by Aaron Saylor
“A plan. Right. What kind of plan?”
Rogers stared at him.
“What kind of plan, J.T.?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Boone shook his head, slow, in sheer disbelief. Dumb boy. “You can’t tell me?” he snapped. “Don’t you understand that I’m the only thing standing between you and the grave right now? All I gotta do is walk back in that house, tell the Sheriff what’s out here in this building and who brought it there, and end of story. You and Elmer… bye bye.”
Rogers looked back over his shoulder at Alice, stalling.
After a full minute’s consideration, he said to Boone, “We’ll cut you in. With what’s in those crates, there’d be plenty of money to go around. You can start puttin’ yours away, in case you ever get sick of runnin’ Walt’s quarter machines.”
Boone stiffened. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin’. Don’t mean nothin’.” Rogers walked his words back. “I’m just sayin’, you could have somethin’ of your own. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
“Yeah, and I’d have to worry night and day that somebody was gonna come up behind me and tie a plastic bag over my head. It ain’t worth it. You guys oughtta get out of this shit right now, that’s all I can say.”
After that, they stood there. Nobody moved or said anything else; the only sound for the next while was the quiet whoosh of breath going in and out of their lungs.
Finally, Rogers said, “Are you gonna tell ‘em or what?”
Boone still weighed his options. He could send Rogers off into the night and talk his way around Sheriff Slone, then deal with the fallout later. Eventually, Walt would realize he’d been ripped off, and just who’d done the ripping, and when he did it wouldn’t take long for everything to get pieced back together and connected back to this night at Elmer’s. When that happened, Boone would have some hard questions to answer, and he’d probably have to answer them while staring down the barrel of a gun.
But he had time before that happened. He could come up with a story. And meanwhile, he could get a cut with Rogers and Elmer. There was a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise in the two crates, easy. His cut of a hundred grand could go a long way towards getting him and Samantha out of Sewerville.
Or, he could hand Rogers and the crates over to John Slone. That would put more blood on Boone’s hands, Rogers and Elmer and no telling who else that got caught in the crossfire. And there would be no cut of one hundred thousand.
“I want half of this deal,” Boone announced.
Rogers shook his head. “Half? You’re fuckin’ crazy.”
“Half.” Boone had made up his mind. He held firm. “Half, or you and Elmer can take your chances with the sheriff right here, tonight.”
Rogers inhaled deep. He didn’t like that deal. Half was a lot, not to mention that it only left the other half for sharing between Elmer and him. Then again, he had no real choice here. He had to agree to the deal. Elmer wouldn’t like it, but Elmer didn’t have any choice, either.
“How do I know you won’t take your half then give us up anyway?” Rogers asked.
“You don’t. But one thing you can take to the bank, if I let the word out that two of Walt Slone’s treasure chests are sittin’ under a tarp in Elmer Canifax’s meth shack and it was one of the sheriff’s favorite deputies that helped get ‘em there, then about an hour after that I’ll be draggin’ you boys down to Harley Faulkner’s funeral home to be burnt up with the garbage. And you know it, too.”
Rogers did know it. He paused again, as if he was actually considering some other choice, but he knew Boone was right. There was no other choice.
“All right,” he said. “It’s a deal. Half, and you keep quiet about this.”
“Half.” Agreed Boone. Then he added, “Now, get the fuck out of here.”
“What about her?” said Rogers, nodding towards Alice.
“I’ll take care of that,” said Boone.
The deputy looked him over, not quite sure the deal was really done. But again, Boone motioned him away, and this time Rogers did as told. He scampered out the door and soon after Boone heard the sounds of sticks and leaves underfoot as Rogers stalked away through the woods that loomed behind the outbuilding.
Boone turned back to Alice. “You’re comin’ with me,” he said, and then he took her by the arm and pulled her along with him, out of the shack and into the backyard. As they went towards the house, he told the girl not to worry, he’d take care of this for her, and oh by the way, if she said anything about what she just saw or heard, he’d kill her. She believed him.
By the time Boone and Alice walked back into Elmer’s house, Boone holding Alice fast by one elbow, Sheriff Slone had kicked over most of the furniture and cracked a couple of teenage skulls. When he heard them coming in – and it was easy to hear them coming in, because everyone else in the room was scared silent – the sheriff stood up straight, and blinked twice.
“Who the fuck is she?” he asked, pointing at Alice.
“She claims her name is Alice,” said Boone. “I found her outside. Kicked back in her car, smokin’ a cigarette.”
Of course this was a lie, but Alice gave no indication of the ruse. She stood motionless with her elbow caught in Boone’s grip, and stared off towards a far corner.
A look came over John Slone’s face that Boone had seen far too many times in the past: a confused but irritated look of what the fuck?
Boone continued, before the sheriff took a notion to say anything. “She was the only person out there. I just figured you’d want to see her. Just so you could be sure and check everybody out yourself.”
Slone looked the girl over, and saw nothing on the surface. Nags of suspicion still tugged at him, though, the natural side effects of his lawman ways. “Just sitting out in her car, smoking a cigarette?”
“Yeah,” said Boone.
“What kind of cigarette?”
