Sewerville

by Aaron Saylor

  They stared at the headstone, neither one of them comfortable now. A soft wind whispered in the woods on the other side of the gravesite. Boone took his hand out of his jacket, turned his collar up around his neck to ward off the breeze, then put his hands in his pockets.

  Elmer relaxed, thinking he would not be shot. At least not for the time being.

  He said, “Why’d we come up here, Boone?”

  Boone pursed his lips, considered not answering. “I don’t expect to be back this way again,” he said eventually. “Thought I should see her one last time. You know how it is. I just figured if I was gonna confess, this was the right place do to it.”

  Karen sat in the chair next to her father’s hospital bed, watching him sleep. She chose to believe that he was sleeping, anyway.

  Walt hadn’t opened his eyes since he’d been shot at the Orchid Festival. He’d laid there in his hospital bed, quiet and unmoving, with so many hoses and tubes hooked into his body that he looked like a middle–school science project. For all Karen knew, he might have been awake this whole time and been able to hear everything going on in the hospital room around him, just so heavily medicated that he couldn’t open his eyes or move or say anything. Or, he could be on the precipice of death, waiting only for nurses to come in and shut the machines so he could drift off into the endless gloam.

  Or, he could just be sleeping.

  Karen glanced towards the corner, where Samantha slept in another chair with John’s sheriff jacket draped across her. The exhausted child had gotten fussy and wanted to go home earlier, but when Karen made it clear they were staying right there for the rest of the night and probably the whole next day and night, too, her daughter crawled into the chair just after midnight and hadn’t moved since.

  Now, this late, the hospital was practically silent. No pitter–patter of visitors in the hallways, no chatter of doctors and nurses in the rooms.

  “You hear from Boone yet?” John said, as he came into the room with two cups of coffee.

  “No,” said Karen. “Nothing.” She declined her cup. Her brother put it put on the shelf near the bed, anyway.

  “Can’t say as I’m surprised,” said the sheriff. He leaned against the wall, a few feet away from the foot of his father’s bed. “Boone’s a coward. He’s gone against his own family, that chicken shit he pulled up at J.T.’s today. Whatever happened to Dad, Boone was in on it. Whoever pulled the trigger, Boone knows. Sure as the world.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “The shit I don’t.” John nodded his head with a preacher’s conviction. “That no–good son of a bitch turned against us now. He may not have pulled the trigger, but as far as I’m concerned he’s the bastard that put Dad in this hospital bed.”

  John’s words came out strong and clear. Still, tiny doubts nagged at Karen. It all seemed so hard to believe, that her husband would risk so much – his wife, his daughter, his own life – so recklessly. Boone was a lot of things, but she never thought of him as reckless, especially when it came to their daughter, who he loved so much, who he put above all else.

  “I know Boone well as anybody. He’ll come back,” said Karen. “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or the next day. But sooner or later, he’ll come back.”

  “I hope he does,” John muttered. “Because whenever he comes back, I got a little something for him.” He ran his hand along the handle of the 9mm pistol holstered at his side.

  “You be careful about that,” said Karen. “That’s Samantha’s father. It’d be awful hard to explain to her when she grows up that her Daddy went to be with Jesus in Heaven because her Uncle John shot him in the back of the head.”

  John smiled, let his gaze drift towards his father, towards the hoses and tubes. “Ah, you could figure out some way,” he said, only half–kidding.

  The room went quiet again. The sounds of white hospital noise once more overtook the moment: the hum of fluorescent lights, the breathing machine, the steady beep beep beep beep beep of the heart monitor.

  “We should move Daddy,” she whispered, finally. “Just in case.”

  “Move him? Where?”

  “We can get all this equipment moved to the house. Bring in a nurse and doctor full–time, they can watch him there. The hospital’s safe enough, but the house would be even safer.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll watch him,” said John. He walked towards her, picked up her hand, squeezed it in his. “I’ll stay right here. I’m not going anywhere, not until he wakes up.”

