She handed him a three-inch pumpkin-colored mussel with wart-like spots and a swirl of white at its base. “That’s an orange-footed pimpleback,” she said. “They’re being killed off by zebra mussels and that albatross.” She nodded in the direction of the Silver Spoon.
“I read today the boat might have to find a new home.”
The woman held out a bucket of brown water that smelled like rot. Harlan placed the mussel back with its kin. “Depends on how hard the casino fights in court,” she said, shaking the bucket and admiring her treasures. “A lot of damage can happen in the time it takes for a judge to make up his mind.”
Harlan looked west, past the woman. The river wended through a series of bluffs where persistent scrub trees anchored into the rock face and managed to survive against all hope or expectation. It was almost enough to believe the mussels would survive as well, that no matter how hard man tried to fuck it up, the river would endure.
* * *
The sheriff’s department looked no different to Lewis than it had when his father took over in the eighties. Even Holly, sitting behind the front desk, seemed unchanged. As a kid, she’d taught him to play solitaire, and, later, Texas Hold’em.
“Surprise,” he said.
“I’ll say. You come down here to visit an old woman?”
“Actually, I was hoping to catch the sheriff.” On the wall newspaper clippings of his father hung in frames. “You look exhausted,” he said.
“You sure do know how to charm a woman.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” she said. “I’ve looked in a mirror. I don’t know whether to blame Harlan or all the knuckleheads running around breaking the law.”
“Dad’s murder to boot.”
“That’s a big part of it.” She paused. “We’re going to miss him.”
“How’s the investigation going?”
“I don’t know. You should talk to Harlan so long as you two stay civil.” She pointed him toward the sheriff’s office. It still had his dad’s name stenciled on the glass.
He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “You got a moment, Sheriff?”
Harlan was drawing on a cigarette by the window, his ball cap tilted down low as if he were napping. “What’s on your mind, Lewis?”
Lewis shut the door behind him. “I heard you spoke with my mom.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Shouldn’t you be looking for the man who killed my dad?”
“What do you think I was doing?”
“I don’t see how making her dredge up bad memories helps you.”
“Are you worried about how I’m handling your dad’s murder or are you worried about your campaign?”
Lewis felt the blood rise to his face but Harlan just set there sucking on his cigarette like it was his only care in the world. “Go bother the criminals, Harlan. Leave my family alone.” Lewis turned to go but stopped short at the door. “Dad always thought you were an idiot,” he said. “He was afraid if he promoted someone worth a damn, they’d campaign against him. Guess the joke’s on him, huh?”
Harlan stabbed his cigarette into a soda can. “Your dad wasn’t a saint. I suspect you know that better than most.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Harlan lifted his hat. “What do you know about your father-in-law?”
This caught Lewis off-guard. “Trip?”
“Were he and your dad close?”
“Why?”
“Your dad lost a lot of money gambling. We both know that. But your father-in-law paid a big chunk of his debt. Now why would he do that?”
Lewis didn’t follow. His father and Sophie’s were never more than cordial. If anything, they’d seemed annoyed by one another.
“Tell you what,” Harlan said, rolling another cigarette. “If you find out the answer, come talk to me. In the meantime, don’t worry about me using your dad’s gambling as campaign fuel or whatever. I’m not the sort of man to speak ill of the dead or make empty speeches.” Lewis started to defend himself, but Harlan wasn’t interested. He pointed to the door and said, “Close that on your way out.” Lewis, flummoxed, did as he was told and staggered out the door, trying to decide where he should go next.
* * *
Harlan followed Lewis away from the sheriff’s department. He figured there were only a few destinations Lewis might be headed, and when Lewis passed the turn that went up to Trip Gaines’s place, Harlan guessed he was on his way to the Silver Spoon. He eased the cruiser back and pulled into the boat’s parking lot a few minutes after Lewis. The dumb lug was talking to an employee on the deck, getting more and more animated as he talked, his arms flapping up and down like a fat bird that couldn’t fly. If Harlan were a betting man, he’d wager his future held a phone call from Little Joe O’Malley asking him to not spout off about their private conversations.
