Dan Lowery was moving along quickly, looking behind him, trying to create a path through the crowd. An elderly woman tugged on Lowery's arm and he turned as if he was going to strike her. His expression changed and he plastered a fake smile on his face. He cordially greeted the old woman and spoke to her, even though his eyes were roaming nervously.
“Now what's Spiff's lawyer doing out here?” Scratch murmured to himself.
Felix was standing behind a huge tree, trying to conceal himself. He was taking a huge risk, a black man in the white part of town. Lucky for him, this neighborhood backed on to a wooded area that led into Darktown, albeit a six- or seven-mile walk. Still, if Felix got a good sprint on Scratch, he could hit the woods and not be caught. He had to be desperate to do that. Most of the firemen were in the Klan and if they spotted him, it was all over for Felix. They'd take him for a ride in the fire truck and he'd never be seen alive again.
“I have to dip out for a few minutes,” Scratch whispered to Betty.
“Wait-why? My house is on fire,” She tried to block him from leaving her side.
Scratch kissed Betty on the forehead. “I know, honey,” He gently nudged her out of his way. “I think I see the person who did it.”
“What?” Betty exclaimed. “Scratch! Get back here!”
Felix saw Scratch. He started to sprint but then Shep showed up. Felix tried to run to his left and Ralph appeared. He stopped and looked at everyone.
“I ain't do nothin',” Felix said calmly.
Shep put his hands out in front of him as he approached Felix slowly. “Take it easy, son. Nobody's gonna hurt you.”
“I ain't do nothin',” Felix back-pedaled. “I aint do nothin'!” He screamed as he ran right into Ralph.
Ralph took him down immediately. That cowlick on Ralph's forehead twirled around and the long strand smacked him in the nose when he grabbed Felix by the arms and threw him violently to the ground. Ralph jammed his knee into Felix's back. He then rolled those wiry arms across Felix's back and handcuffed him. Ralph jerked Felix to a standing position.
“I ain't do nothin'!” Felix bellowed, sobbing hard. “I ain't do nothin' wrong!” Piss ran down Felix's pants leg and leaked on Ralph's left boot.
Ralph gasped. His dark, furry eyebrows arched down. “Son of a bitch! Those are new boots! I ought to bust your head in, boy!”
“Calm down, Ralph. The boy's scared,” Shep said. “Put yourself in his shoes.”
“I'd rather put him in my shoes so he could walk around in hundred-dollar custom-made boots with nigger piss on them!”
“I said stand down, Deputy!”
Ralph had never seen Shep angry. Scratch saw it once. At the Blue Room a year or so ago. An old adversary of Shep's had just finished a five-year sentence at Oklahoma state farm for armed bank robbery in Odarko. Words were exchanged, insults hurled at Shep's mother. Shep shot the man dead in the Blue Room. No one said a word, no one moved. Shep asked Scratch to help him throw the dead man in the swamp 60 miles away in a small Texas town whose name neither of them could pronounce.
No one was sad the man was dead and no one spoke of the incident. Ever.
Ralph thought of his future actions. He thought of what Shep might do. Ralph took a deep breath, and nodded to Shep. “Yes sir.”
“Put him in the car, Ralph. I'll pay to have your boots cleaned,” Shep said.
“Yes sir,” Ralph walked to Felix to the police car, opened the door and eased him in the backseat, then slammed the door shut. He stood at the car with his back to Shep and Scratch, trying to get himself together and be less aggressive.
Shep turned to Scratch. “You OK? You look a little rattled?”
“I'm OK,” Scratch said slowly.
“I've noticed something,” Shep said.
“What's that?” Scratch rubbed his aching forehead.
“You don't like that word.”
“What word?”
“Nigger,” Shep replied with a grimace.
Scratch remembered when he and Immy were walking home from school one day in Oklahoma City. Some white boys gathered around them, throwing pebbles and taunting them. Saying: “Why are you walking with that nigger girl?”
He also remembered a neighbor boy who was sweet on Immy. They played together in that run-down building where they lived with a cousin for a short period. The boy's father forbade him ever to play with that “nigger girl”.
Scratch never had any racial problems, unless Immy was with him.
“No,” Scratch admitted. Their eyes locked. Burning embers in Scratch's pupils. “I've always hated that word. Hear it so much, it shouldn't bother me. But it does.”
He wanted to confide in Shep. Tell him about his family history. But the trust level in Odarko, even between friends, was very low. If they knew anything about you, it came from rumor.
“I don't either,” Shep lit a cigarette. “I'm hoping for change for his kind,” Shep nodded toward Felix. “I don't anticipate any for the better. I hate to say.”
Nothing else was said.
Shep finished his cigarette, tossed it on the ground and stamped it out. “We have a witness to the fire.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Old woman next door. She saw him,” Shep nodded toward the police car. “Running away from the house on fire. I understand the woman you were with owns the house?”
“Yes,” Scratch said. “Betty Klein. She's a photographer. Used to work for Horace's paper. She was in his house when I went to look around. We've partnered up some since.”
“Is that so?” Shep asked with even more interest than before.
“We found a hatbox. It belonged to Gardner. A small film camera was inside it. I think he was making blue films. He may have even starred in some. Betty developed the film, but
