Lightwood

by Steph Post

  “I bet you’re still holding out for that Ellie girl. She’s something else, ain’t she?”

  Rooter raised his eyebrows, but Benji just looked down at the polished bar.

  “Yeah, she’s okay.”

  “Okay? I seen how you look at her whenever she comes in here. And I seen how you look the next day. You may not want to admit it, but I think maybe you got a thing for her. Like an L-O-V-E thing for her.”

  Benji grinned to himself.

  “Shut up.”

  Rooter laughed and started wiping out the ashtrays stacked on the bar mat.

  “We might just be nearing the end of Benji the Bachelor. What’d you say to that? I know that Levi and Judah are ahead of me in line, but I’d like to put my name in the hat for being best man, considering the two of you met in my bar, after all.”

  Benji smiled to himself again, but then raised his head and nodded to his left.

  “Who’s the girl in the leopard print been sitting down at the end of the bar all this time?”

  Rooter looked over and frowned.

  “Don’t know. I never seen her in here before.”

  “I’ve never seen her in town before.”

  Rooter snapped out the rag and then folded it on the bar.

  “When I asked her, she said she was supposed to be meeting somebody here tonight, but from the looks of it, they ain’t never showed up. That’s a waste, if you ask me. Who would stand up something that looks like that?”

  Benji stood up and passed his empty bottle to Rooter.

  “I think I’ll have my next one down there.”

  Rooter opened the beer cooler and pulled out another bottle.

  “Don’t you think she’s a little old for you, sonny?”

  Benji grinned and swiped the bottle out of Rooter’s hand.

  “Don’t you think she’s a little young for you, old man? Sides, don’t you have grandkids at home to take care of, or something?”

  Rooter glared at Benji.

  “Asshole.”

  Benji laughed and smacked his palm down. He took his beer and moved down to the end of the bar. He slid onto the barstool next to the blonde and waited for her to turn away from the television show she was engrossed in. When she finally looked at him, he flashed her his biggest smile and turned on the charm.

  “I hope you don’t mind, darlin’, but I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here alone and I was just wondering if you’d like me to beat up the prick that could’ve left you all by yourself.”

  The woman laughed and touched Benji’s arm. Up close, he could see that her makeup was caked on a little too thick and her lipstick was just a little too bright. Still, if he kept his eyes mostly on her body, and not on her face, she was a real knockout. For a brief, lucid moment he had the feeling that he wouldn’t like what he saw when he woke up in the morning, but then the beers kicked back in and the feeling dissipated.

  “No, that’s okay. Though I appreciate the thought. I ain’t used to being stood up, so I’m sorry if I look a little pouty.”

  She pursed her sticky pink lips together and fluttered her spidery eyelashes at Benji. He laughed back.

  “You don’t look pouty. You look gorgeous. My name’s Benji. You ain’t from Silas, are you?”

  She touched his arm again and this time let her fingers rest there. Her long nails sparkled under the neon lights.

  “No. I’m Shelia. It’s really nice to meet you.”

  “The same.”

  The woman’s eyes drifted back up to the television and Benji’s eyes drifted down to her cleavage. They sat awkwardly in silence for a moment until Rooter came down to check on them.

  “Can I get you two anything else?”

  Shelia seemed to be aware that both men were fixated on the deep neckline of her tank top, but didn’t appear to mind. She laughed again and Benji thought it sounded like the bell on a convenience store door tinkling. It was almost a child’s laugh. She turned to Benji and raised her thinly plucked eyebrows.

  “Want to do a shot?”

  Benji smiled and inched a little closer. Her hand was still on his arm.

  “Sure.”

  Benji looked at Rooter, waiting expectantly.

  “Um, how bout an Alabama Slammer? You like those, Shelia?”

  She thought about it a moment.

  “How bout something stronger? I wouldn’t mind getting a good buzz on. Maybe we can salvage the night after all.”

  Benji lifted his free arm and smacked his hand on the bar.

  “Tequila it is then! Lime, salt, give us the works, Rooter.”

