A time to kill

Pirtle left his pie and drove a mile south to the jail. "What's up?" he asked the dispatcher.

"We got a call a few minutes ago, anonymous, from someone lookin' for the sheriff. I explained that he was not on duty, so they asked for whoever was on duty. That's you. They said it was very important, and they'd call back in fifteen minutes."

Pirtle poured some coffee and relaxed in Ozzie's big chair. The phone rang. "It's for you," yelled the dispatcher.

"Hello," answered Pirtle.

"Who's this?" asked the voice.

"Deputy Joe Pirtle. Who's this?"

"Where's the sheriff?"

"Asleep, I reckon."

"Okay listen, and listen real good because this is important and I ain't callin' again. You know that Hailey nigger?"

"Yeah."

"You know his lawyer, Brigance?"

"Yeah."

"Then listen. Sometime between now and three A.M., they're gonna blow up his house."

"Who?"

"Brigance."

"No, I mean who's gonna blow up his house?"

"Don't worry about that, Deputy, just listen to me. This ain't no joke, and if you think it's a joke, just sit there and wait for his house to go up. It may happen any minute."

The voice became silent but did not disappear. Pirtle listened. "You still there?"

"Good night, Deputy." The receiver clicked.

Pirtle jumped to his feet and ran to the dispatcher. "Did you listen?"

"Of course I did."

"Call Ozzie and tell him to get down here. I'll be at the Brigance house."

Pirtle hid his patrol car in a driveway on Monroe Street and walked across the front lawns to Jake's house. He saw noth-

ing. It was 12:55 A.M. He walked arouno me nuusc wim "." flashlight and noticed nothing unusual. Every house on the street was dark and asleep. He unscrewed the light bulb on the front porch and took a seat in a wicker chair. He waited. The odd-looking foreign car was parked next to the Oldsmo-bile under the veranda. He would wait and ask Ozzie about notifying Jake.

Headlights appeared at the end of the street. Pirtle slumped lower in the chair, certain he could not be seen. A red pickup moved suspiciously toward the Brigance house but did not stop. He sat up and watched it disappear down the street.

Moments later he noticed two figures jogging from the direction of the square. He unbuttoned his holster and removed his service revolver. The first figure was much larger than the second, and seemed to run with more ease and grace. It was Ozzie. The other was Nesbit. Pirtle met the two in the driveway and they retreated into the darkness of the front porch. They whispered and watched the street.

"What exactly did he say?" asked Ozzie.

"Said someone's gonna blow up Jake's house between now and three A.M. Said it was no joke."

"Is that all?"

"Yep. He wasn't real friendly."

"How long you been here?"

"Twenty minutes."

Ozzie turned to Nesbit. "Give me your radio and go hide in the backyard. Stay quiet and keep your eyes open."

Nesbit scurried to the rear of the house and found a small opening between the shrubs along the back fence. Crawling on all fours, he disappeared into the shrubs. From his nest he could see the entire rear of the house.

"You gonna tell Jake?" asked Pirtle.

"Not yet. We might in a minute. If we knock on the door, they'll be turnin' on lights and we don't need that right now."

"Yeah, but what if Jake hears us and comes through the door firin' away. He might think we're just a couple of niggers tryin' to break in."

Ozzie watched the street and said nothing.

"Look, Ozzie, put yourself in his place. The cops have

your house surrounded at one o'clock in the mornin' waitin' for somebody to throw a bomb. Now, would you wanna stay in bed asleep or would you wanna know about it?"

Ozzie studied the houses in the distance.

"Listen, Sheriff, we better wake them up. What if we don't stop whoever's plannin' this, and somebody inside the house gets hurt? We get blamed, right?"

Ozzie stood and punched the doorbell. "Unscrew that light bulb," he ordered, pointing at the porch ceiling.

"I already did."

Ozzie punched the doorbell again. The wooden door swung open, and Jake walked to the storm door and stared at the sheriff. He was wearing a wrinkled nightshirt that fell just below his knees, and he held a loaded .38 in his right hand. He slowly opened the storm door.

"What is it, Ozzie?" he asked.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

"Stay here on the porch," Ozzie told Pirtle. "I'll be just a minute."

Ozzie closed the front door behind them and turned off the light in the foyer. They sat in the dark living room overlooking the porch and the front yard.

"Start talking," Jake said.

" 'Bout a half hour ago we took an anonymous call from someone who said that someone planned to blow up your house between now and three A.M. We're takin' it serious."

"Thanks."

"I've got Pirtle on the front porch and Nesbit in the backyard. 'Bout ten minutes ago Pirtle saw a pickup drive by real interested like, but that's all we've seen."

"Have you searched around the house?"

"Yeah, nothin'. They ain't been here yet. But somethin' tells me this is the real thing."

"Why?"

"Just a hunch."