Honoree opened the door to a room full of frightening things. Archie’s tommy gun was pointed at Ezekiel, and behind Ezekiel, Bessie stood, a small, trembling whisper of a girl, clawing at his shoulders to let her pass. Jeremiah was a few feet away, blocking the view of one of Kenny’s paintings. Standing as tall as Honoree had ever seen him stand in life, he held the Colt that Dewey had kept under the bar and had it aimed at Archie’s head.
“Come on in, Honoree,” Archie said. “Your boyfriend is trying to stop me from drilling holes in the bitch for killing my brother.”
“Dry up, Archie,” Ezekiel said. “Honoree, why don’t you leave?”
“She should stay,” Archie’s voice boomed. “My gun has a hair trigger, and when your brother’s bullet hits me in the head, my finger will squeeze off at least one round. I guarantee somebody in front of me will be shot dead.”
“Honoree, Bessie, ladies.” Jeremiah’s dangerous baritone chilled her blood. “You need to leave.”
Archie waved the barrel of his gun. “I said I want her to stay. She had something to do with Bessie killing my brother. The sow wouldn’t have thought of it on her own.”
“Don’t worry, Archie, I’m not leaving, no way,” Honoree replied. “You’re right. I was there when Dewey died, and I don’t know what Bessie told you, but he was trying to hurt me, and she stopped him.”
“God, I wish you’d be quiet, Honoree.” Ezekiel held Bessie behind him with an arm. “Archie, you can’t shoot Bessie. You’d be killing the last of your family.”
Archie flinched. “What do you mean?”
“She’s pregnant with Dewey’s baby.”
Honoree stepped farther into the room. “Didn’t Dewey ask you to give her a job? Didn’t he mention the girl he’d been messing around with? I bet he’d bragged about her. You know it’s true.”
Archie pointed the gun at Honoree. “I don’t know a damn thing about her and Dewey. She’s nothing more than another lost colored girl I took pity on. Just like I did with you.”
“Archie, look at her.” Ezekiel pulled Bessie to his side. “Open your coat. You can tell she’s with child.” He pushed her back behind him, shielding her with his body. “Let the women go, and we can settle the beef between us. I’m the one who threw his body in the river.”
“Why don’t we all go home?” Honoree pleaded, and if begging could work and stop what was about to happen, she’d drop to her knees and never stand on her feet again. “Please. There is no point in any more killing. Two men are already dead. Please.”
Bessie started to move away from Ezekiel, giving Archie a clear shot.
“Stop,” Honoree’s pinched voice called out. “Stay still.”
Jeremiah stepped toward Archie, pistol aimed, his finger cocked on the trigger.
There would be no convincing Archie to lower his gun. Either Ezekiel or Bessie would die, and Jeremiah would kill Archie.
“My God, Ezekiel,” Honoree whispered. “You’re going to end up dying today.”
He lifted an eyebrow at his brother, and something passed between them. Then gunfire shattered Honoree’s eardrums and ripped her heart into pieces.
CHAPTER 48
SAWYER
Sunday, July 12, 2015
“What happened at the shootout in Archie’s office? Who survived? Who died?” I am behaving as if someone had rudely turned off the movie reel in the middle of the big battle. On pins and needles, I ask again, “What happened?”
Her laugh is a dry, pained cough. I pick up a swab with an ice chip and place it on her lips.
“The only person to die was Archie Graves. Jeremiah shot him in the head. No jail time, though. Jeremiah was arrested, but Trudy Lewis came to his defense. A favor to Ezekiel, I imagine. They had a strange relationship I never understood.”
“I thought she’d left.”
The woman I will always think of as Honoree smiles at me. “Trudy was on her way to the other side of town when the shooting started but swore on a Bible Archie fired the first shot. The coppers believed her. They weren’t interested in making a fuss over a bunch of coloreds killing each other at a juice joint like Miss Hattie’s. Not like there was anyone important in the room. Other than, well, other than Honoree.” The old woman taps her chest and coughs. “I need a glass of water.”
The ropy veins in her hand bulge as she tries to grip the cup. I end up holding the drink to her lips.
“Now, Ezekiel, he got hurt bad. He wasn’t dead but close. And Jeremiah, Lord, he moved like lightning.” She pauses to swallow. “He came to check on me, I mean, me—Bessie. I was covered in blood, too, but it was Ezekiel’s blood.