“Fuck if I know. Ask her.”
The sheriff looked at Alice. “What kind of cigarette?”
For the first time since coming back into the house, she rolled her head around and made eye contact with the sheriff. “Marlboro Lights,” she said.
The sheriff would not be easily convinced. “Show me.”
Alice snorted with disdain, and then fished around in a small pocket on the hip of her dress. Boone held his breath and didn’t let it out until she actually did produce a pack of Marlboro Lights, which she held out for Slone’s satisfaction.
He took the cigarettes, held them, tossed them up and down, up and down, up and down then switched hands and tossed them up and down, up and down, up and down.
He said to Elmer, “This who you was with out there?”
Elmer arched his eyebrows and tipped his head at an angle, looking confused.
Slone’s voice quickened, got louder. “Don’t give me that shit, Elmer. When we pulled up, you were already outside.” He paused, gave Elmer time to think about it. “Were you with this young lady, or weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I was with her,” Elmer said quickly. “So what? You gonna tell me it’s illegal to smoke Marlboro Lights now?”
Boone didn’t like how this conversation was going. Clearly the sheriff had his suspicions; it wouldn’t take much more to set off all his alarms and send him out the front door, straight for the outbuilding. If either Elmer or Alice said just the wrong word or looked even the littlest bit nervous, this would get upside down in a hurry.
Boone regretted the agreement he’d just made with Rogers. That agreement was only a few minutes old and already, everything relied on the ability of Elmer and his young female friend to keep their shit together on the fly. That was a hell of a thing on which to rely.
Alice held out her hand, palm up, like she was ready to be handcuffed and led away. She said, “Unless you’re gonna take me to jail, I’d appreciate my cigarettes back, sheriff.”
Slone studied her wrists.
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Spines and sphincters stiffened all around the room. The girl dared to show less than proper respect; this might just get nasty.
But instead, the sheriff burst out laughing.
“Sure. Take ‘em,” he chuckled, and tossed the Marlboro Lights at Alice. The cigarette pack bounced off her chest and hit the floor with a faint ka–chunk; to everyone watching, the pack fell in slow, agonizing motion, like a lit match heading towards a pool of gasoline in a television commercial. A nervous ripple shuddered through the room, as everyone in the house waited for the violence they knew would surely come at any moment.
John Slone smiled. Nobody liked it when John Slone smiled. When John Slone smiled, folks got hurt.
The sheriff looked at the pack of cigarettes on the floor. Boone waited. The kids waited. Everyone waited. The smile on Slone’s face became a short smirk, then the smirk went away.
Boone’s whole body tensed up because he knew – knew – that the sheriff was about to jack the girl’s jaw. And when the sheriff got even with poor smart–ass Alice, there would be two or three or four dumbasses jump to her defense, and that meant if Boone wanted to get out of there, he’d have to brawl his way out.
But instead the sheriff just laughed.
“You better pick those up, honey,” he said. “If you don’t, I’m sure one of these shit–heels will. Some folks around here treat smokes like bread and water.”
And with that, John Slone turned his back and walked away.
Boone stood tense as ever, certain that any second the sheriff would spin quick on one heel and drop one punk kid or another with an uppercut to the chin. Boone believed that just as sure as he stood there, and he kept on believing it even as the sheriff’s footsteps clacked out the door and across the porch, headed for the front yard and the driveway beyond. In fact he didn’t stop believing it several minutes later, when the engine of the sheriff’s cruiser roared to life, and its tail lights disappeared down the country road. It was only when the car had been gone for several minutes, and no doubt traveled several miles down the highway back to Sewardville, that Boone believed the night had come to a close. Only then could he breathe.
WITCH
Shortly past two a.m. that same night, Boone did something that would have great consequence for many people both within the Slone family, and without it.
Boone and Karen lay in bed, she under the blankets in her favorite University of Kentucky t–shirt and shorts, he on top of the blankets and fully clothed. The night stand lamp was still on. Both of them sat upright with their neck and shoulders rested against the headboard.
“He just laughed at her?” Karen asked, incredulous after hearing the story of Sheriff Slone and Alice and what transpired between them at Elmer’s earlier that evening. “She said that and he just walked away?”
“Yep,” said Boone. “Basically, he walked away.”
“Basically.” She paused, let it sink in. “That doesn’t really sound like John. When have you seen him just walk away from a fight like that?”
“I’m telling you, he walked away.”
“You’d think she would know better.”
“Clearly she didn’t know shit. She’s damn lucky he didn’t jack her jaw right there.”
“Yeah she is.” That sank in, too. “Well, huh.”
Karen couldn’t believe it. Boone couldn’t believe it either. They lay in bed together in their bedroom at Walt’s house, and neither of them could believe it. John Slone passed on a chance to whip somebody’s ass? Who would believe that? Nobody would believe that.
Boone swung his legs around. He sat at the edge of the bed, with his back to his wife and his hands underneath his legs.
“There’s something else,” he said.
“Like what?”
“J.T. Rogers was up there.”
“With you and John?”
“No. He was already there. I found him out in Elmer’s meth shack.”
“Doing what?”
