In the Night of the Heat

by Blair Underwood

  So much for pity.

  “Sister, please,” I hissed. “I haven’t done a single thing to this man…” My voice would have broken almost anyone’s heart.

  “Liar,” Janiece said, walking off.

  I yanked my wrist with frustration, biting my lip. It took all of my willpower not to yell out what I thought of her—but she might come in handy later, so I held it in. If there was a weak link in Bear’s crew, Janiece was it. It was hard to watch her walk back into the night.

  Outside, a chain clanked. Rubens reappeared with his shotgun resting across his shoulder. As he got closer, I smelled his perspiration from an exertion. Digging?

  Rubens sat in the chair, ignoring his food. He sighed and lit a hand-rolled cigarette. He stared at me with one eyebrow raised while he put his shotgun between his knees, his hand inching toward the stock.

  “What did you say to Judge Jackson?” His voice was gentle, a father confessor.

  This time, a lie would only get me shot sooner. I was certain of that.

  “I told him what T.D.’s mother begged me to tell him—I said he might never know what happened, and he should let his son rest in peace.”

  Rubens’ soft, sad look said he believed me. I might have finally said the right thing. Still, he didn’t take his hand off of his shotgun.

  “What happened after you beat Florida?” I said. “Did you really have an accident, or was some redneck from town looking for payback?”

  Rubens smiled sadly. “Don was right about you, son. You were headed straight for it.”

  Straight for WHAT? I felt a terrible certainty that Rubens wasn’t planning to kill me merely because he’d killed T.D., or I because I might be able to implicate his buddy Hankins in an old car accident. Hankins and Rubens thought I’d stumbled on to a secret from 1967.

  “Whatever it is you think I know—I don’t,” I said. “I just wanted to ask you some questions. I only came to Mercy because of lucky guesses, Rubens.”

  “All things considered, I’m not sure I’d call ’em lucky,” Rubens said. But his hand fell away from the rifle, and he leaned over with a grunt to pick up his food. He pulled out a thick barbecue sandwich and bit down. Brisket. My stomach rolled.

  “We were pretty much mobbed after the game, but Coach got us on the buses and sent us to the rooms,” Bear went on. “If we’d stayed in our room like we were supposed to, none of the rest would’ve happened. Turned out, there were kids waiting outside, hoping we’d come out. Sitting there in their cars with the lights off. But we didn’t know.

  “Me, Emory, Don, and Randy piled into my grandmama’s big ol’ beat-up Dodge Dart, and we headed for Bird’s aunt’s house, where Bird was waiting. We’d all made a plan to go to Quincy, where we hoped we could sneak into a bar. Then we jumped on I-10 and headed west. You’ve seen the road—it looks much the same now. Just weren’t as many cars then.

  “We’d been driving fifteen minutes before we realized anyone was following. Not just one car, it turned out—two. Nine boys in all. Only one of ’em was from FU, and none of ’em were players. They were pissed off and drunk, and they wanted a little overtime, an extra down or two, you feelin’ me? Near the town Midway, one of the cars drives alongside us and honks. I’d told my friends not to say anything—Let me do the talking, I said—but Don Hankins shouts something out of the window, playing the dozens like he would back home, and those boys took great offense to the idea of Don Hankins ass-fucking their mamas. Maybe it would have all gone to hell no matter what, but that was certainly no help.”

  Outside, faintly, I heard machinery chug-chug-chugging. Digging.

  Think think think think think.

  I unwound the cuff chain, and then wound it up the other way. Inhaled silently, tensed my body without moving my face, and twisted.

  Rubens went on with his story. He seemed lost in his past. “Two cars against one, it didn’t take ’em long to run us off the road. I was driving, and I did my best, but my grandmama’s old car could barely make fifty. Next thing, we were in the woods. I grabbed a tire iron and Don had his switchblade—he always wanted to be a thug like his uncle in Chicago, I reckon—and we thought we’d show those rednecks who they were messing with. We were young and dumb and full of cum, man.

