by Ace Atkins
“Damn, Milly,” Nikki said. “I’m real sorry.”
“I spent the whole summer long writing in journals about things that’s happened in my life,” she said. “About my folks getting divorced, Daddy going to jail ’cause of the meth and shit, and what happened with Brandon. There are things that happened around here that people should know. Everybody just smiling and grinning like life is grand. The reason Daddy threw me out of his house is because I called him a coward.”
“I thought he was pissed because you were dancing down at Vienna’s?”
“That started it,” she said. “But I don’t think he would’ve followed through if I hadn’t called his ass out. That’s why he couldn’t handle Momma and why he shacked up with Big Charlotte. Charlotte won’t call him on nothing. You should have seen her there tonight, asking him for permission to eat potato chips. I bet he even tells that woman when and where she can take a crap.”
Nikki was wearing yellow silk pj’s with green flowers and plastic flip-flops. Her hair was in a short ponytail and she had on her glasses because it was late and she had already been in bed when Milly called. Milly had brought the weed and they’d smoked it up right there in the space behind the Gas & Go and the path back to Nikki’s house. This had been their meeting spot since they were girls, sneaking out to drink flavored vodka, talk about boys, escape from their parents. Nikki used to escape out back regular when her parents got in fights. Milly recalling hearing the screaming and beating inside the house while Nikki pretended all was right in the world. If you don’t point out the shit, then it doesn’t happen. The Southern way.
“You think I’m doing right?” Milly said.
“What’s that?”
“I want to get things straight before I get the hell out of here,” Milly said. “Today was the most humiliating day of my life. I tried to open up to some crazy woman who thought a woman’s goodies were a lockbox and then I had to give a lap dance to a sixty-year-old trucker from Meridian. He showed me pictures of his grandkids while I grinded in his lap. How fucked-up is that?”
“Pretty fucked-up,” Nikki said, laughing. “Say. Pass that joint back to me. Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you can’t stay here?”
“Why would anyone want to stay here?”
“Roots,” Nikki said. “You don’t want to grow ’em, but, damn, how they spread.”
“You could come with me.”
Nikki tried to let out the smoke cool and easy but started to giggle and it spewed from her nose. “I got a baby, a shit job, and two worthless parents to support,” she said. “Tell me how to get around that?”
Just then, an old car painted a fresh metallic blue rolled up by the gas pumps. The windows were tinted, bass shaking the frame as it sat there, headlights lighting up the space where Milly and Nikki sat smoking the joint. The front license tag read HERE KITTY KITTY.
“Nito,” Milly said.
“Yep,” Nikki said. “Come on.”
The passenger door opened and Ordeen Davis got out, smiling and pointing right at the girls. “What y’all doing, out here smoking it up in your nighties?”
• • •
It was well past one and Vienna’s was closed. Fannie had done the countdown herself and stood tall on the catwalk, house lights on, staring down at the two stages around the golden poles, groupings of easy chairs, and the long wooden bar where two of the Born Losers sat drinking beer. Fannie was dog tired, sipping on a hot cup of coffee and knowing she had plenty more to do until she’d walk across the street and crash at the Golden Cherry.
Mingo walked up the stairs and Fannie kicked a fattened canvas bag toward him. The skinny Indian nodded, hefted the cash under his arm, and walked back down to the main floor. The Born Losers saw it was coming and looked up to the catwalk to give a nod and a thumbs-up to Fannie. They’d ride the cash down to the coast together and be there before dawn.
As she walked back to her office, her phone rang.
“How’d it go?” a man’s voice said.
Fannie read out the totals down to the last nickel.
“Slow.”
“Not the best,” Fannie said. “Not the worst.”
“How were the girls?”
“New girls did fine,” Fannie said, sitting at her desk and grinding the heel of her hand into her eye socket. “Picked up some local talent, too.”
“Had any trouble with the law?” the man said.
“Nope.” Fannie said. “Are you going to call like this every night? Because it doesn’t make the countdown go any faster.”
“It’s what you agreed.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?” Fannie said. “Maybe I can talk a little dirty to you.”
“Would it matter?”
“I guess not.”
“You’re doing fine,” the man said. “We’re happy with the arrangement.”
“I’m so fucking glad,” Fannie said. “But I still want a meet with Mr. White.”
“I don’t know that name.”
“Sure you do,” Fannie said. “He’s your goddamn boss. And he’s who set me up in this shithole of the year. You tell him I need a little face time. He can meet me on tribal land or we can meet down at the coast. Doesn’t matter a good goddamn to me.”
“What’s your trouble?”
“Tell him I just got a visit from the fucking junior Rotary Club of Jackson,” she said. “Someone down there is under the impression that Johnny Stagg still runs the show and I should step right in line.”
“We don’t work with Stagg.”
“No shit.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good,” Fannie said. “Because I got a feeling they won’t be sending a kid to do a man’s work next time. You tell Mr. White that?”
“Who’s Mr. White?” the man said, a little coy this time.
“Son of a bitch,” Fannie said. She clicked off on the phone and tossed it facedown on her desk.
• • •
Will you open up a fucking window?” Milly said.
