The Right Side of Wrong Read online

  A bullet plowed through the tailgate, punctured the cab’s back wall, and rattled to a stop in the floorboard near Ned’s feet. Then they were out of range.

  Furious, Cody slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. “Dammit!” He drove another hundred yards and then stopped. Both men watched over their shoulders. “Where’s the damn sheriff’s department?”

  Ned grabbed the microphone cord and well-roped the handset from where it had fallen to the floor. Though frightened and charged with adrenaline, his voice barely quivered. “Martha, get us some help here! They’re shootin’ at us.”

  He heard the catch of fear in her voice. “Boone should be there by now.”

  “Well, he ain’t.”

  “Y’all hurt?”

  “Naw, but they hit the car at least once’t. They’s four of ’em, all white that we can tell, in a sixty-three Chev-a-lay Impala.”

  “All units. Shots fired in the army camp. Gate Five is your entrance.”

  Cody’s attention flicked to the mirror. “They’re taking off again.”

  The Chevrolet burst from behind the buildings, making a run in the opposite direction from Gate 5, further into the creek bottoms ahead. Cody yanked the wheel.

  “Don’t get too close this time, they might try the same thing again.”

  “I’m gonna keep them in sight until we get some help.” A covey of quail exploded from beside the El Camino. Cody groaned when he felt the back end skew. “Aw hell. They hit us again after all and shot out one of our tires.”

  The tire was almost immediately flat, and he knew it was no use to push the vehicle any further. He let off the accelerator and braked to a stop. “How many ways can they get out back there?”

  “Half a dozen, I reckon.”

  Cody killed the engine. They stepped out and moved behind the half-breed truck for cover, in case the Chevrolet returned. The sound of the retreating motor quickly faded, and they were left in the relative silence of the late evening.

  The scattered quail began to call, trying to reassemble the covey. The familiar, comforting sound was for once lost on Ned. He stared back toward the east, to where a sheriff’s car should be coming.

  “Something’s wrong about the rest of this deal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our help didn’t come quick, and it’ll be a while yet, I imagine. Looks to me like somebody in the sheriff’s department is in cahoots with them fellers. They aimed to get here all right, but after we’s both dead.”

  When they were sure the Impala wasn’t returning, Ned holstered his pistol and once again keyed the Motorola’s handset when he heard Martha’s alarmed voice.

  “Right here, Martha.”

  “Y’all all right?”

  “Same as before, only now we got a flat.”

  “Did J.T. get there yet? He said he was close enough to hear the shots.”

  The two constables exchanged glances. J.T. Boone was already under their suspicion, and this didn’t help matters at all.

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand…well, two more cars should be there in a minute or two.”

  “We’ll be right here when they do. I hear the sirens now.”

  The next deep and very scared voice on the radio was very obviously not Martha’s.

  “Ned!”

  John Washington’s car streaked down the asphalt gravel, a giant rooster tail of dust indicating his speed. Two more chased them at a distance to avoid the dust. “It’s all right, John. We’re fine.”

  “Thank the Lord! I see y’all now! This have anything to do with Ben Winters senior being found dead?”

  Ned felt empty. He keyed the microphone. “Didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Sheriff Matthews from Hugo called. They found Big Ben’s body in a ditch, about a mile east of Grant. Shot once.”

  “I been expecting it. Nobody’s heard from him for a few days.” Ned replaced the microphone on the hanger and watched John slow as he neared the disabled El Camino.

  Cody crossed his arms and leaned against the vehicle. “I imagine this is tied in somehow. You recognized one of them?”

  “Yep, and the driver too. He’s the one I want. It was that feller Whitlatch, from your joint. I think I’m starting to figure all this out.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Carl Gibbs and his wife Tamara were arguing.

  “I don’t know why I had to go over to their house and eat tonight. I never liked Pete Fuller anyway.”

