Joe Lansdale - The Bottoms

“You mean coloreds.”

“I’m not privy to them. I don’t want nothin’ from nobody except to boil down all the lard, and get to the bottom of this. Find out who’s killin’ these women.”

“I do what I can. You drink another cup of coffee?”

“I surely would,” Grandma said.

“Miss Maggie,” I said. “You know Red Woodrow, don’t you?”

’Course I knew the answer, but I wanted her take on things.

“I do.”

“He hasn’t been a big help,” Grandma said. “He didn’t want Jacob meddlin’ in dead colored business.”

“That what he said?” Miss Maggie asked.

I told her what I had heard when he spoke to Daddy, and then when he spoke to Mama.

“Little Man,” Miss Maggie said. “Everything ain’t exactly as it looks all the time. I prac’ly raised that boy. He know better than that… Red, he come here to see me from time to time. Brings me groceries.”

“Red does?” I said. “Red Woodrow?”

“He the one,” Miss Maggie said.

Grandma and I sat silently for a time.

“Things he says…” I said.

“Sometimes folks mouth-say things they hear, but their heart, that’s what talk for how they really is.”

“And how does his heart talk?” Grandma asked. “His voice seems to want to keep Jacob out of finding out who done these things.”

“I ain’t gonna talk on it anymore,” Miss Maggie said. Suddenly it had grown uncomfortable on the porch; it was as if a wave of cold air had blown in, wrapped around us, and was squeezing us like a jungle snake.

“I need to go on and rest,” Miss Maggie said. She stood up slowly. She didn’t mention the coffee again. We thanked her, returned our cups to the table inside. Miss Maggie disappeared behind a curtain that she had hung up to separate her cooking and eating quarters from where she slept. She went behind the curtain and didn’t come out.

We left, closed the door quietly, and walked back to the car.

On the way home in the car, Grandma and I talked awhile.

“What was wrong with Miss Maggie?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Harry. But it might be somethin’ we ought to know.”

“And it might be meddlin’, Grandma.”

“You’re right about that. It’s a surprise to me. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I guess, having helped raise Red she’s got an investment there. And knowing how he turned out…”

“He brings her groceries.”

“He cares for her, Harry, but that doesn’t mean he sees her as a full person. People feed and water mules, but that doesn’t mean they value their opinion.”

“They don’t have an opinion.”

“Yes, but humans do. Tell you what. Let’s put this Miss Maggie business aside, and figure what we do know. You stop me I get any of it wrong, or it ain’t the way you see it. Murderer ties his victims up. Sometimes in kind’a odd ways. He’s killed three women we know about, maybe four. Is that the way it is?”

“Yes ma’am. I think so.”

“And they’re all colored? Except for one. They were all put in the river or were found near it.”

“Except for the one blown around by the tornado, but she could have come from the river. Storm went through there, so it makes sense.”

“The colored doctor you was tellin’ me about…”

“Doc Tinn.”

“Doctor Tinn thinks whoever kills these women comes back to bother their bodies. How am I doin’ so far?”

“Okay.”

“Question is, why?”

“Killer’s crazy?”

“Somethin’ to that, I guess, Harry. But if you had some idea why, then you could maybe ease in on who’s doin’ it. ’Course, there may not be any reason. But I’m one of them thinks there’s damn near a reason behind everything. Even crazy folks have reasons. They may not be logical to us, but there’s some kind of reasonin’ there. I guess unless you’re so damn crazy you don’t know who you are or what day it is. But a fella like this, he’s around here amongst us, seemin’ normal. So somethin’ sets him off, or there’s some kind of thing cookin’ in his head that makes it all seem logical. And maybe he can’t help himself. He might not even want to do it. Another thing is, we got to figure it’s someone likes the river or can get to it easy. Someone who knows the area down there, or how to get these women off by themselves. Someone is bound to have seen somethin’.”

“Mose was like that,” I said.

“Like what?”

“He lived by and liked the river.”

“So he did.”

“And there ain’t been another murder since he was hung.”

Grandma nodded. “But you and me don’t think it was Mose, do we?”

“No ma’am, not really. Be easier if it was.”

“In a way. Then again, that may be why your Daddy gets worse and worse. He don’t want no one murdered, but he’s got to wonder, it’s all stopped now, so was it Mose? Was he protectin’ a guilty man? And he’s got to wonder too, if it wasn’t Mose, who is it? And if he’d caught the real culprit, wouldn’t none of this happened to the old man.”

“Guess Daddy mentioning at the Halloween party that someone was arrested kind of got the ball rolling. That’s why he feels so guilty.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t say who he had or where they was, did he?”

“No ma’am.”

“Mr. Smoote, or the boy helped put on Mose’s chains, or both of ’em, could have talked, couldn’t they? And probably did. That solves how anyone knew Mose was a suspect and where he was being kept. We don’t have to think on that one too hard. Either by intention or stupidity, they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Next thing is someone comes by and warns that Mose is going to be hung. Who would do that?”

I shook my head.

She continued. “Could be someone got the word, wanted to save the old man. That’s the obvious idea, now ain’t it?”

“Yes’m.”

“But say it’s the murderer, and he wants to save Mose ’cause he knows Mose ain’t the one?”

“But why would a murderer save Mose?” I asked. “That seems like just what he’d want, someone else to take the blame.”

“Maybe the murderer can’t help himself. He’s driven by somethin’ else. He don’t want no one else to take the blame… This Groon. Maybe he warned your Daddy.”

“He could have.”

“Maybe he heard and wanted to help your Daddy and Mose out. Maybe he didn’t want to see an innocent man die for something he knew the fellow didn’t do.”

“ ’Cause he did it?”

“I ain’t sayin’, just speculatin’.”

“But Mr. Groon?”

“Again, I’m just speculatin’. I’ve read some detective books, and if there’s one thing I know from them, it’s everyone is a suspect. Excluding me and you, Tom, your Mama and Daddy, of course. Think about this. You didn’t expect someone like Groon to be in the Klan either, did you?”

“No.”

“Another thing. Groon. Ain’t that a Jewish name?”

“I don’t know.”

“I knew some Groons out in West Texas, and I know they was Jewish. Name sounds German, but it ain’t. It’s Jewish. Oh, I guess this fella you’re talkin’ about could be German, but these folks I knew weren’t German. They was practicin’ Jews… If this here Groon is a Jew, won’t that be ironic?”

“Ironic?”

“Kind of plays back on itself. That’s what it means. You see, Klan don’t like Jews neither. But this fella, he’s been in the community so long, they don’t even consider him Jewish. Probably goes to a Christian church.”

“He’s a Baptist, like Mama,” I said.

“You said you saw a car with a busted taillight drivin’ off after leavin’ the note?”

“Yes ma’am.”

We drove along in silence for a moment, then Grandma said, “I’m turnin’ this bucket around.”