Harlan backed the cruiser away and pointed it toward Trip Gaines’s. He was glad Lewis hadn’t run straight to his father-in-law. It meant Lewis was just as in the dark about what was going on as Harlan was. Harlan didn’t really know Trip Gaines, but he didn’t like what little he’d found out. He didn’t like finding him in the judge’s chambers or outside the bank, and he didn’t like the way Gaines talked about the election or trust that he’d paid Lew’s debts out of kindness. The doctor was the sort of man on whom even honey wouldn’t stick. He lived in one of the ridgetop subdivisions that seemed in perpetual construction. Harlan realized he’d driven by the place the day after Lew’s murder. Gaines’s house was the nicest in the community—a newly built colonial made to look like an older colonial—but it stunk of fakery. The brick was only decorative and the siding a painted Hardie board. The driveway was newly lined with thin-trunked pin oaks cabled to keep them upright and it would be years—decades even—until the trees gave off the stately effect intended.
Gaines came onto the front porch and crossed his arms like a security guard. Harlan reminded himself to be cordial, apologized for the unexpected visit, even wished Lewis luck in the election. None of it softened the doctor. “What are you doing here?” he asked
“Money,” Harlan said. “I’m trying to track a bit of money you gave the Silver Spoon.”
“I’m not sure I can help you.”
Harlan took out his wallet and looked inside. “I’m trying to imagine fifteen thousand dollars. Is it banded in hundreds?”
“Is that what you want to ask me? What money looks like?”
“That’s a lot of cash to carry around.”
“I’m not poor.”
“Even for a doctor.”
Gaines uncrossed his arms. “I paid a portion of Lew Mattock’s gambling debts if that’s what you’re hinting at. And I can show you a loan contract that proves he still owes me that money.” He rapped his knuckles against one of the porch’s decorative columns, let the hollow sound ring out.
“So you’re planning to collect?”
“No. I don’t plan on causing Mabel any more trouble. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a family matter.” Gaines looked down on Harlan from the top step. “In fact, the only reason I can come up with for why you’d be asking is because you want to use it as blackmail in the election. Does that sound about right?”
“For me being sheriff isn’t about winning elections.”
Gaines laughed. “That’s good. Because you haven’t won any.”
“What I really want to know is what your money was buying.”
“Buying?”
“What did you get out of the deal?”
A glint came into Gaines’s eyes. “You don’t have a family, do you? A wife? Kids?”
Harlan shook his head.
“So you don’t know what it means to provide. You don’t have responsibilities. You see, I’m a provider, Harlan. I give money to charities. Medical care to the poor. And no one ever thanks me because they don’t realize how valuable my time is. You don’t seem to realize that either.” Gaines cracked his knuckles like some Ivy League
brawler. “I take care of my own, Harlan. When someone in my family gets in trouble, I help. Lew was a good man with one vice. Maybe you would punish him for that but not me. I tried to help him put his life back in order, but he never got that chance, and it’s your job to find out who took it from him—not terrorize the people who helped. I’m a provider, Harlan. What exactly are you?”
Harlan didn’t answer the question, wouldn’t even know how, but he liked seeing the doctor get worked up. He decided not to push his luck and raised two fingers to the brim of his cap. “I appreciate your time,” he said. “I’ll make sure if I have any more questions, they’re worth your while.” He pivoted to leave, then hesitated. “In the meantime get me a copy of that loan agreement. As long as it’s not too much hassle.”
“I’ll put you in touch with my lawyer.”
“Good enough.”
Harlan turned to go. Maybe Gaines was telling the truth. Maybe he was helping Lew out of a jam, but Harlan knew a snake when he saw one, and as soon as he backed out of the drive, he knew the doctor would be on the phone with one crony or another talking about the sheriff’s surprise visit and what it might mean for his son-in-law’s electoral outlook.
* * *
Mark put faith in his headlights as he wound through the curves of the Appalachian Mountains. It was a part of the state he tried to avoid, but ever since Chance tracked him down in the library, he’d become a cog in the eastern Kentucky drug trade. He’d trekked out to Chance’s spread by the Virginia border only a couple of times and he dreaded the trip. He would get lost and stay lost for long stretches, unable to make sense of the unmarked roads or get his bearings amid the shadows of ragged mountains. And eastern Kentucky wasn’t exactly the sort of place strangers went asking for directions, especially not strangers with drugs in the trunk.
