by Ninie Hammon
“That shiner. You didn’t run into a cabinet door.”
“And I believed him.” Jake hung his head, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I never should have trusted a word out of his mouth.”
“He’s your father. Hard to get your mind around a man who’d use his own son.”
“You lie to yourself because the truth is too hard to look at.” His voice was soft. “You pretend you don’t see. You live with so much deception that after awhile you believe it’s reality.” He turned and looked into Ben’s eyes and his voice was ragged. “But I swear, I swear I didn’t know!”
Ben wasn’t sure exactly what it was Jake didn’t know.
“Some things you can’t do anything about, though, can’t go back and do it all over again different.” Jake sat up and squared his shoulders. “But some things you can fix, and you have to be a man and fix those.”
He turned to Ben. “I’m going to the police. I’m going to tell them what Daddy did to you, how he tricked both of us. I’m going to tell them everything I know about my father.” Jake paused. “Everything!” He leaned toward Ben and continued in a low, urgent voice. “There’s more than you know, more than you could ever imagine!”
He smiled. “And his empire’s going down with him. Daddy keeps meticulous records—names, dates, places, money—about all his business dealings, both legal and illegal. I’ve seen the secret books. I know where they’re locked up and I know where he keeps the key.”
“Jake, you can’t do that! If you turned your father in, Bubba would—”
Kill you.
Jennifer.
“Jake, I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What?” Jake sounded exasperated. What could possibly be more important to talk about?
“It’s about your sister, something Jennifer did Monday morning.”
“Monday? So soon?” Jake looked confused. “And how would you know anything about that?”
Now Ben was confused. “About what?”
“About the abortion.”
“Abortion?”
“Jennifer was pregnant.” Jake looked away. “She told me about it Sunday night and I couldn’t deal with … what she said. She wasn’t going to have the baby, already had it all planned out. But I didn’t know she was going to get an abortion the next day!”
Jake stopped abruptly and looked at Ben. “How could you possibly know about Jennifer’s abortion?”
Ben was shook. There was no easy way to say it.
“Jake, Jennifer didn’t get an abortion.” He paused for a beat, then said as gently as he knew how. “She killed herself.”
Jake’s face went pale. He looked like Ben had slugged him in the belly. “No.” Just the one word. A whisper. Then he shook his head to match the word. “No! See, she told me she wasn’t going to have the baby, that she had a plan …” he said the next words slowly, in dawning understanding “ … to get rid of it.”
“Jake, I’m so sorry.”
Jake was dizzy. Sick. Dark, ugly thoughts he could see but couldn’t manage to think fluttered around in his head like angry bats.
“No!” This time he roared the word. “You’re wrong, it’s not true!” He leapt to his feet. “She was fine when I saw her Sunday night.”
No, she wasn’t! She wasn’t fine at all. She hadn’t been fine in years. How could she be? And he had just skated through life right next to her without bothering to look over and notice she was bleeding.
“Killed herself?” he whispered.
“She and Kelsey Reynolds drove down to Old Joe’s Hole early Monday morning and shot themselves. Kelsey survived. But Jennifer … ”
“Jennifer’s dead.”
Ben nodded.
Jake collapsed onto the couch, put his head in his hands but didn’t cry, just let it sink in, the reality that he wasn’t going to be able to make it all up to her like he’d planned.
Jake had spent hours staring into a flickering campfire. He’d have sworn the dancing light had altered the pattern of synapses in his brain somehow, had rearranged the electrical current so he wasn’t just emotionally or psychologically changed but actually physically transformed, a completely different human being on a fundamental, cellular level.
“I was going to sit her down, talk to her,” he said. Not to Ben. He was barely aware of Ben’s presence. “Oh, she was hard to talk to, but I was going to get through to her. Convince her I understood why … I was going to tell her my plan.”
He turned to Ben.
“I’m not going to UK in a couple of weeks. I joined the Marines.”
Ben sat back in surprise.
