by S. A. Cosby
“I … I don’t know. I mean he was my son. Our son. But what he was doing was wrong. I have to believe that. Because if I don’t, then everything I did was a mistake,” Christine said. She put her fist to her mouth and moaned.
“It was a mistake, Chrissy. We both made a lot of mistakes with him. He wasn’t abhorrent. He wasn’t sacrilegious. He was just Derek. That should’ve been enough for both of us,” Buddy Lee said. He said it with a tenderness he didn’t think himself capable of anymore. At least not with her.
“Gerald would disagree with you,” Christine said. Buddy Lee grunted.
“I know this might be hard to believe, but the great Gerald Culpepper isn’t always right,” Buddy Lee said. Christine laughed. It was a harsh bark. Buddy Lee scratched his chin.
“What?”
“You know the one thing I always liked about you? No matter what, you were real. There’s no phoniness with you, Buddy Lee. What you see is what you get. Even if what I got drove me crazy sometimes,” Christine said. Buddy Lee felt his face warming.
“If I could’ve faked it sometimes, maybe we would’ve made it,” Buddy Lee said with a smile. Christine didn’t give him one in return.
“I just left a party at my house where I’m fairly certain there is a woman my husband is screwing two times a month. It’s the kind of party I used to dream about attending when I was a little girl. Fancy silverware. Real plates. Not a Styrofoam cup in sight. Two live bands. The best food. The best liquor money can buy. Not that rotgut my daddy used to drink.” She shifted in her chair.
“I was standing next to one of the richest men in Virginia while he told a nasty joke about why Black men have such big dicks, as a Black woman served me another glass of prosecco. Gerald’s dad laughed at that joke so hard he started choking. All these rich sons of bitches at my house to celebrate the great Gerald Culpepper announcing that he’s going to give up his judgeship to run for governor. He says it’s because he wants to help people.” Christine’s voice began to quaver.
“And all I could think about was that none of these people here gave a damn about my son. My baby. Laying in his grave. Including me. So I left. I came to talk to the one person who knows how it feels. Even if we hated each other, we loved Derek. Didn’t we?” Christine asked.
Before Buddy Lee could answer, Christine began to howl. Great trumpeting cries that shook the trailer. She slipped out of the recliner and onto his floor. Her white capris picking up brown smudges from Buddy Lee’s carpet.
“If I hadn’t abandoned him, maybe he’d still be alive! You were right. It’s all my fault,” Christine sobbed. Buddy Lee thought she sounded like an animal caught in a snare. It made his skin crawl. A part of him, the part that still cared for her—hell, loved her—told him to go to her. It told him to put his arms around her, take in her scent, and tell her that wasn’t true. That it wasn’t her fault. That the only person responsible for what happened to their son was the bastard that pulled the trigger.
He didn’t move.
Because the other part of him, the part that knew the part that loved her was a nostalgic fool, believed she needed to feel this. She needed to have this pain touch her in places her money and status couldn’t shield. She’d turned her back on their son. He’d been dismissive and cruel. They both needed to own that shit.
“You didn’t kill him, Christine,” Buddy Lee said finally. Christine’s cries were ebbing. The howls becoming fainter and fainter. She hugged her knees to her chin. Buddy Lee went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of paper towels. He folded them and gave them to Christine. She wiped her eyes and her nose.
“Oh God, I’m just a mess, Buddy Lee. You know he called me a couple of weeks before it happened? I ignored the call. I couldn’t get into it with him about Gerald and his politics and the gay-rights agenda. I just didn’t want to deal with all that.” She sighed. “Huh, who are we kidding? I never wanted to deal with it. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d get a chance to talk to him. Ah, Jesus,” Christine said.
“Nobody ever knows the last time is gonna be the last time until it’s too late. You ain’t alone in that. That’s what makes living so damn terrible sometimes,” Buddy Lee said. Christine looked up at him.
“Have the police been in touch with you? Have they made any progress at all?” she asked.
“They been in touch. Don’t know how much progress they done made,” Buddy Lee said.
