A moonshiner sold glass jars from wooden crates packed with hay and he passed over half of every dollar that touched his hand to Ern, who sat next to him in a lawn chair much too small for his bulky frame. The day wore on and more trucks and cars and motorcycles and fourwheelers followed the dirt road out to this place by the river where there was no law but what Big Momma Sweet decreed. And the crowd grew larger and drunker as the sun fell from the sky. The women danced on the porch and they danced outside and the amps were turned higher and the drums beat faster. Shoving and shouting matches broke out over which side of the dice was up or when tough guys recognized one another from not yet forgotten barroom brawls. The moon showed itself before the sun disappeared as if the earth could not decide which direction to spin. And then Big Momma Sweet sent her boys out with torches that were driven into the ground and the crowd howled and barked when the torches were lit because night would be there soon.
Big Momma Sweet stood in the window of her raised cabin. Her wild hair pushed straight up as if trying to escape from her head. The pipe in her hand and her meaty arms folded as she surveyed the scene like a goddess of vice and she wondered if Jack would show up.
She had set the odds of the fight at 7-to-1. Jack the heavy underdog. She set it at 7-to-1 because she liked the number seven and if the odds were greater against Jack they would have been certain she had arranged for him to win. Any lower and the only question would be what round Jack would go down. With the odds at 7-to-1 there was uncertainty and debate and she had long known this was how you made your money on the fights.
Jack’s opponent paced across the other side of the cabin. Shirtless and his hard shoulders and chest damp with a nervous sweat. She drew on the pipe and told him to sit down. You’re going to walk a hole in my floor. Save whatever you got for tonight. It’ll get here like it always does.
He called himself Ax. His hair cut in a mohawk and veins bulging from his biceps. His two front teeth missing and HELL tattooed across the four fingers of his right hand and FIRE tattooed across the four fingers of his left. He paced and bounced on his tiptoes because his time had come. He had been the one called to fight Jack Boucher and he was going to be the one to finish him. In a place where they screamed and cussed and spit and cried out with savage shrieks for the bleeding and the breaking. He could think of nothing other than the night to come and what he was going to do to make them talk about him forever. The night he destroyed a legend.
Big feet sounded on the stairs and the door opened. Ern came in with a wad of cash. He plopped down on the sofa. Lit a clove cigarette and began to straighten the bills.
“I ain’t never seen this many fools out here,” he said.
“Nope,” Big Momma answered and she sat down with him. “Only issue being we’re still missing the biggest fool of all.”
“You think he’s run off?”
“If he knows what’s good for him,” Ax said.
“Ain’t nobody talking to you,” Big Momma said. “You better hope he shows or I might toss you out there in the dog pit just for fun.”
The ice shifted in the silver bin in the corner and Big Momma pointed to it. Told Ax to do something worth a damn and grab me one of them beers. He crossed the room and pulled a can from the ice.
“Get one for yourself,” she said. “It’ll help you ease up.”
“I didn’t come here to ease up.”
“Except that I just told you to. You’re driving me crazy. Go on in the other room. I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”
He popped the top on the beer and followed her finger out of the room.
“Where’d you find him?” Ern asked. “Motherfucker looks nasty.”
“He is nasty. Just what we need for a night like this.”
Big Ern grinned and counted the moonshine money. Fives and tens in one stack and singles in another. “You showed that big boy to anybody yet?” he asked.
“I was thinking of walking him out on deck. Soon as they get a glimpse every eye in this place will decide it has seen the victor.”
“Yep,” Ern said and he leaned back. “Except won’t nobody trust their eyes.”
“That’s right.”
“And they’re gonna think about it too hard. Think you’re up to something.”
“That’s right too.”
“And that’s when the money will roll in on Jack and that’s when Big Momma makes the big pile.”
“You just about got it figured out.”
“But they ain’t seen Jack. And if they do before the fight I’m guessing he will not impress too many dollar bills.”
“No. And that’s why I been making a consideration,” she said and took a long drink from the beer. Wrapped her hand around the cold can and then held it to her forehead.
“A consideration of what?”
“You laid your eyes on Jack the other night. He looks like he might fall over if the wind hit him right. And I heard he didn’t do much of nothing down in Vidalia except throw a few punches and cover up and wait to drop and get paid.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So. We got a damn animal to fight him. My opinion is if Jack shows, there’s a decent chance he won’t make it through the night. Truth is, I used to like Jack but he has come to the end of his road. He’s as likely to get killed from this fight as he is to survive. And I can’t see no reason not to prosper. I’m guessing the crowd outside might be interested in a side bet. We’ll call it live or die.”
“Damn, Big Momma,” Ern said.
She sipped on the beer. Strolled around the sofa.
“We’ll take two bets,” she said. “One on the odds of the fight. And then another on whether or not Jack lives through it.”
