Deputy Bernard Strife ambled along the sidewalk. He did two walking patrols of the

  downtown such as it was of Earle City, Georgia. Three stores, a diner, a hotel, the jail,

  a saloon, and a doctor/vet/dentist office made up the strip that he walked. When he

  did that, he would take the car and drive out to the edges of the county since he also

  did two driving patrols a day too.

  Two other deputies and the sheriff shared responsibilities with him. He didn’t trust

  the other deputies, and the sheriff seemed a bit lackadaisical.

  On the other hand, Earle City’s biggest claim to fame was not being burned down by

  Sherman.

  Strife paused outside Luke’s General Store to look inside the window. Two kids

  loaded up their pockets from the candy aisle while Luke rang a customer up. The kids

  ran for the door while the shopkeeper made change. The deputy blocked their way

  with his thin body.

  “Empty your pockets,” said Strife. He felt he could catch them if they ran.

  “We don’t have to do that if we don’t want to,” said the older boy. The other boy

  nodded in agreement.

  “Empty your pockets,” said Strife. “Or I’ll empty them for you.”

  “What’s the problem, Barn?,” asked Luke. He and his female customer stood at the

  door to the store. The woman slid around the boys and walked away.

  “I caught these two stealing,” said Strife. “If they don’t empty their pockets, I’m

  going to find out who they are and take them home to talk to their parents.”

  “I know who they are,” said Luke. “These are Vernon Pressley’s boys.”

  “The drunk on Fifty?,” said Strife. “Let’s go talk to your pa. I’m sure he will be glad

  to see you rolling up in a police car.”

  The two boys dumped out their pockets as fast as they could. Candy dropped to the

  sidewalk. They looked up at Strife. The youngest held back tears.

  “Don’t go into Luke’s anymore,” said the deputy. “Don’t steal. Don’t be stupid. Now

  get out of here.”

  The boys ran like the Devil was chasing them. Strife watched them go. He hoped he

  had straightened them out, but their father was a drunk slob who only worked when

  he couldn’t freeload. No one knew where Mrs. Pressley had gone. The deputy thought

  she was buried on the lot they owned.

  Busting Vernon Pressley’s face with a baton would be the makings of a good day.

  Putting him in Old Sparky would be even better.

  Luke looked down at the candy. Most of it had been warped out of shape by being in

  the boys’ pockets. He needed to get his broom and dustpan to sweep the mess up.

  Strife walked down to the diner. He frowned at crowd gathered in the place. He liked

  to hit the diner last because it was right by the jail. He could go in, get a cup of coffee,

  get a patrol car, then drive his route on the county’s back roads.

  Now he had a group of black sharecroppers, a group of white townies and farmers,

  and Bud Leeke, the owner of the diner, shouting at each other. He frowned. He didn’t

  need a riot.

  “What’s going on here?,” Strife shouted at the top of his voice. It squeaked to his

  embarrassment.

  “These negras don’t want to get out,” said one of the farmers.

  “Deputy,” said one of the black men. He wore a suit and tie. “We just want some

  lunch before we go back to work.”

  “Get out of here, Darkie,” said the farm boy.

  “Shut up, Toothless,” said Strife. He frowned at the two groups. “So what I have here

  is twenty five men and boys that will be sharing the three cells of the jail for the next

  day. That’s eight and a third men to a cell.”

  “Can’t you get them out of here, Deputy?,” said Leeke, standing as tall as he could

  behind his counter. He stepped on a box behind it to give him the extra height he

  needed to run it.

  “What do you think I’m doing?,” said Strife. “Running a social? The jail is right over

  there. Start walking.”

  “I don’t want to be locked up with no negras,” said the farmer.

  “You should have thought of that before you disturbed the peace,” said Strife. “I

  know it will be a bit crowded, and two of your cells will have to hold nine men, but

  it’ll only be for twenty four hours.”

  “Some of these people still owe me money,” said Leeke. “You can’t just lock them

  up before they pay me.”

  “Yes, I can,” said Strife. “Now if these groups of men were to order their food, pay

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  for their food, and leave, I might use the discretionary power of my office to just issue

  a warning.”

  “What?,” said Toothless.

  “I said get your food in a bag and run for the hills before I decide to open your melon

  like I was carving a jack o’lantern, you moron,” said Strife. “Get in line and let’s go.

  Otherwise, it’s the hoosegow for whomever wants to stay here and get on my nerves.”

  “You can’t do this,” was the general rumble. Strife frowned at the challenge to his

  authority.

  “Do I have to shoot one of you idiots?,” said the deputy. “You know I will. It will be

  just like being back in Korea. Let’s go, you knuckleheads. Let’s go!”

  The men got in line like the broken keyboard of a piano. None of them looked too

  happy about the arrangement. Strife stood by the door, one hand hanging down by the

  thirty eight he had bought when he was hired as a deputy.

  He had only had to use it once. One of Jim Lynch’s cows had been hit by a truck. He

  had come on the scene afterward. He put the cow down to end its suffering.

  He decided he could put some of these idiots down to end his suffering.