“Daddy thinks he’s in charge, that he gets to decide where I go to college and whether I play ball there.” The rage he felt was so huge it threatened to explode out his chest in a fireball that would consume him and Ben, too. “Well, my father doesn’t make the rules for me anymore! That’s over. Forever! I’m 18 years old. I don’t need anybody’s permission to enlist. I signed the papers at the recruiting center in Elizabethtown yesterday. I report to boot camp in two weeks.”
He threw his head back and barked out a sound that was half laugh, half anguished wail. “Bubba Jamison can’t cow the United States Marine Corps!”
Then the triumph drained out of him.
“I was going to take her away,” he whispered. “Soon as I got out of basic, I was going to send for her. I was going to get her away from here, away from him, help her start over somewhere fresh.”
He looked at Ben and his voice broke. “Now she’s dead, and it’s Daddy’s fault, because he—”
He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t tell Ben what Jennifer had seen and what the seeing had done to her. Not now. Not yet.
He started to cry, great heaving sobs that shook his body like seizures. Time slid off the tracks and lay on its side in the ditch. He didn’t know when Sarabeth showed up. Jake sat between her and Ben on the couch, felt their comforting arms around him, and cried until he was empty and exhausted.
When he was done, Ben handed him a dish towel to wipe his face.
“I went high up in the mountains,” he said, his voice hoarse from crying. “Walked for hours. At night, the stars were so bright you could reach out and pluck a bouquet of them. And I understood things there, looked some things in the eye.”
He turned to Sarabeth. “I’m going to fix it for Ben.”
He loved watching relief flood her face when he told her what had happened with Ben and the barn, and how he planned to explain it all to the police. They’d believe him, too, when he gave them chapter and verse about his father’s dope operation, and gave them proof.
“Visitation for Jennifer is at Beddingfield’s Funeral Home, starting this morning at 10,” Sarabeth said. “Ben will go with you; I’ll stay as long as I can. And you’ll be eating with us and sleeping here tonight.”
Jake started to speak but she cut him off.
“You’re not going to spend another night in that house with that man ever again!” She reached out and took his hand. “There are things I can’t talk about. But this is going to get ugly real soon. Just know that we’re in it with you. You’re family, Thing Two. We’re all going to get through this together.”
Sarabeth had to get back to work, and as soon as she was gone, Jake turned to Ben. “I’m going home,” he said, and raised his hand to ward off Ben’s protest. “For a little while. I didn’t want to upset Sarabeth, but I have to gather up some things. And I need to take a shower and get cleaned up for the … ”
“If you’re going out there, I’m going with you,” Ben said.
• • • • •
The phone rang as Billy Joe was rounding up the last of what Becky had said she needed. By the time the state police arrived at their house Monday morning to tell them about Kelsey, the girl had already been airlifted to Norton Hospital. They’d thrown on clothes and gone barreling up to Louisville.
It was Wednesday morning now and he hadn’t slept more t
han a couple of hours here and a couple there since Sunday night. He tried to concentrate, wished he’d written down what Becky wanted. Besides a change of clothes, she’d said she needed—
The phone interrupted his thought. It was probably Becky, knowing he wouldn’t get it right, calling to remind him what she’d said. It wasn’t Becky. It was Bubba Jamison.
All the air went out of Billy Joe when he heard the big man’s rumbling voice, and he sat down hard on the arm of the couch.
“Billy Joe? That you, boy? I need to see you. Now, this morning.”
“Bubba, I’m on my way to Louisville. Kelsey’s in … ” Then he thought about Jennifer. His daughter was still alive; Bubba’s wasn’t. “Hey, Bubba, I’m sorry ’bout Jennifer. I don’t understand why they would—”
“That’s what I want to see you about. Jennifer left a note. I just found it this morning and I thought you’d want to see it.”
“Does she say why, does it explain what they—?”