  Karen leaned forward, into her brother. As her head found support against him, tears dewed the corners of her eyes. “Daddy’s got a lot of enemies. They could come here,” she said. “As soon as word gets out that he’s laid up in the hospital, like this, they could all come.”

  “Let them,” said John. “If any of them are that stupid, then bring it all on. The Slone family’s never run from anything or anybody, and the way I see it, there ain’t no reason for us to start runnin’ now. I know Dad would say the same thing.”

  He bent down, and met her eye level.

  “If anybody wants to walk through that door, they better bring the rest of hell with ‘em. ‘Cause the devil himself’s gonna be right here waiting. Let them come.”

  FAMILY

  From Walt’s house, Boone and Elmer drove back to town and got on the Eastern Kentucky Parkway. As they traveled, Elmer asked more questions. Boone was stingy with his answers.

  “Where are we going?” Elmer asked.

  “To meet somebody,” said Boone.

  “Who?”

  “Somebody.”

  Elmer squinted with aggravation. “You’re telling me I gotta ride to God–knows–where with you and you’re not even gonna tell me where we’re going? How do I know you’re not gonna just take me out in the woods and shoot me in the back of the head?” He considered that a solid point, given Boone’s earlier admission about Ellen Slone.

  Boone sighed. “You won’t believe me until you see him.”

  “See who?”

  “My brother.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “Yeah.”

  Elmer looked out the window. The orange glow of highway reflectors whipped by in the darkness. “Okay. You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I don’t believe you. Hell with that bunch of bullshit right there.”

  Boone adjusted the rearview mirror, subconsciously checking for a Sewardville police car behind him. “Me and him were gonna hold off a couple days,” he said, “but now’s the time.”

  “Right,” Elmer said in a mocking tone. “You drove all the way out to Coppers Creek to get me, then into town, then back up to Walt’s, and now you’re gonna drive to God–knows–where to pick up this supposedly alive brother of yours. Which by the way, I still call bullshit on that. And then you’re goin’ back to Sewardville again? What the hell? Are you gettin’ paid by the mile?”

  “I came to get you because I thought we’d all be better off if you rode with me,” said Boone. “Now we’ll go get Jimmy, and all go after the sheriff together.”

  “You’re serious,” said Elmer. He kept his line of sight trained on the highway reflectors. “If this don’t beat fuck all. You believe this stuff you’re sayin’. You really goddamn believe it.”

  “Of course I believe it,” said Boone. “It’s the truth.”

  “Jimmy’s alive?” Elmer swiveled back towards him now. “That’s what you’re tellin’ me. He’s alive. Right now.”

  “Yeah.”

  Elmer pondered that. “Let’s say that maybe that really is true. How in fuck could you have pulled that off? What’s it been, seven or eight months since his funeral?”

  “Almost eight. October to April.”

  “How do you expect me to believe you’ve kept him hidden for that long?”

  “It don’t matter,” said Boone. “He’s alive. That’s all you need to know. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  Suddenly, confusion reigned over Elmer. He fe
lt disquieted again.

  Boone laid his foot on the gas and they rocketed down the four–lane parkway, headed back to the wilds of Gallatin County. A minute later, Boone’s cell phone rang. He saw that it was Karen calling, but didn’t answer. He would talk to her soon enough, when he took their daughter Samantha with him for good, away from the madness of Sewardville.

  Elmer blurted out, “You ain’t gonna kill me, are you?”

  “No,” said Boone. “But I figure as long as you’re right next to me, you can’t do no more harm.”

  The remainder of the ride to Interstate 64 was quiet. When they exited at Frankfort, Boone stopped at a Shell station so he could fill his truck back up with gasoline.

  Both men got out of the truck. Boone went to the pump, while Elmer headed for the inside of the store.

  This surprised Boone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Gotta piss,” said Elmer.

  “Hang on, I’ll go with you,” said Boone, not wanting Elmer out of his sight. Not this late in the game.

  “What are you gonna do, hold my dick for me? Sorry, but I piss solo,” said Elmer. Without breaking stride, he went on through the glass double doors and found the men’s room in the back corner, past the walk–in beer closet.

