Sewerville

by Aaron Saylor

“So how was my funeral?” he said, changing the subject now.

  “Your funeral?”

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy. “I assume that I had one. What was in the coffin, anyway?”

  Boone went with the new conversation. “I had Harley Faulkner burn up the leg off an old cow that I found layin’ in the road. We buried that.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Ol’ Harley never asked any questions?”

  Boone smiled. “Hell no,” he said. “He just put it in the furnace and cremated that fucker right up. When it comes to Walt Slone’s business, Harley’s way past the point of asking any questions. He just takes the money and runs.”

  The brothers chuckled at the total absurdity of it. Their laughter echoed in the cabin, a brief but warm reminder of sunnier days which they had not seen together in far too long.

  After things died back down, Jimmy asked, “Did Mama come?”

  “Did she come to what?” asked Boone.

  “To my funeral.”

  “Nah,” Boone said, without hesitation. He saw no point in letting Jimmy get his hopes too high. “In case you didn’t know, we ain’t gettin’ along very good with Mama these days.”

  Jimmy nodded his head and smiled, a wide grin that closed his eyes to barely more than slits. Boone knew from childhood that such a smile was when you really could tell that Jimmy was happy. Truly, honestly happy. He didn’t smile like that often, but when he did, there was no doubt that he meant it. Perhaps their darkest days were behind them, and soon enough they could finally get back to living the way that brothers were supposed to live. Perhaps. Perhaps.

  SURPRISE

  Boone drove back to Sewardville shortly past one o’clock that morning. Despite the late hour, he felt as wide awake as he’d been in months. Seeing Jimmy had been just the shot of adrenaline he needed; once again he was convinced their plan would work, after all. Maybe they’d hit a little unexpected turbulence, but it wasn’t enough to bring the whole airplane down. He could go back, fend off the sheriff for a day or so, then get Samantha – there would still be Karen, but he could deal with Karen – before finally heading back for Jimmy.

  Goodbye Sewerville, hello, F.B.I., and how the heck are ya, brand new life.

  The cell phone service in the hills of Gallatin County was spotty at best, but as he got closer to Owenton he picked up full bars again. Just as he drove past the Chevron station where he’d stopped earlier that night, his phone rang.

  He checked the caller I.D.. It was Elmer Canifax.

  Fuck.

  Boone’s first inclination was that if he picked up that phone, only negatives could result. His world already teetered on the verge of the steaming pit and he risked falling down there with the rusty farm equipment, the meth dealers and the mobile homes. Plus, it might not even be Elmer. It could just as easily be John Slone, having dispatched Elmer and scrolled through his phone to find Boone’s number and solidify the belief that Boone was moving against the family.

  But as the cell chimed on, Boone thought to himself: if it was Elmer, that might actually help. Just a few hours ago, it seemed sure that there were no more friendly faces in Sewardville, at least, nobody who might be willing to go all in against the Slone family. Not with J.T. Rogers dead, and Elmer likely so. But if Elmer was still alive… If Elmer managed to escape the sheriff’s wrath, he would most certainly know that was only temporary, that sooner or later John Slone would come calling with blood in his eyes. When that day came, Elmer would need some force behind him. Boone could be that force for Elmer. Elmer could be that force for Boone.

  Regardless, Boone was headed back to Sewardville and when he got there, would have to face the Reaper. Might as well not do it alone.

  He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Boone! Where in the fuck are you?” Elmer’s voice ran like a locomotive, as though he’d started his rant while alone, hit full throttle, then called Boone and kept right on going.

  “Where are you?” said Boone, purposely ignoring Elmer’s question.

  “You gotta help me!”

  “Slow down, Elmer.”

  “Goddamn Boone! Rogers is dead! Goddamn!” Elmer screamed. “The sheriff’s comin’ after us! He’s on our ass and we’re in some deep shit here we’re fuckin’ in some real deep fuckin’ goddamn shit here where are you fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

  Boone held the phone at length until Elmer finished his diatribe. When the voice on the other end of the phone settled back down, Boone said calmly, “Tell me where you are. I’ll meet you.”

