Walk In the Fire

by Steph Post

  Judah pointed toward the front of the store.

  “This being one of them. Nash is kinda on his own all the way out here, which is why I haven’t met him until now.”

  Judah jerked the store’s door handle and a bell jangled. Lesser was still right at his heels.

  “So he’s one of ours, then? There shouldn’t be no trouble, right?”

  “Right. Just stay out here a minute.”

  Judah left Lesser standing conspicuously outside and walked into the brightly lit store. The setup of the place was exactly as he remembered it from fifteen years ago. Two sets of shelves running down the middle of the narrow building displayed everything from canned dog food to bug spray to boxes of instant macaroni and cheese. Plastic bins lined up against the windows housed crickets and worms. Judah walked to the back cooler next to the ice machine and slid open its metal lid, reaching in to pull out a glass bottle of RC Cola. The fluorescent light over his head sizzled as he popped the top against the opener screwed into the wall and slowly made his way toward the front of the store. The single restroom had an Out of Order sign taped to the door. Judah took his time, sipping the soda and keeping his on eye on Lesser, still standing out on the porch. Judah set the half-empty bottle on the counter and waited for Jedidiah to look up from the local Mugshot Magazine he had propped up against the cash register. The old man finally raised his eyes and puckered his mouth. He didn’t appear to recognize Judah.

  “That it?”

  Judah took out his wallet.

  “That’s it. How’s business?”

  Jedidiah shrugged his shoulders. His faded Marine Corps T-shirt hung loosely around the wattle of his neck.

  “It’s business.”

  Judah pulled out two dollars and laid them on the counter. He took another swallow of cola as the old man picked up the bills and replaced them with three quarters. He stared at Judah with vacant eyes and Judah stared back. He remained standing in front of Jedidiah, slowly finishing the bottle. Judah had one sip left when the bell tied to the door clanged and Lesser poked his head inside the store.

  “Judah, someone’s pulling in.”

  Judah tilted his head back and then set the empty bottle on the counter. He scooped the quarters into his palm and nodded once at Jedidiah.

  “Good talking to you.”

  The old man grunted and crossed his sagging arms over his chest. Judah followed Lesser out onto the porch and stood next to him, watching the SUV roll in to a stop, facing Judah’s truck. Immediately, two men got out and the one with his dark hair slicked back and a patchy mustache sprouting over his thin lips came straight toward Judah. His bedazzled cowboy shirt winked in the glaring light and he stopped fifteen feet away from the porch, waiting. Judah turned his head slightly toward Lesser.

  “Just stay here. Don’t do anything, don’t say anything. Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. And watch Mr. Clean over there.”

  Judah cut his eyes to the barrel-chested bald man standing next to the SUV and didn’t wait for Lesser’s response. He came down the porch steps, but still kept some distance between himself and Nash. They looked at each other for a good long moment and then Judah narrowed his eyes.

  “Let me guess. You don’t have it.”

  Nash reached into his pocket and pulled out a single toothpick wrapped in plastic. He peeled it open and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. Judah would have bet anything it was mint flavored. Nash scratched at his mustache.

  “Hey, what do you know? You’re smarter than your daddy always said you were.”

  “Pretty sure Sherwood never said two words about me to you.”

  “Well, now that there’s the truth.”

  Judah glanced over Nash’s shoulder at the man still standing by the SUV. He was making no secret of the pistol tucked into the front of his pants. The gun’s grip was jammed up into his overhanging gut. Judah fought the urge to turn around and just hoped Lesser was keeping his cool. It was obvious now that this wasn’t a cash handoff; it was a pissing contest. Nash was here to size him up in the wake of Sherwood’s death, that was all. Judah suddenly felt more tired than he had in weeks.

  He took a step forward. Judah knew the exhaustion was showing on his face, but he didn’t care. He shook his head slightly.

  “Do you not have my money or are you just not giving me my money?”

  Nash pinched the toothpick from his lips.

  “Whoa. You don’t mince words, do you? Sherwood would be halfway into some pointless story right about now. Talking my damn ear off.”