  Rooter set two large shot glasses on the bar in front of them and filled them to the brim. He placed two dried out limes on a cocktail napkin between them and then hunted around for the white plastic salt shaker. He left them alone and walked away, shaking his head. Shelia picked up her glass and held it out to Benji.

  “Here’s to new friends.”

  Benji clinked his glass against hers.

  “To new friends!”

  They downed the shots and slid the empty glasses to the edge of the bar. Shelia pushed the limes and saltshaker away and leaned her chin on her hand. She was deliberately pushing her breasts out toward Benji and he certainly didn’t mind the view. She took Benji’s hand and laced her fingers with his.

  “So, Benji, huh? Is that short for Benjamin?”

  She lazily stroked the back of his hand. Benji was still feeling the rush in his head from the tequila. He tried to count how many beers he had consumed before the shot, but gave up trying.

  “Yep. No one but my mama ever called me that, though. Everybody always just calls me Benji. My mama died when I was six years old.”

  Just as he knew they would, the girls’ lips turned down and her eyes opened wider. She edged a little closer to him.

  “I’m so sorry. That must be awful to have grown up without a mama.”

  Benji looked away from her and nodded.

  “It was pretty rough.”

  She gripped his hand tighter.

  “That’s just heartbreaking.”

  He nodded again.

  “I know.”

  He looked at her out of the side of his eyes. He could see the edge of one of her black lace bra cups peeping out of the top of her shirt. She must have followed his eyes because she let go of his hand and adjusted herself slightly, as if out of modesty. Benji watched her tug on her bra and got even more excited. She had obviously taken the bait and was playing the game with him. She put her hand back on his.

  “So, Benji. The only Benji I ever heard of round these parts is one of the Cannon brothers.”

  Benji stiffened. It was going so well with this girl. The last thing he wanted was for her to start talking all about how she had once dated Levi or had a crush on Judah. Or, God forbid, had slept with one of them. It didn’t happen often. Thankfully Levi was married and only hooked up with stray tail from out of town and Judah had been in prison and before that, wrapped up with that gold digger in Colston. But when it did, it was the biggest turn off Benji could think of. He loved his brothers, just about worshipped Judah, but there was no way he was going to share a girl with one. He frowned and answered cautiously.

  “Yeah, my last name is Cannon.”

  The girl shrugged and picked up the watered down drink in front of her. She bit the little red straw between her teeth.

  “One of my girlfriends mentioned that there was this crazy Cannon family down in Silas. I ain’t never heard of them before. You don’t look crazy to me.”

  Benji breathed an inward sigh of relief. He could go back to putting the moves on her now. He reached out and touched her waist.

  “Well, not in no bar, no how.”

  She laughed and set her drink down.

  “So, you saying you’re crazy someplace else?”

  Benji looked around Limey’s again. The two dancing girls and the foosball players had left. Only the brothers remained, though it looked like their argument had e
nded. Rooter was standing in front of them, while the younger brother looked down into his wallet like he was viewing alien terrain. Benji turned back to Shelia and saw that her drink was empty.

  “What’d you say to getting outta here and maybe I can show you that crazy side a little?”

  Shelia covered her mouth her with hand and laughed again. She almost looked as if she were blushing. For a moment, Benji thought he might have moved too soon, but then she sat up straight and cocked her head at him.

  “Okay Benji Cannon, why not? I wouldn’t mind having a little fun. You got a place round here? I’m staying at my aunt’s house right now, and we’d better not go back there. She likes it kinda quiet.”

  Benji pulled two twenties out of his wallet and dropped them on the bar. He slid his arm around Shelia as she stood up and he put his lips to her ear.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.”

  Benji waved to Rooter as they walked out of the bar and laughed to himself as the bartender rolled his eyes. He grabbed Shelia’s hand and steadied her as her wobbly boot heels sunk into the gravel parking lot. They walked around to the passenger side of his truck and he unlocked the door for her. Now that he was on his feet, the world was starting to spin slightly and he looked out around the parking lot to fix his gaze. His eyes fell on two Harleys parked near the back of the lot.

  “Say, those are some pretty sweet bikes.”

  He opened the door for her.

