Pa pushed the door open slowly. “Put your hands up,” came from inside the darkness. It was Lester’s (Baby Face's) voice. I have to admit, hearing my words come back at me from him had the desired effect of completely demoralizing me.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, I could see Baby Face with his feet up on our table and his chair rocked back casually. A Thompson machine gun lay across his lap. Another man was seated there also. He was leaning foward and near his right hand was a double barrel shotgun leaned upright against the table. A solitaire hand was spread out in front of the second man. The second man was bigger than Baby Face, but gaunt. You could see the bones behind his face in his taught skin.
“Pete,” Baby Face said. “What?” came the answer from both our Pete and the second man simultaneously.
Baby Face laughed. “Well, ain’t that grand!. Pete, meet Pete.” He made the mock introduction. The second man did not smile at all.
It hit me then. The strap on the Thompson in his lap was identical to the one in the street at the Bois D’Arc killing. It was likely the same gun. That meant there was someone was crooked in the Bokoshe police force. He said he knew right where the police station was and said he would not be there long. Both those things turned out to be true. Now, he has the same gun they had confiscated in his arrest! Something was really rotten here.
“Well, Pete and family, come in. Find some place to sit. We will probably be here a while until we get some straight answers.”
The house was a mess. Everything had been tossed about. “Sorry for the mess. I was just making sure there are no weapons.” Baby Face reached into his coat pocket and produced my three remaining shotgun shells with #4 shot. Looking right at me, he said, “I didn’t find your double aught shot you promised me. You weren’t fibbing were you?” I stood mute. I figured it was safer to stay quiet. “Pete, loosen his tongue, will you? I guess, I will have to call you Mr. Green for Pete’s sake.” Baby Face laughed at his own joke. I gotta admit, I cracked a little smile, though Mr. Pete Green knocked my smile right off my face. When the back of his hand hit my cheek, it felt like being hit by a heavy sand bag. I could feel every bone in his gnarled hand.
“Mr. Green, please check each of them for weapons of any sort. Farm boys love Zackknives. I wouldn’t want one of these gents to get any ideas.”
Pete Green spoke for the first time. It was a gravelly voice as gnarled as his hands. “All of you turn your pockets inside out. Start with the little one. I want to see every pocket. Let’s just start a parade past me here. Any funny business will get you what he got.” I was still picking myself and my pride off the floor. My cheek felt hot.
We lined up youngest first. Each of us was checked in our turn. “Nothin’” reported Pete Green. “These guys got nothin’.” Green rubbed in a little salt with his words.
“All of you find a place to be. You, two,” Baby Face pointed to me and Pa, “sit right here.” He indicated two chairs at the table. We sat down. Pete Green sat down. Then Baby Face sat down and returned the Tommy gun to his lap.
“Now, where is that pesky shotgun?” Baby Face asked.
“In the car.” I gestured with my head toward the door.
Pete Green started to stand. “Leave it there for now.” Baby Face said. “Trust me. Neither of us wants to be alone with this crew. Don’t let ‘em split us up.”
“You boys know I let you go the other day in Bokoshe. I let you have your funeral in peace today. Now, where is my money from Chief Bois D’Arc?”
“Mister,” I started, “we don’t have it. We met Mr. Bois D’Arc for the first time two days ago. We were trying to get him to return the money to the insurance company and then we were going to split whatever reward came from that. Believe it or not, we thought it might reduce your sentence. We didn’t know you were around these parts at all.”
“Well, that sentence was two dead cops and one dead Indian ago. I doubt anyone will want to reduce the sentence for those.” Baby Face said.
“There was one of your guys nosin’ around here. He dressed fancy and drove a high powered Packard. He had a violin case with one of those, I imagine.” I gestured to his machine gun. “We wouldn’t have known anything about the money except he kept trying to get Pa to help him with a coded message. I figure he was in Hackett because that is where the message was mailed from.”
"Your man was passin' himself off as you. He told everyone he was George Nelson. He is dead from a grave digger's shovel in his head."
“We saw a story about Mr. Bois D’Arc doing good things by giving your money away. We figured he was a good man at heart and would want to give the money back.”
“And, that’s it." I wound my story up. "You know as much as we know, now. We knew enough to find Bois D’Arc, but not enough to actually lay hands on the money.”
“So,” I said, “How about you fill us in. We have struggled in the dark. Even if we get no money, I would at least like to know how it came here.”