  Nash gave a forced chuckle and stuck the toothpick back in his mouth. He turned to the man behind him, who didn’t even crack a smile. The bald man looked bored and Judah took note of this as he crossed his arms.

  “I guess you just figured out that I’m not like Sherwood, then. So which is it? The money?”

  Judah watched the lines wrinkle across Nash’s forehead.

  “You in a hurry or something? We don’t even know each other yet and you’re rushing straight into things. You got something better to do? Somewhere you need to be? You got a girl you need to get back to?”

  He heard Lesser inhale and huff behind him, but Judah didn’t blink.

  “Let’s just say that I’ve already met my asshole quota for the day.”

  “Are you calling me an asshole?”

  “Yes. And one I don’t have time for. If you hadn’t noticed.”

  Nash rolled the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and then curled his lip up in a smirk.

  “Ramey, right? Good looking, but got a mouth on her, I hear. That the piece you’re so anxious to get home to?”

  “Trust me, she’s got even less time for you than I do.”

  Nash gave a laugh that ended in a sneer.

  “I bet.”

  Judah sighed and then pointedly looked over his shoulder at Lesser. The kid’s face was pale, but he was standing tall, just taking it in. He realized that Lesser might not be too bad at this after all. Judah turned back around and set his gaze squarely on Nash.

  “Okay. We’re done here.”

  Judah took a few steps in the direction of his truck, but Nash put out his hands to stop him.

  “Wait, now, just wait a sec. Don’t you want to hear what I’m offering?”

  He stopped walking, but didn’t look at Nash.

  “Not really.”

  “So you already know that I could double what Sherwood was bringing in every week out here. You already know all about that, huh?”

  Judah turned to Nash.

  “Selling more than untaxed cigarettes, I’m guessing.”

  “Much more.”

  Judah exhaled heavily.

  “Look, Nash. You want to run dope, go right ahead. I ain’t stopping you. Good luck. Godspeed. Have at it. But you are not selling through Sherwood’s bars and using his connections. Got it?”

  Nash grinned wide, displaying uneven, yellow teeth.

  “But they ain’t Sherwood’s no more, are they? Last I heard, Sherwood had hopped on his last rattler and Levi had gone underground. So it’s just you. And your gimp brother. And your girl.”

  Nash set his gaze directly on Lesser for the first time.

  “And this Boy Scout over here.”

  Judah shook his head.

  “Not interested, Nash. So I’m going now. Get me the money you owe me and then get the hell off my payroll. I think you understand my policy on assholes now and where you fit into it. You and I are done.”

  Nash spit the toothpick out into the dirt. He put his hands on his hips.

  “So, you’re telling me that I gotta go back to Weaver with nothing but that?”

  Judah had no idea who Nash was talking about, but he didn’t miss a beat.

  “Looks like it.”

  He took another few steps toward his truck and then heard a buzzing in his ears. The air pressure seemed to drop all around him and, in a split second, Judah knew what was going to happen.

  “J
udah Cannon, wrong answer.”

  Judah barely caught the light glinting off the barrel of the gun as he dove behind the gas pump. He slid in the dirt and had his .45 in hand when the second shot went off. He aimed over the pump and fired, winging the bald man as he climbed into the SUV. Another bullet whizzed past Judah’s head, but he kept firing, missing Nash both times as he flung himself into the passenger’s seat. The SUV swung around and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal. Judah stood up and emptied the clip, even though he knew it was pointless. He stood panting for a moment and then slung the empty gun on top of the pump. He rubbed his forehead violently, trying to process what had just happened and trying to get his heart to stop banging around inside his chest. He took a deep breath, holding it in for as long as he could.

  “Goddamn it.”

  Judah stared down the empty road.

  “You okay, Lesser?”

  There was no answer.

  “Lesser?”

  Judah slowly turned around. The realization was like slamming into a brick wall.

  “Jesus, no.”