Christine nodded. “You know, I think about what I would do if I could confront them. The person who did it. Guess that’ll never happen. They got my boy’s blood on their hands and I’ll never get to see them pay,” Christine said. She began to wail again. Buddy Lee stood near her. He looked down and watched as her body trembled and rocked. He watched as his hand eased toward her head. At the last moment he pulled it back and put it in his pocket. Instead he plopped down beside her.
“Me and Ike, Derek’s husband’s daddy, we been kinda poking around this thing,” Buddy Lee said. He didn’t lean in close or put his arm around her. He simply said it while staring straight ahead.
“‘Poking around’? What does that mean?” Christine asked, sniffling.
Buddy Lee nodded. “Trying to see if we can shake some shit loose. We gonna be talking to this music fella soon. Gonna see if knows where this girl is that might be able to tell us what started all this shit,” Buddy Lee said.
Christine raised her head. “That’s all you’re doing, right? Looking into it? You’re not trying to hurt anybody, right?”
Buddy Lee shook his head. He was remarkably good at lying to her. “Nah. All we doing is trying to get to the truth.”
“I don’t want anyone else to die,” Christine said.
“They won’t,” Buddy Lee said. He thought, Unless they the ones that killed the boys.
“I know you, Buddy. That temper of yours. You’ve never been able to control it,” Christine said.
“I never put my hands on you. Never.”
“No, you didn’t. But you broke my uncle’s jaw.”
“He called me a piece of white trash, then he spit on me. What was I supposed to do? Give him a deep-tissue massage and burn incense?” Buddy Lee asked. Christine laughed. This one was different. It was like honey on his soul.
“You always could make me laugh. So, when you going to talk to this—what did you call him? A music fella?” Christine asked.
“Made you laugh. Made you cry, too. You and Derek,” Buddy Lee said. He puffed up his cheeks and took a long breath. “We’re probably gonna go talk to him tomorrow. I think Ike needs a break today. We been running kinda hard.”
Buddy Lee thought, We been running around breaking people’s fingers and tipping over fake cakes, then we ended up grinding a boy into manure, then we got in a fight at a gay club. Shit, Ike needed a break? Truth is, we’re both old and we’re both tired as hell. I need a break just as much as he does.
He clucked his tongue against his teeth.
“Look, what I said the other day at the grave, I didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, you did. One thing about you, Buddy Lee Jenkins, you ain’t got no problem calling people out on their bullshit,” Christine said, slipping into her Red Hill County accent. Now it was Buddy Lee’s turn to laugh.
“They let you use them kinda words up on Monument Avenue?” Buddy Lee asked. Christine pushed herself up off the floor. She wiped off her backside, and Buddy Lee watched as her hands moved over her firm buttocks.
“I don’t live on Monument Avenue. We moved out to King William three years ago. Garden Acres. We’re pretty much by ourselves out there, so nobody cares what I say,” Christine said. She wiped her eyes again before balling up the paper towel and putting it in her pocket.
“I guess I should get going,” Christine said. Buddy Lee nodded.
“Why’d you really come out here? I didn’t think you even remembered where I lived,” Buddy Lee said.
“The last time I was in Red Hill was rather memorable,” Christine said.
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“Derek ran away from home and hitchhiked all the way down I-64 to here. If I’m correct, I think your husband threatened to put me so far down in a cell I’d have to get on a stepladder to kiss the devil’s ass,” Buddy Lee said.
“That was after you headbutted him, Buddy Lee.”
“He has a big head. It’s an easy target. Anyway, I didn’t like the way he was putting his hands on Derek. Or how you didn’t say nothing about it,” Buddy Lee said. Whatever magic spell had been cast between them broke so cleanly Buddy Lee thought he could see the fractures in the air between them.
“I need to go,” Christine said.
“You never answered the question.”
“I suppose I wanted you to convince me I wasn’t as bad a mother as I thought I was.” Christine said. She opened the door, and Buddy Lee could hear the crickets singing to their loves in the distance. Christine paused in the doorway.