“He wasn’t looking for a bottle opener, I can tell you that.”
Karen tapped the back of her head twice against the headboard, and slid beneath the blanket until she was fully prone. Boone knew that when Karen did this, she really wanted to talk. That wasn’t often of late.
Boone said, “I think I saw a couple of your daddy’s crates, too. You know if anything’s missing from the last shipment?”
“Daddy thinks so,” she sighed. “After all, the numbers are down. Guess this is one thing that would help explain it, huh?”
“I guess so,” he said.
Boone got up from the bed. He walked over to the window, leaned against the window sill, and with his finger traced an invisible pattern on the glass which resembled nothing to either of them. Then he traced it again.
In a flat voice, he said, “The numbers are down.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I guess you’re going to tell John about this?”
“Of course,” she said.
“And your daddy?”
“Sure.” Karen rolled over on her side and now it was his turn to see her back. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell them tomorrow. Of course, they’ll want to know why you didn’t bring it up while you were there tonight, but I’ll let you figure out how to answer that. Anyway, they’ll take care of Elmer and Rogers.” She flipped over and faced him once more. “Daddy will appreciate you tellin’ this, Boone. You were a little slow on it, but still, you really came through for the family this time.”
“You think so, huh?” Boone said, without any hint of excitement or pride in his voice.
“Yeah,” Karen said. “I do.”
Boone didn’t take that as much of a compliment, but he didn’t let on that way to Karen. Neither of them said anything else for a long moment. Still Karen did not turn around to face him again. The stillness in the room pressed down on them like a cold steel beam.
Finally, she said, “Are you staying here, or going back to our house tonight?”
Boone felt no need to answer her. They both already knew where he was staying, or more accurately where he wasn’t staying. Boone would not sleep in Walt’s Slone’s house on the hill. Even if he had done something that might actually please Walt for the first time in a long time, Boone still didn’t want to sleep under the old man’s roof. He would go home to his bed, in his house, and sleep there with his own thoughts.
He reached out and quietly traced the meaningless design on the glass again. While he did that, Karen pulled the covers up to her chin, then stuck one arm out and switched off the lamp beside her. Darkness overcame them. Silence, too.
PART FOUR: THE ORCHID FESTIVAL
DREAMS
Samantha.
Karen. What the fuck. Karen.
He finds her down on her knees in the back yard. She digs in the dirt at the edge of the grass near the woods, tending to her orchids, the Mountain orchids that she loves so much, the delicate flowers with their thin white petals drooping together at the ends like tiny hands clasped in prayer.
How are you Boone? she asks, as she digs in the dirt.
Just fine, Mrs. Slone.
Ellen Slone digs in the dirt. Karen’s not here right now. She digs in the dirt.
That’s okay, he says. I come to see Walt.
She digs in the dirt. She looks up at him for just a quick instant, but she does not stop digging. Even though she smiles at him while she digs, there is a distance in her warm green eyes. Boone understands this. People come to see her husband Walt often and Boone knows why they come and he figures Ellen knows why, too, and he understands that after so long it must be hard to smile at these people and the things she knows they do for her husband. Not to mention the things her husband does for them.
Walt examines Boone’s pistol, a .38 special. Walt doesn’t know it, but that pistol used to belong to Boone’s daddy. Boone took it from the top drawer of his mother’s dresser. Daddy died before Boone was born.
The old man says, You know how to use th
is, right?
Sure, says Boone. I know how to use it. But Boone doesn’t know. It’s his daddy’s gun but he’s never shot it before. He can figure it out, though. He can, or Jimmy can.
Walt looks him over real good. Hope you ain’t getting second thoughts on me, son –
I ain’t. Boone thinks about it. Karen won’t know about this, right?
She won’t know.
How can you be sure?
I’m sure, son.
Boone holds the gun in his hands, measuring its weight. This used to be his Daddy’s gun. Jimmy always said Boone looked like their Daddy.
Now Boone has second thoughts. Not because he’s thinking of Daddy but because this is all just wrong. It’s wrong. Walt said take his word for it that Karen would never know, but Boone can’t just take his word for it. This is so wrong. What if Karen found out? She could find out. What if she found out?
He can’t do this.
Walt puts a hand on Boone’s shoulder and says, you really can go far with me. As far as you want to. And if you can go far with me, you can go far with Karen.
But Boone can’t do this.
Before he can give the gun back though, Jimmy yanks it out of his hand.
We ain’t getting’ second thoughts, says Jimmy. You know Walt Slone runs everything. He’s got the money. We can do this.
Easy for him to say.
We just gotta do this one thing, says Jimmy. One thing and then we’re done.
I don’t want to do this, says Boone.
We already said we would, says Jimmy. Walt expects us to do it and we gotta do it. Jesus, we already got half the money.
Let’s give him the money back, says Boone.
We can’t do that, says Jimmy.
Sure we can! says Boone. Just give it back to him and tell him we’re out. We can’t do this, Jimmy. This is all wrong. Why did we think we could do this? We’re in way, way over our heads. He can get his own son to do this. Let John do it. We are such dumb boys and this is all so wrong, and we can’t do it. We can’t do this, Jimmy.