Dirty South Drug Wars

by Jae Hood

  I squeezed the trigger.

  I’d imagined killing him a million times, in my daydreams, in my nightmares. But the image my mind conjured never prepared me for the actual act. In my dreams the bullet travelled in slow motion. He would fall silently to the ground.

  In reality the bullet flew fierce, faster than the blink of an eye. Amos’ body flew backward. His forehead shattered. Blood and brain matter seeped through his split skull. His eyes were round, gaping. His own gun dangled from his fingers before it fell to the ground.

  Those dark eyes, my father’s eyes, locked on mine as he staggered back, his limp body slamming against the side of my grandmother’s farmhouse.

  As he slumped down, his mangled head left a bloody trail, a violent reminder of life and of death dwindling down the side of the stark white building. His gaze drifted from mine as his head fell to the side, his body slumping into a sitting position. The shock was gone, replaced with a blank stare as the rain began to ebb.

  My stomach convulsed, my heart chasing it in return as I turned to vomit on the muddy, red clay ground.

  The wind picked up. I smelled the freshness of the dampened magnolias, their blooms wilted from the summer heat as the petals fell to the earth, the scent intermingling with the smell of a recently fired gun. I breathed it in, the gunpowder, the flowers, the red clay, and the rain. I felt relief for the first time in forever.

  Tanner.

  I pulled myself from the ground, my mud-soaked jeans clinging to my legs like spiders clinging to a web as I stumbled to the back porch. I paused then gazed down at the dead man once more before picking up his discarded gun from the cold ground.

  “Just in case.”

  I fired another round, hitting him in the chest this time, the bullet ripping through his long-dead heart. His pale body jerked then fell, sliding to the earth, his scruffy face submerging in a deep puddle. I watched him for a moment before leaving him there, satisfied there were no bubbles erupting from the surface of his watery grave.

  Chapter 30

  Cool cotton sheets comforted me as I awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep. I stretched, looking around Tanner’s bedroom and finding myself alone. The morning sunlight filtered in through the window. The light faded and shifted with the movement of branches and leaves outside.

  I slipped from beneath the covers, yawning and stretching before a slight chill settled over me. Half expecting my sister, my heart skipped a beat. But there was no one else in the room. Deciding the chill was the bitter wind creeping inside, I shrugged then padded into Tanner’s bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

  It wasn’t until later, after blow-drying my hair, slipping on an old, familiar black dress, and applying my makeup that the chill returned. Staring into the mirror, just past my right shoulder in the reflection, I was met with a pair of eyes so similar, yet so vastly different from my own.

  I sighed. “You really need to stop popping up every time I have my back turned, Luce.”

  My sister grinned a mischievous little grin, her eyes alight with amusement. It wasn’t the first time she’d visited me since my uncle’s demise.

  She was there with me when I found Tanner inside my grandmother’s home, standing over his forlorn body, causing me to break out into a scream. She was there in the woods near the river when we dumped Amos’ body and tossed the guns, and she was there the night our grandmother called me sobbing, explaining that Olivia had finally passed away.

  My sister had a silly grin on her face, smug over the fact she’d surprised me once more by popping up unannounced.

  “People already think I’m crazy.” I peeked at Tanner’s partly open door. “If they hear me talking to my dead sister they’ll commit me.”

  “I feel more and more insignificant every time you mention the word ‘dead.’ How would you feel if I kept rubbing your demise in your face?” she asked. Her grin stretched across her pale face. “Maybe you’re the one who’s dead, and I’m really alive.”

  “What?”

  Lucy cackled then rolled from her belly to her side, propping her head on her hand. Her black dress was wrinkled, the deep creases embedded in the dark silk. She lounged on Tanner’s bed as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “I liked you better when you were alive.”

  “Well, I should hope so.”

  “Can I ask you a question? Are you a ghost, or just a figment of my imagination?”

