Deceived

by James Scott Bell

  Between the two halves was this crazy dream.

  She was sweaty and hung over. Asleep in her car. Where? She couldn’t remember.

  But the dream had reminded her she had better keep moving.

  Thank you, dream. Thank you for that much. Maybe there was fate, and it was on her side. That’s what it was. The whole thing is fate, and you fight it, and if you do it respects you and gives you a break.

  I’m close now. Close. Yes. Keep moving. Yes.

  She started the car. Where was she? Off the highway, yes, on a dirt road. It’s a wonder what you find when you’re desperate and drunk.

  She drove randomly. Then remembered, back the other way. Back to the road. Find a bathroom, coffee, a breakfast burrito.

  Now that you’ve done it again, two more times, does it scare you?

  Scared of what?

  Divine retribution.

  No, I am not scared of that.

  Are you scared that you will never be able to stop thinking about these things?

  No, I am not scared of that.

  Are you scared they will find you out because you get careless?

  No, no, no! I am not scared of anything now. Stop it, stop it, I don’t want to hear.

  The car she bought with the lives of two men was a junker. It smelled like grease and old clothes. It smelled like death. Death in a small town.

  Are you scared you’ ll end up like them back there?

  No, I am not scared of that and stop it, shut up, stop it.

  They are making the connection back there, aren’t they?

  No.

  They are linking up all the evidence. They are finding blood in your house, and the blood will tell them you are the one.

  Are you scared?

  Yes, but I won’t let it stop me. I won’t let them take me. They’ve been trying to take me all my life. I won’t let them take me.

  10:16 a.m.

  Mac waited for Rocky out back. By the crocuses. Or crocuses-to-be. If they came up at all, maybe it would be a sign of some kind.

  But he couldn’t wait for them. He needed something now, and Rocky said she had it.

  He heard a car on the gravel of the church lot. A few moments later, she was there. And she was beautiful.

  He made coffee and they sat at the kitchen table. Rocky had a shoulder bag with her, took out some papers and spread them on the table. “Are you ready?” she said.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “An address for a Rose Summerville. Last known. It’s about ten years old.”

  “Liz’s mother?”

  “I’m guessing. I looked up the address on Google Earth and got a trailer park. I tried to find a phone number, got nothing. I could make some calls, but I think going local would be better.”

  “Actually going there?”

  “It’s faster,” Rocky said. “You can get more accomplished with face time. All it takes is money.”

  “I can scrape up a little.”

  “You don’t have to go. This might lead to nothing.”

  “You kidding? I’m there.”

  “What about your parole?”

  Mac nodded. “Then it better lead to something.”

  Mac heard the sound of a car outside. Near the church. Could be anybody, but that vibe kicked in, that something-was-wrong vibe. He got up quickly, went to the front window and looked out.

  And saw Gordon Slezak getting lazily out of his car.

  “He’s here,” Mac said, in a voice almost outside himself. “Slezak.”

  Rocky was next to him in a moment. “He’s got nothing.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mac said. “I don’t want you involved.”

  “But I am. Can you stall him?”

  “Stall him?”

  “Just for a minute.”

  Steps came up to the front door. Then a knock.

  Mac looked behind him, saw Rocky throwing the papers in her shoulder bag, then fishing for something.

  Another knock. “Hey, Daniel,” Slezak said. “Let’s have a talk.”

  Mac looked at the door. Back at Rocky. Now she was heading to his bedroom. She nodded at him before disappearing.

  Mac opened the door.

  “It’s really disappointing,” Slezak said. His face was flushed as he breezed past Mac.

  Mac closed the door.

  “Yes, very disappointing to have the sheriff’s office be so lax,” Slezak said. “So put your hands behind your back.”

  “Gordon . . .”

  “Don’t call me Gordon. Ever. Do you understand?”

  “I know about your son,” Mac said.

  Slezak’s eyes stilled for a moment. Lights out. Then quickly flashed with rage. “You are not worth the dirt under his fingernails. You know nothing, are nothing.”

  “I was a Marine, too.”

  With one step, Slezak was to him. And drove his fist into Mac’s midsection.

  Mac doubled over.

  “I’ll kill you,” Slezak said. “I will make sure you go back inside, and I’ll make sure it’s done there. You don’t deserve to be alive. You should be the dead one. Now you get on the floor facedown.”

  Mac, hands on his stomach, stood and faced him. He would not let Slezak hit him again.

  Slezak looked over Mac’s shoulder. Mac turned. Rocky was in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” Slezak said.

  Rocky said, “You’ve just committed a criminal act, Sir.”

  Mac watched as Slezak fought for control. He could almost see the demons poking his face from inside.

  “Nice try,” Slezak said, his voice coldly efficient now. He looked like he wanted to pull his gun and shoot them both and be done with it. He did have a rim of sweat on his forehead. His face was slightly flushed as he turned and left the way he had come in.

  Mac waited until the car drove out of the lot before turning back to Rocky.

  “Now you’re on his bad list,” Mac said.

  “He can’t do anything to me,” she said. “Or you either.”

  “He can do plenty.”

  “You could have used more makeup,” she said.