  “Next thing we know, there’s a shot fired. One of ’em had a gun. Shotgun, like this. Once they had the gun on us and we gave up fighting, they went after Bird. She was a fine-featured li’l’ thing, turned lots of heads. Bird was shaking so bad I could see it in the dark. She gave me a look I’ll never forget: DO SOMETHING, Wallace. They had a gun, but I didn’t give a shit, and I knocked two o’ them boys down before they could blink.” Something ugly flickered behind his eyes, then was gone. His voice fell, softer.

  “Then they hit me with a bat, just below the left knee. While they kept the other guys under the gun, they smashed my leg, man. They broke it in four places. I’d never felt pain like that. I was howlin’ at the moon. They brought out rope and threatened to string us up. Till the end, I thought that we’d end up swinging in those trees. But they tied us, and made us watch while they took turns with Bird. Not all of them—two were hurt, and three didn’t have a taste for it. Four of those boys kept Bird screaming for an hour solid—one of ’em was from Mercy. All we could do was close our eyes so we wouldn’t see her without her clothes.”

  Chained as I was, I couldn’t help empathizing. As for Bird, I couldn’t imagine it.

  “I passed out and woke up at my grandmama’s house, on the swing on her porch. It was dawn ’fore I got to a hospital. I was only half-awake—I’d taken some good thumps on the head—but my friends had decided to tell Coach our car had crashed. Heat looks out for Heat. Emory, Don, and Randy didn’t go back to California with the team. They stayed behind.

  “Nobody was allowed to see Bird. Her aunt and family were with her, but she didn’t want us to lay eyes on her. I wept like a baby every time I thought about what I’d seen. I know for a fact that woman has never been the same. Never.”

  His voice shook at the lost memory of her.

  “Don, Emory, and Randolph came by my hospital room right before dark, everybody tryin’ to cheer me up. Said not to worry, I could play again, even though my leg was wrapped up like a mummy’s. Without ball, I didn’t have a life to go back to.”

  The machinery outside grated against rocks, then stalled. I heard loud cursing.

  Think think think think think think.

  “I should have known: They kept sharing these glances back and forth. I was gonna take care of it myself, let them sit it out. Don always had big plans, even back then. I didn’t want them dirtied up in it. Revenge works just fine cold. But they had their own ideas, and that night they headed out for Mercy. They figgered you find one, you find the rest. Don got his hands on a pistol, and he brought it with him.

  “Don, Emory, and Randolph weren’t the first to mistake the Kelly brothers. Five of ’em, all about a year apart. Well, the boy who’d attacked us in the woods was nineteen years old—Eric. But the boy Don, Emory, and Randolph snatched off the street was Lewis, who was seventeen. Lewis had nothing to do with what happened the night of that game, mind you. Probably didn’t know anything ’bout it either. But Lewis is the one who took off running and got shot in the back by Don Hankins and his .32.”

  My heart was beating a river. Senator Hankins had killed an innocent man in 1967! And by sharing that information with me, Rubens had given himself no choice but to kill me. He wasn’t bluffing. He never had been.

  “Hey, Bear!” a voice shouted from the doorway. The man in the mechanic’s uniform stood there. “It’s jammed, man. Blue don’t know how to work that thing.”

  “Then get a shovel,” Rubens said impatiently.

  The mechanic cursed and walked away. I wondered if Rubens had brought the mechanic with him when he went to California to take care of Ebersole, or if he did the tampering himself.

  Rubens went on: “Soon as I heard the news that Lewis Kelly had
been found dead in the woods, I knew what had happened.” The name Kelly seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. My head was clearer, but panic was setting in.

  “I broke the bad news to Don, Em, and Randy. We prayed for forgiveness, holding hands. We swore we’d never tell a soul. There’s still folks walking around Mercy who know what happened—which boys raped Bird, and which boys killed Lewis Kelly. It’s what you call mutual silence. And I’ve never told nobody ’cept you.”

  “Does Bird know?”

  He looked at me without expression. “She’s doin’ OK. That’s all I care about, all you need to know.” Our conversation was about to come to a loud, messy end.

  “What about T.D. Jackson?” I said. There had to be another door, a place I could tap on a window, engage his interest, live a little while longer. The only thing that mattered was time. “If you’re gonna kill me anyway, tell me what happened.”

