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That night around ten o’clock, Morg Young had come in alone and, after getting a beer from Don, had sauntered over to the billiards area and asked those standing around the tables which one of them was ready to lose some money. He’d played several games and stayed until closing. He had been one of the last customers to leave.
Unnoticed by his uncle and Don, Ledge had gone into the stockroom, then slipped out the back door. He caught up with Crystal’s abuser just as he was about to climb into his truck.
Five minutes later, Ledge was again pushing the broom across the barroom floor. A customer who had bid everyone a good night and left rushed back inside, breathless. “Guess Morg spouted off to the wrong man tonight. He’s lying out there by his truck, beat to a pulp.”
Henry rushed outside to assess the situation. Don called 911. As in the wake of all violent emergencies, the next half hour had been eventful. In the midst of it, Don had noticed Ledge’s bloody, swollen knuckles and had looked at him with alarm.
Ledge mumbled, “He had it coming.”
Don had held his gaze for a moment, glanced over at Henry and, particularly, at the pair of sheriff’s deputies who were questioning him about who Morg had been playing pool with. Coming back to Ledge, Don said querulously, “Aren’t you supposed to be studying for an algebra test?”
Taking the hint, Ledge had gone to his room and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling for almost an hour before Henry came in. He’d sat down heavily on the foot of the bed, and looked at Ledge’s bruised hands.
“How’d you get crosswise with that horse’s ass?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why’d you send him to the hospital?”
“There’s this girl in my grade. Crystal. She’s his stepsister. Today, I caught her crying. She talked to me. Personal like.” He stared hard into Henry’s eyes, and what he had sworn to Crystal not to tell, he compelled his uncle to interpret.
“Morg messes with her?”
Ledge didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.
“Jesus.” Henry had dragged his hand down his face and contemplated the gravity of the situation. “The girl’s name is Crystal?”
“Ivers.”
Henry repeated her name as though committing it to memory. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Not like that.”
“This wasn’t secondhand information? She told you herself?”
Ledge just looked at him.
“Are you sure she’s telling the truth?”
The question had so angered Ledge, he’d glared at his uncle.
“Okay, okay.” Henry had tugged on his chin thoughtfully. “Could he point you out as the guy who attacked him?”
“I made sure he didn’t see me.”
“Did anybody?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think so, either. The man who found him said the parking lot was empty except for his car and one other, and no one else was around.”
“What will happen?”
“I don’t know. Let me think on what I’m going to do about this. I should turn you in. On the other hand…” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I understand why you did it. I’d be tempted to myself.” He pondered it for a moment longer, then said, “For the time being, keep your head down, your mouth shut, and pray that the son of a bitch doesn’t die.”
“I wish he would.”
“No, you don’t, Ledge,” Henry had said, sounding angry for the first time. “No, you don’t. It’s ugly what he’s done. Damn ugly. Disgusting and criminal, and he should never see the light of day for the rest of his miserable, perverted life. But you can’t be his judge and jury. You can’t go taking matters into your own hands.”