  “Carol Ann is my friend.” Tamara stared into the night and watched the smudge pots on Highway 271 flash past as Carl drove recklessly through a construction zone. “It didn’t hurt you none for us to eat a bite and talk. I swear, I’m home all day by myself and I like to visit with another woman every now and then.”

  “Well, I don’t like it when you drag me along.”

  “You don’t have to go next time.”

  “I ain’t sittin’ home after work all day while my wife strings off around town after dark. It ain’t right.”

  “It’s all right when you run around on Friday nights without me?”

  “Sure it is. That’s what men do, and women oughta be awaitin’ on them at the house when they come home.”

  “If you think I’m gonna listen to you bellyache all the way back, then you’ve got another think coming, mister. I mighta said love, honor, and obey to that justice of the peace, but I didn’t intend to hire on as your mama.”

  Steaming mad, Carl took his foot off the accelerator and drifted toward the shoulder. “I think that right rear tire’s going flat. Look at it when I stop. If it’s still up, then we’ll drive home slow and I’ll change it in the morning.”

  “Why don’t you get out with a flashlight and take a look at it yourself. It’s your car, and that’s a man’s job.”

  “Dammit woman! Will you do anything without arguing with me? Just look at the goddamned tire!”

  “Don’t you be hollerin’ at me Carl Gibbs! You oughta respect me more.”

  He pressed the brake. “I’ll respect you all right if you’ll do what I say!”

  Fuming, Tamara opened the door and stuck her head out. “It’s too dark. Gimme your flashlight.”

  Carl handed it to her. Tamara leaned further, trying to see without actually getting out of the car. She didn’t trust her husband not to drive off without her. She was right, he fully intended to do it, but his frustration mounted when she aggravated him even more by not getting out.

  So he did the next best thing. Carl shifted into park, put his right foot against Tamara’s rear, and shoved her out of the car. She yelped when she fell into a thick patch of sandburs.

  “You sonofabitch!”

  Laughing like a loon, Carl shifted into gear and shot off into the darkness. Crying and mad, Tamara gathered herself and picked the worst of the stickers out of her clothes. She stomped through the darkness along the shoulder, watching the taillights of their car disappear over the hill. She knew Carl wouldn’t be back. Her only hope was for a sympathetic neighbor to come along. But at that time of the night, well after midnight, she’d be lucky to get a ride.

  Driving Norma Faye’s Oldsmobile, Cody Parker almost passed Tamara until he realized a lone woman was walking along on the shoulder. He slowed and stopped in his lane, watching.

  Tamara stopped short when the unfamiliar car slowed. Cody flicked on the dome light, and she sighed with relief when she recognized her old friend. She leaned into the open passenger window and Cody knew she’d been crying by her puffy face and wet eyes. Both knees below her skirt were skinned from the fall, and her usually untamed hair was even more out of control.

  “What are you doing out here, girl? You all right?”

  “My soon to be ex-husband kicked me out of the car.”

  Cody studied her
for a moment as she stood outside drawing a deep, shuddering breath and willing herself not to cry. He felt oddly relieved. “All right. That’s the same husband that hit you with a single tree.”

  It was more a statement than a question, so instead of answering, Tamara opened the passenger door. She dropped into the seat, slammed the door, and the dome light went out. “I deserve that, but I’m through with him now.”

  “You should have done that a long time ago.”

  “Are you fixin’ to give me a ride home, or sit there and try to be a marriage counselor?”

  Cody stayed where he was.

  She scratched her knee where a sticker had broken off under the skin. “Can we go now?”

  “All right.” Cody shifted into gear. “You gonna stay with Carl, or we gonna do this every night until I get to be Ned’s age?”

  “I’m finished with him.”

  “Good.”

  “Who’s car is this?”

  “Norma Faye’s new one. We bought it second hand last week. My El Camino’s in the shop, so I’m using it tonight.”

  “I like this one better.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have a radio.”

  “What are you doing out here, then?”

  “Just looking for a car.”