  Elmer breathed heavily, trying to regain some composure. “Rogers is dead.”

  “I know.”

  “The sheriff killed him. Sure as fuck, Boone, he did it, he fuckin’ killed J.T., I’d bet anything.”

  “You’re right. He did.”

  “Goddamn right he did.” Elmer paused. “Wait. You know for sure?”

  “Yeah, I know for sure,” said Boone.

  Another pause from Elmer. Then, “How?”

  Boone heard sudden suspicion in Elmer’s voice and realized that he couldn’t tell the full truth here. If Elmer knew that Boone had been present when the sheriff killed Rogers, then he would believe with good reason that Boone and the sheriff were on the same side, that Boone had double–crossed them, got the deputy killed and now had Elmer square in his sights. Not true of course, but Boone didn’t want to put any thoughts in Elmer’s head. He couldn’t lose his backup now.

  “The sheriff came lookin’ for me after he took care of Rogers,” Boone said, not lying. “He knows I’m in with you. He’d have killed me, too, but I managed to get out before he could do it.”

  “You got out?”

  “Yeah.”

  Elmer considered it.

  “All right then,” he said, finally. “Where are you now?”

  “I can’t say,” said Boone.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I can’t say. What do you want, Elmer?”

  “Meet me down at Coppers Creek, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in two hours,” said Boone, all too aware of the irony in the choice of location.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, as Elmer chafed. “What the fuck am I gonna do for two hours? Where are you, anyway?”

  “I told you, I can’t say where I’m at so don’t you worry about it,” said Boone. “If you want me to meet you, fine. Just go up to the creek. Sit tight when you get there. You ought to be glad I’m meeting you at all, with the way this shit’s comin’ down around our heads. Just be there.” Then he hung up.

  This changes things, Boone thought. He flashed to Jimmy in the cabin, saying they should hit Walt again. Now. Finish the job. Now. Maybe they would, after all.

  Two hours later, Boone found Elmer just a few yards downstream from the same section of Coppers Creek where he’d taken Jimmy all those months ago.

  Elmer crouched near the ground, behind a dense briar thicket that grew near the edge of the water and shielded him almost completely, especially in the darkness. Boone wouldn’t have seen Elmer at all if Elmer hadn’t caught his attention with a sharp “Hey!” at the moment Boone unknowingly walked within five feet of his hiding place in the briars.

  Boone stopped as soon as he heard the familiar voice. He looked around, but didn’t see anything. Then the thicket moved, and Boone reached for the pistol holstered at his side.

  “Hold on! It’s me, dammit!” Elmer said as he came out into the open.

  “You really are a special kind of dumb, you know that?” said Boone as he took his hand off his gun. “I could have blown your head off.”

  Elmer shrugged and forced a sarcastic grin. “Yeah, but you didn’t. Besides, who else did you think would be out here, anyway?”

  Boone turned, headed back towards the truck, motioned for Elmer to follow. “We better get goin’.”

  “Hold on,” said Elmer. “
I ain’t ready to go just yet.”

  Boone stopped.

  “What’s your plan?” Elmer continued. “I ain’t so sure I wanna just jump in with you. Hell, for all I know, the sheriff put you up to meetin’ me out here.”

  Irritated, Boone whipped back around and took two steps in Elmer’s direction. “The way I see it, whatever plan I got, it’s better than anything you got alone,” he said. “Sooner or later, the Slones will track you down. If and when they track you down, you’re deader than four o’clock. You come with me, at least you got a chance.”

  “I ain’t stupid,” said Elmer. “You wouldn’t come out here if you didn’t need me, too.”

  Boone knew he was right. Still, he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of actual agreement. The truth was, if either one of them hoped to avoid a spot on Harley Faulkner’s embalming table, they needed each other. Otherwise, the sheriff would just hunt them one by one like deer on Thanksgiving. If the sheriff didn’t do it himself, he’d surely call in some of the many favors owed to the Slone family from across the state of Kentucky, if not the whole southeastern United States.

