Titus pulled the trigger five times in quick succession. He heard Carla let loose with a barrage of shots aimed at the truck’s front left tire.
The bullets pierced the windshield and slammed into Denver Carlyle like a hammer from the heavens. Titus watched as the truck broke hard to the left, then rolled up on the sidewalk and slammed into the front of Wild Iris Collectibles, coming to a stop with a vicious crunch. Titus moved toward the truck and braced his back against the trailer while reaching out with his right hand to open the door. Carla was behind him, the barrel of her gun still smoking.
Denver Carlyle’s body flopped out of the cab and sprawled across the cool asphalt. Four of Titus’s shots had caught him in the face. Denver wouldn’t be having an open-casket funeral.
Davy and Steve came running over. Pip came up to Titus and stood between him and the body.
“You okay? Goddamn, that’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Y’all stared down a fucking truck,” Pip said.
Titus holstered his gun and ran toward Reverend Wilkes. He passed the rear of the delivery truck, the exhaust spitting oil.
“Titus, you okay?” Pip yelled.
Reverend Wilkes was lying on his side. His right leg was bent behind him at an impossible angle. Both his arms were going the wrong way. Titus dropped to his knees beside him. His beard was soaked in blood. His mouth was coated in it. His eyes were open, but what they saw now was beyond the understanding of men like Titus. Reverend Wilkes belonged to the ages now.
Titus wished he could close the man’s eyes, but he knew that only worked in movies.
He ran over to the other body lying near the courthouse green. It was a woman, twisted and torn like Reverend Wilkes, but she was moaning in pain. Titus dropped to his haunches. He recognized her as Sandra James, one of Darlene’s friends.
He stood and faced his team. He faced Caldwell and his men. Danforth and his folks.
“She’s alive! Call fire and rescue! Let’s secure the scene. And get a sheet for Denver,” Titus said.
No one moved at first.
“Go! Go! Let’s do the job!” he yelled.
“You heard him, let’s move!” Carla said.
As they began to attend to their duties Titus touched the badge again. Sometimes that star felt like a shield over your heart, sometimes it felt like an anchor dragging you down, and other times, well, other times it felt like a cheap-ass piece of tin.
* * *
The ambulance came and took away Sandra. The undertakers came and took away Denver and Reverend Wilkes. Titus had five of the Confederates and three of the counterprotesters arrested based on information from Caldwell and his men.
Titus found Jamal sitting alone on a bench near the statue.
“Are you okay? You need the EMTs to look at you?” Titus asked.
Jamal shook his head. He looked up at Titus with haunted eyes. “Reverend Wilkes was a good man. I told him he didn’t have to come. He said it was his duty as a man of God.” He covered his face with his hands.
“They’re never going to change, are they, Titus? People like Ricky, like Denver, all the marching and singing in the world ain’t gonna make a damn bit of difference. It’s never gonna touch their hearts. And now Reverend Wilkes is dead,” he said, his voice cracking.
Titus sat next to him on the bench.
“I don’t know. All I do know is violence begets more violence and all violence is a confession of pain. Hurt people tend to hurt people. Ricky had his folks all worked up, including Denver. Then we arrested Denver for a DUI yesterday. That was his third in five years. That meant he was going to lose his CDL. Lose his job. This was about the statue, but it was also about him. His life was spiraling out of control. He felt like he was losing everything. His job, his life. For a lot of these folks that statue is just a symbol of everything they fear they’ve lost. And people like you, like me, like Reverend Wilkes, we make easy scapegoats,” Titus said.
“You know what Ervin told me the other day? Said he was at the Watering Hole and he heard Denver tell a joke. About, what do you call seven dead Black kids in the woods? A good start. Those are the kind of people we’re dealing with, Titus. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to give up. Let them keep their fucking statue. Maybe Reverend Wilkes would be alive if I hadn’t—”
“You didn’t kill him. Denver Carlyle did. Don’t give up, Jamal. One day that fucking statue is coming down. And boys like Ricky are gonna have to watch it fall,” Titus said.