  Lucy sighed and sat up on the bed, crossing her legs underneath her. She was barefoot, with no shoes in sight.

  “I hate the word ‘ghost.’ It makes me feel invisible, so empty.” She cast me another one of those grins, which melted once she noticed my serious expression. “Okay, okay. No more jokes. Jesus. You take things too seriously. To be honest with you, I don’t know what I am, but I hope I’m more than just a ghost, more than just an illusion you’ve conjured up. I like to imagine I’m memories, memories you can see if you look hard enough.”

  I absorbed her words for a moment then nodded, moving on to my next question. “Have you met God?”

  “God?” She scowled. “Uh, no, Sissy. If I met God, do you think I’d still be hanging around this joint?”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I came to say goodbye, one last time.”

  I stared at her for a long moment, her humor no longer evident. Her face was somewhat shy and completely laced with sadness while she toyed with the hem of her dress.

  “If you’re a memory, then you’ll never slip away.” My heart twisted inside my chest at the thought of no longer seeing my sister.

  “Memories fade over time.” She uncrossed her legs and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. “I’m starting to forget things. I can’t remember hardly anything from our childhood. I barely remember our father. I remember Mama, but can’t remember what she looks like.”

  “That’s not a great loss.”

  “She’s our mother,” Lucy retorted. “No matter how awful she treated us, find forgiveness somehow, Rue. It’s the only way you’ll move forward in life.”

  “Are you coming to the funeral before you leave?” I asked, ignoring her statement because forgiveness was nowhere near feasible in the near future, not for Christine, not for anyone.

  “Nah. Once you’ve been to your own funeral, you’ve been to them all,” she cracked, shooting me another smile.

  “My dead sister is full of jokes today.”

  “Stop calling me dead!” She groaned, pressing her hand on her chest above her still heart. “You’re completely crushing my spirit. Get it? Crushing my spirit?”

  I opened my mouth to snap back at her, but the soft padding of boots on the stairs caused me to pause. Quickly standing from the bed, Lucy crossed the room then shocked me by throwing her arms around my neck.

  I felt her.

  I felt her cool body pressed against mine, the sleek fabric of the dress slipping against my chilled skin. The smell of her shampoo wafted around me in a Lucy-induced haze. I felt her cheek rise against my face as she smiled. I heard her breathe. Then she pulled away.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “I can feel you. That’s amazing.”

  She snorted, the contours of her face softening, fading. “Of course you can feel me. I’m your sister.”

  One of her hands slipped from my body; the other slid beneath the chain dangling from my neck. She lifted the key that hung there, knotting her eyebrows in concentration as the outline of her body began to slip away.

  “Lucy, wait, don’t go. What about the key? Tell me about the key.”

  “The key,” she said, those eyebrows still drawn in confusion. “You know, I can’t seem to remember anything about a key.”

  And just like that, she was gone.

  “Rue?”

  Cool metal slapped against my neck as the key fell against my skin, landing between my breasts. I closed my eyes then took a deep breath before turning to the door. Tanner stood in the doorway, his mussed hair even more unruly than usual an
d dark circles under his eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  I laughed at his words, shaking my head at the irony of it all.

  I was most definitely not “all right.”

  “I’m great,” I replied with a soft smile.

  Tanner pushed himself off the doorframe then made his way across the room. My stomach fluttered at the way he looked wearing a charcoal-grey suit, nicely tailored, with his hands deep in his pockets. A pink tie hung from his neck, which I used to draw him against me, sliding my fingers around the slick material and giving it a tug. He grinned that lopsided grin then melted into me, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” His warm breath was just a whisper.

  “Yeah, I’m sort of used to it by now.” I snubbed the emotional knot lodging inside my throat.

  “That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier,” he replied, resting his hands on the small of my back. “If you want to say ‘screw it, let’s go have a burger and shake,’ we’ll do that. We’ll do anything you want to do. I just want you happy. I’m tired of seeing you sad.”

