Timothy Prier wanted to be a detective when he grew up. Joseph, his best friend, had a dad who was a detective. and Joseph told a bunch of stories about how his dad caught bad guys using stealth and his gun.
Timothy loved hearing those stories. He wished he could go visit Joseph’s house and see his dad’s gun, but he never was able to. Whenever he mentioned it to his mama, Josephine, she always mutter something about “different colored skin” and “intolerance” and “just plain rude.”
Since Timothy couldn’t see Joseph’s dad’s real gun, he had a special routine that he would repeat every weekend. After he did all of his chores for the week, each Saturday Timothy would receive just enough money to purchase a hard-candy handgun. Timothy assumed that it was probably not as big as the real thing, but he loved getting one just the same. Each Saturday, Timothy would go to Mr. Turner’s Drug Store and Mr. Turner would say, “Mornin’, son!”
“Mornin’, sir,” he would always reply. Then Timothy would go straight for the candy section. He would pick one that was blue, because that color was closest to black. He wanted it to be as authentic as possible. He would purchase his gun, give it a good lick, and then place it in his pocket. His mama didn’t like that because it ruined his trousers, but a detective always needs his gun.
He would then go back home to find out that his six year old sister, Louise, had done something terribly wrong, and he would have to figure out what she had done. For some reason Louise would always get upset by this, probably because Timothy always caught her and always had to shoot her dead. Louise didn’t like this, and would always tell on him. His mama would always say that he was too young to be playing with guns, candy or real, but Timothy always thought otherwise. He was nine and half years old, for goodness sake. He needed a gun to keep the crime off the streets.
One Saturday morning, while Timothy was getting his weekly handgun, something was inconsistent with his normal routine. After his typical greetings with Mr. Turner, Timothy went to pick out his blue prop. As he did this he heard the front door of the shop open and close and someone yell, “Bob! I knew it! I just plain knew it! I knew that she was cheatin’ on me! That dang slut, Patricia!” Timothy wheeled around to see Mr. Cuckeld, the town bar owner wearing a wife beater and olive corduroy pants, both in need of washing.
“Calm down Carter, are you sure? How did you find out?” Mr. Turner said.
“I just know! I heard them talking outside of my bar about meeting up with each other tomorrow at eight. Her and that idiot, Don Perkins!”
“Well, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna kill her!”
“What?!”
“I”m gonna kill the both of ‘em! After all I’ve given her! A good house, a modest living. And how dare he take what’s mine! I’m gonna kill ‘em, tomorrow at eight, they said their going to meet at the motel next door to my bar, and you’re gonna help me.”
“What makes you think I’m gonna help you, Carter?”
“Come on, Bob! You know what it’s like-”
“Alright! Alright. I’ll go with you.”
“Great. Meet me at seven so we can get everything read and set up. These two are gonna get everything they got coming to them.” Timothy couldn’t believe it! He was about to catch two criminals in the act! He was going to buy his gun from Mr. Turner and pretend like he didn’t just hear everything that they had said. Then he would meet up with them tomorrow at seven and spy on them and see them commit their crime. Then he would go to Joseph’s dad and get them in trouble. Finally, Timothy would be a real detective.
* * *
Robert Turner always liked to think of himself of a decent man that always had horrible things happen to him. When he was 13 his mother died and his father had a serious drinking problem after that. When he was old enough, Bob opened his own drug store and tried to help as many people as he could with his products. Sadly, his business wasn’t doing very well. He only had a couple of regular customers, one of whom being a young black child that only bought a candy handgun once a week. Then, a few years ago, his wife left him for a better work of a man. It broke his heart and it re-broke it whenever he thought of it. That’s why, when Carter Cuckeld came to him asking for help with his wife, Bob was a little more sympathetic, and a little more willing to help, than most. Now it was almost seven and he was a little worried about Carter was going to do, but he had said he was going to be there, and he was a man of his word. Now as he arrived at Carter’s bar, Carter yelled, “Bob, I was worried you weren’t gonna come!”
“I said I was gonna show, didn’t I?” replied Bob.
“Yeah, but since what we’re gonna do... anyway. I’ve got the supplies and the plan. Are you ready for this?”
“I guess.”
“Alright well I found out that she’s gonna be in the motel and then he has to meet up with her a bit later. We’re gonna go up and snuff her out and then we’ll wait for him and take care of him too. Quick and easy, get rid of this scum so I don’t have to see ‘em every day. We’ll strangle them, so it’s quiet, but I brought my gun in case anything gets out of hand.”