  Judah tilted his head and bit down hard on his lip. He clenched his fists and looked away, up into the yawning mouth of the night sky.

  “No. No, no, no, no.”

  He slowly brought his gaze back down to Lesser’s body, splayed out awkwardly in the dirt. Judah brought his wrist up to his mouth, trying to keep his emotions back behind his teeth. He walked over to Lesser and squatted down beside his twisted torso. Judah looked the body up and down. One bullet had gone into Lesser’s face, just beneath his right eye, and the other into his chest. Judah wasn’t sure which shot was the one that had killed him. He touched Lesser’s neck, slick with warm blood, and pressed hard. The life must have gone out of him almost instantly. Judah pulled his fingers back and let his hands dangle between his knees. He rocked back on his heels and looked up at the sky again. He was vaguely aware that his face was wet.

  Jedidiah came out onto the front porch of the store and stood with his arms crossed, gazing down at the scene before him. Judah found the old man’s face and blinked it into focus. He choked out the words.

  “Call 9-1-1. Now. Please.”

  Jedidiah’s face was completely devoid of expression.

  “Why? I didn’t see nothing.”

  Brother Felton knelt down on the thin, bristly Astroturf lining the floor of his camper and pressed his nose against the glass. The unblinking eye of a scarlet kingsnake was only a few inches from his own. Felton rested back on his thick haunches and considered the snake, motionless, coiled up in a knot in the corner of the terrarium, its narrow head resting on a dead branch, its black eye fixed in space. He wasn’t sure if the snake could see him through the glass or not. Felton smiled to himself and murmured in a sing-song voice.

  “Red on black, friend of Jack. Red on yellow, kill a fellow.”

  Felton was proud of himself. Most of the snakes in his collection were dull in color. Black racers. Rattlers. Garters. He had caught a yellow rat snake a few years back, but it hadn’t survived long in captivity. In comparison to the rest, this new find with its colorful banding was a showstopper. Felton hoped the snake was happy with its new home.

  He rose to his knees again and jerked a damp handkerchief out of the back pocket of his polyester pants. Despite the rattling box fan jammed into the corner, the camper was sweltering. The exposed bulb overhead was switched off, but the seven heat lamps for the terrariums were still blazing away, their carmine glow creating stark, eerie shadows on the walls. Even over the whirr of the fan and the burble from the turtle tank, Felton could hear the lamps, buzzing above the snakes. He pressed the handkerchief to his moist upper lip and then dragged it across the top of his balding head. Felton wadded the handkerchief up and stuffed it back in his pocket before patting down the fringe of brown hair circling the back and sides of his head. He tugged at his pinching collar, but didn’t undo the top button of his dress shirt. Still on his knees, Felton straightened his back out and clasped his pudgy hands tightly in front of his chest. He bowed his head.

  The sweat continued to trickle down the sides of his face and neck. He didn’t have to pray surrounded by the sizzling heat lamps, he had a new camper now, set up only a few yards from the one housing his reptiles, but old habits die hard. Felton scrunched up his face and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he pleaded for God to forgive him.

  Three months ago, Brother Felton had taken a life. He had lifted the heavy wooden crucifix from the back wall of the church and bludgeoned Sherwood Cannon in the head. Yes, Sherwood was a bad man. Yes, Felton had killed him to save his aunt’s life. And no, Felton would never be blamed for it, never be punished for it, because no one would ever know what he had done. No one except for Sister Tulah. And God, who had seen it all. And the snakes and turtles in the stifling camper, the secret keepers of all his whispered sins.

  Soon after the church fire, Felton had moved out of Tulah’s house. He had emptied his savings account and bought the second camper, this one with a window air conditioning unit, a stand-up shower and a miniature kitchen where he could microwave his Lean Cuisines in peace. Sister Tulah had been furious. Although she had temporarily banished him from her house in the wake of his botched attempt to intercede in her affairs with the Cannons and the Scorpions, she had obviously expected him to move back into his child-sized bedroom at the top of the stairs. She had been livid when Felton had refused. He knew it wasn’t because she cared for him or would miss him, but because he was doing something on his own. Independent of her. Felton would no longer be always within shouting distance, no longer directly under the grind of her thumb. Though it sickened him to admit it, Sherwood’s death had in many ways been a blessing for Felton. It had given him confidence. It had shown him that he was capable of action. And it had given him the courage to look his aunt in her one, pale, remaining eye and not give in when she demanded that he return to her house.

