Tribes of time, p.2
Tribes of Time, page 2
“If we do this what’cha gone do with the bodies?” Cyrus inquired of Haines.
“We could bury the bodies close to water, that way they’ll decompose quicker. It’ll also help cover up the smell.” Haines replied. Cyrus looked at him with a quizzical expression.
“What?” Haines asked in response to the look.
“How many times you done this, you sho’ know ‘lot ‘bout getting rid of bodies.”
“I did two tours in ‘Nam as a LURP and we had to hide the bodies to cover our trails.” Haines didn’t realize how much of his training he still retained, but this was as good a time as any to remember.
“Here’s what I have in mind as a tactic to lure them out into the open, one of us will draw their fire while the other seeks and destroy. That tactic always worked in the thick mangrove jungles of Southeast Asia.”
“That sounds wonderful, but who’ll do the runnin’. I’s sho’ not gonna be runnin’ through no woods.” Cyrus retorted.
“I’ll be the one who draws them out, but you better not miss or run in the other direction.” Haines said as he looked at Cyrus with a sideways glance.
The two men had now formulated the method of getting the remaining Klansmen. Haines thought to himself which one he needed to eliminate first, of course the obvious one would be the brother of the first slain man. He would harbor the most hatred towards them and had the least to lose. Cyrus was poised with the shotgun raised to his shoulder. “Let that cracka move, I’ll blow his head off.” Cyrus said to no one in particular. He had good reason to hate these men and not only for today, but for his entire lifetime. Men like them have been terrorizing blacks in this county for years. It was time the tables were turned. In fact, Cyrus had been conditioned by years of oppression not to talk back or rear his hand towards a white man. Now all those years of anger could be released, but it would take an outsider to bring him his courage. Haines mentally pictured where the positions of the other men were. He thought of the one directly behind his latest victim and called to him.
“If you discard your weapons we’ll let you go about your business.” Haines said deceivingly.
“Ain’t nothing peaceful ‘bout this, your black ass is ours now.” The man cursed back. Haines advanced towards the man’s position, which was lying on his stomach and scanning the brush. Haines figured if he hit the man anywhere in a vital organ or major artery he would at least be rendered helpless. A shot to the upper body would likely shatter a large bone or cause massive muscle damage. He checked the magazine and saw that he had thirteen remaining cartridges. He aimed at the man’s left shoulder hoping the bullets trajectory would traverse through his heart or lungs. Haines squeezed the trigger and the man’s head dropped to the ground. The man didn’t move or scream out. Haines thought he had missed, a few seconds later he could see a stream of red cascading down from his hairline. It had been a head shot. The barrel must have risen upon the pull of the trigger; oh well, three down and three to go Haines mused to himself.
“We’ll give you the same option we gave your compatriots, come out and nothing will happen to you.” Haines informed the men.
“How do we know you’ll keep your promise?” a voice replied.
“You fellas are the ones that started this mess.” Haines quipped.
“Why don’t you ask ‘Ol Cyrus who started this mess.” This was the first time Haines actually registered the name of the man that he risked everything for.
“You come out and we’ll talk this over. But you should know we’re going to tell the authorities and report this crime.” Haines knew he wasn’t going to tell a soul about this incident, but as the Marines taught him; “Yahoo” You Always Have Other Options.
“Aw’right we’ll come out, but throw your guns into the clearing first.” The Klansman stated.
“Hell Naw I ain’t gonna give up to a nigra, kill me first.” One of the men said.
“Shut yo mouth boy, I’m still running this Klavern and you’ll do as I say.” It would be easy to divide and conquer, but Haines wasn’t completely sure he could count on the man named Cyrus. He didn’t know the whole story, whatever it was it didn’t warrant a lynching.
“Listen, you surrender and we’ll keep our promise.” During this exchange Cyrus didn’t utter a word. He just wanted the nightmare to end. The men would naturally take the easy way out, after all what white jury would convict a white man in the south for coon hunting. It would most likely end up being Haines and Cyrus going on trial for murder and conspiracy to commit murder. That’s just how they did things in the “old” South.
