A Death On The Wolf, page 21
Frankie and I had begun working on the cabin in the woods down by the river we had been planning since last summer. I still had over $70 left out of the $100 I was allowed to keep as “play money” from my birthday money, so the Saturday morning after Daddy got custody of Frankie, we took the pickup down to the lumber yard and got the two-by-fours, siding, shingles, paint and other items we’d need for the construction. Based on a sketch done by Frankie (which Daddy commented was quite good), we began the construction Sunday afternoon, Aunt Charity’s Sabbath objections notwithstanding. The land abutting the river there was owned by Ben May, and Daddy secured permission from him for us to build. We cleared out a spot in the woods far enough from the river bank so that, even when the Wolf was at its highest during the spring rains, our cabin would be safe. Our white sand beach would just be a short twenty yard walk through the woods from the cabin’s door. Daddy helped us do the measuring and lining off to get the foundation square and level, but after that, Frankie and I owned the labor. By Thursday, we had the cabin framed up, and, with luck, we planned to have the roof and siding on it Friday, and have our first camp-out Saturday night. Thursday evening was the first time I remember hearing of a tropical storm named Camille gaining strength in the Caribbean. Daddy said he’d seen it on the news.
— — —
“Did y’all get the mail today?” Daddy asked as he walked in the back door, hung his hardhat on the coat rack, and set his lunch box on the counter. It was Friday about ten minutes before seven o’clock. Frankie was at the stove cutting up an onion into a hot iron skillet full of melting butter. Aunt Charity and I were at the table heading the shrimp that would soon be sautéed in that skillet. Mary Alice was in the living room with my sister, who was watching TV. It had been a normal day and was winding down toward a normal family dinner of shrimp, boiled new potatoes, and tossed salad. That was about to change.
“I got the mail,” I said.
Daddy frowned. “What was in the box?”
“It’s on the table by your recliner,” I said. “Just bills it looked like.”
Daddy walked over, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. We knew something was up when he asked to speak to the sheriff. “Have him call me as soon as possible,” Daddy said into the receiver. “Yes, it’s an emergency,” he said in response to a question none of us could hear. He hung up the phone and looked at Aunt Charity. “Can you take care of this and let me talk to him?” He pointed to Frankie who was still at the stove, cutting up the onion. After she washed the shrimp juice from her hands, Aunt Charity took Frankie’s place at the stove and he and Daddy came over and sat at the table. “Do you remember what you were wearing that day you went to the motel with Bong?” he asked Frankie.
I started thinking back to that day when Frankie got in the car with Mary Alice and me to go to the Colonel Dixie. I couldn’t remember what he had on. But why did Daddy want to know?
“I don’t remember, Mr. Lem,” Frankie said.
“Was your shirt red?” Daddy asked.
“Yes,” I blurted out. Daddy’s question had jarred my memory. I looked over at Frankie. “You had on that red button-down shirt that’s got the black stripe over the shoulder, remember?”
“Yeah,” Frankie said. “I remember now. I liked that shirt.”
“Why, Daddy?” I asked.
My father frowned again and pinched his brow. “I think Frankie’s clothes from that night are out there stuffed in our mail box.”
Thirty minutes later dinner was on hold and Sheriff Posey was sitting at our table. Frankie’s crumpled up clothes from the Dixie Pearl Motel were in an evidence bag in front of him. It was just the shirt and gray denim shorts, however. Frankie’s undershirt, underwear, socks, and shoes were not in our mail box.
“What time did you get the mail out of the box today, Nelson?” the sheriff asked me.
“It was right after lunch…maybe one o’clock?”
“And the only thing in the box then was the mail?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That means he was here this afternoon between one and when you got home, Lem,” he said to Daddy.
Frankie, smelling of garlic and white onion, was sitting beside me. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why would he bring my clothes back now?”
“Why would who bring your clothes back now?” the sheriff asked.
“Peter Bong.”
“So you think Bong did this?” Sheriff Posey pointed to the bag on the table with the clothes in it.
“You don’t?” Daddy asked.
The Sheriff looked at Daddy. “Why would he put this in your mail box, Lem? How would he know Frankie is staying here?”
“Good question,” Daddy said.
“Has Frank Thompson been up here since he got out of jail Monday?” the sheriff asked.
“Not that I know of,” Daddy said. “I’d have called you if he had. You think he put Frankie’s clothes in our box?”