  They had to work together in these next few crucial hours. That might give them a puncher’s chance. If they could strike the Sheriff quick and hard before he got to them, then they could get through this. If. If. If.

  Boone took a couple of steps toward the creek. There, he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, paced around on the damp ground, thought about the situation. The creek flowed by in slow, watery whispers, lapping gently against the muddy bank. Boone stared out at the black water and saw Jimmy standing out there, with his hands duct taped behind his back.

  “You’re right,” said Boone when he came back to reality.

  “What about?” said Elmer.

  “About me needing you,” said Boone. “I need you, you need me. That’s just the way it’s gonna be. We might as well quit fuckin’ around.”

  “Mmmm–hmmm.”

  “Mmmm–hmmm.” Boone kicked at the ground, busting up the soft soil in clumps.

  Elmer walked out from the safety of the briar thicket, until he stood next to Boone on the creek’s edge. Together they silently looked out across the narrow waterway, their attention momentarily captured by the shimmering arcs of moonlight that danced atop the ceaseless current.

  “You know how it is,” said Boone, his voice as steady as the water before them. “There’s only one way out of this for both of us.”

  “Yeah. I know. Get them before they get you, ain’t that the saying?”

  Boone inhaled the cool spring air. Each man faced the creek, not each other. Neither knew what to say next, but both felt like they should say something.

  After five minutes of awkward quiet, Boone spoke up again. “You ever killed anybody before, Elmer?”

  Elmer seemed shocked. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I figured I may as well ask, given the circumstances,” said Boone with a shrug.

  Elmer rubbed his bald head, hesitated for a full five seconds even though he knew full well the answer. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “You think you could?”

  “Kill somebody?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t see as how I got a choice in the matter,” said Elmer firmly.

  “That ain’t much of an answer ,” said Boone.

  FAMILY

  He digs in the dirt.

  Jimmy digs in the dirt.

  They dig in the dirt.

  Her green eyes, the soft wrinkles around them, the wrinkles that squeeze together every time she smiles at him. Her sweet smell of powder and lavender lotion. She loves white orchids, the Mountain orchids, with their delicate white petals drooping together at the ends like tiny hands clasped in prayer.

  Hundreds thousands millions of orchids, tumbling gently in the wind, falling all around like the softest rain.

  The dig in the dirt.

  They dig in the cold dirt.

  They dig holes for orchids, there in the dirt, in the cold dirt. Their hands are frozen. Cold dirt packs in their fingernails, dirt up their arms, dirt dirt dirt.

  They dig holes.

  Holes for flowers.

  They dig a hole.

  A hole for a person.

  A hole for Ellen Slone.

  In the dirt, in the dirt, in the dirt.

  She stumbles through the moonlit woods up around Coppers Creek. Her silver hair, tied up in a ponytail. It bounces high with each loping stride that she takes. He never forgets that, how high her silver pony tail bounced.

  Her green eyes, her eyes with the soft wrinkles around them, hidden underneath a black blindfold wound tight around her head. Her hands are bound behind her back with grey duct tape.

  They did this to her.

  She runs, the best she can run, but she is old and her best isn’t good enough. Boone chases behind her, and Jimmy behind him, and they run and they run and they run, and then she falls, and she cries, and she begs

  Please don’t

  Don’t do this

  Please let me go please please

  He wonders: could Ellen somehow get away? Should he let her get away? Just let her get up and run into the night, let her disappear, let it all disappear.

  He can’t kill her or anyone else. He is not a killer. Is he a killer? He is not a killer.

  Please don’t

  Don’t hurt me Just let me go I can run away, I won’t tell anyone, I have money.

  But they can’t let her run away.

  Why is Walt doing this to me?

  Because he wants to.

  Why are you doing this?

  Because he wants me to.