“You really think you’re going to find out who did this?” Christine asked. Buddy Lee stared up at her. He didn’t see the high-society icon of the upper-crust establishment of Virginia. He saw that girl with the cornflower-blue eyes he’d first met at that field party so long ago.
“I’m dedicating the rest of my shitty life to it,” Buddy Lee said.
“That sounds like something you would say,” Christine said. She stepped out into the night and closed the door behind her. Buddy Lee began to sing:
“And soon they’ll carry him away.
He stopped loving her today.”
Buddy Lee’s voice cracked as he sang the old George Jones classic. He sang it low and soft, but the words still felt sharp and full of spikes.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ike got up at seven on Monday morning. The house was quieter than usual. Mya and Arianna were staying with Mya’s sister for the time being. He grabbed his phone and called Jazzy.
“Hello?”
“Jazz, it’s me.”
The sleepiness in her voice evaporated.
“Hey. What’s … what’s up?”
“I was wondering were you up to coming in today? We can get the guys and hit some of the jobs we called off on Friday and Saturday,” Ike said. The phone line was silent.
“Jazz?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to come back,” she said.
“That’s cool. I’ll just go in and get the guys out on some of the small jobs, and when you’re ready—”
“I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be ready to come back,” Jazzy said. Ike put the phone against his forehead.
“Ike, you hear me?” Jazzy asked. Ike put the phone back to his ear.
“Yeah. I hear ya, Jazz.”
“I love working for you, but it’s like Marcus says. Who knows when those guys might show up again?” Jazzy said.
“I get it, Jazz. I’m sorry I put you through that,” Ike said.
“I’ll send Marcus by tomorrow to get my stuff off my desk, if that’s okay,” Jazzy said.
“Alright,” Ike said.
“Are you mad?” Jazzy asked.
“What? No. No, I understand, Jazz. I should never have brought that shit to our door.”
“What do you mean you brought to our door? What’s going on, Ike?” Jazzy asked.
“Nothing you have to worry about, Jazzy,” Ike said. It came out with harshness he didn’t intend. “I mean, it’s nothing to get concerned about. It’s all good.” Jazzy didn’t speak for what seemed like minutes.
“Whatever is going on, don’t let it tear down everything you’ve built. You’re better than that. You’re better than those funky-ass bikers,” Jazzy said. He heard the hitch in her speech and he figured she was a few seconds from crying.
“I won’t, Jazz. You tell Marcus he better treat you right or I’m coming to see him,” Ike said.
“Oh, boss, he’s fine. I guess I better get up. I need to go look for a new job,” Jazzy said. Ike chewed at his bottom lip. Jazzy had been with him since she’d graduated from high school five years ago. He had not only come to depend on her but he had grown to like her. If he squinted real hard and prayed to God, Allah, and Krishna, he could sometimes do the books on the computer. Jazzy knew the system backward and forward. It would take time to train a new person on the computer. It would take even longer to train them to be compatible with his particular circadian rhythms.
“Hey, if you ever change your mind, the door is always open,” Ike said. A lump was doing its level best to form in his throat.
“I hear you. Hey, Ike, be careful, okay?”
“I’m as careful as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Ike said.
“I think that’s the first joke I’ve ever heard you tell. Well, the first funny one, that is. I guess I better go,” Jazzy said.
“Okay. Bye.
“Bye,” Jazzy said. She ended the call. Ike tapped his phone against his forehead. Jazzy wasn’t exactly like a daughter to Ike but she was damn close.
“Goddammit,” he said. He got up and put on a pot of coffee. He didn’t even feel like going to the shop now. He’d just take another personal day and go in early tomorrow since he’d be writing up the work orders and working accounts payable and receivable.
An hour later, as he was on his third cup of coffee, there was a knock at the door.
Ike put his cup down and went to the closet in the hallway that led to the stairs. He grabbed the piece of rebar he’d hidden there the other night after his run-in with the Caprice. The fourteen-inch piece of iron was only an inch around, but it was as heavy as a hammer. Ike went to the door and peered through the diamond-shaped window.