“I hope he did. Did either of you boys see him drive by today?”
Frankie and I both shook our heads. Neither of us had seen Frankie’s dad since last Thursday at the bonfire in their front yard.
“Why do you hope it was Frank that did this?” Daddy asked.
“Because if that jaybird that took Frankie to the motel did it, things just got a whole lot more serious. I was hoping Mr. Bong would be a smart boy and be halfway back to Australia by now. No, let’s hope Frank Thompson did this, because if he didn’t, it means Bong is here, and he knows where Frankie is, and he’s letting us know he knows.”
We all sat there in silence, absorbing the import of what Sheriff Posey had just said. I glanced over at Aunt Charity in the kitchen. She was frozen in place with a wood spoon in her hand, like a mannequin display down at Peterson’s. Sheriff Posey got up from the table and said he was going to talk with Frankie’s dad. I could hear the theme music from Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C. coming from the TV in the living room.
— — —
NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI
ADVISORY NO. 6 6 PM EDT FRIDAY AUGUST 15, 1969
...CAMILLE LASHING EXTREME WESTERN CUBA...
GALE WARNINGS ARE IN EFFECT AT 6 PM EDT FOR MARQUESAS KEYS AND DRY TORTUGAS.
SMALL CRAFT IN THE FLORIDA KEYS SHOULD REMAIN IN SAFE HARBOR AND THOSE ALONG THE FLORIDA WEST COAST FROM TAMPA SOUTHWARD SHOULD NOT VENTURE FAR FROM SAFE HARBOR. SMALL CRAFT ON THE FLORIDA SOUTHEAST COAST SHOULD EXERCISE CAUTION.
AT 6 PM EDT HURRICANE CAMILLE WAS CENTERED NEAR LATITUDE 21.5 NORTH...LONGITUDE 84.4 WEST OR ABOUT 270 MILES SOUTHWEST OF KEY WEST. THIS POSITION IS BASED UPON AIR FORCE RECONNAISSANCE...LAND BASED RADAR...SHIP AND ISLAND REPORTS.
CAMILLE IS MOVING TOWARD THE NORTH NORTHWEST AT 7 MPH. HIGHEST WINDS ARE ESTIMATED 115 MPH NEAR THE CENTER WITH GALES EXTENDING OUT 125 TO 150 MILES TO THE NORTH OF THE CENTER AND 50 MILES TO THE SOUTH.
HURRICANE CONDITIONS ARE EXPECTED SHORTLY OVER THE EXTREME WESTERN TIP OF CUBA AS TIDES RANGE UP TO 8 FEET AND HEAVY PRECIPITATION EXPECTED TO CAUSE LOCAL FLOODING. ALTHOUGH GALE WINDS IN SQUALLS MAY OCCUR OVER PORTIONS OF EXTREME SOUTH FLORIDA TONIGHT...SUSTAINED GALES IN THE EXTREME WESTERN KEYS ARE NOT EXPECTED UNTIL EARLY SATURDAY.
IT IS EXPECTED THAT CAMILLE WILL ENTER THE GULF OF MEXICO EARLY SATURDAY MORNING AND PROCEED ON A NORTHERLY COURSE OVER THE EASTERN GULF AT A SLIGHTLY INCREASED FORWARD SPEED. WHILE A LITTLE DECREASE IN INTENSITY IS EXPECTED AS THE HURRICANE CROSSES CUBA...CAMILLE SHOULD REGAIN MAXIMUM WINDS OF 115 MPH IN THE GULF OF MEXICO.
ALL INTERESTS ALONG THE EASTERN GULF OF MEXICO SHOULD REMAIN IN CLOSE TOUCH WITH ALL FUTURE ADVISORIES AND BULLETINS.
REPEATING THE 6 PM EDT POSITION...LATITUDE 21.5 NORTH...LONGITUDE 84.4 WEST.
THE NEXT ADVISORY WILL BE ISSUED BY THE NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER AT MIDNIGHT EDT WITH AN INTERMEDIATE BULLETIN AT 9 PM.
HOPE
— — —
At ten o’clock that Friday night, the tension level was high in our house. Sheriff Posey had confronted Frank Thompson earlier about the clothes in our mail box and, as expected, he said he didn’t know what the sheriff was talking about. This left two possibilities: Frankie’s dad was a liar (which we already knew to be true) and was just playing mind games with his son, or Peter Bong had returned to Bells Ferry to terrorize Frankie and, we feared, exact revenge for Frankie’s reporting of what had transpired in that motel room.