  The crowd got smaller as Leeke’s kitchen crew made their orders, bagged them, and

  sent them up front. Bud took the money with expressions of disdain and anger. He

  looked over at the deputy. Strife glared back with eyes of hatred.

  When the last man in line left, Strife looked out in the street to make sure he didn’t

  have to break up trouble out there too. It would be just like the idiots to start fighting

  after he gave them an easy out.

  “You cleared out the lunch crowd,” said Leeke.

  “I’ll be back to clear them out for dinner too,” said Strife. “Cup of coffee, please.”

  “That mob is going to get you fired, Strife,” said Leeke. He poured out a cup of black

  coffee. “They’ll see it as meddling in the way of things.”

  “Until they do, they better keep the peace,” said Strife. He sipped his coffee. “I don’t

  have time to babysit children because they don’t like the way things are changing.”

  “Good luck on that,” said Leeke. “Afternoon patrol?”

  “Someone’s got to do it,” said Strife. “I’ll be back to keep an eye on things.”

  “Earle City is losing a bit of itself everyday,” said Leeke. “Pretty soon, the only thing

  here will be this diner and the jail.”

  “And I will still be doing patrols until that day comes,” said Strife. He finished his

  coffee. “Put up a sign that says you don’t want black people eating here, Bud. It’ll cut

  down on your problems.”

  “Why?,” said Leeke. “Their money is just as good as a white man’s.”

  Strife shook his head as he headed out of the diner. He walked over to the jail and got

  behind the wheel of the patrol car. He turned the engine over and started out of town.

  The county wasn’t that big, and most of it was given to farms of one kind or another.

  Earle City served as the county seat, with housing around the strip for people working

  in town, or out on the farms. It usually took Strife about an hour to circle the area and

  return to town. Sometimes he would run into something he had to deal with before

  he could get back to town.

  That afternoon Strife saw a stranger walking along the road. He wore a dun

  trenchcoat and smoked a cigar. Upraised eyebrows formed natural question marks on

  the craggy face. The deputy pulled to a stop beside the walker.

  “Need help?,” Strife asked.

  “Not really, Deputy,” said the stranger. “I’m going down to visit my friend, Joe.”

  “Joe who?,” asked Strife. There were five Joes within reach of where they talked.

  “Carlson,” said the stranger. “He lived down the road here the last time I came

  through.”

  “He’s not living down there now,” said Strife. “He’s at Holly Oak Cemetery.”

  “Really?,” said the stranger. “What did he die of if I might inquire?”

  “I don’t know,” said Strife. “I just know one of the other deputies was asked to make

  a check and they found him dead.”

  “Holly Oak Cemetery?,” asked the stranger.

  “Get in and I’ll take you over there,” said Strife. “It’s on my way back to town.”

  The stranger got in the front seat. He puffed on his cigar as he pulled his coat around

  him.

  “You know Joe long?,” asked Strife. He pulled off the shoulder of the road and

  headed along the back roads toward town.

  “Almost all of his life,” said the stranger. “I knew his old man too.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you in Earle City before,” said Strife.

  “I come through once in a while,” said the stranger. “It’s okay.”

  Strife looked at his passenger. The man smoked his cigar, and looked out the opened

  window. He seemed harmless enough.

  The cemetery’s fence appeared as they drove down the road. The deputy looked for

  the gate as the car rolled along. He pulled in to the main drive and pulled off the road.

  He got out and looked around.

  The man in the coat walked around the car. He chewed on his cigar. He examined the

  generally flat stones mixed with more angelic monuments and tombs.

  “I think Joe’s grave is over this way,” said Strife. He picked a path on the lawn and

  started walking. He checked the names on the stones as he went. He paused when he

  reached the Carlson grave.

  A mound of dirt sat on one side. Carlson’s open coffin rested in the bottom of the

  opened grave.

  Strife looked around. He stood alone in the empty graveyard. The man in the coat had

  vanished while he was looking for the right grave.

  Strife rubbed the back of his head. He had an open grave and a stranger in town

  looking for the deceased. What did he do about it?

  The first thing he needed to do was let the sheriff know about it so they could be on

  the look out for Joe Carlson, or the other man, walking around.

  He doubted anything would get done unless he came up with something, but at that

  moment he was stumped and didn’t like it.

  Strife walked back to the patrol car. He got behind the wheel. He picked up the radio

  mike. What should he say?

  He decided that a simple report should be enough. Once it was logged, the sheriff

  might run with it, or he might turn it over to the State Police.

  Strife didn’t think there was enough around to search anywhere for the body.

  The only evidence he saw was his footprints in the grass. The body snatchers might

  have left clues for anyone else to find, but he doubted it.

  He triggered the mike. He might as well get this over with so he could head in and

  write a report on it.

  “Sheriff’s Office?,” he said into the mike. “This is Strife.”

  “Go ahead, Barney,” said the sheriff.

  “I have a missing body down here at Holly Oak,” said Strife. “Did we get an

  exhumation order no one told me about?”

  “Not that I know of,” said the sheriff. “What do you have?”

  “Someone dug up Joe Carlson and took him,” said Strife.

  “I’ll call around and see if there was a problem,” said the sheriff. “Stay out there and

  make sure they don’t take anyone else.”

  “Sure,” said Strife.