He left Jamal and went to Elizabeth Morehood.
He told her they had to cancel the rest of the festival. She refused at first.
“Elizabeth, two people are dead. The festival is done. It’s over. Go home.”
“Titus, I understand that, but we need this. Now, I propose we shut things down for an hour, then reopen for the street dance tonight.”
Titus stared at her, dumbfounded. “Elizabeth, people just died on this road. Are folks supposed to get their boogie on in Reverend Wilkes’s blood?”
“Of course we will clean up the street during the intermission.”
“Elizabeth, go home, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of a police investigation. Fall Fest is over,” Titus said. He saw her face change then, and suddenly there was a bitterness there that aged her ten years. She turned and walked away with her face drawn up tight at sharp angles.
* * *
Titus got back to the station and went to his office. Pip came in the office and closed the door.
“You had no choice, Titus,” he said.
“The hospital said Sandra might be paralyzed. Reverend Wilkes is dead. We got a crazy man running around chopping people up and killing kids. A teacher and the son of a friend of mine were helping him kill those kids. The Fall Fest Committee wanted to keep the festival going, did I tell you that? What the fuck is wrong with people, Pip? What the fuck is wrong with Charon?”
Pip sat down in one of the chairs in front of Titus’s desk. He took off his hat and wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. A shock of iron-gray and black hair fell into his face.
“My grandma used to tell me how the early members of the Mennonite church was against slavery because they thought owning another person couldn’t be part of God’s plan. They felt like being slave owners was an unforgivable sin that would curse them to hell. Stain their sons and daughters for generations.” Pip took a breath.
“Charon’s been the home of so many terrible sins. Maybe there’s a curse here. One that’s stained us all,” he said.
“You been around the world, Pip. You can’t believe that the Mark of Cain or Original Sin have made us suffer like this,” Titus said.
Pip shook his head.
“You asked me what was wrong with Charon. That’s the best I got.”
* * *
Albert was sitting in the living room with Marquis when he got home. His father jumped up and came to him with his arms outstretched. He grabbed Titus in a tight embrace.
“Boy, you gotta stop scaring me like this,” Albert said. Titus wondered how his father dealt with his fear for him when he was with the Bureau. He wondered how Albert would react if he knew how close he’d come to death. How he’d played judge, jury, and executioner for Red DeCrain.
Titus hugged his father back.
“I’m okay, Pop.”
Albert released him and stepped back. Marquis popped him on the shoulder with a left-handed slap.
“You gonna have to make some room on the wall,” Marquis said.
“What?” Titus asked.
Marquis pointed to the deer head above the mantel. The twelve-pointer Titus had shot when he was thirteen.
“You got another head to mount,” Marquis said with a laugh.
Titus didn’t join him.
“Sorry, trying to hide the fact that I was scared for you,” Marquis said.
“Key say they talking about you on them internets,” Albert said.
“Don’t you worry about that, Pop. That’s all it is, talk,” Titus said.
“Yeah, but talk get them boys riled up. Jasper especially been running his mouth,” Marquis said.
There was a coldness to his voice that disquieted Titus.
“Like I said, it’s just talk. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Titus said.
“Hmm,” Marquis said.
“I mean it, Key. Leave it alone.”
Marquis shrugged. “We out of ’shine, but I bought some Jameson.”
“Nah, I’m okay, I think I’m just going to bed,” Titus said.
Marquis shook his head. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to carry everything by yourself. Come on, have a drink with me and Pop. Let’s send a toast up to Mom,” Marquis said.
Titus looked at Marquis, saw how hard it was for him to even mention their mother.
Titus felt the weight on his shoulders lighten infinitesimally.
“All right,” he said.
* * *
Albert tapped out after two shots. Titus and Marquis finished the bottle an hour later. Now Titus was sitting at the kitchen table listening to Marquis snore in the living room. He picked up the empty green bottle and carried it to the trash can. He felt loose and wild, like a mean dog suddenly let off its leash.