Done Dirt Cheap

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Yelling.

  Drooling.

  The flashing lights of the ambulance taking her mother away reflected in his glittering eyes. The way they’d looked, fixed on her. Finding her at fault.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” Wayne lifted his chin toward the ice cream stand. “He doesn’t look like a Warden.”

  She swallowed. Everything inside her held tight.

  “I just stopped to say hi to my favorite daughter.”

  “I have a dad.”

  He clutched his heart in mock hurt. “And here I thought all that cereal of mine you used to inhale meant something.” He laughed. “I’m just teasing.”

  Was Dad here? Were any of the Wardens? Probably not, if she was still standing here talking to him. She backed up a step.

  He didn’t follow. “Has your mom said anything about me? I sent her a message. I was thinking about her.”

  Wayne’s looking for you. She could almost taste the guard’s onion bagel.

  “Was that Anna May with you?” Wayne called lightly—as if he were a friend or a relative, inquiring about someone he knew. “What a lovely young woman she’s grown into.”

  Shit. Tourmaline stopped, tongue pressed to her teeth.

  She spun, slowly. The silence buzzed.

  “What are we going to do about you, T?”

  Healthy decisions? Things that won’t violate your parole? But she swallowed her thoughts and stayed silent. Playing dead seemed the only reasonable thing to do in front of a man like Wayne.

  He nodded. Then tilted his head as if listening to something Tourmaline couldn’t hear. His glittering eyes met hers. He smiled and spoke softly. “I’ma make y’all pay.”

  Tourmaline’s head buzzed. Or the lights? She swallowed and kept still. So still, she hoped she had folded up into thin air and disappeared on the wind.

  But Wayne looked over toward the putt-putt—the people—and smiled. “Bye, now,” he said cheerily, with a wave. Like a shadow, he slipped into nothing.

  A group of girls came toward the bathroom and their voices—high and urgent—filled in the dark chill that rooted Tourmaline to the concrete.

  What now?

  She touched the phone in her dress pocket. Dad. It was the only answer.

  But as quickly as she planned her own rescue, she saw the aftermath. Wayne would watch her call. He would follow—waiting behind the headlights until she walked to her car or Allen’s truck. Worse, her father’s truck. Wayne would reappear from the shadows, ready. He’d intended to walk away from this moment, in furtherance of another.

  And there went her life.

  What was she going to do about it?

  The girls’ laughter echoed against the concrete block.

  Tourmaline pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a text.

  Come get me.

  Virginia could barely keep up with the swish of Tourmaline’s dress, despite having a good four inches of leg on her. They had parked in a gravel-and-weed-covered clearing behind a rectangular building plopped along the road. Tourmaline had immediately spilled out of the truck, striding into the night with convincing confidence. Virginia’s only choice was to follow.

  Tourmaline stopped at the edge of the low-slung brow of a rickety porch and smoothed the flyaways in her hair. “Do you have cash?”

  Over the years with Hazard, Virginia had acquired an intimate knowledge of shithole country bars, but she’d never been sent to this one. There was no sign. No light but a lone streetlight along the bend in the road. Neon red and green glowed liquid through glass-block windows. Was this the Wardens’ clubhouse?

  “A little,” Virginia said, looking around for some indication of the Wardens, something she’d missed. But all that was beyond them was the night sky. The stars were crisp. The wind roared high in the deep mountains, but didn’t touch down on this hidden ridge.

  “Do you know how to play pool?” Tourmaline asked.

  “I guess.”

  Tourmaline tugged up her boots. “Be cool, all right?”

  Virginia chuckled. Be cool?

  “Something funny?”

  Virginia gestured to Tourmaline’s dress. “Are we here for a luncheon?”

  Tourmaline rolled her eyes. “I’m here to make some money. It’s up to you for anything else. That’s our deal, right? I bring you around, you do with that what you want.”

  “That’s the deal.” Virginia’s pulse fluttered.

  Tourmaline turned for the door, hair whipping in the wind.