“Give me a minute to talk this over.” The leader asked.
“Take your time we’re not going anywhere soon.” Haines was telling the truth, his car was still inoperable; that’s how he came upon his present situation. The man named Cyrus didn’t appear to have any transportation or even clothes. The Klansmen were the only ones with transportation.
“Del, we can’t give up to these nigra’s, we have them out numbered. Besides they killed Jesse and Paul.” The Klansmen were now gathered to discuss their immediate fate.
“I for one will not give up to them, or anyone else. They killed my little brother.”
“What do you think Cecil?” Del asked of Cecil Miller, the elder of the men.
“Well, it’s pretty simple. If they tell the Sheriff, he sent us on this mission. We’ll be released and can get them later.” The elder Klansman and the leader Delbert Cutts only had to convince the brother of the first slain member.
“Frank do you want to take your chances out here in the bottoms or do you want to get some more help from our brethren?” Cecil asked as more of a rhetorical statement than a question.
“I don’t give a shit when and where I get them. How will I explain this to my family that I let two nigra’s kill my brother?”
“When we get to town we can tell everyone what happened out here, we’ll have the whole town in an uproar. Then we’ll go out to ‘Ol Cyrus’ house and rid the whole valley of Davies.”
“I guess I can wait a litter longer, but I’ll remember you asked me to give up. I can’t believe this.”
“We’re ready to give up now; we’ll throw out our guns.” The men threw out their assorted weapons; a .22 long rifle, a Heckler & Koch .380 and a Ruger .45 pistols.
“Now toss out all of your clothes.” Haines demanded of the men.
“FUCK YOU! That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“We need to know that you haven’t concealed any weapons. Do this or the deal is off.” The men proceeded to disrobe and pile them next to the weapons.
“You can keep your underwear, the last thing I need is a good laugh.” Haines said this too further emasculate the men. He learned as an undergraduate that a person without clothes would become docile, even the most hardened criminals. For the first time throughout the negotiations Cyrus spoke. He didn’t like the idea of the men being released. It had been his hide they wanted and he knew they would not let the killing of their friends go so easily. Once a family member was chased out of Georgia for a lesser deed, he’s yet returned home.
“I ain’t feelin’ right bout lettin’ them go.” Cyrus said to Haines who was by now keeping a close eye on the men emerging from the trees.
“Why do you say that?” Haines replied.
“Cause I know them cracka’s, They’se some nasty white folks.” Cyrus really didn’t want to go into details about how he knew this; scared would be a good assumption.
“Here we are.” One of the men stated. As Haines approached, the elder one spoke.
“How you doin’, I’m Cecil Miller and these two here are Delbert Cutts and Frank Billingsly.” Haines scanned the faces of his naked captives. The one named Frank had eyes that appeared to be searing right through him.
“What’s this all about”? Haines asked of anyone that would respond.
“Like I said, ask your friend Cyrus. Haines looked at Cyrus but he had his head down and was cowering in the face of the naked unarmed men.
“I’ll tell you what happened.” The man named Delbert Cutts blurted out.
“He came to my Mill and said I tried to cheat him in front of my wife.” This much was true, but what the man failed to mention was that he owed Cyrus some money from an earlier transaction. Most of the black families in rural Tennessee are sharecroppers, and Delbert Cutts owned the only Mill for miles around. By more than chance he had the only general store that would extend credit to blacks. It’s not uncommon for white owners of these stores to give credit against projected crop earnings since they owned the mills, and could quote any price; usually well below market price and far below the amounts paid to white farmers. This system had been caste since the Reconstruction. Its purpose, in essence to keep the freed slaves working for free and obligated to remain on the plantation. Additionally, throughout history another proven way to keep blacks from rebelling against this system were Knight Riders. They first appeared December 24, 1864 in Illinois. This terror tactic later became a common practice to intimidate any black whom they feared was causing trouble. The main victims of these men were outspoken clergymen, students and defiant sharecroppers; basically any African American who wanted nothing but equal rights.