  Brother Felton thumped his clenched hands against his forehead. It was wrong to think of death that way. As a means to a positive end for him. It was wrong and it made him writhe with shame. He opened his eyes and stared up at the low, cobwebbed ceiling of the camper, beseeching God to have mercy on him. But God was quiet. Outside of The Last Steps of Deliverance Church of God, away from the centrifugal power of Sister Tulah and her direct line to the Holy Spirit, God didn’t even seem to exist. Felton let his hands drop to his sides and his head sink. He had been concentrating so hard that he’d made himself dizzy, but it didn’t matter. Praying on his own was futile.

  He started to stand up, but froze when his eyes fell on the terrarium in front of him. The kingsnake had moved. It was no longer locked in repose on the branch in the corner of the tank, but had slithered up to the glass and raised its body up unnaturally. It was swaying back and forth, but its obsidian eyes were fixed on Felton. The snake’s split tongue flickered. Brother Felton leaned forward, curious but also wary. When the snake eventually spoke, Felton fell backward on his ass.

  “Rise up.”

  Felton trembled and his eyes darted around the camper. The door was closed, the shadows against the low red light were still. He was alone. Felton glanced back at the kingsnake. It flicked its tongue again.

  “Rise up.”

  He carefully got to his knees and brought his face closer to the glass. The snake tilted its head, almost as if it was considering Felton for a moment. Brother Felton licked his dry lips and tried to speak.

  “Snake?”

  The kingsnake righted its head. Felton looked around the camper again; he was still alone.

  “Snake? Did you say something?”

  “Rise up. The time has come. The time is yours.”

  The snake was definitely talking to him. Felton’s whole body was shaking now. He pressed his palms to the glass and nodded to the snake. He didn’t know what else to do.

  “Yes? What time? What has come?”

  The snake rose up another few inches and Felton followe
d it with his eyes.

  “Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.”

  Brother Felton gasped. The snake was not only talking to him, it was quoting scripture. From the Book of Isaiah.

  “What does that mean? What are you saying?”

  The snake blinked at him.

  “Rise up. Your time has come. Your task will be revealed. Rise up.”

  Felton shook his head.

  “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what that means.”

  The snake dropped back to the base of the terrarium. Felton yelled at it through the glass.

  “Snake! Snake, I don’t understand!”

  The kingsnake slithered back to the branch. It looped its body around and buried its head underneath one of its coils. Felton mashed his face up against the glass. The outside of the terrarium was slick with sweat. He waited, but the snake didn’t move. Finally, Brother Felton collapsed backward onto the floor. A dull headache had settled in a band across his temples and he closed his eyes. He drew his knees up to his chest and whispered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  THE FRONT door creaked open and startled Ramey awake. She had been sitting at the kitchen table in the dim light, trying to wait up for Judah. Ramey lifted her head from her folded arms and stretched her shoulders, trying to shake off the sleep. She started to brush the tangle of hair back from her eyes, but then caught herself. No one had stepped into the hallway. Ramey glanced across the kitchen. There was a .45 in the drawer next to the stove, but she’d have to make it all the way around the table to get to it. A double-barrel was leaning in a corner of the pantry behind her, but again, she’d have to get up and open the door first. Ramey scanned the table in front of her. Ashtray. Squashed pack of cigarettes. Bic lighter. Two empty Bud bottles. Ramey got her feet under her and leaned forward, reaching for the neck of one of the bottles. Her fingers closed around the smooth glass and she was just about to smash the bottle against the edge of the table when Judah stepped out of the shadows and into the kitchen doorway. Ramey almost choked.