“Holy shit. We ain’t never done nothing like that.”
“We never had the opportunity. Don’t say nothing to that lug in there or Jack. If and when he gets here we’ll let it be known. The crowd will be in a damn frenzy and I’m guessing we’ll need a wheelbarrow to haul bets on Jack surviving.”
“Even money?”
“Even money. Win or lose. We might even be doing Jack a favor. He’s got the look of dying in an alley somewhere. At least this way we’ll give him a decent burial right here at home.”
“So this is anything goes?”
“Anything,” she said and took the clove cigarette from between his fingers. Puckered her lips and smoked. “Give them what they want.”
26
HIS EYES HAD OPENED WIDE WHEN HE RECOGNIZED THE envelope and all her talk of angels and destiny solidified right before him as they stood together in the parking lot of the nursing home. He stood dumbfounded by the deliverance until he finally took it from her and asked how in the hell did you get this.
She told him about the carnival driving through the night and coming upon the scene of the wreck. About finding the money and leaving the body. She then explained Ricky Joe at the gas station and how he had seen them find the envelope at the wreck though he didn’t know exactly what it was and he had seen the body. Baron had given the money to her for safekeeping and she had decided to take it and go wherever her church was leading her right about the time the woman came out of the gas station and recognized him. And then he drove past in the truck from the wreck. Baron headed to get the carnival broken down and get the hell out of town but she followed Jack.
He listened and as she talked her eyes shined in the last light of day. Two suns holding on to the horizon. She was a believer. In what, he didn’t exactly know. But with the money in his hands he could not think of a reason not to trust in what she had to say.
“Wait right here,” he said. He returned inside the nursing home and to Maryann’s room. He took the notebook and jewelry box and lockbox of letters and stuck them in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Then he kissed Maryann’s forehead and said I’ll be right back. He then hurried out and back to Annette and said let’s go.
“Where?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
&n
bsp; They left the nursing home and stopped for more cigarettes and then they drove away from town, out onto the straight and empty highway, and he began to tell the story. His dilemma with Big Momma Sweet and how they had helped each other make a few dollars but she wasn’t on his side anymore. That he needed twelve thousand to get Big Momma off his ass but the wreck ruined that plan. How he’d have to fight even though he told her he didn’t have that kind of fight left in him and he was going to offer what was in the jewelry box.
“But now, you changed all that,” he said.
They smoked and drove on. The road rough and patched. A steady weakening of day into night and something soft and violet caressed the land. He laid his head on the headrest, stared at himself in the sideview mirror. Stared at the wrinkles and scars. His eyes heavy with the lack of sleep and the pills and for the moment his body had found a painless position and he imagined he was being driven toward some protective realm by an angelic chauffeur. A falling of light. A falling of pain. A dark horizon waiting at the end of the highway to accept his spirit into a timeless space and judge it for no more than what it was. He rolled his head to the side and studied Annette. Her hair in the wind and her deadset eyes and her unwavering belief that today she had stumbled upon something beautiful. That she was part of some miracle and he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it himself and when this miracle was over and tomorrow arrived he didn’t want to be there when she realized he was only a walking shell of a man. A man unable. And that her God had lied to her. Or maybe she is an angel, he thought. Or magic. Or is she even real and is this a dream and maybe I’ve already been to see Big Momma and I’ve already had the fight and I’ve been knocked so far out of my own mind that I’m stuck in some unconscious creation of a happy ending. Like I hope Maryann’s mind is doing for her right now.
He touched the fresh burn on his neck from the branding iron. Raised and tender. Touched the scars of his face and his crooked nose and then he searched for himself in her profile. In the slant of the nose or in the bend of the mouth. She sucked on a cigarette and he watched her cheeks and chin and the way she squinted when the smoke curled past her eyes and he tried to find a resemblance to a younger, smoothskinned Jack Boucher. Figured her mother was a looker with the way Annette turned out. The tattoos wrapping her arms and legs and chest and she wore her story all over her body. Just like me, he thought.
And what if she is right. What if twentysomething years ago in one of those towns after one of those fights you walked out the door of one of those bars with one of those women who believed you were the hotshot you claimed to be. What if you and that woman climbed all over each other with the sheets ripped from the bed and then what if nine months later a baby was born. A girl. And what if she grew up and never laid eyes on her father but never let go of what she knew about him. He was a fighter. And what if she ended up with a truckload of tattoos and then what if one day she crossed the Delta as the sultry sideshow for some vagabond carnival and what if every damn thing happened just like she believes it happened and here she is. And here you are. Somehow still alive long enough for her to find you. What if she is the savior she claims to be.
He picked up the motel Bible. Opened it and took out the foreclosure notice. He believed the Bible to be full of promises though he had never bothered to find out where to look for them and as he unfolded the notice he wondered if there may be one last thing to ask for. There wasn’t enough light to read but he ran his fingertips across the page and felt the certainty of the words and he folded the notice and tucked it back into the Bible.