  “You ain’t usually see many Harleys round here.”

  Shelia paused before stepping onto the running board.

  “You know anything about motorcycles?”

  Benji put his hand on her waist and grinned.

  “Sure, honey. That’s what I do. Work on cars and bikes. I don’t got no Harley or nothing, but I know how to fix em’. Can make one like purr like a newborn kitten.”

  He was waiting for her to step up into the truck, but she had an excited look on her face. He ran his hand up and down the side of her hip while she held onto the truck door. She reached up and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s so hot, baby.”

  He dropped his hand lower to her thigh.

  “You think so? Why, you got a thing for motorcycles? That kinda’ engine turn you on or something?”

  She nodded, but didn’t answer. She slid around closer to him and leaned back against the side of the truck. In the bright moonlight, Benji could only focus on the tops of her breasts, heaving against her shirt as she reached for him. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close against her body. He felt her lips against his neck and he closed his eyes. Then he felt a sharp crack against the base of his skull and a zing of pain shoot through his head and neck. The world went black.

  The first thing Judah saw when he opened his eyes on Tuesday morning was a cascade of unruly, dark auburn hair falling down a long, naked back. When Ramey shifted slightly to sip from the cup of coffee clasped between her hands, the tracks of scars arcing along her left hip came into view. Judah opened his eyes wider and swallowed.

  The first thing Jack O’ Lantern saw was the dingy red and white Scorpions’ logo, sewn onto the cut of a man face-down on the pool table in the clubhouse. He gripped the corduroy arm of the recliner he had fallen asleep in, leaned over and vomited tequila onto the floor. He’d get one of the prospects to clean it up later.

  The first thing Felton saw was the dark, beady eye of a canebrake rattler staring back at him through a wall of glass. The snake’s eye was unblinking, but it shifted its coils and its forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth as Felton watched. From the other side of the camper, his collection of mice was squeaking frantically inside their cardboard box. Felton wondered if the snake was hungry.

  The first thing Sister Tulah saw was the dark, mahogany cross she had mounted on the opposite wall of her bedroom. It had hung in Tulah’s room when she was a girl and her mother had told her that it was the only thing protecting her from being snatched away by Satan in the night. Sister Tulah kept the cross hanging in her bedroom now to remind herself of how foolish she had been. She didn’t need a stick of wood to keep her safe. God would always be on her side. Satan too.

  Benji didn’t see anything.

  BY THE time Sherwood made it out to the crossroads of County Road 225 and Old Line, Rooter was waiting for him alone. Sherwood pulled his truck over into the high weeds on the road’s shoulder and cut the engine. Rooter was leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed in front of his chest, a deep V creasing the leathery skin of his forehead. Sherwood eyed the bartender through the smeared windshield of his truck. Seemingly overnight, love bug season had begun and the remains of smashed insect bodies were streaked across the front of every moving vehicle in the county. Sherwood sighed and slowly opened the truck door and descended from the high seat. He lumbered across the deserted road with the tips of his fingers wedged into his pockets and waited until he was standing in front of Rooter to speak.

  “Bingo already take him to the ER?”

  Rooter nodded, keeping his eyes on the warming asphalt in front of him. Now that there was no glass or distance between them, the two men wouldn’t look at each other.

  “Left bout twenty minutes ago. Soon as I got here.”

  Sherwood looked at the single track of burned rubber on the road. It was fresh and ran for about three feet.

  “How was he? When you got here?”

  Rooter shrugged his shoulders, but the motion was stiff and tense.

  “Alive. Unconscious, but breathing.”

  “What else?”

  Rooter ducked his chin down and tried to keep his voice steady.

  “Sherwood, man. I don’t know what you’ve gone and done, but…”

  Sherwood banged his fist down on the hood of the car.

  “I said, what else?”

  Rooter cleared his throat and pointed to an area of matted weeds in the ditch alongside the road.

  “That’s where my son found him this morning on his way to work. Bingo said he saw the burnout and thought maybe somebody had run their bike off the road. Stopped to check it out. He found Benji lying there in the ditch.”