  When he didn’t volunteer any more information, they finished the trip in silence. Instead of taking Tamara home, Cody pulled up in front of her mother’s house. She was too tired to argue.

  “Are we finished with this?”

  Tamara nodded. “Yes. I’m done.”

  “Good, because he’s gonna kill you one day.”

  “I’ll get Mama to carry me to town tomorrow and get an attorney.”

  “Good.”

  “You might want to drop by and see Carl when you get a chance. He has about a pound of dope at the house that he got from Little Ben before he died.”

  “Good lord, has everybody in this county gone crazy? Where’d y’all get the money to buy that much dope?”

  “He didn’t buy it. Little Ben gave it to him a couple of days before he hung himself. Said he found it in a shed or something somewhere, and he passed it around like M&Ms.”

  Cody felt cold. “He gave it to you?”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t let Carl pay for it. Ben said some guys he worked for let him give pot away to his friends so they could see how good it was. He called it ‘casting bread on the water.’”

  Cody looked out the dark window at the quiet neighborhood. The parts fit. Little Ben was working for Whitlatch, and in an incredible act of stupidity the naïve country boy stole an entire ‘toe sack full of dope to give to his friends. He paid for it with his life and those of his family, and maybe others as well.

  “That little idiot. Don’t tell anyone else about that. You hear?”

  Tamara shrugged. “Sure, but them that he give the pot to, they already know where it come from.”

  “You know what I mean. I’ll look into what you told me, but if those guys find out you know anything about Little Ben and the dope, they’re liable to come find you next.”

  The murderer’s plan was coming unraveled, and it wouldn’t be long until everyone knew what they were doing. When that happened, they’d have to pull up stakes and light out, or it would become more of a bloodbath than it already was as they finished the job they started with the moonshiners.

  Cody intended to throw them in jail long before they had the chance to get away.

  She stepped out of the car in the soft darkness. “Thanks Cody. Can I pay you back some way for your help…you know…I’ve always liked you.”

  “Nope. I don’t believe Norma Faye’d like that, but thanks for the offer.”

  She closed the door and leaned back inside. “Don’t hurt Carl when you go over there. He’s really a great guy.”

  He sighed. “I know. Now, get inside and go to bed.”

  She smiled, waved, and he waited until she was in the house before he left.

  Mentally clicking the pieces into place, Cody drove to the gas station in Arthur City and parked out of sight from anyone driving south across the river. It was his favorite place to wait for drunks to leave the joints and cross into Texas. He hoped to see Whitlatch passing by, so he could follow the car to the drug-runner’s hide-out.

  While he waited, Cody studied on what he knew. Whitlatch and his men were moving in the darkness to avoid capture. They were most likely in cahoots with Deputy J.T. Boone, which allowed them to know the movements of Cody, Ned, and anyone else looking for him.

  After their running gunfight in the army camp, Ned and Cody talked about the scene, and both were convinced that Little Ben Winters was murdered, hoisted by his neck. The scene was set up to look like a suicide. Ned figured Little Ben fought his murderers, most likely throwing his head back and splitting his scalp on Whitlatch’s cheek, explaining the white bandage on the killer’s face that day.

  With a jolt of understanding, he realized the death of the entire Winters family was a cleansing. Cody glanced down at the dash, wishing for the radio in his El Camino.

  Uncharacteristically out of the loop, Cody settled into the front seat and watched the dark highway. Whitlatch had been using Little Ben to help move the drugs through Chisum, hiding a large amount of marijuana in his barn without telling him. Inexperienced in his association with criminals, Little Ben found the unexpected sacked bales, and thinking they wouldn’t miss it, decided to help himself.

  When the disappearance was discovered, they executed the young man, just as they’d executed the bootleggers conducting business nearby. In a move that backfired, their plan was to reduce the reasons for law enforcement officials to be kicking around Precinct 3. Instead, people talked, the bodies were found, and Cody and Ned were working harder than ever to bring them in.