CHAPTER 3
BET NOIRE
D
uring the period between 1900 to 1978 Knight Riders were responsible for 4,743 known lynchings. Cyrus himself has had several visits from them. When he was a little boy of 9 yrs of age he had his first encounter. His father had gone into town to run some errands and was on his way home. As he was walking along the sidewalk he accidentally brushed against a white man. He promptly apologized and started to resume his journey home, when the white man grabbed him by the gruff of his coat. The man then ordered him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
“I will beg no one for anything.” The elder Davies replied to the man.
“You’ll do as I want you to do boy.” After saying this, the man attempted to punch him. Mr. Davies stepped to the side, slipping his punch and landed a hard straight jab of his own. The man staggered and fell to one knee, as he looked up at Mr. Davies he heard him say.
“Like I said, I will not beg anyone for anything. I’m a man and wish to be treated as such.” He then turned and walked away with the entire town square looking on in disbelief. Later that night while eating dinner with his family, he heard horse’s hooves beating furiously down the dirt lane. Mrs. Davies ordered the children to get under the bed while she extinguished the oil lamps. The horses gathered outside of their shack.
“Lucius Davies we know you’re in there boy, come out or we’ll burn you out!” One of the hooded horsemen barked. The remaining Klansmen started to ride around the shack and break out windows with the butts of their guns. Lucius fearing for the safety of his family went out to the edge of the porch.
“We’ve come for you nigra.” One of the cowardly hooded men said.
“I figured you’d be coming like thieves in the night. Face me like a man without those hoods.” Lucius replied to the man. Just at that instant a lasso flung around his body and dragged him off the porch. He struggled to free himself as the men took off down the lane with him in tow. The next time Cyrus was to see his father he was tied to a crude crucifix and was burned beyond recognition in a pile of ashes. When his uncles tried to remove the body they slipped in a pile of fat excreted from Lucius as he burned. They managed to free him and buried his remains in the local black cemetery.
No one was ever tried for this crime, although everyone knew who had committed the murder. As young Cyrus became older his demeanor changed too. He saw the discrepancy of life along color lines and he detested its existence. Cyrus would see grown black men call young white boys “Sir” and run around like beheaded chickens when ordered to do something for them. He realized why his father was so resistant in the face of danger; their ancestors were of strong-willed African descent. Young Cyrus was defiant towards all white people, even those whom wanted to help. He wanted to owe them nothing at day’s end, like his father. Through the following years the Knight Riders would pass his home with torches blazing in the moonlit night. They wouldn’t venture to close because Cyrus was always armed. His defiance slackened once he married and he realized couldn’t support his wife dead. Gradually, he grew complacent with the system; and became another pawn in the dichotomy of racial hatred. These were the reasons Cyrus didn’t want to let the men go. He didn’t want his children to see him swinging from a tree like strange fruit or immolated like their grandfather. While Cyrus was reflecting on this he could feel all the rage coming back. He felt like a man again and raised his head to look these bastards in the eye.
“You lying Mr. Cutts.” Cyrus said to Delbert.
“Who you callin’ a liar boy? Why I’ll have you killed!” The man responded.
“Ain’t that what y’all were trying to do?” Cyrus’ heart began to pound harder and his nostrils flared.
“You ain’t gon’ do shit, you best be leaving me ‘lone!” Cyrus was spewing spittle at this exchange of words; he was heated like he’d never been before. He raised his shotgun to his shoulder and without hesitation blasted the man in his face BOOYOW! Hair, blood and brain matter splattered the two remaining men standing adjacent to him.
“Oh God! He made me come with them; I wanted nothing to do with this.” Cecil Miller pleaded with arms outstretched and palms showing.
“Ain’t my problem now!” He swiveled the gun in the man’s midsection and cut loose the second round BOOYOW! The third man, Frank Billingsly didn’t say anything, but broke free and ran. Haines watched him take a few strides before he took aim and fired. He squeezed the trigger three times BOOM BOOM BOOM! As the first bullet entered his left side, Frank stood straight up. The other two rounds hit him in the left shoulder blade, passed through and eviscerated the heart. The three naked and bloody Klansmen lay sprawled on the ground in many distorted positions.