  He looked at her and thought she had a slight smile on her face. “What are you talking about?”

  She went to the table in the corner of the living room, the one by the TV. And there she picked up something Mac hadn’t noticed before. A pair of sunglasses.

  “Also, be aware,” she said, “that the camera adds ten pounds.”

  “Camera?”

  “Let’s get this to your lawyer,” Rocky said. “You may be able to buy a little time after all.”

  1:35 p.m.

  One more leg, Liz thought.

  “One more leg,” she said aloud.

  The car was moving. It would make it. It would make it to Jackson.

  Make it, car.

  She saw Mama then, as clear as anything. She was in the distance, on the road, waving at her. Come home, daughter.

  Big surprise, Mama. You’ ll get a big surprise when you see your daughter and see what she has.

  You’ ll be happy, and that’ ll make up for all the bad things they did to you.

  I’ ll go see Old Dane and set it up, I’ ll set it up for me forever, and then you’ ll see, then you’ ll —

  Liz screamed.

  It was not her mother. It was Arty.

  She jammed the brakes.

  Behind her, the sound of tires, an angry horn, a shouted curse.

  She fought for breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Arty wasn’t there.

  2:55 p.m.

  In Tito Sanchez’s office on Burbank, Rocky played the sunglasses video on her computer. Mac thought it unfolded exactly like all those hidden-camera-reveals-undercover-reporters used in sting operations. It not only made Slezak look guilty, but also it made it look like he was born to play the part.

  Some of his expressions, on pause, even made him look crazy.

  Maybe he was.

  Sanchez sat back and sa
id, “Wow.”

  “What can you do with it?” Mac said.

  “I’m not sure,” Sanchez said. “Get it to the Department of Corrections.”

  “ASAP?”

  “I’ll make some calls.”

  “I need it to be immediate,” Mac said.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got to leave town for a few days.”

  The lawyer shook his head. “You can’t do that.”

  “I know. But I’m doing it.”

  “But — ”

  “You can stall Moss if she has any questions.”

  “I can’t lie to her.”

  “Did I say lie? And you can stop Slezak. Get a temporary restraining order or something, right?”

  “Well, I can try — ”

  Mac shook his hand. “I got faith in you.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “You’re a friend of Jon’s. That’s good enough for me.”

  Sanchez ran his hand through his hair. “I hope it’s good enough for the both of us,” he said. “I still advise you not to skip out.”

  “Noted,” Mac said. “See you in a few days.”

  Tuesday

  4:38 p.m.

  Los Angeles to Houston.

  Houston to Jackson.

  Two hours sleep.

  Mac was amazed he could remember his own name.

  Rocky Towne, on the other hand, looked like she did this every day. Amazing indeed.

  But was this the worst idea in the world?

  No. It got him out of LA for a while. It gave him the feeling that he was doing something.

  And he liked being with her. He liked the fact that she had gotten the goods on Slezak. He liked the fact that she was not pretentious or sold on herself.

  She rented a car at Jackson – Evers International Airport. Drove out into a thundering rainstorm.

  “Southern living,” Mac said as Rocky drove.

  “We only have earthquakes,” she said.

  “Where to now?”

  “To find Rosie Summerville Jones,” Rocky said.

  “I was hoping you’d say find some chicken-fried steak.”

  She looked at him.

  “Kidding,” he said. “Drive on.”

  5:15 p.m.

  Driving, blinking, fighting off sleep. Fifteen hours on the road this last stretch. Just two stops. Not bad.

  Almost home, Mama. You’ ll see, and you’ ll know.

  5:20 p.m.

  The rain was pounding when they hit the trailer park.

  Rocky was glad Mac was with her. His steadiness was comforting, even in the face of their long odds.

  All they had was a trailer number. No phone. No other means of contact.

  Finding it in the dark and the rain wasn’t easy. Some of the long boxes had less-than-complete numbers. Other trailers didn’t have numbers at all.

  And there were bikes and balls and cars strewn in random fashion all over the grounds.

  But cool estimation brought them to space number 17, which happened to be one of the more pristine. At least she could clearly see the red numbers in front.

  “Of course we didn’t bring umbrellas,” Rocky said, pulling to a stop.

  “We’re from LA,” Mac said.

  Rocky got out. There was a small awning over the trailer’s door. It took three long, sloshy steps to get there. She knocked on the door. Mac joined her for the second knock.

  The large woman who opened it issued a loud curse against someone named Cody, as if expecting him to be standing there.

  Then she cursed at Rocky and Mac. The curses had a sing-song, deep southern accent to them. Rocky thought of that cartoon rooster, Foghorn Leghorn.

  Rocky held up the case with her investigator’s license in the display. She flipped it open and showed it to the woman. “We’re looking for Rosie Summerville Jones,” she said.

  The woman, who might have been thirty, wore a large yellow T-shirt with an oak tree on the front, green sweatpants, and red slippers. The oak tree was stretched at the roots by her girth.

  The woman said, “Whuz the name again?”

  “Rosie, or Rose, Summerville Jones.”

  “Don’t know nobody by that name.”

  “She used to live here.”

  “She ain’t livin’ here now.”