“Can’t take it?”
“I’m so damn high, I think I’m gonna puke.”
“Don’t you puke,” Nito said. “Not in my car.”
“Slow down,” she said. “Open a window. Please.”
“God damn,” Nito said.
Ordeen sat in the front seat, giggling, finally cracking that window a bit. It had been Ordeen’s idea to hotbox after they rode the Square for an hour and then headed on back to Blackjack. He had in a Ying Yang Twins CD and then switched it out with Yo Gotti while they followed that long white highway line.
“You at your momma’s?” Ordeen asked.
“Nope.”
“Daddy’s?” Nito asked.
“Y’all just take me back to my car at the Gas & Go. I got to work tomorrow.”
“I drop Ordeen, then I drop you,” Nito said. “Cool?”
Nito’s eyes shifted up in the rearview to connect with Milly. Milly didn’t like Nito or his staring, but she wanted to get back to her own piece of shit, find some place to park for the night, and then figure it all out in the morning. She had things needed to be done, some money to get, and then she could get free of Tibbehah County.
Ordeen lived off ReElection Road with his family, about fifty of them crowded in a dozen trailers on his granddaddy’s old land. The Davis family had the nicest stretch of road in the county, as their supervisors had paved it in exchange for the whole bunch of them casting their vote on Election Day. Nito slowed the old car to a stop, turning down the music to a soft bass bump. Ordeen popped open his door, spilling smoke out into the warm night. Crickets and frogs making a racket.
“Y’all OK?”
“Cool,” Nito said.
Ordeen looked to Milly and Milly nodded. He slammed the door and Nito Reece asked Milly why didn’t she crawl up front with him, riding on the way back to the Gas & Go.
“I’m good.”
“Come on.”
“No,” she said. “’Cause you’re going to try and mess with me.”
“Ain’t like that,” Nito said. “Shit. You don’t want to be seen with a black boy?”
“You know that’s not true,” she said. “And I just got seen with two black boys circling the Jericho Square. Who the hell’s gonna see us up in Blackjack?”
“Your daddy.”
“Fuck my daddy.”
“Whew,” Nito said. “Come on up, girl. Ain’t much longer to go. We about to run out of road.”
“I don’t need no shit,” Milly said.
“I ain’t gonna give you no shit.”
They rode up the curving county road, on the way to Blackjack, Yo Gotti pumping from the speakers. I done been through it all / I done been through it all. Milly had the window down, hot wind blowing in and washing out all that weed, air rushing against her bare arm, feeling good to breathe again, and get free of all that pressure in the club and at her daddy’s house. Old ranch houses and busted trailers whizzed by, old wooden barns and brand-new metal sheds. Dogs barking in the middle of the night and deer waiting, glowing yellowed-eyed, to cross the big road.
She closed her eyes, nearly falling asleep, until the car stopped cold back at the lone Gas & Go and Nito killed the engine. He didn’t wait two seconds before he’d pressed himself on her and slid his hand down into her shorts.
“Here we go, baby” he said. “Here we go. Shh.”
“Get the hell off me, you son of a bitch.”
“What you got?” he said. “You ain’t got nothing else, Milly Jones.”
She twisted his hand away from her and reached for the door handle. As she jumped out, trying to catch her breath, Nito nearly toppled out onto the asphalt but caught himself with the flat of his hands. He smiled up at her, drunk and high, with his gold-tooth smile. “So it’s like that, Cheerleader,” he said.
“I never liked you, Nito,” she said. “Your head is broken.”
“Yeah?” Nito looked her up and down. “But you know where to find me. Won’t be long.”
8
Lillie drank coffee early that Wednesday morning at the Fillin’ Station diner, saying hello, doing the standard meet and greet, before Boom Kimbrough showed up. He had on his blue coveralls, right arm folded and pinned to the shoulder, taking a seat across from her. “You easy to find,” Boom said.
“I think I do more business here from six to eight a.m. than all day at the sheriff’s department,” she said. “I get tips, find out where fugitives are hiding, know about who’s gotten into it with who. It’s really one-stop shopping.”
“You eat breakfast?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Want to join me?”
“Why I’m here.”
“No,” Lillie said. “You’re here because something’s on your mind. You get a sausage biscuit every day of the world from the Sonic, along with a tall Mountain Dew. Tell me I’m lying, Boom Kimbrough.”
“Hard being friends with the law.”
“Hard being around folks who’ve known you too long,” Lillie said. “What? You worried about Quinn getting in deep with his two-bit old man? I saw that shit a mile away. I never bought the notion of Jason Colson showing up here and now because he wanted to connect with his kids. You know that’s bullshit, right?”
“Don’t know,” Boom said. “Not sure. I wanted to talk to you about something else. I had a call last night from Coach Mills.”
“Hmm.”
Boom nodded, but before they could continue, Miss Mary, a frizzy-headed old woman who used to shack up with old Sheriff Beckett, showed up to take their orders. Lillie wanted a fried egg, over easy, with some toast. Boom wanted a sausage biscuit and a tall Mountain Dew. He looked to Lillie as he ordered, cracking a smile.