  After Mark Lightfoot told them how Whitlatch and his men were moving through the daylight hours in a series of different cars, it didn’t take long to check the used car ads in The Chisum News and other smaller community papers on both sides of the river. A few phone calls revealed that Mark Lightfoot was right. Whitlatch was buying at least one car a week, using them to move the drugs, and then reselling them to repeat the process.

  The only thing Cody still couldn’t figure out was why they’d tried to kill him the first time.

  He was still studying on it two hours later, when Lady Luck smiled.

  The Galaxie, with Whitlatch driving, passed the gas station, heading south.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The moon was bright, and Cody let the Galaxie gain some distance before he hit the highway and pulled on his headlights.

  They made a delivery and are heading home, wherever that is. I have ’em now.

  Not a headlight broke the darkness ahead. Norma Faye’s Olds was unrecognizable, so he felt comfortable keeping them in sight. He allowed it to gain more distance, and waited until it crested the first hill that was the lowest edge of several natural tiers leading up from the river bottoms. When their taillights winked out over the crest, he stomped the accelerator to catch up.

  They were still heading for Chisum when he got to the top, so Cody let off on the gas and paced them. He wasn’t worried about being seen. There was often traffic between the river and Chisum, even at that late hour. Ahead, the Galaxie’s distinctive round taillights were like red eyes in the night.

  Twenty minutes later, the Ford slowed as it came into town, and Cody dropped back even more, glad now that he wasn’t in his El Camino that would have stood out like a rocket ship under the street lights.

  The Ford passed Frenchie’s dark café, the courthouse, and followed the traffic pattern around the square. Cody had an idea they’d continue south on 271, past the hardware store, eventually crossing in front of the ruins of Cotton Exchange before making a final right across the tracks and out of town. He made a quick
left, then a right and shot down a residential street to get ahead of them.

  They passed without seeing him parked on the side street. Cody wished he had a radio to call in and tell dispatch he was behind the suspects. He didn’t expect anyone to become alarmed by his lack of communication for a couple more hours. By then he should be able to find a phone and make a few calls.

  Johnny Horton was singing a love song on the radio when they reached Dallas, an hour-and-a-half later. There was enough big city traffic to trail them in the early morning hours at a comfortable distance without worrying about being seen.

  The remainder of the night was a southbound trip and Cody was thankful there was plenty of gas in the big tank. The Galaxie pulled into an Esso station well after dawn, in a small town an hour out of San Antonio. He cruised on past and found a Texaco a mile down the road.

  “Fill ‘er up, mister?” The uniformed station attendant was cheerful for so early in the morning.

  Cody climbed out, stiff and sleepy. “Sure, but don’t bother checking the oil. I gotta go pretty quick.”

  “You bet. Regular or Ethyl?”

  “Regular.”

  “Get that windshield for you? It’s full of bugs.”

  “Naw. I’m in a hurry. You got a phone?”

  “We do, but it ain’t working. They’re supposed to come fix it, but I ain’t seen nobody from Ma Bell in a week. They’ll come dragging in one day of these days…”

  Cody tuned him out and stepped behind a pump, to be sure he wasn’t standing in the open if the Galaxie passed before they were through.

  “She’s full. That’ll be ten dollars and thirty cents.”

  “I thought gas was supposed to be cheaper down here closer to the coast.”

  The man smiled and dug his finger into a dirty ear as Cody thumbed two fives and a one from his billfold. “That’s on the other side of San Antone. We’re a little higher here.”

  Cody handed him the bills and glanced down the road. Still no Ford.

  They must be taking a leak.

  “Where’s your toilet?”

  “Round back.”

  He hurried around the corner and recoiled at the thick stench wafting out of the warped door set in the cinder block building. A cow lowed in the pasture full of mesquite behind him. The highway was clearly visible from his position, so he faced the peeling station, unzipped, and sighed in relief as he watered the weeds growing at the foundation.