by Jackson, Jay
Mister Brother took Mom two days later, just like he took Dad. The reunion was amazing. The three of them stayed up until dawn the first few nights, talking about all that happened since the awful car wreck. He told them about Sister and her accident, and thought they would never stop crying. For the first time in too many years, he cried with them. Mister Brother couldn’t remember anything feeling quite so good.
He told them about work, and about his life since they left. Dad had already heard it all, but he listened again, patiently. Mom wept, hearing how her son survived even as those around him became gone.
Mom and Dad stayed with him at his house. They slept together in the same bed while Mister Brother slept in his room. There were only the three of them, but Mister Brother’s house was small. It would be too crowded for the full family reunion to come. He told them of his plans to put the whole family together again, and how he was preparing a place where they could all live. Soon, he assured them, they would all be together, under the same roof and happy again.
Mister Brother just had to keep looking for the rest of his family. His parents would never be whole again until he found their other children, and neither would he. He sensed the hollow place inside him filling up, but it was still there. It still echoed when he tried to sleep at night, ringing with the loss of his brother and sister. Even in sleep, there was no peace.
Now, though, he knew the ringing would soon stop. He just had to put his family back together. Soon enough, he would.
10.
Delroy drove out to the sisters’ house the next day. It rained the night before, and their driveway was little more than a mud bog for his Suburban. He slid down the drive toward the house until he was able to park, ruts of mud and gravel in his wake.
Because of the heavy rain, Claudia didn’t go walking. Jewel, however, still watched her shows on the back porch. The theme song to The Jeffersons floated from the back of the house as he wiped his shoes on the front-porch mat. He randomly wondered if it was an “old Lionel” or “new Lionel” episode. Either way, he knew Weezy would be mad at George about something.
Delroy figured the best place to approach Claudia would be in her own home. That way she would be comfortable, not tired after walking the whole way to Delroy’s. He had considered asking her to meet with him and Kero, but Kero was right: there was a rift between them. Claudia was likely to say no just because Kero said yes.
“Delroy, I would offer you a push-up, but Jewel ate all of them the other day. I have a Coke if you want.” Delroy wasn’t sure whether or not Claudia was making fun of him for the other day. He was sure it didn’t feel like a good start to the meeting.
“I really would appreciate a Coke, Claudia.” Delroy didn’t want to seem unappreciative of the offered hospitality, whether Claudia meant to be hospitable or not. She went into the kitchen and returned moments later. The Coke she handed him was hot, and the can itself was covered in dust.
“Well, thank you, Claudia.” He made no mention of the sorry state of his beverage. Delroy wiped the top with his sleeve, opened the can, and took the smallest sip he could manage. Dirty as it was, he could smell the bleach that got on the bottom of the can when Claudia put it on the counter. It reminded him of his grandmother’s house—kept so clean that no germ had a chance. She was poor, but no one could accuse his grandmother of being a poor housekeeper.
Delroy sat on the couch in the living room, its threadbare cover adorned with wagon wheels and knitted fence posts. Claudia stood at the love seat beside it, almost at attention. When she didn’t sit down after a few seconds, Delroy started. He told her about his conversation with Racey and his offer for her land. The offer was a huge premium over the land’s actual value, and Delroy swallowed hard, even now, as he relayed the number. Claudia just looked down at the empty love seat.
Knowing he wasn’t getting anywhere with her, Delroy decided to make things personal.
“The thing is, Claudia, I know you’re trying to keep Jewel safe. You think staying here is the way to do it. That’s admirable, but what are you going to do as you get older? You might not always be here to help your sister, and what is she going to do then? This is a lot of money, Claudia—enough to make sure Jewel is okay even if you get hit by a car tomorrow. We both know that’s a thing that could happen, God forbid.”
Claudia said nothing for at least a minute. Delroy held his breath, not sure whether his little sermon got through to her. He knew he was pushing her.
“Well, Delroy, it seems you know more about my sister than I do. It seems that you know how we should live our lives, and maybe even where we should live them.”
Delroy knew this was not going to be good.
“But I think you’re just flat wrong Delroy, flat wrong. You and Kero are friends, I know that, and I could swear I heard Kero’s voice even though your lips were moving just then. So I’ll ask you, Delroy. Whose lawyer are you? Kero pays you, so it sounds like you belong to him. I can pay you myself—or pay somebody else, if it comes to that.”
This was going far worse than Delroy imagined it would. He’d known Claudia for years and never gave her reason to doubt his intentions. Now it sounded like she did, which simply did not work between a lawyer and a client. Also, Delroy felt himself getting angry. It was true Kero paid him by wiping out his bar tab, but Claudia knew him better than that. She had known him more than long enough.
“Claudia, you know me. Asking me that question is unfair. Tell you what, let’s just leave this alone right now. I’m not going to turn the offer down just yet. I really do want y’all to be okay, and turning it down without really thinking about it is wrong. And another thing—if you want another attorney, just let me know. If you do keep me, though, don’t ever call me disloyal. Your cousin is my best friend, that’s true, but you’re my client, which is just as true. I thought that after all this time knowing each other, you’d trust me.”