“Can’t beat a man of routine,” Lillie said.
“Coach thought maybe you and I could talk through things,” he said. “He said he didn’t feel comfortable asking too much of you.”
“But since you used to coach his linebackers, you could translate?” Lillie said. “Not to mention, you have a penis.”
“Come on, Lil,” Boom said. “Let’s not go down that road. He just wanted to save us some trouble. He thinks if Ordeen Davis gets put into the system, he won’t ever get out. I know you ain’t like Hamp Beckett, thinking that every black boy running loose has trouble in mind.”
“He loved you like a son.”
“I was good at football,” Boom said. “And I spoke his language.”
“Hunting and fishing?”
“That’s right.”
“Ordeen is good at football,” she said. “Doesn’t make him a good person. He had a gun in his car. A shit ton of weed and pills.”
Boom nodded. Miss Mary poured some more coffee for Lillie and set down Boom’s tall glass of Mountain Dew. Lillie had set her scanner on the table. Cleotha was giving directions to a fender bender down off County Road 380 involving a truck and some loose goats. According to Cleotha, the goats were still loose and causing trouble.
“I’ll let Kenny handle that one.”
“Man hates goats,” Boom said. “Thinks they the nastiest thing on earth.”
“I know,” Lillie said.
Boom leaned back into the booth, tapping his left index finger at a framed photo on the wall of Daredevil Jason Colson jumping a dozen Ford Pintos back in 1977. She shook her head at the sun-faded image, Colson in helmet and black jumpsuit flying high and wild back in those days. Somewhere near the cash register was another story about Quinn, only ten years old, being lost in the National Forest while Jason experienced some halcyon days out in L.A. Quinn made it through—just barely. The headline out of Memphis was COUNTRY BOY CAN SURVIVE.
“I’m not asking you to give the boy any breaks,” Boom said. “I just want you to consider that Ordeen Davis is a hell of a lot like I used to be.”
“How do you know that?”
“His momma’s my pastor,” Boom said. “I known that kid since he was born. Coach said he nearly made it to D-1 but got fucked on account of his grades. He ain’t stupid, he just hadn’t had the chance. Almost good enough to make it out.”
“Isn’t that what we’re all trying to do?” Lillie said, taking a sip of hot coffee and putting it back down. Be just damn good enough that we can all escape this purgatory.”
“Gate’s open,” Boom said.
“Who says?”
“You consider going easy on Ordeen,” Boom said. “Coach believes in him.”
“And you believe in Coach?”
“Damn right,” Boom said. “I don’t know where half the boys in this county would be without him. He’s a good man.”
Lillie nodded as Mary set down the platters of breakfast.
• • •
So what do y’all do out here?” Milly asked.
“Well,” Caddy said. “We started out as just a church. My boyfriend wanted to build a place different than traditional churches we’d both grown up in.”
The girl had just shown up that morning, wanting to know if Caddy had a place to take a shower and do some wash. She said she’d heard good things about the kind of work Caddy did and could use a little help. They stood together in the middle of the barn, where Caddy had opened up the doors to let out all the stale heated air and let some light come inside. Hay bales had been spaced out evenly on the dirt floor in place of pews.
“How’s that?” Milly asked.
“He wanted it all stripped-down,” Caddy said. “Back to the basics. Ole-time religion and all that. That’s why we started to hold service
s in an old barn.”
Milly looked up at the rafters and clean, unfinished walls. “Doesn’t look that old to me.”
“That one got burned down,” Caddy said. “This is the new one, but it serves the same purpose. We have services on Wednesday night and Sunday. A lot of our members make up the band. We play everything from ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ to ‘Ring of Fire.’”
“Cool,” Milly said. “First Baptist is all into the contemporary stuff. Praise music, wanting you to raise your hands and all that. I remember one song said it was supposed to be sweet incense to your heart and that bugged me. How can your heart smell something?”
“Whatever works,” Caddy said. “But that sugary stuff wasn’t helping me a bit. Jamey just wanted folks to have a place that got back to the roots of things without all the bullshit. He liked good food and good music. More than anything, he wanted a place where people didn’t judge each other. He didn’t care what you’d done. He believed every person had the right to start over and walk in His path.”
“Sounds like a good man,” Milly said. “I’d like to meet him sometime.”
Caddy nodded. “He died,” she said. “A few years back. We’re just trying to keep things going in the way he would have wanted. We got another trailer to help folks who need a place to stay. Just this summer, we added three little cabins, mostly for battered women with nowhere else to go. That big shed out back is filled with fresh and frozen food we grow here or that is donated. The Piggly Wiggly gives us some scratch-and-dent cans and such to help people supplement. It’s been hard. Especially hard after the tornado.”
“I don’t need much,” Milly said. “Just a place to shower. Get some clothes clean.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
The girl shook her head. She had blonde hair, bangs cut blunt above her black eyebrows, and a mess of freckles across her pug nose. The nose was pierced with a blue stone and the back of her hair tipped with black dye. She wore a tight black T-shirt and cutoff shorts with cowboy boots. “I got your name from a girl I work with.”