Read Online That Night at the Palace by L.D. Watson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L.D. Watson
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kid, he had long since decided, would either end up rich or in jail. Cliff was one of those people who had no fear of taking a risk and less fear of the consequences. He smiled and waved at the kids and then pulled away.
“Okay, what are you cookin’ up?” Jewel asked Cliff as she and Jesse caught up with him.
“Nothin’.”
Jesse and Jewel look at each other, neither buying it.
“Nothin’, my butt,” Jewel replied.
“Let me think on it a while, and I’ll let y’all in on it when I have a plan.”
#
COUNTY ROAD 36,
ONE MILE SOUTH OF ELZA, TEXAS
12:31 a.m. June 27, 1936
Cliff and Jesse walked quietly along the long gravel road. It was after midnight, and neither boy wanted to get caught. Under his arm Cliff carried a rolled up tarp. Finally they came to a road crossing, where Cliff stopped.
“Now will you tell me what we’re doing out here?” Jesse asked in a loud whisper.
From across the road and hidden by the shadow of a large live oak tree, Jewel answered, “Stealing watermelons.”
Jesse and Cliff both turned their heads in her direction in shock.
“What are you doing here?” Cliff asked in even a louder whisper.
“Same as you. Stealing watermelons,” she answered with both innocence and sarcasm as she walked over to the two boys.
“How’d you know?” Cliff asked.
Jewel rolled her eyes at Cliff.
“The only person you fooled is him,” she said somewhat loudly, glancing at Jesse, “I’m surprised Chief Hightower isn’t out here.”
“How’d you know we’d be here and not someplace else?
“You won’t feel bad about stealing from Mr. McAlister. Everyone knows that he plows half his crop under.
In the distance a dog started barking.
“Be quiet,” Cliff demanded and then added, “Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well help. Here’s what we’ll do. Jesse and me will go into the field and bring you watermelons. You pile them up in the ditch next to the road. We’ll cover ‘em with the tarp and some dirt and come get them tomorrow.”
Jewel saluted mockingly. “Yes, sir, Colonel.”
Jesse laughed as a perturbed Cliff led the two of them through a barbed wire fence into a watermelon patch.
The field belonged to an old man by the name of Jeremiah McAlister, whose farmhouse was about a quarter of a mile further up the road. Mr. McAlister had been a pig farmer for most of his life. In fact, his house was practically wallpapered with ribbons from his many grand champions at county fairs and one ribbon, of which he was particularly proud, from the Texas State Fair in Dallas. For years, most of his crops served only as food for the pigs, but a few years back he decided that he was too old for pigs and sold off his stock. He still farmed a few crops like turnips and corn and watermelons, the best of which he loaded each week into the back of his ’34 Ford pickup and hauled them up to Jacksonville to sell at War Memorial Park. The rest of his crops, the watermelons that were too small, for example, he simply let rot and then plowed under. This made for a good fertilizer, but, in Cliff’s opinion, was a terrible waste of good watermelons.
Within minutes Jesse and Cliff were carrying large handfuls of smaller watermelons to the fence, where Jewel would take them and stack them neatly in the ditch. Within an hour the three had at least two hundred watermelons stacked orderly in the ditch. When they finished, they covered the watermelons with the tarp and then added some dirt and brush, so that if a car passed, which was pretty unlikely, no one would notice.
As they stood admiring their labor Jesse asked, “Okay, wise guy, we got the watermelon, how do we get ‘em to the shantytown?”
Cliff rolled his eyes, and Jewel began to laugh.
“What?”
“I swear, Jesse,” Cliff began, “you make the best grades in school, but if you had to match wits with a jack-ass you’d need crib-notes.”
#
It was a little after noon when Chief Thomas Jefferson Hightower’s
“Okay, what are you cookin’ up?” Jewel asked Cliff as she and Jesse caught up with him.
“Nothin’.”
Jesse and Jewel look at each other, neither buying it.
“Nothin’, my butt,” Jewel replied.
“Let me think on it a while, and I’ll let y’all in on it when I have a plan.”
#
COUNTY ROAD 36,
ONE MILE SOUTH OF ELZA, TEXAS
12:31 a.m. June 27, 1936
Cliff and Jesse walked quietly along the long gravel road. It was after midnight, and neither boy wanted to get caught. Under his arm Cliff carried a rolled up tarp. Finally they came to a road crossing, where Cliff stopped.
“Now will you tell me what we’re doing out here?” Jesse asked in a loud whisper.
From across the road and hidden by the shadow of a large live oak tree, Jewel answered, “Stealing watermelons.”
Jesse and Cliff both turned their heads in her direction in shock.
“What are you doing here?” Cliff asked in even a louder whisper.
“Same as you. Stealing watermelons,” she answered with both innocence and sarcasm as she walked over to the two boys.
“How’d you know?” Cliff asked.
Jewel rolled her eyes at Cliff.
“The only person you fooled is him,” she said somewhat loudly, glancing at Jesse, “I’m surprised Chief Hightower isn’t out here.”
“How’d you know we’d be here and not someplace else?
“You won’t feel bad about stealing from Mr. McAlister. Everyone knows that he plows half his crop under.
In the distance a dog started barking.
“Be quiet,” Cliff demanded and then added, “Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well help. Here’s what we’ll do. Jesse and me will go into the field and bring you watermelons. You pile them up in the ditch next to the road. We’ll cover ‘em with the tarp and some dirt and come get them tomorrow.”
Jewel saluted mockingly. “Yes, sir, Colonel.”
Jesse laughed as a perturbed Cliff led the two of them through a barbed wire fence into a watermelon patch.
The field belonged to an old man by the name of Jeremiah McAlister, whose farmhouse was about a quarter of a mile further up the road. Mr. McAlister had been a pig farmer for most of his life. In fact, his house was practically wallpapered with ribbons from his many grand champions at county fairs and one ribbon, of which he was particularly proud, from the Texas State Fair in Dallas. For years, most of his crops served only as food for the pigs, but a few years back he decided that he was too old for pigs and sold off his stock. He still farmed a few crops like turnips and corn and watermelons, the best of which he loaded each week into the back of his ’34 Ford pickup and hauled them up to Jacksonville to sell at War Memorial Park. The rest of his crops, the watermelons that were too small, for example, he simply let rot and then plowed under. This made for a good fertilizer, but, in Cliff’s opinion, was a terrible waste of good watermelons.
Within minutes Jesse and Cliff were carrying large handfuls of smaller watermelons to the fence, where Jewel would take them and stack them neatly in the ditch. Within an hour the three had at least two hundred watermelons stacked orderly in the ditch. When they finished, they covered the watermelons with the tarp and then added some dirt and brush, so that if a car passed, which was pretty unlikely, no one would notice.
As they stood admiring their labor Jesse asked, “Okay, wise guy, we got the watermelon, how do we get ‘em to the shantytown?”
Cliff rolled his eyes, and Jewel began to laugh.
“What?”
“I swear, Jesse,” Cliff began, “you make the best grades in school, but if you had to match wits with a jack-ass you’d need crib-notes.”
#
It was a little after noon when Chief Thomas Jefferson Hightower’s
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