I was lying in bed, reading the owner’s manual for my new Browning Sweet Sixteen, and thinking on these things. The house was quiet except for the fan going on my dresser and the muted music I could hear coming from Frankie’s room. He’d bought a transistor radio earlier in the week using some of his allowance money. Daddy had asked Aunt Charity to keep Sachet at her house tonight. Nothing was said openly about the reason, but I suspected it was because my father was worried Bong would pay us a visit in the middle of the night.
I thought Daddy was in bed asleep until I heard the soft knock on my door and he opened it.
“What’s up?” I asked as I laid the booklet on my chest.
Daddy was standing there in his pajamas and slippers. “I’m glad you’re still up. I want to talk to you and Frankie. Let me go get him.”
I sat up in the bed and waited until Daddy appeared back at the door with Frankie behind him. Frankie was shirtless, in his pajama bottoms, and had a scolded puppy dog look on his face. Daddy sat down at my desk and Frankie just stood by the door with his head down. I glanced at Daddy, then nodded my head in Frankie’s direction with a questioning furrow on my brow.
Daddy shrugged and said, “Sit down, Frankie.” He pointed to the chair over by my dresser.
Frankie didn’t move. Still looking down, he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Lem. I won’t play it loud like that again.”
“What?” Daddy asked. He looked at me and it was my turn to shrug.
“I didn’t mean to have my radio that loud,” Frankie said.
Daddy cracked a little smile and shook his head. “Is that why you think I called you in here, son?”
Frankie looked up. “Yes, sir.”
“Frankie, I wasn’t paying one bit of attention to your radio. I didn’t call you in here to fuss at you. I think Nelson will tell you, I don’t do much fussing. If you’re doing something I’m not happy with, I’ll tell you about it and that’s that.”
The relief sweeping Frankie’s face was clear. Instead of sitting in the chair by my dresser, he made a beeline for my bed, climbed over me, and took the spot that used to be his when he’d spend the night.
“What’d you want to talk about, Daddy?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about sending you boys, and your aunt, your sister, and Mary Alice, to stay with your grandma over in Picayune until they catch this Bong guy.”
“Daddy, don’t do that,” I protested.
“I know you don’t get along with your grandmother, son, but I have to think about everyone’s safety here.”
I was about to say something else when we heard a crack, then another, from outside my window in the front yard. It sounded like M80s going off. Then there was shouting.
“What was that?” Frankie said.
“Gunshots,” Daddy replied. He immediately jumped up and switched off the lamp beside my bed. “Stay here,” he ordered and then ran to his room, to get his gun I was sure.
“You think it’s Peter Bong?” Frankie asked. I could hear the fear in his voice. Just enough light came through my door from the hallway for me to see how scared he was. I heard Daddy coming back down the hall from his room, and sure enough, as he passed my doorway, I saw the glint of the nickel plated Smith & Wesson in his hand. Then there was loud banging at the front door.
“If that’s Peter Bong,” I said, “he’s about to get shot.” The words had no more left my mouth when I heard someone hollering Daddy’s name from the front porch.
“I don’t think that’s Peter,” Frankie said. Then we heard voices coming from the living room.
“Nelson,” Daddy said loudly from down the hall, “you and Frankie come here.”
Frankie and I scrambled out of the bed and sprinted down the hall to the living room. Daddy was standing there with Sheriff Posey who had his .45 in one hand and a pair of white briefs in the other.
“Are these yours?” he asked, holding the underwear out to Frankie.
Frankie took the briefs and looked at them. “They look like mine. Did you shoot him?”
“Who?” the sheriff said.
“Peter Bong.”
Sheriff Posey motioned for Frankie to hand him back the underwear, which he did. “It wasn’t Bong out there, son, it was your father.”
“Daddy?” Frankie said, bewildered. “Did you shoot him?”
“No, but I scared the shit out of him. He’s handcuffed in the backseat of my car now.”
“So it was Frank who put the clothes in the mail box?” Daddy asked.