And then it was night. The miles thumping and the final light disappearing and his mind turned toward the possibility of the impossible. His own blood did remain in the world but it did not run through the veins of those who put his small feet into the dirt and drove away from the Salvation Army store so many years ago but it flowed through the veins of a young woman. A young woman led by her own conviction. A young woman who had followed him unconcerned about the risk because she believed him to be something to her and now she was going to save him. He looked across the flatlands and in the distance he felt as if he could see the ends of the earth. And it was always in the veil of night when he felt like anything was possible.
27
THE NARROW ROAD MADE A LONG BEND TO THE LEFT AND then another long bend to the right. Small breaks of river flowed into clumps of hardwoods and gathered in shaded, murky pools of muddy water. They crossed over a levee and then passed cut piles of forgotten and decaying timber and then the road trailed in one last long curve. And they saw it.
The vehicles spread across the field and the lights of the shacks.
“Holy shit,” Annette said. “All of these people are here for you?”
Jack raised from the seat. Pressed his hands together. He had what he owed but he looked at the crowd and wondered if she would even let him buy his way out there was so much to be made on a night like this. They rolled up the truck windows and drove slowly through the scene. Men sitting on open tailgates and leaning against trucks stared and Jack held his hand up to cover the side of his face not wanting to be recognized. The laughter of women and the big voices of men and a kickdrum beat like the racing pulse of anticipation. The orange flames of the torches waved against the fallen night and on the other side of the shacks the lights that hung from the steel rafters of the metal barn shined down on the cage at odd angles, the tall corner poles falling into shadows of crosses on the smooth dirt of the fighting pit. A fire burned in a circle of stones next to the cage where the brand would heat and glow like the sun, preparing for him to lose.
“Get as close as you can get to the cabin on stilts,” he said.
Men stood in the road smoking and drinking moonshine and were slow to move to the side. They whistled when they caught sight of Annette and Jack kept his hand across his face, watching between his fingers. She drove carefully and nudged between a cluster of motorcycles only a few steps away from the bottom of the cabin stairs. On each side of the stairs stood hefty, watchful men. One held an aluminum baseball bat. The other stood with folded arms and the handle of a pistol stuck out of the front of his pants.
Jack took the envelope from between his legs and held it with both hands.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“You don’t want to go in there.”
“I don’t really want to stay out here either.”
“Just lock the doors. And keep it running.”
He opened the door of the cabin and stepped inside. Big Momma Sweet sat on the couch and she rolled her eyes over to him.
“Right on time,” she said.
Ern was on a stool next to the table of knives. A door opened from the hallway and Ax came into the room. His skin glistened with sweat and he seemed to be chewing at the inside of his mouth.
“Who’s the pretty boy?” Jack said. He then moved over toward the couch and he dropped the envelope onto the coffee table next to her propped feet.
“What’s that supposed to be?” she said and she sat up.
“It’s what I owe you. Every nickel. Twelve large. Ern can count it if you think he can go that high.”
“You yellow dog,” the young opponent said.
“Fuck you.”
“Hey,” Big Momma Sweet yelled at Ax. “How many times I got to tell you to stop talking. This don’t concern you none.”
“I came out here for a fight.”
“Get out that door,” she said.
“That was my deal.”
“You’ll get to fight something.”
Ern moved to the sofa and pulled a billy club from beneath a cushion and he raised it toward Ax. Said I know you ain’t talking back to Big Momma. I know it. And all I got to do is whistle and I’ll have a gang of boys in here to drag you out to the river. You hearing this?
The young man turned red and his broad shoulders moved nervously up and down. He nodded and he walked across t
he cabin, eyes on Jack. And then he went out and waited on the deck. Ern closed the door behind him.
“You couldn’t find nobody bigger than him?” Jack asked.
“The bigger they are, Jack. Ain’t that how it goes?”
“That’s how it goes but it makes no difference. There’s the money. I told you I had it.”
“And it just came back from the dead.”
“Something like that. Go ahead. Count it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Good. Then I’m gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Away from here,” he said and moved toward the door. Ern stood in front and didn’t move.
“This ain’t how it works, Big Momma,” Jack said. “Even is even.”
She tapped her finger on top of the envelope. Lifted her pipe and a box of matches from the table. Then she stood and strode around the room in thoughtful steps with the unlit pipe dangling between her fingers.
“We ain’t gonna mess with you,” she said and she waved Ern to the side. “You paid. You’re free. But look out the window before you head for the door. Come on and look.”
Jack stepped over to the window. Pulled a beer from the silver bin. Opened it and drank and looked out across the spectacle. He then turned from the window and drank again and said there you go. I did it.
“Must be five hundred strong,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
The Fighter Page 16