  “Any idea where she moved?”

  “I said I don’t know her.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “I don’t see as I got to answer that.”

  “Now look — ” She felt Mac’s hand on her arm.

  He said to the woman, “You don’t have to answer that, but we’ve come a long way and it’s important for us to find her. That’s all. It’s about her daughter. She may be in trouble. Is there a manager on the grounds?”

  “Ain’t no manager.”

  “Who’s your landlord?”

  “The county,” she said. “They own the place. Try gettin’ anythin’ from ’em ’cept trouble.”

  Mac said, “Is there anyone you know who’s been here a long time?”

  “You might could try across the way, in thirty. Miss Boaz. Only don’t say I sez so.”

  “Thank you,” Mac said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  The woman closed the door.

  5:25 p.m.

  The old house was just like Liz remembered it. Overgrown grass and a kudzu wall all the way around. Made the place seem like a green fortress. The old wood frame itself looked like it could be blown over.

  But still, there it was, with a light burning in the front window.

  Liz knocked. The rain had soaked her during the little run up to the door. She wondered if Old Dane would even recognize her.

  If he even let her in. She saw his wizened face look out the window at her. She must have looked like a drenched rat.

  “Whatta ya want?” His voice strained through the dirty window.

  Liz indicated that he should look at her face.

  He squinted. Then smiled. His teeth were as brown as ever.

  When he opened the door, the smell of pipe tobacco burst out like a padded fist, followed by his high-pitched voice. “Lizzie!”

  He practically pulled her in.

  Old Dane Lowery was not really that old, maybe sixty. But ever since Liz could remember, that had been his nickname. His hair was the color of hickory nuts and he had wild, furry eyebrows over blazing blue eyes. He was thin and sinewy, like her own mountain forebearers. But there was no hint of hillbilly about him. Liz knew he had killed two men, both criminals, who had tried to cheat him.

  The bodies were never found.

  She was like him, she knew, in more ways than shared heritage.

  He was also the best fence in the South. No one knew better how to move hot property.

  He sat her by the fireplace and got her a towel.

  “Now, little girl,” Old Dane said, “what’s got you to my door on a night like this?”

  “You know,” she said. “I need your ser vices.”

  “Last I heard, you were gone to make your fortune in LaLa Land. You thinking of settin’ up here again? ’Cause I could — ”

  “No! I’m getting out. As soon as I can. Soon as you fence what I’ve got. I want to go away. I want to go somewhere. Out of here. Mexico. A place where I can live like I want. A place where they won’t get me. I want to — ”

  “Easy, girl, easy. Let me get you something warm to drink.”

  “Whiskey,” she said.

  “Natcherly,” Old Dane said. “Then you can tell me all about your merchandise.”

  “It’s big,” she said. “Really big.”

  He raised his substantial eyebrows. “It sounds big.”

  “Bigger than that,” she said.

  5:29 p.m.

  The old woman at the door looked suspicious.

  As well she should, Rocky thought. Two wet strangers in the night, knocking.

  “Miss Boaz?” Rocky said.

  “Who wants to know?”
>
  “We’re looking for Rosie Summerville Jones.”

  The woman was in a bathrobe that might have been fresh in 1978. She said, “You’re a friend of Rosie’s?”

  “Her daughter,” Rocky said.

  “Lizzie? Is she out here?”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “That girl is trouble, always has been. Runs in the family.”

  “Can you help us?” Mac said.

  “You want to find Rosie, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can help you with that. Oh yes, I can.”

  5:42 p.m.

  “Help me!”

  “Easy girl,” Old Dane said.

  “Don’t tell me to take it easy! Don’t tell me that anymore. I’ve got to go.”

  “It’s pouring out there.”

  “Help me!”

  “You’re just plum exhausted. You drink up and sleep. I’ll take the couch. Tomorrow is time enough — ”

  “Help me stay out of hell!”

  Old Dane put his arms around her and stroked her hair. It felt like flames of fire licking her head.

  “You just quiet down now,” Old Dane said. “You just rest now.”

  Wednesday

  10:32 a.m.

  The grass was still wet, with drops sparkling in the sun. The smell of moist leaves, along with the scent of mud, filled Liz with a kind of earthly comfort.

  She drank it in.

  Mama was resting peacefully under the plain brass plate.

  Liz laid a diamond ring on top of the plate. The simple grave was in a row under some willow trees, dripping with the remnants of rain.

  “I made it, Mama. You knew I would. It was tough there for a while, but I did it. You always said I could, and I did. But there’s something real big about it this time. I got some luck. Did you know Arty died? I didn’t really want him to, but once it happened, what could I do?”

  Some leaves blew across the grave. One of the leaves landed on Mama’s first name.

  Liz took the leaf, wet and brown, and lifted it to her cheek.

  “Did I do it right, Mama? Did I get what was coming to me?”

  She took the diamond ring and pressed it into the soft grass below the plate. She pressed it with her thumb as far as she could. Then she pulled her thumb out with a goosh sound.

  “Mexico maybe, Mama. I’ll live like you wanted me to.”

  Good luck. Now the seed had been planted. Mama had the ring and that meant good luck forever and ever.