  VENGEANCE

  Once Elmer made sure that nobody else was in the bathroom – checking under all the stalls and even in the small closet – he slid the deadbolt closed and locked himself in the third stall, the furthest one from the door. There, he hunkered down in the corner, took his cell phone out, and dialed.

  Midway through the first ring, John Slone answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Sheriff Slone?” said Elmer, even though he knew exactly who he’d called.

  “This is the sheriff,” John said. “Who is this?’

  “It’s Elmer Canifax.”

  At those words, John Slone let out a weird cackle. “You’re shittin’ me. The Elmer Canifax?” snarled the sheriff. “The biggest piece of shit in Seward County if not the state of Kentucky, if not the whole damn country? The soon–to–be–shot–through–the–goddamn–face Elmer Canifax? Well, I’ll be damned. Ho–lee fuck.”

  After that, Elmer heard only breathing, envisioned that the sheriff sat straight up in his seat, maybe even leaned forward.

  “Sheriff, listen, I know what you think about me, but I got something you wanna hear,” said Elmer, already unsure that he’d made the wrong call.

  “I hope you’re enjoying your last days on this Earth,” John answered in a tone like a drop off a twelve–story building.

  Elmer swallowed hard. No turning back now. “I got something you wanna hear,” he said again. “Real good information. Trust me.”

  The sheriff bellowed loud, mocking laughterin advance of what would turn out to be a torrential storm of intimidation that would impress even the saltiest of Paris Island drill instructors.

  “Trust you? Who is this, really?” roared John Slone. “I thought you said your name was Elmer Canifax. I wouldn’t trust Elmer Canifax to dick–stroke the goddamn governor. Surely you didn’t just tell me I should trust you, you stupid son of a bitch. Surely you didn’t. Why don’t you just tell me where you’re at, and I’ll come there right now and put you out of your fuckin’ misery. There ain’t no need for us to drag this out no more. I got J.T. already, I’m gonna get you next. I’m gonna get Boone, too. I’m gonna fuckin’ bury the both of you stupid fucks with a bulldozer and a shovel, do you hear me? I’ll throw you motherfuckers so far in a goddamn hole that the fuckin’ worms won’t be able to find your rotting asses. Let’s go. Let’s go. You little shithead. Did you really think you were gonna get away with this bullshit? Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you’re dealin’ with, huh? You mother fucker. Cocksuckin’ motherfucker. You goddamn, stupid ass, sonofabitchin’, motherfuckin’, cocksuckin’ SONOFABITCHIN’ GODDAMN, GODDAMN SONOFABITCH! I WILL FUCKING RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND FEED IT TO YOUR MAMA’S DOGS! AND THAT’S BETTER THAN YOU DESERVE, DO YOU HEAR ME MOTHER FUCKER? DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCK?”

  Elmer held the phone away from his ear and let John’s final few words rattle off the bathroom walls. Soon enough the rant ended, and silence followed. Elmer pulled the hand set back towards him, just as the sheriff said, “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” Elmer answered.

  “Good, then. You’re a dead man.”

  “Jimmy Sumner’s still alive.”

  “I’ll bleed you out, ya hear? I’ll field dress you like a deer – Wait. What?”

  Elmer cleared his throat. “Jimmy Sumner’s still alive.”

  The line went quiet.

  “Are you there, sheriff?”

  “What do you mean he’s alive? No fuckin’ way.”

  Now, the dialogue took on a different tone. Sheriff Slone instantly lost his violent bluster. Elmer sensed he had a big one hooked now.

  “There is a way,” said Elmer. “I’m with Boone right now. He says we’re going to get Jimmy, then we’re coming back to kill you and finish off Walt. What do you think about that?”

  “I think you oughtta tell me where you are,” said John.

  “I just told you where I’m at. I’m with Boone, and I’m on my way to get Jimmy Sumner. He’s alive, sheriff.”