Chance acted more roughneck on his own turf. He never gave Mark a tour of his property, which seemed to consist of various outbuildings, two small airplane hangars, and a house made up of four double-wides fused together. Mark once caught a glimpse into one of the hangars; there’d been a virtual army of classic cars and two gutted prop planes surrounded by wires and engine parts. The house itself was a mystery. Chance would come out front, hand over the money—no envelope, no rubberbands—and grab the pills before saying, “Get on outta here” or lobbing an insult Mark’s way. It wasn’t that much different from his usual trash-talking but there was less humor to it. Mark missed the Chance that came to the UK library, the steady businessman who spoke clean English and didn’t delight in the role of hillbilly drug dealer; yet despite the hiccups, Chance never stopped being reliable. He paid in full, bought often, and never quibbled over price.
Now, for the first time, Mark needed a favor from Chance. He carried fifteen thousand in Oxy—most of it in the trunk, a few prescriptions hidden in his backpack—and if Chance bought the lot, he and Mary Jane would have the cash they needed.
He passed through Evarts, the last real town before Highsplint, crossed Bailey Creek, and inched slowly around the sharp turns that led into the valley. Chance’s hometown wasn’t much of anything anymore—an abandoned post office and a few houses with shuttered windows and slanted porches. No businesses to speak of, no municipalities, no law.
As he turned onto Chance’s property, Mark gripped the wheel tight and kept his Mustang steady over the bumps in the road. When he reached a couple bare bulbs strung on a pole thirty yards out from the house, he slowed long enough for Chance to recognize him, then continued past various tin-roofed lean-tos.
Mark saw that Chance was sitting on a wooden chair in the yard with a double-barrel sawed-off lying across his lap and his bare feet stretched out beside a pair of work boots. Chance was grinning wide, perfectly tickled by the surprise visit. “Boo Boo Bear,” he said. “You came to make a social call. That touches me right inside where I’m all goopy and soft. I mean, I was ready to shoot your fucking head off, but I’ll buy you a beer instead.” He grabbed a Silver Bullet from the cooler at his feet and tossed it to Mark, who cracked the tab and drank off its sudsy top. “Don’t be shy,” Chance said, making a sweeping motion with the gun. “Come over here beside me.” Mark did as he was told, and Chance tossed his empty to the ground where Mark had been standing, raised the gun, and fired. The can jumped and Chance let loose the second barrel, catching it airborne and knocking it into the shadows. Then he put an arm around Mark and said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I came to sell.”
“I didn’t call you.”
“I need to sell.”
“That’s not how this works. You can want to your heart’s content, but you don’t get to need anything from me.” Chance moved his grip to Mark’s neck, gave a squeeze.
A heavyset blonde poked her head out and said, “Who you shootin’ at?” When she spied Mark, she crowed out, “You didn’t tell me we had company.” Chance told her to shut up and flung one of his mud boots in her direction, but the door slammed and the boot bounced harmlessly to the ground.
“Get that, would you?” Chance said. Mark heard him stand as he reached down for the boot, but he wasn’t expecting the kick to the ribs that sent him rolling over the rocky earth. He shielded his face with the boot and readied himself for more, but Chance was busy hopping around on one foot and cursing. “Damn your bony ass,” he said as Mark sat up. “I had to do that. On principle. You’ve gone too long without realizing what kind of business you’re in.” Chance reached down and rubbed his foot. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood or else I’d shoot you and take whatever pills you were dumb enough to bring out here. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“My girlfriend got herself in trouble and I want to help but I need cash.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. Helping out a damsel in distress.”
“It’s in my best interest.”
“Now that sounds more like you,” Chance said. “What, did you knock her up?”
Mark shrugged. The lie sounded good enough. “Yeah. And I’m not ready to be a dad.”
Chance hesitated. “I don’t get involved in matters of the heart. Or the pussy.”
“Look,” Mark said. “You may not care, but I trust you. And I have a stash that I’ll sell on the cheap.”