  Sherwood wouldn’t look at the place where Rooter was pointing. He kept his eyes on the reflecting metal of the car hood.

  “And?”

  Rooter walked away from Sherwood and stood at the edge of the ditch. He poked the toe of his boot into the soft earth.

  “It was pretty bad, Sherwood.”

  “He beat up?”

  “Yeah, but not by fists. Road rash all the way down his body. Everywhere. I almost didn’t recognize his face. Had a rope tied round him.”

  “Jesus.”

  Sherwood raised his hands to his face, but then quickly dropped them and bunched them into fists at his sides. He turned and stared at the ditch. Rooter slowly shook his head in disbelief.

  “Somebody dragged him. Don’t know how far. I seen this done before, but not round here. And not from behind no motorcycle. Look at that tire burn. Had to be a bike.”

  Sherwood’s face was expressionless.

  “Yeah.”

  Rooter kicked at the ground.

  “Sherwood, man, it’s Benji. Boy doesn’t even know how to have enemies. It don’t make no sense.”

  Sherwood kept his eyes on the ditch. His mouth was drawn into a hard line and his eyes were glassy.

  “He at your bar last night?”

  “Sure. Left around one, right for we closed. He was making time with some blonde at the bar and they left together. He was fine. Weren’t nobody messing with him. It just don’t make no sense.”

  Sherwood jerked his head up and scowled at Rooter.

  “Some blonde? Who?”

  Rooter shook his head.

  “I didn’t know her. Said she wasn’t from round here when I asked. You think she had something to do with this?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Like some jealous boyfriend? One of them things? Christ, man
. I mean, really? I can see some guy knocking Benji around if he caught him going at his old lady, but this?”

  Sherwood stepped away from the ditch.

  “Only thing I can think of.”

  Sherwood pulled his keys out of his pocket and started walking back to his truck. Rooter followed at his side.

  “You heading over to the hospital?”

  Sherwood nodded.

  “Want me to ask around? See if I can find something on that girl?”

  Sherwood opened his truck door and rested one foot on the running board.

  “Not yet. Let’s just keep this quiet for a bit, okay?”

  Rooter frowned.

  “You’re not gonna call the sheriff?”

  Sherwood hauled himself up into the truck and jammed the keys into the ignition.

  “Like I said, let’s just keep this quiet for a minute.”

  Rooter grabbed the truck door before Sherwood could close it.

  “I swear to God, Sherwood. If this happened to Benji cause of something you did, something he’s got no part of…”

  “What? You’re gonna do what?”

  Rooter grit his teeth, but said nothing.

  “Exactly. Now get your hand off my door before I break your fingers. And keep your damn mouth shut.”

  Rooter let go of the door and backed away. His eyes were full of loathing, but he stayed silent. Sherwood slammed the truck door shut and cranked the engine. He took his cellphone out and dialed a number while he watched Rooter walk slowly back to his car. Levi picked up on the third ring.

  THE HEADQUARTERS of the Scorpions Motorcycle Club was a termite-infested duplex that had been gutted down the middle, outfitted with a couple of security cameras and surrounded by a warped chain link fence. Jack O’ Lantern’s uncle, Oren, had won the property in a lucky hand of poker and set the place up as the club’s base back in 1972. Not much had changed about it since, except that the pit bull guard dogs had been replaced by a second-rate alarm system and Oren Austin, the former club leader, was dead in the ground in the Kentsville Public Cemetery after being dragged a quarter of a mile by a semi-truck on Interstate 95. Jack had sewn the president patch on his cut the morning of his uncle’s funeral and done his best to fill his idol’s shoes. He had kept the club’s initial goals of being an on-the-fringe outlaw club, but replaced the tool shed full of weed with a singlewide meth lab way back in the woods off Highway 18. Jack O’ Lantern loved his club more than his family and was willing to do just about anything to protect the men he had surrounded himself with. He had thought the coke run down to Miami would solve a lot of the Scorpions’ debt problems, but instead it had opened a can of worms that Jack O’ Lantern didn’t even begin to know how to close. The rest of the club thought he had it all under control, but Jack knew that they were only hiding their heads in the sand.