  “It’s a lie.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Boone’s just trying to get you out of the way. He’s gonna take you out in the woods and put a bullet in the back of your idiot skull.”

  “He could have killed me already. I think he’s telling the truth.” Elmer paused. “Do you really want to take the chance that he’s not lying?”

  Again silence. Elmer knew he’d landed this one.

  “So what if he is alive?” John said. “Fuck him. Fuck you.”

  “I’m bettin’ it was Jimmy and Boone that made the play on Walt. Hell, it could have even been Jimmy that pulled the trigger,” said Elmer. “They played you, sheriff. You thought it was me and Rogers, but no. Boone and Jimmy played you like a cheap deck of Bicycle cards.”

  With no small amount of glee, Elmer envisioned John Slone now gnashing his teeth, ready to explode, his face flush with angry warm blood, as he realized that he’d been played. “Sheriff, I can’t talk much longer,” he said. “Boone’s gonna come looking for me. I gotta go.”

  The sheriff said, “What do you want?”

  “I want a deal,” said Elmer.

  Once more, the line went quiet. This time it stayed that way for a good thirty seconds, until finally, John said, “What makes you think I’d make a deal with the sorry likes of you, anyway?”

  Elmer didn’t back down. “Because you’re a man that don’t like problems. And we both know you got one big problem right now. And I’m in a position to take care of it for you.”

  “Let’s say that happens,” said the sheriff. “Say I do get that problem taken care of. What do you get out of it?”

  “I get a target off my back.” He let that point settle, then added, “And I get all the meth business in Sewardville.”

  John Slone laughed into the phone. The extended chuckle went on for such a period that Elmer began feeling queasy, afraid he’d overplayed his hand already.

  “You ain’t askin’ for much, are you?” said the sheriff, still laughing.

  Elmer didn’t say anything.

  “Hell no, you ain’t,” John said, almost to himself. His laughter slowed and then finally died out completely. He muttered something under his breath that Elmer couldn’t make out, then cleared his throat and said, “You got half a deal for each one of ‘em you take out. Jimmy gets the target off your back, Boone gets you the meth business. But you gotta get both, all or nothin’. If you don’t get either, I’m gonna kill you myself. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” Elmer said. Before those three short words were out of his mouth, he realized that the devil on the other end had already hung up the phone.

  FAMILY

  The tense at
mosphere in Boone’s truck relaxed as they crossed into the Owen County countryside. Boone and Elmer chatted, nothing meaningful, but still a welcome nothing that took their minds off the grim hours that lay ahead.

  Finally, as they neared the Ohio River on the north edge of Gallatin County, Boone cut the wheel and left the final gravel road. They raced towards the hillside and the valley beyond. Soon enough the crude cabin where Jimmy Sumner awaited rose from a heavy fog that had settled in overnight.

  As he pulled up near the cabin door, Boone looked down and saw that the truck’s digital clock read six o’clock a.m. on the button. Morning approached quickly, heralded by the first needles of sunlight that crept through the spindly trees astride the valley.

  Boone got out of the truck. Elmer moved to follow him, but before he could get out, Boone held up his hand.

  “Stay here,” said Boone. “I’ll bring him out.”

  “I can’t go in?” said Elmer, looking like he’d just been spit upon. “What’s the big deal?”

  Boone slammed the truck door shut. They stared at each other through the truck window. “You don’t need to go in,” he said. “Jimmy ain’t expecting anybody but me. If he sees more than one person get out of this truck, he’s liable to start shootin’, no time for questions. I’ll go in, tell him you’re with me, then we’ll all head back home and take care of things with the sheriff. That’s how it works.”

  Elmer looked at him.

  “You got a problem with that?” said Boone.

  Elmer looked at him.

  Boone didn’t say anything else. If Elmer took one step out of that truck and Boone didn’t like it, he’d just shoot him and move on. Boom. Done. They’d come too far to have their plan jacked at this stage, and if Elmer wanted to test Boone’s resolve in this moment, that was his own ill–advised business. Boone would ace that test; Elmer would not. Boom. Done.