“Looks that way,” the sheriff said. “I decided to come up here after it got dark and watch and see if Bong would show up. I parked over yonder in Charity’s driveway and then, about ten minutes ago, I see a pickup go by with just the parking lights on. It stopped just past y’all’s drive and that’s when I got out and made my way over here. I waited, and, sure enough, here comes someone straight up to the house carrying these drawers.” He held up the underwear for emphasis. “It looked like he was gonna put ’em on the front porch, so I pulled out my gun and let off a round into the air. He took off running, so I let off another, and hollered for him to hit the ground. Imagine my surprise when I get over to him with my flashlight and see it ain’t Bong but Frank Thompson.”
“So how did Frank wind up with his son’s clothes from that night?” Daddy asked.
“He hasn’t told me yet, but I suspect it’s just like I thought: he found ’em laying outside the room and picked ’em up.”
“And what about Bong? You still think he’s long gone?”
“I do, Lem. I think he wised up that night, hit the road on that motorbike, and never looked back. He knew what we’d do to him around here if we caught him.”
I felt relieved at the thought that this whole deal had been Frankie’s dad playing a sick prank, rather than a pervert seeking revenge on Frankie. Judging from the look on Frankie’s face, he did too—though I couldn’t imagine what he must have been thinking after finding out it was his own father trying to terrorize him with memories of that night. No wonder he didn’t want to go home.
“I appreciate you lookin’ out for us, Joe,” Daddy said and stuck his hand out.
The sheriff holstered his .45 and then shook Daddy’s hand. “Well, let me haul Frank down to the station and see if I can’t get some kind of statement out of him. He’s drunk off his ass, so it probably won’t be much tonight.”
“Are you gonna keep him in jail?” Frankie asked.
“Just tonight, until he sobers up. I’ll let him out in the morning.” Frankie frowned and Sheriff Posey said, “Don’t worry, son. I think your daddy learned his lesson tonight. I wasn’t joking when I said I scared the shit out of him. The first thing he’s gonna have to do when I get him to the jail is take a shower and put an inmate jumpsuit on. And I’ll have to leave the windows down on my car for the next few days to get the stink out.” With a wink and a grin, the sheriff headed for the door, then turned back. “Have y’all heard about that hurricane…Camille?”
“I saw something about it on the ten o’clock news,” Daddy said, pointing to the TV. “It’s down by Cuba.”
“Yeah, but I heard some talk around the station earlier that it might be coming up this way. Anyhow, y’all can get a good night’s sleep now.”
— — —
NEW ORLEANS
ADVISORY NO. 10 11 AM CDT SATURDAY AUGUST 16, 1969
…CAMILLE…SMALL BUT DANGEROUS…THREATENS THE NORTHWEST FLORIDA COAST…
THE WEATHER BUREAU HAS ISSUED HURRICANE WARNINGS ON THE NORTHWEST FLORIDA COAST FROM FORT WALTON TO ST. MARKS AND GALE WARNINGS ELSEWHERE FROM PENSACOLA TO CEDAR KEY EFFECTIVE AT 11 AM CDT. PREPARATION FOR HURRICANE FORCE WINDS AND 5 TO 10 FOOT TIDES IN THE AREA FROM FORT WALTON TO ST. MARKS SHOULD BE STARTED IMMEDIATELY AND COMPLETED TONIGHT
ALL INTERESTS ALONG THE NORTHEASTERN GULF COAST ARE URGED TO LISTEN FOR FURTHER RELEASES.
GALE WARNING WILL REMAIN IN EFFECT AT DRY TORTUGAS UNTIL WINDS AND SEAS SUBSIDE LATER TODAY.
AT 1100 CDT…1600Z…HURRICANE CAMILLE WAS CENTERED NEAR LATITUDE 24.5 NORTH…LONGITUDE 86.0 WEST…OR ABOUT 380 MILES SOUTH OF PANAMA CITY FLORIDA AND IT IS MOVING NORTH NORTHWEST ABOUT 10 MPH.
CAMILLE IS EXPECTED TO CONTINUE THIS MOVEMENT TODAY WITH A GRADUAL TURN TO THE NORTH TONIGHT. A SLIGHT INCREASE IN SPEED IS LIKELY TONIGHT AND SUNDAY.
HIGHEST WINDS ARE ESTIMATED 115 MPH NEAR THE CENTER. HURRICANE FORCE WINDS EXTEND OUT ABOUT 40 MILES FROM THE CENTER AND GALES EXTEND OUT ABOUT 150 MILES FROM THE CENTER. CONDITIONS ARE FAVORABLE FOR SOME FURTHER INCREASE IN INTENSITY TODAY.