“You didn’t tell me you planned on shooting them.” Haines told Cyrus.
“I saw you shootin’ too.” Cyrus snapped back at him.
“Hell yeah, if he’d gotten back to town and told someone what happened; they’d hunt us down, and you can forget about a trial.”
“They weren’t gonna give me a trial. I’m tired of holdin’ my tongue.” The emergence of the old Cyrus showed signs of awakening.
“How close are we to a body of water?” Haines asked.
“There’s a slough about a 400 yards back that way.” Cyrus said pointing southward through the trees.
“Let’s take them and dispose of the bodies quickly. But first grab some of their clothes to put on.” While Cyrus was rummaging through the pile for something that fit, Haines took one by the arm and headed south. He found a natural depression in the ground and rolled the dead corpse into it. He stared down into the face of the dead man to make out what was once his forehead.
By now Cyrus was trudging his way dragging his trophy. Within a few minutes, all of the bodies were piled upon each other. It seemed that no one spoke for hours, but only minutes transpired before Cyrus spoke.
“We gotta get them covered up before someone finds them.” Haines searched the immediate surrounding for Spanish moss. He had used something similar in Vietnam to absorb the smell of decaying flesh. They would then use dried leaves and branches as the final cover. Haines located a large amount and began to layer it over the bodies.
“How did you get here?” Haines asked without stopping his task at hand.
“They’se ran my truck off the road a ways back; we can follow the tree line until we reach it.” Cyrus was still puzzled how a seemingly intelligent man could know so much about disposing of a body, but he dared not venture to question anymore. After the final touches were put on the mass grave both men headed towards Cyrus’ truck.
“Can we have my car towed to where ever we’re going?” Haines didn’t want his vehicle left at the crime scene.
“Well…..we can tow it behind my truck, I have a tow cable.
“Thanks I would appreciate it.” At least he wouldn’t be the prime suspect if the men were found. Even though it was a small Hicksville Police Department, it would only require rudimentary Police work to run a Registered Owner query on the plates, and link him up to the crime. Haines could see through the trees the ancient truck that belonged to Cyrus. It was a 1967 Chevrolet that was once blue but now an orangish color of rust and primer. Haines remembered that Cyrus had no clothes on when he first saw him. Maybe he had left the keys in his pants pockets. He now had the clothes of his attackers.
“Pardon my insolence, but where are the keys.” Haines inquired not wanting to hear that the keys were back in the grove with Cyrus’ clothes.
“I don’t know what insolence is, but the keys are still in the ignition. I didn’t have a chance to grab them.” Cyrus was literally snatched from the driver’s seat, grabbing the keys were his least concern. The men broke foliage and headed straight for the truck. Cyrus looked in the bed of the truck to make sure his tow cables were still there. He got behind the wheel and leaned across the seat to raise the lock on the passenger side door. Haines slid in next to Cyrus and closed the door behind him. Haines had to rearrange the garbage on the floorboard so he could put his feet down. Cyrus turned over the ignition and peered over his shoulder to look for encroaching traffic.
“Is anybody comin’ on your side?” he asked Haines.
“No, it’s clear all the way. Go ahead.” The truck sputtered as it was reversing up the small incline to the two-lane freeway. Cyrus headed towards the spot where Haines’ car stalled. Neither man felt completely comfortable with their situation. Haines would be uncharacteristically late for his conference and his colleagues might call the local State Patrol in search of him; they in turn would conduct an area check. If they found his car and not him, they would initiate a missing person investigation. All they would have to observe is the blood and assume a Homicide had taken place, and then a Crime Scene Technician would scour the area. The bodies were not hard to find by a trained professional. Cyrus knew he would be suspect because of his earlier confrontation with Delbert Cutts. The immediate danger was over, but it would be a long night.
