The Witness

on faulty criteria,” she began. “Mr. Blake’s conclusion, I mean, not yours.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Lindy grinned. “That’s a pretty way of saying he’s full of shit, if you don’t mind plain speaking.”
    “No, I don’t. Yes, he’s full of shit.”
    Brooks took a sip of coffee, shifted his attention to Ty. “How much did he pay you to kill me, Ty?”
    “Oh, well, God,” Abigail managed, and surged to her feet.
    “Relax, honey, Ty isn’t going to hurt anybody. Are you, Ty?”
    “No, sir. No, ma’am. I come to tell you. Lindy said that was best, so here I am.”
    “Tell me what happened with Blake.”
    “Okay. See, he called me out there, to the house. I ain’t never been in there, and it’s sure something. Like out of a movie. I thought maybe he had some work for me, and I could sure use it. He had me come right into that study of his, and sit right down in this big leather chair. Offered me a drink. I said no, thanks. But he just poured it, set it there beside me. My brand, too. I got a weakness, Brooks.”
    “I know it.”
    “But I haven’t had one drop since you arrested me, God’s truth, not till tonight. I was kinda nervous, sitting there in that fancy house. Hekept saying how one drink wouldn’t hurt me. I was a man, wasn’t I? I didn’t take it.”
    “All right, Ty.”
    “But he kept saying it, and saying how he had some work, but he didn’t hire pussies, and what was that word I told you, Lindy?”
    “Eunuchs. Fucker—sorry, more plain speaking.”
    “I agree with your opinion,” Abigail told him, then looked at Ty. “He tied your weakness to your manhood, and tied both to your desire for work. It was cruel and manipulative.”
    “It made me mad, but it felt true when he said it. How you tried to make me feel less of a man, Brooks, and how you humiliated me, and castrated—he said you’d castrated me, and it made me feel bad. Mad, too. And that glass of Rebel Yell was right there. I only meant to have the one, just to prove I could. But I had another, and I guess another after that.”
    Ty’s eyes filled, and when he lowered his head, his shoulders shook.
    Abigail rose, left the room.
    “I just kept drinking, ’cause the glass was right there, and it never seemed empty. I’m an alcoholic, and I know I can’t have one drink and not take another.”
    Carrying a tray of cookies, Abigail came back in. She set the plate on the table.
    As he watched her take one, pass it to a teary Tybal, Brooks thought he loved her more than breath.
    “He was cruel to you,” she said. “He should be ashamed of what he did to you.”
    “I kept drinking, and getting mad. He kept talking about what Brooks’d done, making me look weak and gutless in front of my own wife, how he was trying to run this town into the ground. Look how Brooks’d framed his son. Something had to be done about it.
    “He kept talking, and I kept drinking. He said what was needed was somebody with guts and balls. He asked if I had guts, if I hadballs. Goddamn right I do, that’s what I said. Maybe I’d just go kick your ass, Brooks.”
    Ty shook his head, hung it again. “I’ve been going to meetings, and I’ve been going to group. I’m getting to understand when I’ve been drinking I just want to go beat hell out of something. I hurt Missy ’cause of it. And between what he said and the drink, I was wound up good and proper. It seemed like a good thing when he said how ass kicking wasn’t enough. It had to be permanent. You’d killed my manhood, that’s what you’d done. The only way to get it back was to kill you. Since he’d be grateful, he’d give me five thousand dollars. Like a reward, he said. He gave me half of it there and then.”
    “He gave you money?” Brooks asked him.
    “I took it, too. I’m ashamed to say, it was cash money and I took it. But I didn’t keep it. Lindy’s got it. What he said—Mr. Blake said—to do was go on home, get my gun. How I oughta wait till after dark, sit on out here, on the road. Then I oughta call you up, tell you there was trouble. And when you drove out, I’d just shoot you. I went home to get my gun. Missy wasn’t there, as she’s over to her sister’s. I got my rifle, loaded it up, too, and I started thinking why the hell wasn’t Missy home. Started thinking she’d earned herself a couple good smacks. I don’t know how to explain, but I heard myself thinking those things, and it made me sick. It made me scared. I called Lindy, and he