My lifelong best friend and mentor Jaybird warned me not to be deputized, but our little Mississippi Delta farming community was too remote for the law’s long arm to reach quickly, so I accepted the badge offered by the sheriff.
“We’ll soon learn how tough a deputy you are,” the old black man said, as we left church. “Tump Thompson is trying to court Pete Plugg’s daughter, Lottie Lou. Don’t dare do deputy duty.”
Pete and Tump were nose to nose, circling like two fighting cocks dead set on fricasseeing each other
Pete hated that ne’er-do-well Tump, and did his best to protect Lottie Lou from him, but since ladies love outlaws, she took a liking to Tump.
Leaving the Lord’s House that day, I strutted like a real sheriff, decked out in boots, khakis, big belt buckle, bolo tie, Stetson, and a new blazer with gold buttons that Mama gave me. After sharing a chew of Red Man tobacco, talking weather and crops a bit, and wishing each other well, we went our separate ways. I couldn’t wait to enjoy Mama’s big Sunday meal; Jaybird was looking forward to our afternoon fishing trip.
On the way to Jaybird’s house, Lottie Lou flagged us down. In a state of panic, she shrieked, “Tump’s drunker than a coot and him and Daddy are in the backyard, threatening to kill one another!”
Pete was a mechanic, and his backyard was cluttered with junk cars, spare parts, jacks, hoists, and Woof – a huge hound, part Mastiff, part Doberman – whose sole purpose was protecting his master’s inventory, a job he truly loved.
When I stepped out of the truck, Lottie Lou warned, “The situation is getting clean out of hand. You might ought to call the law.”
Patting the badge, I crowed, “Calm down, lady, I AM the law,” and strolled around back.
Pete and Tump were nose to nose, circling like two fighting cocks dead set on fricasseeing each other. Stepping between them, I commanded, “You boys break it up — I am the law.”
“Lord, Son, what happened?”
Both men ignored me. Turning to Tump, whose eyes were as red as maraschino cherries and whose 100-proof breath would defoliate cotton, I flashed my badge and growled, “Tump, by authority vested in me….”
Those words were barely out of my mouth when we slammed to the ground, grappling each other fiercely, throwing punches, cursing, and rolling over and over. Lottie Lou was right. The situation was clean out of hand, and I wasn’t exactly getting the upper hand. Then a third combatant entered the fray — Woof!
Tump sprinted straight to the nearest tree, and climbed to the top branches. When the sheriff arrived, he was staring down in abject terror at Woof’s sharp, glistening, salivating fangs.
“Lord, Son, what happened?” Mama asked, staring at the coat, with ripped-out elbows and missing gold buttons.
“Mama, please don’t ask,” I groaned. “How about we just say grace and eat?”
The next day, Jaybird and I went to the sheriff’s office to return the badge. As we drove home, Jaybird said, “Told you, boy: Don’t dare do deputy duty.”
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s upcoming book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
The book will be available before the holiday season. Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (jimmycecilreedjr@gmail.com).
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