Baby Face leaned forward and opened his mouth like he was going to share a great secret. Pete Green grabbed his wrist and growled, “George, shuttin’up is never a bad thing to do.” Baby Face blinked and looked surprised. He was about to say something to Pete Green when:
TWACK
The loud splat sound came from Pete Green’s temple. A glassy blue marble was buried mostly into his bony temple. A bloody tear came from his left eye. His eyes were pointed two different directions and he was teetering forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Izzy holding his wrist rocket sling shot. Izzy’s eyes were big a saucers. Next, I was up and leaning across the table, going for the shotgun. I could see Baby Face trying to pull his machine gun into firing position. I had hold of the barrel of the double barreled gun and as I fell back with it, I smacked Baby Face in his baby face with the end of the barrel. He fell backward, chair and all, unable to control his machine gun. Pa was on him by now, struggling to pull the machine gun free. A burst of machine gun fire erupted out of Pa’s back and disappeared into the roof of the cabin. By then, I had control of the shotgun and pushed it against Baby Face’s head. “No more,” I commanded.
Pa fell backward with a gaping hole where his heart should be. Pa was dying. Sammy ran up to him. Pa’s lips moved, trying to say something. Then he was still.
“You sorry son of a bitch,” I growled at Baby Face. I thought how easy it would be to pull the trigger - how much better I would feel – but, I knew Pa and Mom would want me to do the right thing. “Sammy, go to the barn and get a rope. We will take these two to town.” Pete Green’s chest rested on his solitaire game. His eyes were open but vacant.
Izzy was crying. “I killed Pa,” he whimpered.
“No, Izzy, this son of a bitch killed Pa. Don’t you ever think you were responsible. They broke into our house with guns. You defended yourself and your family. You did exactly what Pa would have done if he had the chance.” For once I was able to deliver words of comfort to Izzy that I actually believed.
“Pete, take that machine gun away from this guy. Check Pete Green and see if he’s dead.”
When Sammy arrived with stiff cattle rope and some clothesline, I opted for the thinner clothesline. Right now, I didn’t mind if the rope cut into these guys. “Sammy, hold this gun against his ear while I work.” I whispered in Baby Face’s other ear, “Tell me what that sounds like if he slips and fires accidently.” Then I asked, “Pete, what did you find out about the other guy?”
Pete answered, “He’s breathing, but it comes and goes. It kinda speeds up and then slows down.”
I fastened a loop of clothesline around Baby Face’s neck, then I tied his wrists behind his back to that loop with a short length. Finally, I pushed him on his face and bent his knees so his heels were on his thighs. I fastened his ankles to a tight rope to his wrists. “That’ll probably make breathing hard if you try to straighten out any. You can do us all a favor and go ahead and try to straighten your legs.” I rolled Baby Face Nelson on his side and felt all over for weapons. Again, the same .45 caliber automatic came out of his coat. He looked for a minute like he might make a wise crack, but then he was silent.
Soon, Mr. Pete Green was wearing a similar rig. I added some loops around thighs to ankles because he didn’t have enough where-with-all to keep his legs bent on his own. He had a pistol in his jacket and a knife in his boot.
“Let’s get Pa into bed,” I said.
Pa’s body let out a groan when we moved him. Izzy thought for a second he was alive. “No, I am sorry, Izzy. Sometimes a body will take a breath or let one out when you move it. Pa’s heart is mostly gone. He can’t be alive.” I explained the grisly fact to my little brother.
We dragged Baby Face’s knees over the porch and the rocky ground and tossed him face down in the backseat floor of the REO. I left Sammy holding the shotgun on his head. Sam no longer shook.
I dragged Pete Green to the car and hoisted him onto the back seat. He let out a groan. I noticed he was drooling from his mouth.
I went back inside and asked Pete and Izzy if they would be alright while we took the bad men to Hackett. They assured me they would be. I told them I hoped to be less than an hour.
I explained to Baby Face both mine and Sam’s patience had worn away. Any reason to kill him would be reason enough. He remained silent. I wondered if he could talk with the loop around his neck. I looked into his eyes and he was able to make eye contact with me. That was good enough for me. “I think you will find the accommodations in Hackett a little better than what you had in Bokoshe.” That brought Baby Face to life.
“You can’t take me across state-lines. His voice was raspy with the clothesline around his neck. You have to take me to Bokoshe.”
It was my turn to be silent. I knew the fix was in if I took him to Bokoshe.
