Day One
July 21, 1952
Monday Night
The pool cue smacked upside River’s head with a force that dropped him to his knees. Colors exploded deep in his brain and little hammers pounded at the inside of his skull. He was hurt and hurt bad. The hearing shut off in his left ear. He raised his hand to find it filled with blood.
Voices hollered.
They were deafening and jumbled and overlapped to the point where he couldn’t understand anything except an occasional word.
A boot landed in his ribs.
“How’s it feel little girlie?”
His brain spun.
“You want some more? Huh? You want some more?”
Another kick came, lower, more in his stomach.
He braced for another one.
It came from behind him, from a second man.
Then an iron fist grabbed his hair and pulled his face up. Spit landed in his eyes.
“Cut his eyes out!” someone shouted.
A man’s face got close to his.
“You want me to cut my dick off? I’ll cut a dick off all right. It’s not going to be mine though.”
“Do it!” someone shouted. “Cut it off.”
River tried to get to his feet but couldn’t.
His muscles wouldn’t work.
His head was dark with pain.
Three guys held him down.
A fourth one grabbed his belt and undid it.
River struggled with every working molecule left in his body.
It did no good.
He wasn’t even close.
Suddenly the roaring dialed down a touch, then abruptly fell to almost nothing.
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
The voice came from a female somewhere behind him.
“Leave him alone!”
Now he recognized it, it came from January. He twisted his head and saw her, clutching what was left of her white dress to her body.
“Those men raped me,” she said. “Him and him.”
“Bullshit.”
“Jesus, Jackson, look at her.”
“She’s lying.”
To prove it, he punched her in the face.
She raised her hand, staggered back and dropped to the ground. The dress fell to the side. She wore no panties. Between her legs there was blood.
She didn’t move, not a muscle.
The hands came off River.
He staggered to his feet.
“Fair fight,” someone shouted. “One at a time.” A hand shook River’s shoulder. “Is that good with you, mister? A fair fight, one at a time.”
River said nothing.
Instead he picked January up and got her to a booth.
Her eyes opened.
She was hurt but she wouldn’t die.
“Stay here,” he said.
Then he walked back.
On the pool table he spotted a bottle of beer, half-empty. He drank what was left in one long swallow. Then he held the bottle by the neck and busted the bottom off. Jagged glass was left.
He set it down on the edge of the table and shook the blood out of his left ear.
He squared off to the two men.
“Now, cut your dicks off, both of you. Use that to do it. Cut ’em off or I’ll do it for you. If I have to do it, I’m going to cut your eyes out too. First your dicks, then your eyes. Do you understand?”
One of the men tried to bust out.
The crowd closed in and pushed him back.