Bill Crider - Too Late to Die

As he finished, Kathy spoke. “You seem pretty moody today. Worried about the election?”

Rhodes shook his head. He suddenly realized then he really didn’t care about the election. “Ralph Claymore would do a good job,” he said. “Maybe better than me. Maybe it’s time somebody else took over.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Kathy said.

Rhodes wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not, but he was sure that the matter was no longer important to him. Having made his decision about Billy Joe, he was no longer sure where he stood in regard to his job. It was something he had to think about.

Rhodes pushed his chair away from the table. “Sure I believe it,” he said. “How would you like having an unemployed father?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Kathy said, taking his plate and brushing the crumbs into the sink. “I guess I could support you if I got a big-city teaching job. I typed some letters of application yesterday. If I’m hired, I could send you a little money every month.” She laughed. “On a teacher’s salary, it would have to be a very little, even in Houston.”

Rhodes grinned. “I’m glad you’ll be getting back to the city,” he said “I’ll miss you around here, though.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll be too lonely,” she said. “If you don’t make time with Ivy Daniels, I’m sure Mrs. Wilkie would be glad to come in and keep you company.”

“A terrible thought,” Rhodes said. He stood up. “I guess I’d better get busy and give the taxpayers their money’s worth while I’m still in office. I hope I can get through the day without these ribs killing me. “

Getting in the car hurt, and getting out of the car hurt, but Rhodes did it. His first stop was at a small brick building a block from the courthouse. The building had once been an insurance office, but it now bore a neat white sign with black letters which stated that it was the office of Billy Don Painter, Attorney at Law.

Billy Don was his usual well-groomed self, cordial and smiling. “Good to see you, Sheriff,” he said, extending his hand. “What can I do for you?”

Rhodes shook hands. “You can tell me how you’re going to proceed with this Terry Wayne thing,” he said.

“Well, that’s direct and to the point,” Billy Don said. “We’ve got a mighty good case, let me tell you.”

“I know that,” Rhodes said. “I also know you can create a lot of bad feelings in this county if you go to trial with it.”

“Well, now, that may be so, but what are a few hard feelings in the cause of justice?”

“Maybe nothing,” Rhodes said. “But what’s justice in this case? Terry Wayne may have been roughed up a little, but the man who did it is dead. You can’t punish him any more than that.”

“Ah, yes, punishment,” Billy Don said, as if he hadn’t thought of it before. Probably he hadn’t. “What my client had in mind was compensation for the physical and mental pain which he went through. Who knows? He may be crippled physically and psychologically for life because of his encounter with the rogue minions of Blacklin County’s law.”

“We aren’t in court yet, Billy Don,” Rhodes said, and the lawyer almost blushed. The tips of his ears got red. “I expect that Terry Wayne is working at his job right now, and has been ever since he got out of the jailhouse. If he has, we can prove it. We can also show that he wasn’t any lily of the valley himself, I imagine. It won’t be easy for you.”

“I suppose it would also be easier for you if we dropped the whole thing,” Billy Don suggested mildly, “what with the election coming up and all that.”

Rhodes shrugged. “Believe it or not,” he said, “I really don’t care too much about the election. If the voters want Ralph Claymore, they’ll get a good man. I’m just trying to save both you and the county some time and trouble.”

Billy Don thought it over. “Perhaps a modest out-of-court settlement is what you had in mind?”

“I was kind of thinking along those lines, yes,” Rhodes said. “A small amount, but enough to let Terry Wayne know we were wrong.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Billy Don said. “That’s all I can do, Sheriff. The rest is up to him.”

“That’s all I wanted in the first place,” Rhodes said. “Thank you, Mr. Painter.”

The two men shook hands again, and Rhodes left the office.

Things were pretty much as usual at the jail. Elmer Clinton had given no trouble. The hippie was calm. “Spends most of his time sittin’ on the floor with his legs crossed,” Lawton said.

“No other problems?” Rhodes asked.

“Not to speak of,” Hack said. He waited about ten seconds. “Well, maybe there is one little thing.”

Here it comes , Rhodes thought. He wondered if he would miss this routine if he were not reelected, or if he would be glad not to have to hear it. Somehow he thought he’d miss it, but maybe he could adjust. “What little thing is that?” he asked.

“Lou Willie Jenkins called,” Hack said. He waited expectantly.

“How is Lou Willie?” Rhodes said. Lou Willie was an old woman, well beyond eighty, who loved to call the sheriff’s office when she had a problem.

“She’s fine,” Hack said. “She’s fine herself. But there’s this one little thing that’s not so fine.” He waited again.

Rhodes waited as well. The silence lengthened. It was Rhodes who finally broke. “All right,” he said. “I give up. What’s the problem?”

“There’s a skunk under her house,” Hack said solemnly.

“She sure about that?” Rhodes asked.

“Sure as you can be,” Hack said. “It’s hard to make a mistake about something like that.”

“I guess it is,” Rhodes said. “She wants somebody to come out there and get it out, I take it.”

“Right as rain,” Hack said. “She figures it might die under there if somebody don’t get it out right quick. From the way she talked, it might even be dead already. If it ain’t, it could be dangerous.”

Rhodes looked at Lawton. “You want to get it?” he asked.

“I’m too old to go crawling around under houses,” Lawton protested. “Besides, I’m the jailer.”

Rhodes looked at Hack. “‘Don’t go castin’ your eye on me, now,” Hack said. “I’m older than Lawton.”

“My ribs are busted up,” Rhodes said. “There’s no way I can get under that house.”

The other two men just looked at him. “You’re the sheriff,” Hack said.

When Rhodes walked in his front door two hours later, Kathy came to meet him, but she stopped about twenty feet short. “What on earth?” she said.

“Just what it smells like,” Rhodes said. “I’ve heard that if you soak your clothes in tomato juice, you don’t have to burn them.”

“What about you?” Kathy said. “Go on back outside.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Rhodes said. He went back out, and Kathy followed him.

“You’ll do anything for a vote,” she said.

“I didn’t do it for a vote,” Rhodes told her. “I did it for Lou Willie Jenkins.”

“I’ll bet Ralph Claymore wouldn’t have done it. Come on around to the back and strip off.”

Rhodes followed her. “Somebody has to do it,” he said. In a way , he thought, it’s not so much different from the rest of the job . “My ribs are killing me.”

“I guess you won’t feel like talking to Ivy, then. She called and wanted to talk.

“I can talk,” Rhodes said, slipping out of his shirt. “I doubt that she’ll want to see me until I get rid of this smell, though.”

“What smell?” Kathy looked at him and they both laughed. Rhodes knew then that it would be all right. The smell would go away. There was a future for him, maybe a future with Ivy, no matter how the election went.