Baby Face was on his belly on the floor of the backseat area. Sam knelt on the passenger side of the front seat and held the double barreled shotgun at the back of Baby Face’s head. I knew each bump in the road would pop Baby Face with the end of the muzzle. Somehow, it didn’t bother me.
When we pulled up in front of the Braxton home, I left Sam holding the gun on Baby Face while I went to the door. I knocked loud enough to wake the dead. Sheriff Braxton came to the door. “You said let you know if anything happened. Baby Face Broke into our house and killed our father.”
“Which way did they go?” the sheriff asked.
“They are right here, Sheriff.”
“You caught Baby Face again?”
“Well, no. Izzy took them down with his slingshot.” I added with a little mirth. “If there is a reward this time, it should go to Izzy.”
“This actually should be handled in Oklahoma.” The sheriff advised. “Yeah, but one of those guys in Bokoshe is crooked. Baby Face had the same Tommy gun and same .45 automatic they took from him two days ago. I doubt they were in the transport with him yesterday. He had to get them from the same person that arranged his escape.”
“Jeez” the sheriff exclaimed. “Well, I will meet you at the jail.”
We hauled the criminals the few blocks to the jailhouse. The sheriff was right behind us. He opened the office and helped us drag Baby Face into jail. In the jail cell, the sheriff untied him and announced to Baby Face, “You are under arrest for the murder of the deputy transferring you to Fort Smith. You were in Arkansas when you committed that murder. We will straighten out the paperwork on the rest of them tomorrow. I am sure District Attorney Coombs can get the rest of the recent murders transferred to his jurisdiction. I never knew JC Coombs to shy away from a headline.”
The sheriff locked Baby Face in the cell. We went back outside to relieve Sam and to pull Pete Green into jail. “This one is really out cold,” the sheriff said. Green was untied and laid on the bunk. “I will have doc look at this one tonight. Slingshot, eh.” The sheriff looked in the next cell at Baby Face. “That ought to do wonders for your reputation. How old is your brother, Ike? – nine? That’s pretty juicy.” Baby Face Nelson made a visibly sour face. His neck wore a bright red ring from the loop of clothesline. I thought about making a crack about making it permanent, but then thought better.
“Don’t make too big a deal about Izzy. Izzy kinda blames himself because of Pa getting killed right after he shot this guy, here.”
“Ike, would you mind stopping at the Dew Drop and telling Donnie he will be bunking here every night until we get these birds transferred.”
“Sure, Sheriff. Can you call the undertaker for me? I don’t think we should leave Pa in the house all night if we can move him.”
“Right you are, Ike. I will have him meet you at your house. I will come to your cabin to investigate.”
“By the way,” the sheriff continued, “one bit of good news is the lawyer told me he can’t charge you money to help you collect the reward. He has to help as an officer of the court. Maybe that will make some things better.”
When Sam and I were alone in the car, Sam said he really wanted to pull the trigger on Baby Face. I told him I had similar feelings when I held the shotgun. I told him the most important thing right now is to take care of Izzy. “We have to let him know we will take care of him and tell him it is not his fault Pa is dead. It’s just one more thing those crooks stole from us was Izzy’s innocence.
I told Sam I didn’t know how our family would survive the ordeal of Mom’s death being followed so closely by Pa’s murder. “Even after Pa is buried, we will be going to trials and hearings. We all will have to take oaths in court to tell that story over and over. The newspapers will be all over it. Izzy won’t have a minute’s peace. And, you know how cruel people are. Some will say Izzy did cause Pa’s murder. How will he get through that?” I started to choke back tears thinking of my tender hearted little brother being cruelly used by the news reporters. “That criminal might have been the first live target Izzy ever shot. One time he was walking with me while I hunted; he wouldn’t shoot at a rabbit because of the pain he would cause the creature just so he could have a meal.”
The Dew Drop Inn was just a country honky-tonk. A cowboy band was playin’ sad songs, and a few couples were slow dancin’. Donnie Braxton was leaning on the bar talking to a woman with orange hair who was too old for him. I tried to talk to him but the music made it hard to understand each other. I motioned for him to come outside.
I told him the high-points of the story and said the sheriff wanted him to sleep at the jail until the prisoners were transferred somewhere else. He said he would talk to the sheriff when he got off work here.
Going out of town, we had to drive by the funeral parlor. As we got close, we saw the lights come on inside. Sheriff Braxton must’ve kept his promise to call. There would be a parade coming to our little cabin soon enough.