  “I’ll watch them bury my cousin. And I’ll bury my sadness with her as well.”

  “Are you asking your grandmother about the key today?” He fingered the chain as it hung around my neck.

  “Yeah. This key, it makes me nervous. It belongs to something important. I can feel it.”

  *

  The sanctuary of the funeral home was full of people pressing their tissues to the corners of their eyes. The loss of such a young person hung in the air. “Such a terrible tragedy,” they said. “A freak accident,” they claimed. “Faulty wiring in the truck.” Only a select few of us knew the truth surrounding the night of Olivia’s “accident.”

  The curious gaze of the townsfolk continued to linger on us—the Montgomery clan and me—as we sat on the back pew. I’d dismissed Brodie’s suggestion to sit near the front in a pew reserved for close relatives.

  The only family I desired sat by my side: the Montgomerys.

  Josie wandered into the room and I bristled. The sight of the light pink scars embedded down the side of her face caused me to cringe, but I tilted my head high.

  No regrets.

  Josie surprised me by bestowing a soft smile upon me then tugging Bryce to her side. My body went rigid as the two of them slipped past us in the pew, Josie’s soft blue skirt drifting across my bare knees. She sat down beside me and I gave her a tight smile, trying not to stare at the marks beneath her thick makeup.

  “I look like dammit, I know.” She gave me a half-smile. “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

  “No, you didn’t. You’re the reason I finally came to my senses.”

  Josie lowered her voice. “Has the FBI been questioning you about Amos?”

  I glanced around me at the mourners, content that everyone within earshot was deeply absorbed in their own hushed conversations.

  “They came sniffing around, asking questions,” I told her as Tanner’s arm slipped around my shoulders.

  “What did you tell them?”

  I grinned. “The truth. I told them the truth, to an extent. I was with Tanner the night of the storm. It was far too rough to get out in that sort of weather.”

  “Do you think they bought it?” she asked.

  I shrugged, unsure of that answer myself. Cops and detectives were persistent, if nothing else. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continued hounding us for answers. Unfortunately for them, dead men didn’t talk, especially not the one we’d tossed in the river. If only Buck were there to join his friend and his own son in their watery graves.

  “Heard anything about Buck Bridges?” she asked even quieter as though she were reading my mind. “Any new developments?”

  “Nah,” I whispered back, tugging a strand of hair between my fingers. “He’s practically living at the police station. He’s terrified, as he should be. Graham’s itching to get his hands on him. He told me and Tanner that he’ll be the one to end Buck.”

  “I’d love to help Graham end Buck Bridges’ life,” she confessed. “I need another trigger finger to replace the one I got rid of.”

  “Josie,” I scolded. “That’s horrible.”

  “Meh.” She shrugged, lowering her voice so low I struggled to hear her. The preacher gestured for the audience to rise. “I know. I’m a little twisted. Bryce says I’m disturbing, but I don’t think so. Cutting off a trigger finger or two is nothing compared to the things they’ve done to us, our family, and the Montgomerys.”

  I nodded, a silent agreement to her softly spoken words. Then we stood, hung our heads in prayer, and mourned the loss of our cousin, although few tears were shed between Josie and me.

  *

  Nana was the center of attention at her house as mourners pulled her into tight hugs, offering their condolences and dessert recipes. She soaked it in with grace and dignity, wiping the corners of her eyes with my grandfather’s embroidered hanky from time to time.

  Olivia’s mother was sobbing in the corner of the room, consoled by her husband Alex. Peyton sat in stony silence nearby. I wondered what my uncle had told his wife. Did he tell her the truth? That the vehicle had been rigged by Graham Montgomery? That it exploded, causing the injuries that eventually took Olivia’s life?

  My own mother was absent from the woeful gathering, now serving a stint in prison. I wondered how she was making it, if she was well.

  Then I realized I didn’t care. I really didn’t care.

