Ravens

by George Dawes Green

  So where was Romeo? Oh, gone, Shaw knew. He’d flown. He’d be hiding somewhere, in some dark corner, trembling, getting drunk.

  Shaw had always known this would happen.

  Now he was alone. And Tara must have seen this. She must have been thinking of how she’d destroy him now. No matter what feelings she might have for him, she’d murder him the moment he let his guard down.

  I’ve got to get her to Nell’s. In the presence of Nell I can still control her.

  And after that?

  He didn’t know after that. Somehow he had to make her think he had others working for him. Trevor, for a start. And maybe he should call in his friends from Ohio: Chris and Piss-boy. Fly them down here. Tell Tara this was his gang; she’d be terrified.

  That’s the key. The key is to keep her scared. Fear, discipline.

  He told her, “All right, let’s go to Nell’s now. We better go fast though.”

  She cast him a look of deep alarm. She crushed down on the gas and went whipping down MLK Boulevard.

  He smiled. “You still need my mercy, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t kill this dream. It’s too powerful. So make your choice. You want to see realms of great love, they’ll be shown to you. You want pain, I’ll show you that. What do you want, Tara?”

  Romeo turned off of Egmont Street well before he got to Nell’s house. He eased down the alleyway and parked, and limped up to Nell’s wooden fence. A TV game show clanged somewhere in the neighborhood. He studied the bungalow. Nothing stirring. He leaped the fence into her garden. Fat gourds, tomatoes, chili peppers. Two gray sparrows on the rim of the clawfoot tub. And right beside the house was an ancient potting shed. He opened the door and looked in. It was so hot that it hurt to breathe. The closeness, the smell of loam, the pitch dark: it all put him in mind of a coffin, and this seemed inviting. Wasps were tap-tapping in a loose rhythm, and there was an old canopy-green lawn chair, and he hadn’t slept in days.

  I could just steal five minutes.

  But he knew if he shut his eyes he’d wake up on the way to prison.

  Work first. Then sleep.

  As he was stepping from the shed to the house, he heard the sound of a car on Egmont Street.

  Tara and Shaw pulled up in front of Nell’s. She had to wait for him to put his jacket on over his gun; then they got out of the Liberty and ran to the portico.

  They found Nell at the kitchen table. She was safe and sound, and buttering raisin toast. She cried, “Well, hello, ba-by!”

  Tara said, “Nell, are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, honey. What’s the matter?”

  Said Shaw, “Has anyone been here?”

  “Like who? Y’all ready for seven stud?”

  “Nell, we have a problem. Could we sit down?”

  They did, arranging themselves at the kitchen table.

  Then Shaw said, “Listen, this is going to seem strange to you. There’s a guy, a friend of mine, he wants to hurt me. Well, he was my friend. Since the jackpot, he’s gone, well, kind of nuts. He thinks he should get a share of the money. He says he’s going to hurt Tara, as a way to get to me. He’s going around spreading lies about me. But the lies aren’t working! They’re not working, are they, Tara? It’s just, he’s dangerous now. You know? He’s like a cyclone. He’s out of his mind.”

  Nell said, “You told the police?”

  “I don’t want the police! You don’t understand! This man is my best friend. I love this man! I just need to talk to him.”

  Nell said, “But if he’s that insane —”

  “I know! I’m packing a gun, Nell. I know I may have to kill him. But I want to try to save him if I can.”

  Then there was a movement at the edge of Tara’s vision. She felt it before she saw it — she cried out. Romeo. Stepping out of the hallway. He stank of gasoline. He had a gun, and his gaze was fixed on Shaw.

  Shaw spoke with his most lulling voice. “Romeo, oh my God, what happened? What happened to you? We’ve got to talk. Things you might not understand. Things I was saying to other people, but you’ve got to see them in another light. Oh, God. If you knew! If you knew how good we are now, buddy, how set we are —”

  Romeo murmured, “I do know. We’re good.” Then he turned to Tara. He said, “Tara. Come here.”

  “Leave her alone,” said Shaw. “We’re all right.”

  But Romeo summoned her again: “Come here.”

  Shaw said, “What the hell are you doing? Stop it. We don’t have to hurt anyone.”

  Romeo aimed the gun at Nell.

  “No!” said Shaw. “You don’t have to do this!”

  But Romeo held his aim. “I said, come here, Tara. Or I’ll kill her.”