  Virginia glanced up and down the road, making sure she had it all committed to memory. Time to work. Fluffing her hair, letting it pull dramatically around her face, and adjusting her cleavage in the black tank top, she followed Tourmaline inside.

  Cigarette smoke hung in thick spools and music throbbed, more bass than twang. The door scraped the gouged wood floor as it swung shut, and the whole bar looked up, as if they’d taken attendance and everyone had already been accounted for.

  Virginia’s stomach knotted, but she had the drill down pat—chin up, shoulders down, hands relaxed, eyes narrowed, and a tiny smirk on her face. The haze smelled like grilled onions and burnt tar and tobacco. A sticky bar ran along the left. A few tables scattered through the floor, with nearly burnt-out lightbulbs hovering over it all. In the back two pool tables sat supported by cinder blocks.

  Tourmaline cut for the dark corner past the pool table, seemingly oblivious to the backward glances of the men she passed. Simultaneously wildly out of place and absolute ruler of all, she pulled a few cue sticks from the wall and handed them to Virginia. “Find the least bent.”

  Virginia started to eye one, but Tourmaline gave a tiny shake of her head. She laid the cue across the top of the pool table, and sent it rolling toward Virginia.

  The bend became obvious.

  Tourmaline picked two more and handed her one, gaze cutting sharp. “Just pretend you know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, hey, my specialty.”

  Virginia helped Tourmaline rack the balls, glancing to the bar and tables. The men were more than willing to look back at her, turning on their bar stools to watch, but faces wouldn’t be enough. She’d need to build some kind of thing. Hazard expected this to happen immediately, and he didn’t waste time with people who did not follow his instructions; he simply made them pay. It was the worst time to be dicking around.

  “I think they like you,” Tourmaline said with a sly grin as she pushed a single, delicate bracelet up her arm and sank a striped ball into the pocket right by Virginia.

  “Of course they like us.”

  It was a truth universally accepted—especially in this crowd—that two beautiful eighteen-year-olds were better than one. Bonus points for a blonde and a brunette.

  Tourmaline rounded the table, eyes narrowed at her shot. She took her turn and narrowly missed.

  Virginia went next, but her shot bounced off the wall and spun out haphazardly.

  Tourmaline didn’t look impressed.

  Irritated, Virginia rested on her cue. “You said you make money doing this?”

  “I will.” Tourmaline bent over—lining up a shot, taking her time—and Virginia couldn’t quite tell whether Tourmaline was getting her shot right, or letting the bar get a long look. There was a strange duplicity in her steely eyes as she stared down the cue.

  Finally, she shot.

  The ball just missed.

  Virginia arched an eyebrow and waited for Tourmaline to come around the table. Leaning into Tourmaline’s neck, she whispered, “You missed on purpose.”

  Tourmaline paused in her careful brushing of the chalk. She flashed a warning look and moved away.

  Tourmaline looked perfect—the church dress, the girlish boots and goddess hair. Perfection was the bracelet catching the light as she lined up her shots and the lingering trails of clean floral perfume. But it didn’t run deep. There was something about the whole thing that made it seem like a show.

  Like a hustle.

 
Virginia smiled. Slow. Knowing. Relieved to have one piece figured out.

  Tourmaline bent and strung the cue through her fingers, carefully eyeing the ball.

  A big guy moved out of the crowd to watch. He crossed his arms over his torn Miller T-shirt and moved the wad of dip in his lip. A Warden?

  Tourmaline missed the shot and straightened toward him with a sheepish grin, saying something Virginia couldn’t catch. They certainly seemed as if they knew each other.

  The guy laughed, and after a moment’s pause, motioned for someone across the bar.

  Virginia wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and tried not to look irritated that she didn’t know what was going on or whom she should pay attention to. Hazard’s games seemed like lessons in retrospect—meant to instruct her so the only thing she suffered was a little embarrassment. She bent and took her shot, somehow managing to sink the right ball into the right pocket.

  “Pretty good shot.” The big guy smiled and dug in his pocket.

  “Thanks,” Virginia said with practiced ease. She leaned against the pool table. “Are you going to introduce me?”