“It says a lot of things, and a bunch of it is about your little girl.” Billy Joe stifled a gasp. “It’s somthin’ you need to see, Billy Joe. My Jenny’s dead,” Billy Joe could have sworn the big man’s voice broke, “but your little girl’s still got a chance. It ain’t gonna be easy for you to read this, but if I was you, I’d want to know.”
“I’m coming right over,” Billy Joe said, hung up the phone and headed out the door.
Bubba put the receiver back on the cradle and smiled at the man seated across from him.
“He’s on his way,” Bubba said.
Billy Joe knew something was wrong as soon as Bubba opened the door. He had seen that look on the big man’s face before, that sort of amused, evil look that said he knew something you didn’t, and when you found out what it was you weren’t gonna like it.
“Why, come on in Billy Joe.”
When Billy Joe stepped past him into the house, Bubba shut the door with a resounding thump, turned and headed for his living room.
Billy Joe’s mouth went dry. “I gotta get on up to Louisville to take some things to Becky, so if I could just see that note.”
Bubba sat down in his big leather chair, picked up a pistol off the coffee table in front of him, and a cloth, and began slowly wiping the barrel with it.
“What note?”
The bottom fell out of Billy Joe’s stomach. He tried to sound casual, but he couldn’t. His voice trembled. “You said you found a note that Jennifer left.”
“There ain’t no note, Billy Joe.” Bubba continued to wipe down the gun in his hand.
“Then why’d you tell me there was?”
“I wanted you to come over here without a fuss. ’Cause you and me, we got business to discuss, important business.”
“You could have just told me you wanted to talk.” Billy Joe hated the false good humor he could hear in his own voice. “You know I’d a’come right over.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you without you being all wired up with recording equipment to take down everythin’ I say.”
Billy Joe couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“My friend here tells me you’re all set to turn me in.”
Bubba cocked his head toward the kitchen door and Billy Joe turned. Leaning against the door jam, with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face, was Kentucky State Police Detective Darrell Hayes.
Billy Joe went white.
“Darrell says you and that newspaper editor, Seth McAllister and Sheriff Tackett got it all figured out that I’m running some kind of national marijuana business, that right, Darrell?”
Billy Joe looked from one to the other of them, his eyes huge.
Hayes said nothing, just nodded.
“And the four of you come to the conclusion that I killed Jim Bingham ’cause he found out about it, that the way it was, Darrell?”
“That’s the way it was, Bubba,” Hayes said.
“And you know what, B.J.?” Bubba paused and looked dead into Billy Joe’s eyes. “You was right on both counts! I got me a national organization like nothing you ever dreamed of.” He dropped the cloth on the table. “And I put a bullet in Jim Bingham, too.”
He suddenly pointed the gun at Billy Joe’s chest.
“Bang!” he said. “Just like that.”
“Bubba, I never—”
“Never what?” Bubba roared. The cat-and-mouse game was over. “Don’t you tell me you never! I know what you done, you and the rest of ’em, and I know what you’re gonna do now. You’re gonna help me fix it so don’t none of your schemes work out like you planned.”
Bubba stood up. “Git goin’.” He gestured with the gun toward the front door. “We got some serious talking to do and this ain’t the place to do it.”
• • • • •
The dogs started barking and Bubba froze. He was in the workshop in the garage with Hayes and Billy Joe, who was tied to a chair with duct tape. The big man held his breath, listening. In a few seconds, he could hear the sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway.
Bubba went to the window and watched his son drive up in front of the house. Ben Malone was with him, and a big smile spread over Bubba’s face when he saw him.
The two boys got out of the Jeep. Even though the red-headed kid had been to the house often enough that the dogs knew him, each gave him a good sniff before wandering away.
“If they come out toward the garage, I’ll head ’em off,” Bubba told Hayes. “But they won’t.” As far as the boys could tell, nobody was home. Hayes always left his cruiser deep in the woods whenever he paid a visit, and he had stashed Billy Joe’s Chevy Silverado in one of the empty bays in the garage.
Bubba didn’t have a truck. Not anymore.