“I think it would be a good idea to see if Mrs. Corrigan could keep Izzy while all this gets sorted out.” I said to Sammy. “He shouldn’t have to sleep where both his parents died in a single week. It’ll keep him hidden from the news vultures, too.”
We trundled across the shortcut and bounced up the road to the house. We opened the door to a gruesome scene indeed. Pete and Izzy were working with a scoop shovel and broom cleaning Pa’s clotted blood from the kitchen floor. They had moved the kitchen table to get the blood that had run under the pedestal legs. “Jeez,” I said, “Let us help you. Sam, why don’t you get some water in the bucket? You two rest and let us do this.”
Izzy said, “It’s OK. It needs doin’. We are almost done.”
“Little man,” I said, “You are one tough honcho. Remind me to never mess with you again.” I could not have been prouder of my little brother. Still, I took the broom from his hand and took my turn sweeping up the blood into the scoop shovel. From there, it went into a bucket. From there, I took it to the top of the hill. “You will always be home in Hill Oklahoma,” I told Pa as I emptied his life blood out on the crest of the hill.
Lights were coming up the road as I walked back to the house. The stars played tag with racing clouds. The stars always win just by standing still.
Two cars were almost to the house. The first one was Sheriff Braxton’s Model A and the other was the motor hearse from the funeral home. The undertaker, Sam Waters, met me at the door. I had made a point of not learning his name when he handled Mom’s funeral. Now it looked like we would be on first names basis. He shook my hand and said he was sorry for my family’s troubles. “Come in,” I offered to the pair. The sheriff took off his hat as he entered. I don’t ever remember him with a bare head (which was bald except for a grey fringe.) before. He expressed sorrow, also. It was another first. He was usually pretty frank, and did not offer much politeness.
The sheriff and the undertaker both were taken aback by the sight and scent of so much blood. Truthfully, we had spread the color around trying to clean it off the floor. The scent of blood was thick in the room. I had never smelled it in a house before, only when cleaning fish or having business in the slaughterhouse brought so much of the smell of blood. Gunpowder smell still lingered from the burst of machine gun fire.
“Grisly business, Ike,” the sheriff said. “I am truly sorry for your family’s loss and your new duties.”
He walked around the blood and seated himself at the table. He took out a little notebook and a stubby pencil and started his questions. Sam Waters busied himself with the younger brothers and Pa’s body. Suddenly the sheriff addressed Izzy, “Is your given name Israel? Did the man have hold of the shotgun. Yep, right by his hand is good enough. It wasn’t a family gun? I mean, it didn’t belong to your family?” Izzy answered each question like a trooper. My esteem for him had grown 10 fold that night.
“Well, that does it for me.” The sheriff read his findings from his notebook, “Izzy’s slingshot was self defense and defense of family. Your home was broken into by armed burglars who were still here when you arrived home. Izzy defended in the only way possible and your father was murdered by burglars committing felony acts of breaking and entering and assault. The burglars were captured by the four sons of the murder victim. I will notify the police in the county seat of this county and petition them to allow Arkansas authority to finish the investigation and prosecution as the closest township. Failing that, I will petition federal authorities of the Indian Nations to assign Fort Smith courts to these crimes. One way or another, we will keep those guys in jail.”
The sheriff gathered up the arsenal brought by the hoodlums and made note of the Thompson sub-machine gun, the .45 caliber automatic handgun, US Army type. The 12 gauge double barreled shot gun with #1 shot loads, A snub-nose .38 police special handgun and hand knife with 5 inch blade concealed in a boot sheath.
The sheriff noted the license tag of the thug’s automobile and asked, “Ike do you mind if I leave this vehicle here a while? I am plumb outa ways to get it to town. Sure you wouldn’t mind even if it took as long as to settle who is going to try the case?” I assured him we would allow anything that made convicting them easier. “Thanks, Ike” he said.
“Sam, do you need help moving the body to your hearse?” the sheriff asked when he was back in the house. Closing his notebook signaled the end of his work.
Pa was wrapped in his sheets. He was completely covered. The two men took hold under Pa’s arms and around his legs and carried him to the hearse. Blood dripped from their bundle as they carried it. They put Pa on a little wheeled stretcher and strapped Pa’s body to it. They lifted it into the hearse where the stretcher was clamped in place. Sam Waters closed and latched the doors on the back of the hearse. I shook both men’s hands and thanked them for their help. I went back in to our house to my brothers and began to cry.