“Aw, hell,” he said. He opened the door. Buddy Lee stepped into the house with a Hardee’s bag.
“Glad I caught you before you went to work. I brought biscuits,” he said.
“You should call first,” Ike said. Buddy Lee gave the rebar a quick once-over.
“Damn, you really must hate Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Buddy Lee said. Ike thought he must be getting used to Buddy Lee’s attempts at humor. He didn’t even roll his eyes this time.
“Had some visitors Saturday,” Ike said. Buddy Lee stopped in his tracks as Ike closed the door.
“Breed?”
“Yeah. Two guys in a big yellow banana boat followed Mya home,” Ike said.
“Did they see you?” Buddy Lee asked.
“Yeah. I busted out their windows with a bush axe,” Ike said. Buddy Lee slumped against the wall as Ike shut the door.
“Didn’t you tell me you pulled a machete on them the other day?” Buddy Lee asked.
“Yeah.”
Buddy Lee pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen. He sat down at the table and Ike joined him.
“You got a thing for sharp objects, huh? Jesus. I’m surprised this house is still standing,” Buddy Lee said. He pulled one of the biscuits out of the bag and put it on the table in front of Ike. Ike grabbed it and took a bite. He spoke as he chewed.
“I sent Mya and the girl to stay with her sister for a while. Until this is over,” he said.
“That’s good. That little girl don’t need to be mixed up in none of this. How did your wife take it? Leaving her house and all,” Buddy Lee said.
“She won’t say it but I think she wants us to make it right. Whatever that means. You know, seeing them at the shop was one thing. Seeing them at my fucking house was another. It ain’t like it wasn’t real before that. I mean, I guess it was like if anything went down it was on me. But seeing them on my road…” Ike let the sentence fade away.
“You got something else to lose,” Buddy Lee said.
“Yeah.”
“If you want out, I get it. I ain’t gonna think less of you,” Buddy Lee said.
Ike shook his head. “We in too deep now, homie. The only way out is through.”
Buddy Lee chuckled. “My mama used to say that.”
“I used to hear my granddad say it. Him and my grandmama raised me. At least they tried to. I gave them some early gray
hairs,” Ike said.
“My mama told me when she was pregnant she prayed for a boy. Then once I was born she prayed for discernment,” Buddy Lee said with a rueful smile. Ike thought there was a lot of hurt behind that smile, but he wasn’t the one to pull it out of Buddy Lee.
“Say, you think you gonna need more than that piece of rebar around here? Because my half brother Chet can get us some pieces.”
Ike frowned. “I can get a gun if I need to. This is Virginia. They damn near sell them at Seven-Eleven.”
“Hey, Ike, no offense, but the Rare Breed ain’t a social club. You gonna need more than farm tools if they decide to come back and light this house up,” Buddy said.
“Do you get a commission or something?” Ike asked.
“Alright, alright, it was just a suggestion. I guess the next time they come by you can throw a pitchfork at them. Anyway, how we gonna get to this producer fella? If he’s as big-time as you say, I don’t reckon we can walk up to his front door,” Buddy Lee said.
“I googled him last night. Can’t find his address nowhere. Looked up articles on the newspaper website. It just says he resides in the Richmond Metro area.”
“Shit,” Buddy Lee said.
“Yeah,” Ike said. Buddy Lee tapped his foot. The sound reverberated across the kitchen.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t that boy at the cake shop say they had done a job for the producer?” Ike asked.
“Yeah. I’m figuring that’s where Derek met Tangerine,” Buddy Lee said.
“Okay. So, they would have the address, right?” Ike asked.
“Yeah, but they ain’t gonna hand it over to us. We went in there breaking cakes and shit,” Buddy Lee said.
“That was all you,” Ike said. Buddy Lee snickered.
“Whatever, point being we ain’t high on their list of friends these days,” Buddy Lee said.
“We don’t have to be. I got an idea,” Ike said. He pulled out his cell phone and called Essential Events Bakery. The phone only rang twice before a pleasant-sounding woman answered it.
“Essential Events, Carrie speaking. How may I make your day wonderful?” she said.