P. Parrish - Paint It Black

Wainwright looked down at it. It was that morning’s News-Press with a headline big enough to be read from a car speeding by a newsstand box: NAACP: MURDERS ARE HATE CRIMES

Wainwright had already read the story. An anonymous source in the sheriff’s office was quoted as saying they were looking at a racially motivated crime. The Southwest Florida NAACP was demanding swift investigation.

Driggs held out a card. “When you change your mind, give me a call.”

When Wainwright didn’t take it, Driggs slipped the card back in his pocket. He left, leaving the door open. The office was quiet. Wainwright could hear his own breathing. Officer Candy picked up the newspaper, scanned the story, then put it down.

“Chief,” Candy said, “what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Wainwright turned to look out the window.

Candy stood up. “Anything else you want me to do before I sign out?”

Wainwright turned and picked up the case folder. “Yeah, get Louis Kincaid on the phone.”

“Move, damn it.”

Louis pushed Issy off the bed, but the cat jumped back up, strolling across his open suitcase.

“Are you taking her back with you?”

Louis looked back over his shoulder at Margaret Dodie standing at the door.

“Unfortunately.”

“You could leave her, you know.”

Louis stood up, stretching his back. The cat was sprawled across his shirts, looking up at him with calm green eyes.

“No, I can’t do that.”

Margaret came into the bedroom and walked over to Issy, petting her gently. “How’d you end up with her? It’s obvious you don’t like her very much.”

Louis frowned. He had tried to be nice to it. “She was abandoned. A friend of mine left suddenly. I took her until. .” Louis paused.

Until what? Until he saw Zoe again? Until she came back? Until he went back?

Margaret smiled and sat on the corner of the bed. Louis kept his eyes down, folding his things, hoping Margaret would leave, wishing she didn’t seem to know everything.

“We’ll miss you, Louis,” she said. “Sam especially.”

Louis busied himself rolling socks. “He’s a good man. I’m glad he’s happy down here.” Louis shoved his socks down the side of the suitcase.

“He likes you, Louis. He likes you a lot.”

“Well, I like him, too, Margaret.”

A screen door banged shut and Margaret rose as Dodie came to the bedroom door.

“All packed, eh?”

Louis scanned the room. There was nothing else to pack, but it was easier than beginning the good-byes. “I guess so.” He closed the suitcase and finally looked over at Dodie, who was scratching the cat’s head. Margaret was looking at her husband.

“So. What time is your plane?” Dodie asked finally.

Louis glanced at his watch. “Two hours. Guess we’d better get going.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich,” Margaret said, setting the cat aside. “They only give you crackers now, you know. Me, I’ve never been on a plane, but that’s what I heard.”

“Peanuts,” Dodie said.

Margaret looked confused.

“Peanuts. On the plane,” Dodie said. “They give you peanuts, Margie, not crackers.”

“Peanuts, crackers. Still not enough for a man to eat. You still need a sandwich.”

“It’s okay-” Louis said, but Margaret was gone. Issy jumped down after her. Dodie came into the room and handed Louis the newspaper.

“Still no suspects,” he said. “Or any sign of Levon. And the black folk are asking for answers.”

Louis looked at the headline and then tossed the paper aside. “They’ll catch him.”

“Not interested?”

“It would only drive me nuts.”

Dodie sat down on the bed. “You could get work down here, Louis. You don’t have to go back up North.”

“Sam, we both know I can’t work down here, not at what I want to do.”

“Can’t work up there at what you want to do, neither, Louis.”

“Sam. . please.”

Dodie nodded and started for the door. “I reckon I overstepped. Sorry.”

“You didn’t overstep-”

But Dodie was gone. Damn it.

Louis grabbed the suitcase and the cat carrier and walked to the living room. Dodie was nowhere to be seen, but Louis could pick up the smell of his cigar coming from the patio. He called for Issy and heard her meow from the kitchen. He went to the kitchen. The cat looked at him from between Margaret’s thick ankles.

“Come here, cat.”

Issy trotted away into the laundry room.

“Damn it,” Louis said.

Louis started after the cat. The phone rang. Margaret was busy making the sandwich and motioned for Louis to pick it up. It was Wainwright.

“Kincaid,” he said, “I just had a visit from one of the sheriff’s boys and I kind of put my foot in it. They want to help and I threw him out of my office. He pissed me off, Kincaid. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but it gave me a chance to do something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.”

“Who is it?” Margaret asked.

“Go on, Chief,” Louis said.

Margaret scurried out of the room. Louis could hear her calling to Dodie.

“Do you want to stay and help me with this case?” Wainwright asked.

“Are you offering me a job?” Louis asked.

“Well, yeah, there’s one thing, though.”

Jesus. Background check. Reference check. Why did you leave your last job? He had to tell him.

“I can’t pay you much,” Wainwright said. “I got a little money in petty cash that I can funnel your way, and I’ll have to label you as a consultant or something until I can get the town to approve you being hired as anything else.”

Louis fell back against the wall. He glanced over to see Dodie and Margaret standing at the door.

“Kincaid? Can you live with that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis said, smiling. “I can live with that.”

Louis ducked under the Japanese lanterns and joined Wainwright and Dodie out on the lawn by the barbecue. Dodie was turning pieces of chicken. The sauce sizzled onto the coals, sending magnificent smells into the evening air.

Wainwright nudged Louis. “Can he cook?”

“I don’t know. Only food he ever offered me in Mississippi was a bowl of crawfish.”

Dodie glanced at him. “I never told you this, Louis, but you’re not suppose to eat the heads.”

Louis smiled. “I know that. Now.”

Wainwright looked confused and Dodie told the tale of how Louis bit off the head of a crawfish.

“Trying to impress me, he was,” Dodie said. “Well, better let this bird bake a few. Let’s go pop open some brews.”

They retreated to the patio and sat watching the sky darken, listening to the evening’s overture of frogs and crickets. Margaret came out, glanced at the three men, then went over to check the chicken.

“I just turned it, Margie.”

Margaret turned it again, then disappeared back into the house. Louis watched Dodie’s eyes as they followed her round body with open affection.

Wainwright sat forward in his chair. “Louis, you see this morning’s News-Press ?”

Louis nodded.

“They’re calling it a racially motivated crime. A fucking anonymous source in the sheriff’s department,” Wainwright said. “Someone leaked it on purpose. They knew the reporter would jump on it.”

“But why would someone inside leak it?” Dodie asked.

“To put the screws on me, Sam,” Wainwright said. “Mobley wants the case and he knows if there’s enough pressure, I’ll have to give it to them.”

“That kind of talk is only gonna make everyone nervous,” Dodie said quietly.

“Just black men,” Louis said, taking a sip of beer.