  Rubens only stood up, sighing. He picked up his rifle, hand on the trigger. “I’ve told enough stories tonight, son,” he said.

  “Hankins fucked up and killed the wrong guy,” I said. “That’s how it was, wasn’t it? Ebersole started making trouble in Hollywood and Hankins told you to take care of it? And the same thing happened with T.D. Jackson? How exactly did you become Hankins’s bitch?”

  His hand blurred, and stars exploded behind my eyes. I tasted blood. When my eyes focused again, he was smiling at me. I was lucky: He could have simply pulled the trigger.

  “I wasn’t nobody’s bitch,” Rubens said. “Didn’t you just hear the story I told you? Don saved my ass after my leg got ruined. Sent me money. Helped me get work. Heat looks out for Heat. He flew me out from time to time when he thought my size would make somebody think twice.”

  Outside, I heard someone turn on music, probably from the truck. This time, two men came into the barn. The taller, thinner one was holding a shovel. “There’s all these rocks, Bear,” the thin man said. He didn’t look at me.

  Rubens stood up, beckoning his men. He held his gun by the barrel. I never let Bear’s gun out of my sight. I had just run out of time.

  “What happened at T.D. Jackson’s house?” I called to Rubens.

  The stubby one suddenly grabbed Bear’s shotgun and jacked a cartridge into the chamber. The CRACK echoed everywhere. When he took aim at me, my skin tried to leap from my frame. At ten yards, his shotgun would take my head off. “Can I shut him the fuck up?” he said.

  My mind went blank. I’d run out of words.

  Rubens gave me a long look. I’m not sure what he saw in my face—maybe I looked like I finally understood the seriousness of my position—but he shook his head no.

  “Let’s get his bed ready first,” Rubens said, walking away. “This is my cross.”

  He sounded so righteous and sad, he could have been about to bury a loved one.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I HAD ONLY ABOUT THIRTY SECONDS to twist the handcuff links behind my back before Janiece appeared with a flashlight and a slow, deliberate walk. For the first time, I noticed that she was wearing heels. Tall ones. I was too mentally confused to remember if she’d been wearing heels all along. I didn’t think so.

  “Don’t make me go run and tell Bear you’re not sittin’ still.” Janiece sat in Bear’s chair and crossed her legs. I couldn’t read her in the lantern’s light. Was there compassion in her?

  I panted. I felt as if I had half a cup of thin, greasy fluid sloshing around in my lungs.

  “Janiece,” I said. “I’m Tennyson Hardwick. Ten, my friends call me. I’m just a guy from L.A. I have a daughter, like I told you. If I die, you’re an accessory to murder. Do you know what that means?” I tugged hard against the wall, my brow knitted. The chain clanked loudly.

  “Hey, cut that out!” she said, rising to her feet. “Do that again, an’ I’m tellin’ Bear.”

  “An accessory means that you let it happen,” I said. “But if you help me get away, the police won’t touch you. Please—do you have the keys to these cuffs?”

  Her grin chilled me. “I might. What if they’re mine?” she said.

  Who was this woman? I had to figure Janiece out fast, or she would be the last person I ever met. Janiece wasn’t a cop, and I couldn’t fathom that Rubens and Janiece were on a kidnap-and-murder spree in Mercy. Why did she have handcuffs? I suddenly thought about every horror movie I’d ever seen set in the country—with an entire family gone feral.

  “Your uncle is about to get you sent to the electric chair,” I said.

  She laughed an earthy laugh. In a crisis, the sound of laughter is sickening. “He calls all his girls his nieces,” she said casually. “Or else his angels. An’ his crew is his godsons. We’re family, but we’re not blood.”

  Janiece was more than a waitress at Pig’n-a-Poke, and the electric chair wasn’t on her list of concerns in life. I had to find out who she was, and fast.

  “What’s a honey like you doing in a hole like Mercy?” I said.

  My grin knocked her mask askew slightly—she was radiating something, and I couldn’t quite place it. Janiece’s lips curled. God help me, was that a smile? “I’m savin’ up my money to go to Miami,” she said. “I got a cousin there. She said she’s gonna get me in videos. Say it again, like you did before.”

  “Say what?”

  “‘The future looks bright.’”

