Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [68]
I run flat out. Father May is staying in the guesthouse on the other side of town. It’s so far. We need help faster than that.
Frank Raymond.
I turn up the next street. There’s a crowd outside Wilson’s saloon, directly across from Blander’s barbershop. I press myself against the wall and pray the shadows hide me as I make my way toward Frank Raymond’s.
“Bloodthirsty things!” shouts John Wilson. “They stayed in that grocery all day. What do you think they was doing? Plotting. They was plotting this murder.”
Murder? What murder?
“Our good doctor. Our dear doctor!”
He’s crazy! Dr. Hodge is alive!
“Y’all heard them bragging, didn’t you? They said they already killed two white clerks at a plantation store and they could do as they pleased because they got the money to get out of anything. Did you notice that? Did you notice how they always takes your money, but they never spends theirs? They got so much, they make the rest of us look like paupers.”
What’s he talking about? How could my uncles brag? They don’t even speak English. When would any of us ever even go into a plantation store?
“Sicilians, they’s the worst.” It’s Mr. Rogers, Willy’s father. “More monkeys than people. I hear they shot the good doctor in the groin. That’s how low they stoop.”
“Cold-blooded murderers.” It’s Mr. Coleman. “They killed our doctor and he’s our coroner, too. How we going to get along without him?”
“Y’all cross them and they never forget,” says Mr. Rogers. “They’ll murder without a second look.”
“We got a scourge on our hands,” says John Wilson. “Tell you what, folks: my saloon is open. Free whisky and beer to any responsible soul who will help wipe out this scourge.”
“They already got three of them,” comes a cry. It’s Fred Johnson. “I saw Sheriff Lucas and his deputies haul them off to jail.”
“Jail? Jail’s too good for them animals.” John Wilson shakes a fist in the air. “Anyway, they ain’t got them two did the shooting. As I hear it, they’s still back at the grocery. Probably plotting who to kill next.”
“I ain’t waiting around to see who it’ll be.” One man raises a rope.
I gag.
Someone steps in front of me and presses his back up against me so hard that I’m squashed against the wall. “Stay quiet!” comes a sharp whisper. It’s Frank Raymond.
The crowd goes down the street toward our grocery like a herd of wild things.
Frank Raymond stays there for what feels like forever. Then he turns around and holds me up by the shoulders. “Blander told me you were here. You’re crazy.”
“What’ll they do with that rope?”
“We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“We’ve got to find Giuseppe and Carlo. We’ve got to get the others out of jail. We’ve got to tell the truth. Dr. Hodge is alive. No one killed anyone.”
“Shut up.”
“They–”
Frank Raymond claps his hand over my mouth. “No one can stop a mob. All you can do is get out of the way. You understand?”
I nod.
He lets go of me. “Let’s…”
“You find Father May!” I run before he can say more.
I’m running and running, but when I get to the grocery, no one’s there. The front door’s closed and the back’s been bashed in. I go inside. The bed in the storage room is overturned. The chair by the chimney is on its side. There are voices outside. Coming closer. I go into the front room and press myself into a corner and sink to my haunches. If they have a lantern, I’m caught.
A man and boy come into the storage room. “Looks like the show has already moved on to the slaughterhouse, son.” They leave.
The slaughterhouse. I’m going to be sick.
Someone else comes in through the rear door. “Calogero? Calogero?” Frank Raymond squats before me.
“The slaughterhouse,” I manage to say.
“I know. And there’s talk of storming the jail. And of catching other Sicilians, two others, in Milliken’s Bend.”
“Beppe and Salvatore.” I stand up quick. “Someone’s got to warn them.”
“Father May took care of that. He’s friends with someone who knows them. I promise.”
I’m crying.
“It’s insane.” Frank Raymond throws his arms around me and holds tight.
“It’s my fault. I forgot to tie up Bedda.”
“Stop