“I don’t know-”
“No, no, it’ll all be good. I’ll do everything, and you’ll hold the gun, and whatever you do will be self defense. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Alright, Carter. I’m letting you take the reins with this. I’ll just be by your side.”
“That’s all I wanted, Bob.” They then waited until they saw Patricia Cuckeld heading towards the motel and then after she entered they followed her to her room. Carter wasn’t very stealthy once they were near her room. “I know what you’re doing here, Patty!” he yelled.
“Yeah right, Carter! You have no idea why I’m here, no proof or anything!” Bob could only look at Patricia with contempt. Before, whenever he thought of his wife, he could only think of how much he loved and missed her. Now, looking at Patty, all he could think of was getting back at her, giving her what she deserved seeing Patty get what she deserved.
“I got proof enough, and I’m gonna stop you in your tracks, Patty!”
“You can’t stop me from doin’ anything! You never could, and you never will.” And with that Carter whipped out his belt took four large steps across the small, motel room and began to end his wife’s life. His eyes went dark and was gritting his teeth. She was clawing at his arms, but she was quickly losing the struggle. Then she finally stopped moving.
* * *
Don Perkins was so excited to see Patricia again. This relationship they had was the as real as it could get. Every time he saw her, he couldn’t get her out of his head days after, and now he was just about to see her again. He made his way up the stairs to the room that he knew Patricia was going to be in. He opened the door and he saw Patricia laying with her head in her husband’s lap. His stomach dropped. What was going on? Patricia hated her husband. Carter then got up and Patricia’s body eerily fell to the floor. Something was terribly wrong. Her body didn’t move at all. Carter made his way towards Don, and Don couldn’t move. Carter had a belt in his hands.
* * *
Timothy was terrified. He had followed Mr. Turner into the bar, and then he had followed him and Mr. Cuckeld into the motel. Since they were both so distracted by what they had to do, they that he had followed them, at that point he thought he was doing a pretty good job at being a detective. Then the door closed and all he heard was yelling and then stomping around. He was a little scared about what might have just happened, but he just held his gun in his pocket and kept quite, a detective always kept at his post.
Then Timothy heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He moved into the shadows as the man opened the door into the room where Mr. Turner and Mr. and Mrs. Cuckeld were. The door was left open, so now Timothy had a clear view of what was going on. He saw Mrs. Cuckeld’s body on the ground and Mr. Cuckeld headed for the man that had entered the room. Mr. Cuckeld had an extreme look in his eye as he wrapped his belt around the man’s neck, and Timothy involuntarily gasped and Mr. Cuckeld and Mr. Turner both turned their heads to him. Mr. Cuckeld yelled, “Get the boy!” and Mr. Turner ran to get him, and Timothy made no move to escape, paralyzed by fear. Mr. Turner grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a chair in a corner of the room.
“What are you doing here, boy? You have no business being here!” Mr. Turner exclaimed. Timothy didn’t know how to respond. He simply remembered a time where his mother said that if he ever got into trouble with some white folks that he should tell them about his life. Tell them about how nice his family was and what he liked to do in his spare time, but always respectfully, calling them “sir” or “ma’am.”
“Well, sir, I’m Timothy Prier and I have a little sister named Louise and she’s just six. And I have a mama, her name is Josephine, and she loves me and my sister. My father works in the tire factory on the outskirts of town. He’s a good worker, always gets enough money for my mama to make good meals for us. Mama says that’s a mighty fine blessing for us to have and that we should be grateful for it every day.
I want to be a detective. It’s because my best friend’s dad’s a detective. I hear the neatest stories about it, I want to be able to keep the streets safe, sir.”
“What’s that kid blabbin’ about, Bob?” Carter shouted, with the man’s body at crumpled at his feet.
“His life story, he wants to be a detective or somethin’.”
Carter mutters, “This kid’s seen too much, Bob. We gotta get rid of him.”
“He’s just a kid, Carter, who’s gonna believe him?”
“He’s just a negro, Bob, just snuff him so we can get on with our night.”
“I can’t do that, Carter. If you want it done you’ll have to do it.” Timothy could barely hear them talking but he knew something bad was going to happen. He was holding onto his gun for dear life, just sitting in that chair. Then he saw Mr. Turner’s already sad face turn to anguish. Then there was an exchange of hands. Timothy felt something awful, something terrible was coming. He clutched his gun even harder. Mr. Cuckeld turned to face Timothy with a gun pointed towards his face. Triggers were pulled and within Timothy’s pocket were the remnants of a hard-candy handgun.
