Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(44)

Benjamin parked a short way down the street and sat watching the truck. He thought about Isaac and prayed he’d gotten home safely. What to do, he asked himself. If he left to get Sheriff Haledon, the man might leave; then he’d have nothing. And if the sheriff wasn’t around Benjamin knew the deputy wouldn’t take action.

There was no way for Benjamin to follow him inside. On the front door of the billiard parlor there was a sign saying “No Coloreds,” so he’d be stopped before he crossed the threshold. The only thing he could do was wait. Wait and follow the bearded man back to wherever he lived.

Benjamin climbed out and walked across to where the blue truck was parked. The left headlight was smashed, the hood and front fender dented. He touched his hand to the indentation and knew for certain this was the truck that had killed Delia.

There was no shotgun in Benjamin’s truck nor was there a knife. He had a toolbox. A box filled with hammers, screwdrivers, and a sledge, any one of which could be used to kill a man. Isaac’s words echoed in his ear. It weren’t no accident. Damn niggers. This man was someone who deserved to die.

Had Benjamin found him in the week following Delia’s death, he would have done it without pausing to consider the consequences. But in the last three months things had changed. Benjamin had always loved Isaac, but Delia had been the one close to the boy. She’d been the one to soothe his hurts and help him build dreams. With Delia gone, he was all Isaac had left.

Benjamin thought back on the sheriff’s words: sit tight and leave this to me. And he waited.

It was close to midnight when Luke Garrett stumbled out of the billiard parlor and headed for home. Benjamin switched the ignition on and followed. He stayed a fair distance behind and drove with his lights off. Just outside of town, Luke veered off the main street and headed for Cross Corner Road. Benjamin stayed with him.

When they passed the narrow drive that led to the house, Benjamin saw a lamplight in the window. Isaac had gotten home safely. He knew the boy would be fearful about him not coming home, and after all that had happened that thought tore at his heart. This would be the only time, he promised himself. He had no choice but to follow the bearded man so he could report back to Sheriff Haledon, but that would be the end of it. The law would take it from there. He would never again leave Isaac alone to worry.

About four miles past the house the blue truck turned down a side road with no name, a stretch of dirt that ran past a field of burned-out farmland; the truck stopped alongside a small house. Benjamin pulled his truck behind a thicket on the shoulder of Cross Corner Road, got out, and walked up the dirt road. The night sky was thick with clouds, and dark as it was he had to feel each step carefully. He couldn’t afford to stumble and fall. In the stillness of this night even the slightest noise would be a giveaway.

Once he was closer to the house, Benjamin stopped and listened. No dog. Good. He crouched low and slowly moved across the yard.

The house was dark and when he peered through the side window Benjamin saw nothing. It was several minutes before a lamp flared and a yellowish glow lit the room. Pressing himself flat against the building to avoid detection, he watched as the man opened a cupboard and pulled out a whiskey bottle. He took a long drink from the bottle, then moved off to a room somewhere in the back of the house.

This was where he lived, Benjamin was certain of it. Tomorrow morning he would share his finding with Sheriff Haledon and justice would be done.

Still staying in the shadows, Benjamin moved away from the house and back down the road to where he’d hidden his own truck.





The Whitewall





The lamp was still lit when Benjamin arrived home, and the moment he walked in Isaac came running to him. It was obvious the boy had been crying. Benjamin pulled him close and asked, “What you crying about?”

“I ain’t crying,” Isaac answered indignantly. He hesitated a moment then added, “I just been worrying.”

Benjamin squeezed him a bit closer. “You got no need of worrying. I’m your daddy, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“But what if that man what runned down Mama runned you down too?”

“That ain’t never gonna happen ’cause I found who done it. It was just as you said, Isaac. One big ole whitewall tire on the back end of that truck.”

“Did you fight him?”

Benjamin chuckled. “Fighting ain’t no way of settling things. I’m gonna tell the sheriff and let the law handle it.”

“The law ain’t gonna arrest no white man!”

“It sure enough will,” Benjamin replied. “Sheriff Haledon done said.”

Isaac shook his head doubtfully. “I ain’t so sure.”





The next morning Benjamin was scheduled to finish tar-papering Sam Preston’s shed, but instead of going there he went directly to the sheriff’s office. Deputy Moran sat at the front desk. He looked up and gave an exasperated groan. “What now?”

“I come to see Sheriff Haledon,” Benjamin answered.

“He ain’t here.” Moran went back to the paper he’d been reading.

Benjamin didn’t move. He stood there with his head slightly bowed and a weathered straw hat held loosely in his right hand.

“I said he ain’t here,” the deputy repeated.