No, I never called it in because they were already there when I got out of the woods.”
“Okay, what about the tape?”
“No, I didn’t get the tape. I didn’t get to the car. I came here right after I saw Leon. What do you want to do?”
Now the Sheriff was breathing heavy. This was unusual. Usually, he was in control of all crime scenes especially ones involving whites against Negroes. He always knew what happened before he went to the crime scene and pretended to do police work. The Sheriff recalled one last year where a Negro was beaten and thrown on Main Street. He knew that Lucky did it because the Sheriff coordinated it along with Acton.
But this was different. He would actually have to do legitimate police work to determine even what happened. He needed to make decisions. People were relying on him. He could not show weakness. He had to show that he was sure of himself.
The Sheriff sighed at Junior’s question. “How many people are the guys holding?”
The Sheriff figured one way to show that he was competent was to ask questions.
“I didn’t count, but I would say around five.”
“So, Sam, Ryan, and Finley are by themselves holding a gang of niggers?” asked the Sheriff.
“Yeah, that’s right, Dad.”
“Shit, we better get over there and help them.”
“But what about the crime scene?” asked Junior.
Junior always irritated the Sheriff. “Well, we got to help them, so we have to leave the crime scene.”
“We’re just going to leave them here for the animals to eat them?”
Sheriff had enough. “Junior, shut the fuck up. Do you think I want to leave them here alone? I have no choice. I think that gang of niggers are the ones that killed our boys here. If we don’t help Sam and the others, they might be laying down dead. Now, shut the fuck up and let’s help them out.”
Junior remained silent but stared at
He walked over to Tom Jenkins’s body. Jenkins was laying on his stomach. Similar to Lucky, Jenkins’s shirt was covered in blood. Although the Sheriff couldn’t tell the actual cause of death, the more he thought about the more he thought it must have been a gunshot. It was highly unlikely that men came there and were able to knife three armed men to death. This prompted the Sheriff to inspect Jenkins’s hand to see if there were any defensive wounds, but there were none. Thus, the Sheriff concluded that they must have been shot.
But who could have shot them? He wondered. He thought two things were for sure: they were black and there was more than one—there was a gang of black people who did this. He figured this was the only explanation. There was no way one person would be able to do this to Lucky and his wrecking crew. Lucky was always armed when he did his jobs. He was a perfectionist.
Now that he narrowed down that it must have been a gang of black people, he had to determine who would have done this. He figured that it had to be someone close to Leon, who wanted to save him. He figured it had to be Leon’s family or close friends.
The Sheriff heard a crunching noise from the woods that startled him, so he drew his gun out of the holster for protection.
Junior emerged, saw his father with the gun pointed at himself, and put his hands up. “Whoa, Dad, it’s me.”
“Oh, okay,” said the Sheriff. “Did you radio it in, and did you get the crime-scene tape?”
Junior was breathing heavily and could barely speak clearly, “Dad, Sam, Finley, and Ryan have Leon and his friends laying on the ground just over yonder.”
“Really? How did they get here?”
“Ah, I don’t know, but I was almost ready to shoot Leon. That fuckin’ murderer. He killed our boys.”
“Holy shit. So you got Leon.”
“Yes.”
“So they came this quickly after you called it in?”
“No, I never called it in because they were already there when I got out of the woods.”
“Okay, what about the tape?”
“No, I didn’t get the tape. I didn’t get to the car. I came here right after I saw Leon. What do you want to do?”
Now the Sheriff was breathing heavy. This was unusual. Usually, he was in control of all crime scenes especially ones involving whites against Negroes. He always knew what happened before he went to the crime scene and pretended to do police work. The Sheriff recalled one last year where a Negro was beaten and thrown on Main Street. He knew that Lucky did it because the Sheriff coordinated it along with Acton.
But this was different. He would actually have to do legitimate police work to determine even what happened. He needed to make decisions. People were relying on him. He could not show weakness. He had to show that he was sure of himself.
The Sheriff sighed at Junior’s question. “How many people are the guys holding?”
The Sheriff figured one way to show that he was competent was to ask questions.
“I didn’t count, but I would say around five.”
“So, Sam, Ryan, and Finley are by themselves holding a gang of niggers?” asked the Sheriff.
“Yeah, that’s right, Dad.”
“Shit, we better get over there and help them.”
“But what about the crime scene?” asked Junior.
Junior always irritated the Sheriff. “Well, we got to help them, so we have to leave the crime scene.”
“We’re just going to leave them here for the animals to eat them?”
Sheriff had enough. “Junior, shut the fuck up. Do you think I want to leave them here alone? I have no choice. I think that gang of niggers are the ones that killed our boys here. If we don’t help Sam and the others, they might be laying down dead. Now, shut the fuck up and let’s help them out.”
Junior remained silent but stared at
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