Chance cracked open another beer. “What’s cheap?”
Mark wasn’t in a position to bargain—he needed Chance—so he dropped the price. “Let’s say three hundred for a scrip of forties.” It was two hundred less than usual.
Chance whistled. “You must be hard up. How much do you have?”
“Ten thousand would clean me out.”
Chance clutched his heart as if having a cardiac event. “Woo-boy. That’s a lot of pain to cure. Let’s see the goods.”
“I stashed them down the road.”
“Bullshit you did.”
Mark shrugged.
“We’re past the point I’d rob your dumb ass.” Chance cracked the shotgun and emptied the shells onto the ground. “Come on inside. Let’s talk more about your troubles.”
The trailer they walked into looked like it had been ransacked. There were empty beer cans littering the floor and piles of books stacked like shrines. Books filled with Post-its, books on the stove in the kitchen, books as tables holding beer bottles and books. A blond girl about eight with pale blue eyes and freckles sat cross-legged on the floor playing Nintendo. Toys were scattered around her, as well as a power drill and socket set. “Say hello to our company, June,” Chance said. The girl waved without looking away from the screen.
The woman who’d come out earlier was passed out on the couch. Her nightgown had lifted, and Mark could see her underwear and the fat and pubic hair inching out from it. A hash pipe sat on the couch next to her.
“What?” Chance said. “You were expecting Ethan Allen and shit?” He laughed. “This mess is Darlene’s and she needs to clean it the fuck up.” Chance yelled her name and another woman, the spitting image of the one on the couch, came out wi
th a child clasped to her veiny breast. There were two of them. Twins. “Hello, Harvard,” she said and bounced the child, who lifted her breast in his mouth. The other tit sagged like a cow’s.
“That’s Kenny,” Chance said, motioning to the baby. “Kenny G. Like that bullshit saxophonist. Darlene named him. I wanted to name him Second Chance.”
“How old is he?” Mark asked.
“Too old to be sucking on his mama’s tit.” The woman ignored the insult and coolly lit a cigarette with her free hand. “June is Deanna’s,” Chance said, motioning to the woman on the couch. “She takes after me, thank God.” The girl didn’t take note of the compliment, but Chance went over and kissed the top of her head anyway. Then he threw a blanket over the woman on the couch, but not before slapping her on the ass. She stirred and muttered for him to stop. “‘For God’s sake hold your tongue and let me love,’” Chance cried out and turned to Mark. “You know who said that?”
He shook his head. “June?”
The girl didn’t reply.
“It was John Donne,” Chance said. “But I think he was talking about a dude.” He motioned for Mark to follow him and walked through the junk-filled kitchen, turning a corner where it seemed the trailer would end. He’d cut doors and joined the four double-wides together to make a square. The second was a stark contrast to the first, had been outfitted as a kitchen and dining room. The interior windows opened onto a courtyard garden where a few winter cabbages popped their heads out of the ground. Chance kept walking to the third trailer, which faced the back of the property and had to be opened with a series of keys. “I’m the only one allowed in here,” he explained. “You can’t trust those two bitches as far as you can throw them.”
As soon as Mark stepped inside, he forgot he was in a trailer at all. The entire thing had been gutted and just about every square inch was lined with books and maps. Chance pointed to one of the maps above a captain’s desk. “That’s an original,” he said. “My favorite part is where it says ‘terra incognita.’ That means ‘unknown land.’ Which doesn’t really exist anymore, except maybe on other planets. Anyway, the cartographer drew these rad fucking sea monsters.” Everywhere Mark turned, some new oddity showed itself. On a shelf sat three military helmets—one camouflage, another with a swastika, the third some sort of Spartan replica. In one corner hung two birdcages, one with a white bird that cooed softly and the other with a black bird that called out, “Hot dog. Hot dog.” Chance ignored the bird and unlocked the captain’s desk. “I’m a collector of sorts,” he said, “And in my line of work you have a lot of free time, so this is my refuge.” He pulled out a stack of hundreds, didn’t even bother to count. “Eight is the best I can do and the only reason is ’cause the price is right.” He held on to the money as Mark reached for it. “Don’t ever come out here uninvited again, okay?”
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