“Me, too,” Payne interjected. He led Blount to the metal bleachers and asked him to sit down. “I’ve got a number of questions that I’d like to ask you, Bennie, and some of them might seem a little bit strange. But trust me, each of them is really important to me and my friends.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, slightly confused.
“First of all, what can you tell me about your friend with the tattoo? How do you know him?”
“Ya mean the
tattoo? I met him at work, Mr. Payne. Most of the people have it.”
“And where do you work, Bennie?”
Blount paused for a second, not sure if he should answer the question.
“Come on, Bennie,” Greene urged. “You promised you’d help us.”
“That’s true, I did. But it’s not as easy as that, sir. Ya see, I promised other peoples that I wouldn’t talk about this none.”
Greene moved forward on the bleachers, flexing his massive arms as he did. “But those other people can’t hurt you right now, can they?”
Blount gulped. “I guess you’s right. The place is called the Plantation.”
The word piqued the interest of all three men, yet Greene was the first to speak. “The Plantation? What exactly is the Plantation?”
Blount gazed at Greene. It was obvious that the Plantation was one of the things he wasn’t supposed to talk about, but all it took was one glare from Greene and he started to speak. “The Plantation is the name of the place that I be working. It’s a special jail that the state put in less than a year ago.”
“A jail? What kind of jail?” Payne demanded.
“The
kind.”
“What the hell is a
jail?”
Blount exhaled. “You know, the kind that people is sent to for special crimes.”
Payne grimaced. This was getting nowhere. “Special crimes? What the hell are they?”
“You know,” he whispered, “the kind that people ain’t suppose to talk about.”
Payne glanced at Jones, looking for an explanation, but it was obvious that he was just as confused. “Bennie? Can you please tell me what type of people commit special crimes?”
“Not really, Mr. Payne. There’ve been too many people for me to keep track of over the past months.”
“Men? Women? Old? Young?”
“Yes, sir. All of them.”
“Is there anything else that you can tell us about this place?”
Blount considered the question for a moment, then brushed the hair from his face. “Yes, Mr. Payne, there be one more thing I could tell you about the people at the Plantation.”
“And what’s that, Bennie?”
Blount pointed a long, bony finger at Payne. “All the people look like you.”
It took a moment for Blount’s comment to sink in, but once it did, none of the men knew how to respond. After a moment of silence, Jones spoke. “All of the people look like him? You mean everybody at the Plantation is ugly?”
The joke brought a smile to Blount’s face. “That’s not what I meant, sir. What I be tryin’ to say is they white. Everybody at the jail is white.”
“Levon?” Payne said in a soft voice. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“I wish I did, but I’m clueless.” Greene turned his attention to Blount. “Bennie? What do you mean everybody’s white? You’re telling me there aren’t any black people at the Plantation?”
“No, I ain’t sayin’ that. There be plenty of black people at the jail. All the workers be black.”
“What?!” Jones demanded. “The prisoners are white and the guards are black? Holy parallel universe, Batman!”
Payne glanced at his friend. Sometimes he wondered if Jones was still a teenager. “Bennie, don’t you think that’s a little bit strange? Why are all of the prisoners white?”
“I don’t know, sir, ’cause I ain’t in charge of no prisoners. I just be in charge of the taters and grits. My bosses don’t allow me to get near the people. They keeps me far away.”
“And why do you think that is, Bennie?”
“My bosses tell me it be for my safety, but sometime I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Why’s that?” Payne wondered. “Why do you doubt them?”
“ ’Cause some of the prisoners ain’t that scary. I ain’t afraid of no girls, and I sure as heck ain’t afraid of no kids.”
Nausea quickly built in Payne’s belly. “Kids? What kind of kids, Bennie?”
“White ones.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. How old are the kids?”
“Well,” Blount mumbled, suddenly realizing he had probably already revealed too much information, “it be hard to say. I ain’t too good at guessin’ no ages.”
Payne moved closer, trying to intimidate Blount with his proximity. “This isn’t the time to quit talking. How old are the damn kids?”
“I don’t know,” he whined. “I really don’t. I just know that some of them have to be young ’cause I have to make them different chow. I have to cut up their food ’cause they don’t got big teeth yet.”
“Jesus,” Payne groaned. That meant the Posse had kidnapped kids under the age of five. “And you don’t find that strange? Come on, Bennie, you can’t be that dumb! What kind of prison holds toddlers?”
Blount lowered his head in disgrace, too embarrassed to answer the question.
“Levon,” Jones whispered, trying to take the focus off of Bennie, “what do you think? Could a place like this exist?”
Greene chuckled at the thought. “A state-run facility with black guards and white inmates? Hell, no! The government couldn’t get away with a place like that in Louisiana. There are way too many David Dukes down here to oppose it.”
“How about privately?” Payne wondered. “Do you think a black-run facility, one that imprisons and punishes white people, could secretly exist in this state?”
“Now that’s another story.” Greene sighed, closing his eyes as he did. “Racial tension has always been a huge concern in this state. For one reason or another, there are still thousands of people that are upset about the Civil War. I know that sounds ridiculous to a Northerner, but trust me, it’s true. White supremacists run some towns, while black militants control others. Then, to complicate things further, there are places in this state that no one controls. The swamps, the forests, the bayou. Shit, I guarantee you there are entire communities in Louisiana that don’t know what year it is-or even care. Those are the areas where a place like the Plantation could exist. No visitors, no cops, no laws. That’s where a place like that could
.”
The possibility didn’t make Payne happy. He had secretly hoped that Bennie Blount was a simpleton who mumbled to strangers about fictitious places in order to get attention, but that seemed less likely now. If someone like Greene was willing to believe that the Plantation could exist, then there was a good chance that it actually did.
And if that was the case, then it was up to Payne to find it.
CHAPTER 30
Sunday, July 4th