Delroy got up to leave and, before walking out the door, yelled good-bye to Jewel. She replied “Good-bye,” but only to herself. She kept watching “old Lionel” on the television. She was glad it was the old Lionel.
Delroy got into the Suburban and sloshed his way up to Cap Jackson Road. His anger started to subside. Claudia, as hard as she seemed, meant no harm. She was blunt, but she didn’t know how to speak any other way. Delroy wished he’d been more patient with her. He knew he had a problem with patience. His mind flashed back to his impatience with Amy when she told him about going to Atlanta. His lack of patience lost him the only woman he cared for—and still he couldn’t control it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He nosed the Suburban toward Gratis and gunned the engine. He had to call Racey Bridges and wanted to be in his office when he did so. If he could help it, he didn’t want to chase away the offer. Claudia might change her mind.
Even if she didn’t know where he stood, Delroy did. He was solidly in her corner. No words, or dirty Coke cans, would chase him away. He had his share of faults, but giving up on a client was not one of them. Rolling down the windows and letting the misty rain cool his head, he wished it was.
11.
Racey listened as Delroy told him that the sisters had to think about the offer. He was polite, thanked him, and then ended the conversation with an “I’ll get back to you.” As soon as he hung up, he threw his phone across the room. It shattered against the crate where he kept his old law diploma.
He expected some back-and-forth in the negotiation. That was the nature of the beast. Nobody ever agreed to a first offer. Racey was sure he could have started with a goose that laid golden eggs, and Delroy would have come back with no more than a “maybe.” He actually liked that aspect of negotiating. Humans were greedy animals. Racey just had to figure out how to use that greed to skin them. Usually, he could.
What bothered Racey was the empty clang he heard in Delroy’s voice. The sisters didn’t want to sell. Of course Delroy didn’t say that. Instead, he gave him a load about how his cl
ients were reviewing the offer and wanted to consider all their options. Regardless of what was actually said, he could hear the weakness in Delroy’s voice. It betrayed him. If Delroy worked for him, Racey would probably have ended up firing him over something like that. A good attorney ought to lie better. It was part of the job.
Disgusted with the call, Racey decided to walk a few blocks to Surin. Good pad thai and sake always helped him think his way out of a problem. Also, he needed the fresh air after all the smoke Delroy had blown his way.
The dogwoods were starting to bloom after the Atlanta winter, and azaleas were blazing in front of each bungalow he passed. Racey loved this part of Atlanta, the old bars interspersed with older homes, new and crumbling at the same time. Young professionals loved to sink their money into the old houses, trying to buy a little bit of the past each one held. With enough crown molding and period-appropriate paint, they hoped they could acquire a little bit of the class they lacked growing up.
The sidewalk in front of each home was buckled and cracked, a testament to Atlanta’s failure to care for itself. Racey didn’t believe that Atlanta was “the city too busy to hate,” but was sure it was “the city too busy to give a damn about keeping itself up.” Only the money in the neighborhood kept it from sinking into Atlanta’s sea of neglect, joining the other shipwrecked neighborhoods strewn across the urban sprawl.
Here, though, the residents were involved and committed. The sidewalks may have cracks, but the bungalows’ lawns were immaculate. Racey saw better than most the hypocrisy of the place—the fortunate residents pretending to be city dwellers even as they demanded the walk-in closets of the suburbs. He didn’t care. It still smelled of the city that had been, something real and organic, only a small apocalypse away from being made one with the lush weeds the residents tried so hard to keep down.
More important, there was a good drinking bar every block or so. They nestled one against another, puppies in a litter ready to suckle from their customers. Racey made it his business to know the bartenders at each one. That way, not only would they be sure to pour his drinks with a heavy hand, they would also drive business his way. Racey always repaid their consideration with a cut of each deal, usually 10 percent. Some, the ones he kept on speed dial, got 20.
He started his walk intending to get Thai food, but the day was sunny and he didn’t feel like eating inside. Instead, he went to Neighbors and settled at a table on the front deck. He ordered a burger and a SweetWater 420 to wash it down. A table of young women drank and smoked beside him. He was tempted to see if they wanted company, but thought better of it when he saw one wearing an Emory shirt. Racey never had much luck with Emory women.
He decided to up the offer to $6,500 an acre on the next call. That was all he could offer. He would make sure Delroy knew that. It was a substantial increase, but he wasn’t convinced it would get him anywhere. Delroy’s tone told him so. Even if money failed, though, Racey was far from done.
One thing he learned as a lawyer was that everyone had a weakness. It didn’t matter the person, everybody had a soft spot. His job was to find it. Once found, all a good lawyer had to do was figure out how to exploit the softness. Sometimes you needed to be a little creative, but that spot could always be manipulated, poked, and prodded until it was tender. Then a good lawyer could get what he wanted. It was all a game. Find the other side’s weakness and run right at the weakness, over and over. If the other side invoked the mercy rule, tell them to go screw themselves until you won. It was simple as that.
Drinking his pint, Racey planned. First, find out about the sisters. He had friends in law enforcement, so getting criminal background checks would be no problem—along with other biographical information. That was just the beginning.
