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He phoned the Carter City Police Department and reported the incident. They sent over an officer whom Jack had gone to high school with.
“Didn’t recognize any of ’em?” asked the officer.
“I will if I see them again, Ben.”
“Well, we’d have to find ’em.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. One’s a big man missing half an ear. He’s probably over at the hospital right now getting it seen to.”
Ben put away his notepad and gazed at Jack.
“You need to say something?” Jack asked.
“We were good friends in school, played ball together. And I know your momma and daddy and they’re fine people. And I do not want to see you get hurt.” He glanced at Jack’s battered face. “Hurt anymore. You need to let this drop, man.”
“Your momma and daddy are like my momma and daddy. Fine people, but not in every way. So are we gonna be that way, too? Go right up to the line of doing the right thing but never, ever cross it?”
“It’s all I was ever taught. You want me to just flip that on its head?”
“What I want you to do, Ben, is ask yourself if the shoe was on the other foot, what then? How would you feel? What would you do about it?”
“But the shoe ain’t on the other foot, is it, Jack? And I can’t just close my eyes and imagine somethin’ that ain’t real, can I? You’re askin’ the impossible.”
“You remember when we played those boys from York County? Everybody said they were too damn big and too damn strong. Everybody said just lay down in front of them and don’t get hurt. And what did we do?”
“We played our butts off and beat ’em bad. You threw three touchdown passes and your brother ran for two more.”
“And you sacked their QB in the end zone on the very last play of the game.”
Ben smiled briefly at this memory and then he drew closer, his expression sliding to somber. “But we ain’t kids anymore, Jack, and this ain’t no game. You’re a good lawyer. Don’t throw it away over this.”
“If I can’t throw it away over this, what the hell else is worth fighting for?”
Ben shook his head, turned, and left. Jack locked the door after him.
About ten minutes later another knock came at the door.
He stood and readied his gun. “Who the hell is it?” he said sharply, half expecting it to be the police coming to arrest him for shooting the ear off a man who was trying to kill him in his own home.
“Desiree DuBose,” said a voice.
Jack slowly opened the door, revealing a tall, slender Black woman in her late thirties standing there, professionally attired, and clutching a leather satchel along with a pocketbook over her shoulder.
“Are you Jack Lee?” she said politely.
He eyed her curiously and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
She studied the injuries to his face and then saw one hand pressed against his side, and the other one holding the gun. “I see they’ve already been by to see you.”
“Who has?”
She hiked her slim, dark eyebrows and said nothing.
He took a step back and lowered the gun. “And who are you exactly?”
“I might be the answer to your prayers, Mr. Lee. May I come in?”
CHAPTER 24