  Tanner stood a couple feet away, his gaze rarely wavering from me. If he felt uncomfortable in my grandmother’s house, in the place where Amos had knocked him unconscious and left him passed out on the floor, he never once showed it. He had been groggy upon waking from his stupor and plagued with the pain of a large bump on the back of his head. But the pain hadn’t been enough to deter him from what we had to do that night, which was disposing of Amos’ body.

  There were no more muddy footprints trekking through the house. I’d cleaned the evidence away with trembling fingers that night as well as I could, but I still wondered if Nana knew we’d been there, if she knew I’d murdered her eldest son on her own property. If she did, she showed no indication.

  “How are your classes?” Nana gathered the discarded dishes scattered about the house.

  I followed her, gathering up dishes myself.

  “My GED classes? They’re going well,” I replied, keeping up with the light conversation, using it as a leeway into something of a more serious matter. “Shelby and Tanner help me study at night. They’ve been very helpful. They’ve all been very helpful. The Montgomerys, that is.”

  My grandmother pursed her lips and didn’t immediately respond. I followed her into the kitchen then helped pile the dishes in the sink.

  From the corner of my eye I noticed Tanner enter the room. His long fingers found their way into his unruly hair, tugging at the strands. A chair near the kitchen table scraped against the linoleum before he dropped his lanky frame into it.

  “Need some help?”

  Nana paled at Tanner’s presence. She didn’t respond for a moment, lost in the routine of taking each dish from my hand and depositing it into the dishwasher.

  “You resemble your grandfather.”

  Nana’s blunt confession hung in the air. Tanner’s eyebrows furrowed. The clouds cleared from his vision easily enough, but I wondered what he thought at that moment. Did he think of his deceased grandfather? Or did he think of his own grandmother, a woman his grandfather hadn’t been faithful to?

  He cleared his throat. “That’s what everyone says.”

  Nana nodded and murmured something under her breath. The clink and clank of dishes and utensils filled the stiff silence before she spoke again.

  “I reckon you’re waiting on me to tell you about the key?” she asked, nodding at the curved brass hanging from my neck.

  I touched it with my dampened hands. The brass was cool beneath my sudsy, wri
nkled fingers.

  “Yes, ma’am. We found it in your safe. Lucy was wearing it the last time I saw her, but then I found it in her bedroom. I have no clue how it got there, but I feel like it’s important,” I told her, dropping my hands back into the dishwater.

  “The key is important. It’s part of your inheritance now. It is, quite literally, the key to your future.”

  I sighed, pulling the drain from the sink. “Would you please stop speaking in riddles and codes? Just tell me what the key fits.”

  She closed the dishwasher door and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “A house. The key belongs to a house Amos was to inherit, but now that he’s gone I’ve decided it should belong to you. Truth be told, it’s always belonged to you. And to you, as well.”

  Nana spoke the last sentence to Tanner, whose brow wrinkled in confusion.

  Weariness rested on my grandmother’s face. The deep worry lines of her forehead silently confessed her woeful tales. We kept quiet waiting on her to elaborate, but she never did.

  Instead she left the room, returning moments later with a thick envelope which she passed to my boyfriend. He took it from her hands and returned the timid smile she bestowed upon him.

  “Consider that a graduation present for the both of you,” Nana explained.

  I found my impending graduation trivial after all we’d been through, the loved ones we’d buried. Cakes and parties weren’t anywhere near the forefront of my mind, but apparently the occasion was important to Nana, important enough to give us both a gift.

  “Tell us more about the house, Nana.”

  She shrugged, so cool and dismissive. “Property I inherited years ago. It makes sense it should go to the two of you. There’s a card with a number inside the envelope. It belongs to an old lawyer friend of your grandfather’s, Tanner. All you have to do is sign the paperwork and the house will legally belong to the two of you.”

  Although her demeanor lacked enthusiasm, I found her words remained somewhat cryptic. There was a story there, as sure as the day was long, and I wondered if I’d ever figure it out.