There was something more about the sisters themselves. They were odd. Some things didn’t seem to fit. The house he drove up to was clearly in disrepair, but not thirty minutes after driving up, an attorney was there to meet him. Poor folks couldn’t afford the luxury of an attorney on retainer—or 350 acres—but rich folks didn’t live in such rough houses. Also, most people didn’t have attorneys responding so quickly unless they had to use one before.
Why do the sisters need an attorney? What kind of trouble have they had before?
He was especially curious about Jewel. He rang the door, but she never answered. Racey wanted to know why.
Why couldn’t a grown woman answer her own door? Why would she pay an attorney to answer it for her?
All these questions. Damn, the only good thing about a question is the answer.
Racey knew how to find answers. You had to have someone dig them up, and he had a couple of guys who knew how to dig. Racey would use them to win at his game. They weren’t cheap, but in the end he would turn a hell of a profit—he was sure of it. The traffic grumbling on Ponce de Leon, just a block away, started to sound like waves breaking on his sun-kissed beach.
We’re gonna win this game, and I’ll be making sand castles with the senoritas soon enough. I only have one yokel lawyer and two strange women in front of me. That ain’t much at all.
Racey ordered another pint. Satisfied with his plans, he eyed the group of young ladies at the table beside him. Maybe he never had much luck with Emory women, but that didn’t mean he should stop trying.
I wonder if any of them can make a good frozen daiquiri, he thought as he turned his chair to face them.
12.
On that Friday morning, Claudia decided to wear a red dress. She wore red most Fridays, the color seeming an appropriate way to meet the weekend. The red also complemented her complexion. She was not a vain person, but she still wanted to look her best.
With Jewel firmly situated in her chair, Claudia left to finish her southern arc. The week had been uneventful, except for Delroy bothering her about selling her home. She was glad of it. Watching was important and had to be done, but at times it took too much out of her. Some weeks, she needed things to be quiet. So far, even the biggest trucks on the road had given her a wide berth when she approached. Neither foul word nor object was flung.
She was walking north, from the southern end of her route, by two that afternoon. The day was as uneventful as the rest of the week. She didn’t find new clues at any of the houses she was watching, and was both relieved and disappointed. New clues pointed her on her mission, but also meant the bad thing she feared could be happening. That was the last thing she wanted.
Claudia approached the outskirts of Gratis and pushed her carriage over the railroad tracks that marked the city limits on the south side of the Bird. This was the poorer part of Gratis, separated by the river from downtown and better neighborhoods. The road here was a faded blue-gray, with a washed-out double yellow line splitting it down the middle. Weeds grew on the shoulder, straining to visit their cousins on the other side, and the ditches were steep canyons at least five feet deep. Clogging the ditches was a stew of trash, tree limbs, and shards of metal and chrome cast off by ill-fated cars.
Just beyond the tracks, past the sheriff’s office and jail, were shotgun shacks that made up the old mill village. It had long since lost the neatness the occupants maintained when the mills were running. Now, more plywood covered the shacks’ windows than glass panes. Four churches, all fundamentalist and tiny, dotted the road on both sides before it led over the bridge. Stinky’s bait shop and the Big G Grocery and Tobacco Store anchored the neighborhood, serving those stranded in that part of town. People from all over the county still came to Stinky’s, but the Big G was only crowded on Sundays. Selling beer out of the back door was big business on the Sabbath.
Although most folks hurried through this part of town, Claudia always took her time. She often found clues here. A couple of small trailer parks sprouted behind the old shacks, and the shacks themselves were rented out to those with no place left to go. This neighborhood drew Claudia even as it chased others away.
She wheeled her carriage through the back parking lot of the Indepe
ndent Covenant Church of God’s Salvation, taking a shortcut to the Eulala Mobile Home Park behind it. “Park” was a curious word to be associated with this particular patch of dirt, as there was nothing parklike about it. The metal homes all sat on concrete blocks, and every third or fourth home was at least partially burned out. Splintered boards made a makeshift path through the park, the residents putting them there so they wouldn’t have to walk through mud when it rained. There was no such thing as lawn maintenance. The grass was only kept short by the foot traffic of those sentenced to live there.
Claudia was halfway across the parking lot, intently watching all that was in front of her, when a horn blasted behind her. It was close and it was loud. She jumped when it sounded, knocking her carriage away as she did so.
Turning around, she saw an IROC Camaro not ten feet behind her. Sitting in the Camaro were two men, both grinning like panting dogs. The driver’s arm draped over the door and his mirrored sunglasses glinted in the midday sun. The other held both his hands straight up, sticking out of the Camaro’s T-top. The one with the raised hands started yelling at Claudia.
“Hey you, what are you doing? You almost hit our car, idiot. Do you think you own this parking lot?” The men cackled after that comment, their eyes growing wide as they laughed.
Claudia said nothing. She was used to this type of behavior. People made fun of her all the time, and they were almost always in a group. Cowards had a funny way of sticking together, whether they were big or small. Answering them, no matter the question, never helped matters. They never wanted real answers.