  “Bill,” he said over the chew, gaze flickering over her. “Your old man let you out like that? All pretty without him?”

  Virginia wasn’t sure whether he meant her dead dad, a boyfriend, or whether he knew she worked for Hazard, so she covered her confusion with a laugh and a wink. The wink worked on Bill, but not on the tightness in her chest.

  He pulled a five from his wallet and placed it underneath his sweating beer.

  Tourmaline looked at Virginia, hand out.

  Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Virginia leaned the cue against the edge of the table and dug a five out of her pocket.

  “Mind if I borrow that?” someone asked behind her.

  Virginia spun.

  A Warden? With Bill? He was young. Maybe mid-twenties. Rail-like body, but sinewy arms and his face a little baby soft around his cheeks. He pointed to her cue.

  Virginia glanced at Tourmaline, and Tourmaline nodded. “Uh. Sure.” Virginia handed the cue over.

  Tourmaline smiled—this pretty smile Virginia hadn’t seen before—as she leaned over and reracked the balls. “Go easy on me, now,” she said to the boy.

  “I think y’all are the ones who should go easy on me,” he said. He swished the chalk over the tip of the cue in a way Virginia found annoying, but mostly because of his unoriginal comments.

  Tourmaline walked to the other side of the table, eyes narrowed, as the thin boy broke.

  Well, hell, she needed something. Virginia leaned against the wall, arranging herself so it looked as if she were watching the game while she scanned the farthest shadows, straining for anything that seemed biker gang. Biker club, she corrected herself with an internal eye roll. What did the Wardens look like when they weren’t literally wearing a sign?

  Tourmaline knocked her elbow.

  Virginia startled.

  “Bad luck,” Tourmaline said with a shrug, holding her hand out.

  Virginia’s first instinct was to slap her, but she just dug out another five.

  The thin boy racked them this time, a little smirk on his face. The same kind of smirk twisted on Bill’s mouth as he eyed Tourmaline’s ass strut to the other side of the table and break. Virginia went back to searching, looking past the small crowd that had gathered with their beers in hand. In the shadows, she spotted a guy at the bar she hadn’t seen before. Huge and tattooed, with ripped shirtsleeves and pointed ears. There was something familiar—a pull in her gut that Virginia always listened to. There. Had to be. She straightened off the wall and tightened her jaw, heading through the crowd with singular focus.

  “Virginia,” Tourmaline called.

  But Virginia kept going. This was taking too long. She was losing money and time. Smiling, she leaned over the bar. Before she could even open her mouth, the guy with the ears looked up. But he wasn’t looking at her.

  Virginia frowned and followed his line of sight.

  Two men were just sliding onto stools at the end of the bar. Both men were tall, but not huge. Fit, but not nearly as big as Ear Guy. One was white. One was black.

  The white guy—the older one—scanned the room, gaze crossing hers as it passed.

  She’d seen him before—the memory popped into her head instantly, one of those memories that was insignificant at face value, but had lingered as a deep impression. He’d been in the cookie aisle at the Covington WalMart. Looking like he’d crawled out of some deep hole that started on the western edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains and went straight into smoldering hellfires. He’d looked like sex. Smelled like alcohol. And lord, he’d attracted a whole lot of attention from all the housewives as he’d flicked through the packages and tucked up a pack of Oreos under his arm. She’d been weak in the knees for the first time in her life. When he turned to leave, his bright hazel eyes had met hers and slid right on past—same as they did this time.

  “We have to go,” Tourmaline suddenly whispered from Virginia’s other side.

  Virginia turned away, trying to appear calm. “Did you win back my money?”

  “No. I forfeited. Come on.”

  Forfeited? Virginia froze. Running it over in her head. Not lost? It clicked. Virginia straightened, swiveling to get a good look at the two guys at the bar. At the Wardens. Tourmaline was hustling, all right. Hustling Virginia with this pool thing and shabby bar, giving Virginia an experience. It was good. Until actual Wardens showed up.