  I didn’t remember saying it. My mouth fell open, then I managed to pull myself back together. “The future looks bright!” I said, as brightly as I would on TV.

  She clapped her hands. “It is you!”

  She had seen my damned commercial? Suddenly placed my face? I didn’t go to church nearly often enough. I started improvising, fast. “Girl, forget about Miami! Let me take you to Hollywood. Don’t you want to be on TV like me? I’m hooked up, Janiece. You want to dance in videos? Be on TV? Shit, girl, you don’t wanna be working out of a barbecue joint. My agent can introduce you to movie stars, singers, anybody you want. You get me my phone back, and I’ll call him right now. Whatever you want, name it. Just let me go before Bear kills me!”

  Her eyes were quiet, watchful, gave nothing.

  “What’s holding you back, Janiece? You don’t think you’re ready for Hollywood?” I said. “There’s lots of girls out there, lined up around the corner. Afraid you won’t measure up? How come Bear’s got you waitin’ on tables instead of working the room in those fuck-me pumps? Dancin’ on that stage? How come he’s not showing you off?”

  Janiece didn’t answer right away. Had I hit a nerve? I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at the doorway. I expected to see Wallace Rubens and his shotgun at any moment, but my mouth babbled on: “I’ll put in a call and say ‘Janiece is hot as hell, and she saved my life when I had no one else to turn to.’ Girl, you’ll go to the best parties.”

  “What kinda parties?”

  I had her. My heart thundered. “M.C. Glazer,” I said. “Just to name one.”

  Janiece’s lips parted; I could see it even in the semidarkness. Celebrity is magical anywhere, but the magic apparently carried special weight in a backwater like Mercy. I couldn’t blame her: M.C. Glazer was an international superstar, after all.

  “Get the fuck out!” she practically screamed. I winced when she raised her voice.

  “Shhhhh…. Janiece, please let me go. Let me take you with me. How far are we from the road? Let’s both get the fuck out of Mercy.”

  Me and Janiece against the world.

  “Were you at Glaze’s party?” Janiece said, twirling her hair on her finger.

  I wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, I brought my voice down lower, almost out of Janiece’s earshot. As I spoke, I saw her craning her ear closer. “His CD release party for Plugged was sick. Usher was there. Prince. Cameron Diaz. Diddy. He had it at Club Magique in Hollywood, and those girls were getting paid. Wish you coulda been there. Glaze would go crazy for you. Girl, you’d get rich.”

  Especially if you were fifteen years y
ounger, I thought grimly. I had rescued Chela from M.C. Glazer’s house, and his tastes were decidedly younger than Janiece.

  “Tell him what my specialty is,” Janiece said. We were living in two different conversations. In hers, there was no particular hurry. In hers, it was entertaining to pretend there was a chance in hell she might let me go, just for the sheer animal fun of giving me just enough hope to take it back again.

  “What?”

  She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

  “You asked why I’m waitin’ tables? I’m a specialty, that’s why. I get calls to go all the way to Tallahassee. Jacksonville, even. I got fans. I don’t have to work the floor at Pig’n-a-Poke.”

  “Hey, no offense—”

  “I’m a mistress,” she said, drawing the words out. “Mistress Janiece. You know—S&M? Bondage? That’s why I got handcuffs. I’ve got all kinds of chains. I get paid to tie men up.”

  Was the S&M thing more than professional? Was she turned on by pain, or death? By the sight of me chained to the wall? Janiece stood just out of my reach, and I couldn’t see her face beyond the flashlight beam. If I was going to survive, I needed to climb into her fantasy with her.

  “What happens now?” I said. “Give me a little taste to tell Glaze about.”

  I kept the assured smile on my face, although smiling was the last thing on my mind. Janiece stepped closer, shining her flashlight in my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Oh, I get it…” she said. “You’re about to get your head blown off by a double barrel, and now you want Janiece to blow the other head? You got balls, Telephone Man.”

  Two more steps brought her well within my reach, practically between my legs. I felt a twisted excitement radiating down from her. She was aroused.

  One by one, Janiece stepped out of her black heels. Smiling, she raised her right foot and ran her toes across my upper thigh, toward my crotch. Her breathing was heavy.