Thank you to fellow Inkwell author @justclickindiva for the use of her gorgeous fractal art, "The Jade Necklace" ... and I will fill out the origin story briefly referenced in this story later on!
While still a child, Jesse Clyde James watched his parents driving through stop signs and red lights on a regular basis. So poor little Jesse never learned when to stop.
One would think that Covid-19 would have slowed down a career criminal whose specialty was burglarizing homes while owners were on vacation. Yet Jesse drove through that colossal stop sign, because there was nothing like picking targets the larger society would have little sympathy on, and Facebook was where people who were defying pandemic restrictions went to flex on the rest of the country.
Lofton County, VA emerged as a perfect spot to look for targets – in conservative southern Virginia, but where law enforcement had taken a strangely harsh stance on enforcing public health restrictions. Jesse Clyde James looked up Sheriff John Nottingham, the merciless old geezer of a law man behind that stance.
“Sit your a** down in your house and stay there, before I come sit it down!”
The old sheriff was not who you called about a burglary because you weren't where you were supposed to be, especially if you were in the two groups of people he hated the most: rich young White people defiantly continuing their summer activities, and Black people who had spent the past year standing up for their rights.
Once Jesse had established his target region and groups, then it became time for “shopping” while he overlooked more signs for stopping. Sheriff Nottingham was not the only law man to consider. One of the county's small towns reputedly had a brilliant police captain, and rumor had it in the comment sections that some Frenchman friend of his from Interpol had also moved to the county.
Yet Lofton County covered 80 square miles. What were the chances?
“I don't know,” Jesse's sister Bonnie said. “You've hit houses in Roanoke County – somebody next door in Lofton County may be noticing what is going on.”
“That old geezer of a sheriff doesn't care about his rich residents, and generally, White folks and French foreigners don't care about Black people,” he answered. “Don't be worried, Bonnie – you just get ready for when I finish shopping this county up.”
Jesse Clyde James had taken good care of Bonnie and the entire family – they all were living well by summer 2020. He could have retired after 30 years of burglary. But there was always one more house to burglarize, one more family to be punished for making people feel inferior by showing off their success.
After 30 years, it was an addiction, roused by the perfect birthday gift for Bonnie sitting around the neck of a stunning old Black French woman in Tinyville, VA. She was talking about going to a weekend wedding as her granddaughter went live on Facebook and Instagram. Madame was wearing a richly detailed jade necklace, made in the days when a woman like her could have only been a slave to the original wearer. Maybe her family had stolen it from some rich French Louisianan family back in the day. Maybe it was time for it to be stolen back.
C'est la vie – on Friday, July 17, 2020, Jesse Clyde James pulled up in his pickup truck dressed like a field hand, and pretended to be working across the road while watching old Monsieur and young Monsieur load up their motor home. There too was Madame, in a coral sun dress with some good costume jewelry – nice stuff, but the jade necklace was still in the house. Next to Madame was cute little matching Mademoiselle who had put the family's plans up on Facebook, which is how Jesse knew they were just about to leave.
Once the family was heading down the road, Jesse noticed that little Mademoiselle had left the door slightly ajar … and his instincts highlighted that stop sign. This was too easy. Also, the house was a converted red barn; the motor home and truck were gently but definitely used. The front yard was a garden full of things to eat: these were basically common farmer folks, well-dressed for their big day, but not actually rich. That jade necklace truly did not fit them.
But according to what he had seen on Facebook, that jade necklace was somewhere behind that door left ajar, and Jesse wanted it. In his mind, every burglary was an act of taking ownership over things his family deserved but had never been able to earn, of leveling the books of the world.
Speaking of leveling – it came as Jesse, six feet inside the house door, met the night and saw the stars.
“Got him,” Captain Ironwood Hamilton of Tinyville's police said after Jean-Paul Philippe Dubois, his friend retired from JAG and Interpol, knocked Jesse clean out.
“I can't stand either one of y'all,” old Sheriff Nottingham growled, “but y'all were right about checking Fussbook for criminals coming this way.”
“Thank you for getting permission for us to borrow Mrs. R.M.S. Slocum-Lofton's jade necklace from 1874,” Captain Hamilton said.
“We knew Mr. James would think my Black French mother shouldn't have that, just like you did, Sheriff,” Major Dubois purred.
Sheriff Nottingham saw red from anger at being compared with a criminal, but he knew it was a fair comparison and so forced himself to calm down. He had hated to see Ébène-Cerise Dubois's ebony hands even touching that priceless necklace. Jesse Clyde James had felt the same, just on the other side of the law.
“I can't stand either one of y'all, or Fussbook either,” the sheriff growled, “but, I'll put out the trash with anyone – okay, deputies, come get him, and let's get out of here!”