  Tara rose. In such terror that her legs hardly worked. But she went to stand before him with her eyes lowered.

  “Now turn around. Face your grandmother.”

  I should fight this, she thought. Not submit to my own execution. I should resist this now.

  But how? Do what? She couldn’t think.

  “Turn around,” said Romeo. And then in a sudden rage: “NOW! NO TIME! TURN AROUND NOW!”

  She obeyed. Her eyes were shut so she saw nothing, but she heard Shaw pleading, “Romeo, listen, we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to punish them. They’re OK; they love us, they believe in us. Please trust me. Show me some trust here, for God’s sake, listen.”

  Silence.

  Tara’s breath came via little seizures in her throat.

  She thought, Why does Nell have to watch this? It’s not fair. Why should Nell have to watch? Why this price? Why this high? Could my sins have been so great? Lord? Please! Whatever I have done, please forgive me for the sake of my innocent Nell. Please forgive me!

  She felt Romeo right behind her. His breath on her neck.

  She wanted to say, “Nell don’t look,” but her voice wouldn’t surface.

  And then she felt Romeo taking hold of her right wrist, and lifting it — and her fingers touched cool metal.

  He said, “I’m giving you this.”

  She opened her eyes and looked down: he was handing her his gun.

  He said, “I can’t do it; I’m not strong enough. But you are.”

  Shaw was looking up at him. Revelation began to gather in his eyes. Romeo wrapped Tara’s fingers around the gun, while keeping his own finger in the trigger guard.

  “I know you can do this,” he said. “You were born for this. But you have to promise you’ll kill us both.”

  “I don’t …”

  “He can’t live in prison. Be torture. For me too. Promise me.”

  Just get the gun, Tara thought. He’s insane. Do whatever he asks but get the gun.

  She said softly, “All right.”

  Romeo said, “You’ll kill us now? Both of us? You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Shaw said nothing. But Tara could see the trace of a smile begin to work at his lips: he was proud of her.

  Romeo said, “Feel for the trigger guard. You feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When I tell you, put your finger in. Then kill him right away. You know the way he talks. He’ll talk you out of it. And then he’ll destroy us. Don’t let him talk to you!”

  “All right.”

  Romeo took his hand away. He stepped back.

  Then Shaw exhaled, and said, “Jesus. Tara. You were beautiful.”

  She didn’t move. She kept the gun trained on him.

  Shaw turned to Romeo, and said softly, “My old friend. I wish I’d never seen you like this. But whatever’s happened to your mind, I swear I’ll take care of you. For the rest of your life —”

  Romeo whispered to her ear, “Kill him now. While you can.”

  Shaw shook his head. “There’s not going to be any killing, Romeo. Jesus. If she did what you wanted, she’d never heal. Never. She’d never heal.”

  Romeo whispered to her, “Now.”

  Shaw�
�s boyish smile. “Listen. I know that everything we’re going through takes strength. There’s a lot of danger; there’s a lot of pain. But there’s also so much love here! It feels like half the love in the universe is in this town, right now. What we’ve done! We’ve made ourselves into some kind of magnet, and all the stars, and all the power of the universe, and all the love —”

  She shot him in the face.

  The concussion, the blowback of blood. Nell shrieking.

  Shaw was still on his feet. Trying to speak. But his mouth was filled with a slurry of blood and teeth, and what he said sounded like hissing.

  He lunged toward Tara but she stepped back, and he lost his balance and fell to his knees.

  Shaking his head. Trying to shake it clear of confusion. He reached back to draw his gun from its holster, and she stepped forward and shot him again. Crumbs of his skull and brain flew everywhere. His gun skittered across the linoleum.

  Tara stood over him, and drank in the sight of him. The cratered jaw, the eye of horror, the spasms of his dying. Trying to burn this in her memory, to fix it forever — that all other memories of him would be erased.

  Romeo was begging her, “Now me, Tara. You promised.”

  She had promised. She turned toward him and raised her gun again.

  Nell screamed, “TARA, NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! STOP! NO!”

  Romeo looked up at her. There was no fear in his eyes, only urgency. “I’m sorry to ask you. But you gotta help me. I think he was wrong, what he said about healing. You will heal. But I won’t. Please.”

  Nell shouted, “DON’T KILL HIM!”

  Reaching for her arm, but Tara evaded her. Moved around the kitchen table to get a clear shot. Thinking, finish this quick. Pay this debt. Then behind her, she heard the screen door scrape open, and a deep male voice bellowed: “GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!”

