The Righteous Cut by Robert Skinner

turned out. When Richards pushed you guys out of the case, she figured it was some old enemy of his that he couldn’t afford to have the cops knowing about.”
    â€œThat’s my take on it, too. He may have pushed us off the kidnapping, but the killings are keeping us in the game. Besides the dead among Richards’ crew, there’s also a dead Negro that Daggett’s working on.”
    â€œButterbean Glasgo,” Farrell said.
    Casey grinned to himself. His son had only been in town a day and already he was clued in to the entire caper. “There’s another Negro custodial worker named Skeeter Longbaugh who’s missing. He may just be off on a drunk, but we’ll know for sure when we find him. But enough of that. I’m sure glad you’re home. It’s been lonesome without you.”
    Farrell’s voice sounded tired and far away. “I’ve missed you, too, Dad. I meant to come back sooner, but business kept me tied up for months. How are you?”
    Casey returned Brigid’s impish grin. “I’ve never been better. Why don’t you come to the office tomorrow and we’ll have lunch. I want to hear all about Cuba.”
    â€œIt’s a date. Give Brigid my love.”
    â€œI will. See you tomorrow.”
    â€œâ€™Night, Dad.”
    â€œGood night.” He put the receiver into the cradle. “He sent you his love.”
    â€œThat’s swell. But why didn’t you tell him?” Brigid asked.
    He looked blankly at her. “What?”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell him that I know he’s your son?”
    He put his arms around her waist and looked at her with an earnest expression. “There’s a reason. I wanted to be looking him in the eye when I told him. I want him to know that what I feel for you has nothing to do with his mother. I don’t want him to think that you’re some kind of replacement for her. Do you understand?”
    She took his face into her hands and looked into his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do.” She smiled again. “It’s time for you to go home.”
    He gave her a hangdog look. “Must I?”
    She affected an impatient expression. “Well, I guess we could talk about it, but don’t get any ideas.”
    ***
    As the day drew to a close, Skeeter began to recognize just how desperate his situation was. The police undoubtedly suspected his complicity in the kidnapping and murder. He was certain, too, that the big white man and his knife-crazy friend were also looking for him.
    His best hope for salvation lay with his Uncle Howard Blessey. A semi-retired car thief, Howard was wise in the ways of the underworld. He’d served three years in Parchman Prison and, according to family stories, had also survived several gun battles with rival thieves.
    He’d tried phoning Howard several times, but each time a mechanic had said the old man was out on the road. It was now past eight o’clock, and Skeeter was tired, hungry, and emotionally spent. If he didn’t find a place to hide soon, he would surely be picked up by the police.
    With desperation chipping away at his nerves, he left the corner bar where he’d been killing time and walked out into the gathering twilight. Entering City Park near the Delgado Trades School, he eventually reached the Carrollton Avenue park entrance. He crossed the broad avenue at the equestrian statue of General Beauregard and made his way over the Bayou St. John bridge to Esplanade Avenue.
    It was fully dark when he turned into Mystery Street. At the end of the street, he walked around to the kitchen door of a big frame house. He knocked gently as he smelled the aroma of ham frying through the screen.
    A pretty brown-skinned woman turned. Peering at his silhouette, she held a ten-inch butcher knife in her hand. “Who’s there?”
    â€œMabel, it’s Skeeter,” he hissed.
    She pushed open the screen and looked down at him.