Read Online Dark Places by Reavis Z Wortham - Free Book Online

Over the double doors, a hand-painted sign reading “Mechanic” hung on gray boards warped and rotting. Despite its age, the substantial structure was a testament to craftsmen from the past.
    While a group of loafers watched through the open double doors, Cody pulled as far off the street as possible. It was Cody’s first time in the “colored” part of town as the sheriff, and the looks thrown his way told him he needed to drop by more often, to get to know those folks.
    â€œHowdy!” Cody waved toward the cluster of men sitting inside out of the rain. “Y’all doin’ all right today?”
    Ned stuck close to the side of the car, holding the fender for stability. “Howdy, men.”
    A couple of hands rose in return. Most simply watched. There was a tension in the air. The loafers appeared loose and comfortable under light from bare bulbs dangling from the grimy, open rafters overhead. But nearly everyone shifted in some way, far from their earlier relaxed positions.
    A radio blared with colored music. Ned remembered that Cody called it Motown once when they were talking about modern music.
    â€œI’m Sheriff Cody Parker.”
    â€œI know who you are.” A barrel-chested man stepped around a jacked-up International pickup and through the open doors of the shop, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “We do somethin’ for y’all?”
    As Ned turned toward the voice, a figure standing in the drizzle at the outside corner of the building seemed to evaporate behind a car on blocks.
    Cody nodded toward Ned, letting him take the lead, since the hit and run happened in his precinct. Ned leaned against the garage doorframe, stopping under the eaves to stay out of the water dripping from the roof. The strong odor of old grease, gasoline, and mildew boiled out the door. “You’re Malcom?”
    The man stuck the rag in one pocket of his overalls. “Yessir.”
    â€œI knowed your daddy. Henry.”
    â€œHe was.”
    â€œHenry was a good man.”
    â€œHe was.”
    â€œWe had a hit and run out toward Center Springs a day or so ago. A man was killed.”
    Malcom’s experience with the law leaned more toward jailed kinfolk and friends than visits from the sheriff’s office. “Was he colored?”
    â€œNo, white, and we don’t know who did it.”
    One of the loafers raised his voice. “So y’all come out here to see if it was one of us done it?”
    The man in his twenties, wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt wore the biggest, bushiest head of hair Cody’d ever seen outside of television or the newspaper. “No, not the way you put it.”
    â€œHow come it’s always a nigger done it?”
    Ned felt his face fill with pressure. “You didn’t hear that from us.”
    â€œI see the two of y’all standing here .” He rose with two others of similar age. One bumped a cane-bottom chair as he stood and it fell with a clatter against a stack of car parts. The man’s voice grew louder. “Y’all don’t have no business accusin’ any of us for runnin’ anyone down.”
    Cody slipped both hands into his pockets of his khakis, hoping the move would show he wasn’t aggressive. “We haven’t accused anyone of anything.” He dismissed them to address Malcom. “Has anyone come in with a dented fender, or hood? Maybe said they run over a cow or a deer or something?”
    The angry young man tugged at his t-shirt, as if to give his chest more room to puff out. “How about y’all takin’ this somewheres else to in-ves-ti-gate ?”
    Ned’s eyes grew cold, and his head felt as if it would pop from the pressure. He was suddenly aware of water splashing off the tin roof into a nearby catch barrel. Malcom remained still, waiting to see what might happen.
    Ned raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “You got a name?”
    â€œYeah,