  The old cop. Officer Burris. With his gun aimed at Romeo. “I SAID GET YOUR FACE ON THE FLOOR!”

  Then he demanded of Nell and Tara, “Who shot him?”

  “I did,” Tara said.

  But he wasn’t really taking this in. He was barking into his police radio, “49, homicide at 1412 Egmont near Albemarle! Suspect in custody, need backup! Backup!”

  While Romeo begged her, “Please. Tara. You made a promise.”

  “GET ON THE FUCKIN FLOOR!” Burris bellowed.

  Romeo had a look of exasperation. Casting his eyes around frantically — till suddenly he made a lurch for the windowsill and grabbed a book of matches.

  “Do I have to do this? Do I have to burn myself alive?”

  Holding a single match over the book, ready to strike.

  “Tara,” he said, “why don’t you help me? Finish this!”

  A moment of silence. The whine of distant sirens.

  Then Burris said, “Son, you know what you could do?”

  Speaking quietly but with such grave solemnity that it drew Romeo’s attention. “Go for that,” said Burris, gesturing toward Shaw’s gun on the floor, “and I’ll take care of you.”

  Romeo just gazed at him, uncomprehending.

  Then he understood.

  He mumbled something, maybe thanks — and made his move. Scrambling, half-crawling, half-diving, across the floor, and reaching for the gun. Just before his fingers touched it, Burris fired four shots.

  Then Tara wanted to go to him, to take Romeo into her arms — but Nell wouldn’t let her. Nell held her tightly, and lifted the gun from her fingers, and walked her through the carnage toward the hallway. Pausing for a moment to pass the gun into Burris’s care, and to lay the back of her old bony hand against his cheek. Then she led Tara down the hall to the back porch.

  All the cats in the house had retreated there. Several were on the sill; one was perched on the antediluvian TV. A long tortoiseshell tail emerged from under the swinging bed. Nell said, “Lie down now, child.”

  Tara did as she was told. Nell stretched out beside her, and Tara put her head on her grandmother’s breast, and breathed in that faint smell of popcorn. With one ear she could hear the sirens and the shouts outside, but the other heard nothing but Nell’s heart. She shut her eyes. My God, she thought, I’m on this porch again.

  She knew it wasn’t quite the same as before. Everything in sight — cats, pillows, garden, clawfoot tub — had taken a certain distance from her. A formality, a reserve.

  Still. She was here.

  It felt almost like good fortune.

  She knew she owed this to Romeo: to that sad man, and a rush of gratitude filled her. She prayed that his soul might find its way to a well-lighted place. Just then a cat jumped onto the bed, and made it swing. The cat was Horace Jackal: she knew him by the way he went padding around her legs. He would take his time making up his mind, but in a minute or two, with any luck, he’d come and curl up against the back of her neck, sandwiching her between himself and Nell. Tara lay there quietly, hardly breathing, so as not to scare him off.

  Romeo had gone back home. Back to Piqua, Ohio. He found himself in Hollow Park just as dusk was falling, crouching behind a stout walnut tree, hiding from Hawks. But one caught sight of him and shouted, and flushed him out to the open field. Then more Hawks came swooping in from all sides. In a second they’d have him. He was about to be changed, but he wasn’t afraid. In truth, this particular moment in Hollow Park, hovering between one thing and another — he thought this was about the best moment of his life. He liked everything about it. He liked the new rules that Shaw had added to the game. He liked the red bandanas, the summer evening, the surprising warmth; he liked even the poison-ivy itchiness around his ankles. He thought everything was perfect except that the dark was coming down too fast.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the folks at the Brunswick Police: Betty McGregor, Captain Larry Bruce. Particular gratitude to the wise and patient Detective Roy Blackstock, Jr., who took me along on endless counterclockwise rounds of the city.

  Thanks to Wanda and Larry, my poker instructors at the Magnolia Sports Palace. Thanks to Pat Vinton, Theresa Martin, Bob, Om, Margot, Mimi. Courtney Dyche and Vanessa Cunningham.

  Thanks to radiant Ashley, her mother Rhonda, her grandmother Mary.

  Thanks to my line editor Inez Green, who taught me how to write.

  Thanks to my co-author Molly Friedrich. To Lucy Carson and Sheri Holman. To Jamie Raab who is as beautiful as Ozma.