  Slapping the bar, Virginia jumped up. “Busted,” she said to Tourmaline with a wicked smile. She always did find it easier to deal with disaster when it hit, rather than anticipating its arrival.

  Now that she knew the players, she knew how to fix the game.

  Bill was smoothing out the money and carefully folding it, bill by bill when Virginia snatched it back and put it under the mug. “She’s not done.”

  “Hey, now. She quit.” He took it back, glaring.

  Virginia glanced over her shoulder. The two Wardens leaned over the bar, backs to her.

  Theatrically, Virginia ruffled back her hair and pulled the rest of her money out of her pockets—fingers trembling despite her best efforts. “You know what? I’m bored.”

  Bill fell victim to the show, but he managed to shrug. “So?”

  “It’s not like that,” Tourmaline snapped at her elbow like a circling mosquito. “I swear I didn’t mean—”

  Virginia twisted her arm out of Tourmaline’s grip. “How about we make this more interesting?” She held up the rest of her money, acting as if the entire bar were watching—pageant smile on, pageant wave fanning the bills for the crowd. Elegantly, she placed the money underneath the nearly empty mug. “Winner takes all.”

  Bill exhaled a low rumbling sigh as he pulled out his wallet. “All right. I’ll play.” He too held up the money for the crowd, finished the beer in a swallow, and stuck it all underneath.

  Now there really was a crowd, keeping a wide berth, but holding their beers with amused grins as they watched.

  “You.” Virginia found Tourmaline and jabbed a finger at her. “Socks.” She wasn’t about to let Tourmaline get away with breaking the deal she’d made.

  Tourmaline’s jaw tightened, but she picked up the cue and put her hand on her hip as the thin boy racked.

  Virginia didn’t bother looking over toward the bar. It wouldn’t be long.

  The boy went first, sinking half his balls right away.

  The crowd pressed closer, glued to Tourmaline’s reaction.

  Tourmaline held her chin up, eyeing the table with poise. She didn’t look like Margarine Girl at this specific moment, with her eyes calm and her hair brushed behind her. A cold fire was lit in her eyes and she looked ready to spit in someone’s face.

  Virginia’s stomach twisted in knots, but she leaned against the pillar casually, breathing in deep breaths of Bill’s Miller T-shirt–scented sweat and stale beer.

  “G
ot plans tonight?” he asked.

  “Yeah, watching my girl kick your boy’s ass.”

  He laughed. “I meant after.”

  Virginia didn’t answer.

  It was Tourmaline’s turn now. Finally. She bent—expression set and hip sunk as she lined up her shot between slim fingers.

  The crowd held its breath.

  Virginia, too.

  Tourmaline tightened her jaw and hit. Three balls flew into the pockets.

  The crowd shifted and murmured.

  But Tourmaline didn’t seem to notice. Immediately, she rounded the table and settled down, as if she’d known all along the place she would go. Lining up the shot, she smacked another ball into the pocket. Then a fourth.

  A fifth.

  Tourmaline chalked up, eyeing the two remaining balls and the eight ball.

  The crowed leaned in.

  Bill straightened off the pillar.

  Virginia waited with bated breath, but not for the shot. Three. Two.

  “What in the actual fuck are you doing?” a male voice boomed over the music.

  One.

  The older man stepped out of the crowd and slapped the cue stick out of Tourmaline’s hands with a startling fierceness.

  Tourmaline didn’t flinch.

  “Hey, man,” Bill said, taking a step forward, hands up to calm everyone down.

  The man turned, expression stone-cold and mean as hell under the dim light.

  Virginia’s breath lodged tight in her throat.

  The look stopped Bill in his tracks. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t know she was with you,” he said.

  “She’s not,” the man spat out. He turned back to Tourmaline. “Don’t make me call. We’ll all pay for that.”

  Tourmaline just stood there. Finally, she swallowed, and her eyes flickered between the two men. Suddenly, she pushed off and strutted past, head high.

  Straight out the door.

  “They’re old enough. They knew what they were doing,” Bill said to the black guy, as if by way of asking apology.