The image instantly filled up the big man’s mind. Between one eye-blink and the next, the sight appeared crisp and clear before him—more real than the rough wood walls of the workshop. The copper smell of blood was stronger than the aroma of sawdust in the workshop, too.
Bubba had gone down to Ole Joe’s Hole Monday afternoon. There had still been a good-sized crowd of gawkers there, a couple of troopers, too, keeping folks away from the area cordoned off with yellow Police Line tape. One of them recognized Bubba and nodded. Bubba ignored him and everybody else, ducked under the tape and walked up to his black Ford Bronco parked on the riverbank. Both doors stood open. As soon as he got near it, he could see blood. So much blood. Smeared …
He moved the final few steps to the truck like a man in a trance. Stunned. Stood transfixed, staring in the driver’s side door at the blood. And the words on the windshield! Vomit rose up in his throat and the struggle to keep from throwing up was so intense it brought tears to his eyes. He swallowed once, twice. Then he whirled around and hollered out at the crowd.
“Anybody want a truck?”
Everyone turned to look at him, but nobody responded.
“I’m serious. This here’s my truck. Anybody want it?”
Several voices called out tentatively.
“Yeah, I want it!”
“Sure, I’ll take it.”
Bubba reached into his pocket for his keys and fairly yanked the spare off his keychain. The on-lookers realized he meant it then and everybody started hollering. He picked out a farmer in bib overalls with a shiny bald head and a plug of snuff lying like a banana under his bottom lip. Bubba marched over to him and held out the key.
“You serious?” the farmer asked.
“I’ll be in the clerk’s office next Monday morning at nine o’clock to sign it over to you,” Bubba told the man and dropped the key into his outstretched hand. “Be there.”
Then he’d turned and walked away.
Bubba squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently, like he’d done to get the sweat off his face the day he’d set Daisy on the squirrel hunter. When he opened his eyes, the images from the riverbank were gone. He breathed in—nothing but the smell of sawdust.
He turned back to the window in time
to watch Ben and Jake disappear into the house. He hadn’t seen Jake since Saturday night and had no idea where the boy had been. But he’d find out. Yes siree, he would most certainly find out.
About half an hour later, the boys emerged. Jake was dressed in a suit and tie. They got into Jake’s Jeep and drove away. As soon as the automatic gate closed behind them, Bubba left the window and went to stand in front of Billy Joe.
“I got to go see to my little girl now,” he said. “And you’re gonna wait here for me. When I get back, I’m gonna throw a little party for some mutual friends.”
Billy Joe just looked up at him, eyes big, like a doe waiting to get shot. Bubba loved to see that look on a man’s face!
“I need for you to make sure all my guests show up, so you’re going to call that cousin of yours, that Bingham woman. I’ll tell you what I want you to say.”
“I’m not getting Sarabeth all messed up in this,” Billy Joe said.
“Oh, but she already is. She done stuck her nose in where it don’t belong.” He cocked his head toward Hayes. “Darrell here’s gonna stay and keep you company, make sure you don’t get lonesome ’tiI I get back.”
“You really don’t want to make this any harder on yourself than you have to, Billy Joe,” Hayes said and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Nobody’s going to get out of this, not you, Sarabeth, Seth McAllister or Sonny Tackett.”
“You don’t really think you can get away with killing the sheriff, the editor of the newspaper, and the owner of Double Springs, do you?”
“And you,” Hayes put in.
“And me. That’s insane.”
“Now, Billy Joe, don’t you be calling me crazy,” Bubba said casually. Then he slammed the back of his hand into Billy Joe’s face. Blood instantly spurted from his smashed nose and split lip. “I ain’t crazy. But you are if you don’t do what I tell you to do.”
Bubba leaned over Billy Joe, so close he could smell the fear sweat. “While I’m gone, you need to think about being hurt. Not just a bloody nose. I’m talking about pain that makes a man scream and beg. You cooperate with me and you die easy; you don’t and I’ll make you plead with me to kill you.”