  She lays on the ground, begging him for mercy. Begging him to let her go. He can’t do that. He wishes he could but he can’t. He raises the pistol, aims at her head.

  Please don’t

  Please don’t

  I’m sorry.

  He holds the gun on her. He wants to let her go. They can’t let her go. How did he get into this? He is not a killer.

  He steadies his aim. He has to do this. Walt wants him to do it. Walt made him some promises, if he does this thing, if he does this one thing he can have Karen and be part of the family.

  He closes his eyes because he can’t watch. He will do it, yes, but he can’t watch. She has such pretty silver hair. Her silver hair, tied up in a pony tail. He can’t watch. He closes his eyes and keeps them shut tight. He readies himself for the deed, the terrible deed.

  He is not a killer.

  He will kill her.

  But something goes wrong. Before he can squeeze the trigger, he feels a hard push in his chest, and he opens his eyes to find that Ellen has jumped up. Ellen has knocked him down.

  Ellen is running away.

  Maybe she can get away.

  Maybe they can let her get away.

  But she doesn’t get away. Boone lifts his pistol and a gunshot cracks the chilled air, and another, and another, crack crack crack one right after the other. All four shots hit Ellen, he’s not sure where but it doesn’t really matter where. They hit her. That is all that matters. They hit her and she falls. The blindfold slips off. She dies. She dies with her eyes open and blood streaming through her silver hair.

  But something does not seem right. He was supposed to shoot, but he can tell from the smoke that is not coming out of his gun barrel that he has not fired his weapon.

  He hears Jimmy’s voice behind him. You okay?

  I’m okay, says Boone. What the fuck happened?

  I got her, says Jimmy. She tried to run, but I got her. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, brother. You ain’t no killer, after all.

  It hurts.

  ELLEN

  Boone and Elmer drove by the hospital, and saw John’s police cruiser and Karen’s black Escalade parked close to the medical center’s entrance. That confirmed it: all of the key players in the Slone empire were gathered there at the Sewardville Medical Center. So, Boone and Elme
r headed back out of town, towards the big house on the hill. Walt’s house.

  Elmer couldn’t help but feel nervous now. “What if somebody decides to come back up here?” he said, as they started up the incline towards the Slone house.

  “They won’t,” said Boone.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “They won’t,” said Boone. “Right now, John and Karen won’t leave their daddy’s side unless they have to. And if they were lookin’ for us, I’d imagine this would be the last place they’d come.”

  The driveway was empty, and the house dark save for a security light that cast its white light towards the corner of the house where the cars normally parked.

  Boone shut his headlights off as he turned in from the highway. He turned the truck towards the house and then made a sharp cut into the dewy yard, leaving wet tracks in the grass as he drove across the steep face of the hill and eventually stopped outside the fenced–in grave of Ellen Slone. He locked in the emergency brake, picked up his pistol, and got out of the vehicle, leaving the engine running.

  After a brief hesitation, Elmer followed Boone to the gravesite. The two men stood only a foot away from the black marble headstone that marked Ellen’s final repose.

  “Do you remember what you asked me about her, the other day?” said Boone, in a quiet voice. “Back at your house, when you showed me the guns and drugs you stole from Walt?” He nodded towards the tombstone.

  “Not really,” said Elmer.

  Boone bit his lower lip. Of course Elmer didn’t remember. But Boone remembered. “You asked me if it was true, what you’d been hearin’ all these years, that Walt paid me and Jimmy to kill his wife for him.”

  A deep unease crawled down Elmer’s gullet. He pondered his next words carefully, thought this is a test, as he glanced downward at Boone’s hand inside his jacket, surely holding on to a pistol. Then he said, “Oh yeah. That,” the safest words he could think of in the moment.

  “You still wanna know that answer?” said Boone.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, it’s true,” said Boone. “It’s goddamn true. You’re standin’ here with a cold stone killer, everything you heard about me, it’s true. I figured we ought to clear that up so we don’t get into this and you start doubtin’ that I’m capable of closing the deal.”