The Silver Star(79)

We had come to the far side of the bridge. “Does that mean you’re not enlisting?” I asked.

“Don’t mean that at all.” Joe picked up a flat rock and skipped it across the river. “You don’t stop fighting just because you start losing. Truman taught me that.” He turned around. “If Truman gets out in one piece,” he said, “and he wants to bring that girl and her family with him, well, I never figured I’d have slant-eyes for kin, but those Oriental women can be right pretty. Roger Bramwell over in Floyd County came back from the service married to a Filipino gal. They got real cute kids.”


The dump was surrounded by a chain-link fence and sheets of corrugated tin, with clumps of wild daylilies flowering all happy and orange on the other side. People left appliances and machinery—just about everything potentially salvageable—to the left of the gate and we spent most of the afternoon rummaging through boxes full of broken old stuff, examining eggbeaters, testing typewriters, and spinning the dials on old radios. Dog had a field day chewing on chicken bones and chasing rats. Joe found a neat wind-up clock he thought he could fix, and he brought it with him when we left at the end of the afternoon.

We walked back across the bridge and along Holladay Avenue, Dog at our heels. After passing the courthouse, we turned down a block lined with old buildings and crepe myrtle, crossed the railroad tracks, then took a shortcut through a cobblestone alley between the drugstore and the insurance agency. Behind the drugstore was a small parking area with a wooden staircase leading up to the building’s second floor. At the bottom of the stairs, parked next to a metal trash can, was Maddox’s Le Mans.

I hadn’t seen Maddox since the trial, but I knew I was going to run into him sooner or later, and I dreaded it. There was no sign of him, however, or of anyone else, for that matter. As we came up to the Le Mans, Dog trotted ahead, stopped, lifted his leg, and started peeing on one of the whitewall tires. It was almost like he knew who owned the car. Joe burst out laughing, and so did I. It was just about the funniest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

All of a sudden, the door at the top of the stairs flew open and Maddox came charging down, bellowing with rage about how dare that damn mutt take a piss on his car, it was vandalism, as bad as the tire-slashing we little delinquents did, and this time he’d caught us red-handed.

Maddox reached down and grabbed Dog by the scruff of the neck, popped the trunk of the Le Mans, and threw Dog in.

“Don’t you hurt Dog,” I said. “You hurt everything. You hurt my sister and you know it.”

“Jury didn’t see it that way,” he said. “Anyway, I’ve had enough of you, so shut up. This dog’s a menace, running around without a leash.” He opened the door of the Le Mans and flipped the seat forward. “Now, you two get in the back,” he said. “We’re going to see your folks.”

Joe and I looked at each other. I’ll admit I was pretty scared, but we couldn’t just let Maddox drive off with Dog. Joe threw the clock in the trash can, and we climbed into the car.

No one said anything on the drive through town. I stared at the back of Maddox’s thick neck, just like I had during the trial, and listened to Dog’s muffled barking from inside the trunk. I couldn’t believe it. I’d thought we were finished with Maddox, but now it seemed like the whole business was starting up again. Winning in court wasn’t enough. He’d always be after us. This feud would go on forever.

Maddox pulled to a stop in front of the Wyatts’ house. Dusk was approaching and the lights were on. Maddox opened the glove compartment, pulled out a blunt-nosed revolver, and shoved it in the pocket of that hooded black sweatshirt he sometimes wore. Then he got out and popped the trunk again, grabbed Dog by the scruff of the neck, and held him at arm’s length as he marched into the house without bothering to knock. Joe and I followed. Aunt Al was at the kitchen table, cutting the ends off asparagus stalks.

“Call your husband,” Maddox said.

Aunt Al looked at Maddox and Dog and then at Joe and me. “What’s going on?”

“I said call your husband.”

Aunt Al stood up, moving slowly, like she was buying time while she decided what to do. Before she could say anything, Uncle Clarence appeared in the doorway.

“You got a gun, Clarence?” Maddox asked.

“Why you asking?” Uncle Clarence said.

“Because we need to put this dog down. He’s out of control. He’s a danger.”

“Did he attack someone?” Aunt Al asked.

“All he did was pee on Mr. Maddox’s car,” I said. “On the tire.”