Lightwood

by Steph Post

  THINGS WERE not going well for Jack O’ Lantern. He sat at the three-stool bar built into the back wall of the Scorpions’ clubhouse and snapped open the top of his scratched Zippo lighter. He dropped the lighter on the bar and spun it around a few times. It was his favorite lighter, his lucky lighter; his wife Cynthia had stuffed it in the toe of his Christmas stocking many years ago. It featured a hand painted naked redhead on the front that Cynthia said looked like herself twenty years ago. Jack wasn’t so sure about that part, but the lighter was his favorite anyway. He picked it up and rubbed at a long scratch on the bottom of it and then put it back in his pocket and rested his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do.

  Slim Jim’s cousin, Mack, had done some scouting around down in Silas, but hadn’t turned up much. The Cannon boy was in the hospital, he had reported, but there had been no sign of anyone who matched the description for the Cannon patriarch, Sherwood, or his eldest son, Levi. Mack said that he seen someone peeling out of the hospital parking lot in a Ford Bronco who might have matched the description of the middle son, but it had been hard to tell. He knew Sherwood and Levi on sight, but apparently the other Cannon, Judah, had been in prison for the last three years and Mack couldn’t remember what he looked like. It didn’t matter so much, though, Mack had reassured him, Sherwood was the one calling the shots. If they had a beef with the Cannons, Sherwood was the one they needed to deal with.

  Jack O’ Lantern had sent Legs and Toadie to check out Cannon Salvage, but they had come back empty handed as well. The place was locked down tight. The more he learned about this Sherwood character, the more uncertain he became. Christ, the man hadn’t even shown up at the hospital when his own son was probably on his deathbed.

  He had thought that going after the Benji kid would scare the piss out of Sherwood. Jack O’ Lantern had envisioned something along the lines of Sherwood reaching out to him and then, when the Scorpions threatened the rest of his family, caving in and returning the cash. Sure, the man had been smart enough to set up the roadblock and heartless enough to watch his son shoot Tiny in the leg without flinching, but still, as far as Jack had known, he was just some old man with a scrap yard and a lack of scruples. He had counted on Sherwood not knowing how to handle himself after the shock of seeing his youngest son’s face ground into raw hamburger. Now Jack O’ Lantern was beginning to realize that the Scorpions were actually the ones who were in over their heads.

  They had finally gotten the last of the girls out, but Jack had made it known that until the stolen money was recovered, all members needed to stay at the clubhouse. The prospects, Toadie and Ratface, were all about it; although they still weren’t allowed to ride alongside the Scorpions on runs or take part it any decisions, they were excited to feel like they were contributing in some way, even if that way was cracking beers and unclogging the toilet. Legs had bitched a little, his old lady had been giving him hell about never coming home and was threatening to quit her job at the Waffle Hut, but Legs knew how to take an order.

  Jack O’ Lantern slowly swiveled around on the cracked leather barstool to survey the clubhouse. The prospects were sitting at the long kitchen table, cleaning the club’s guns and Legs was shooting a game of pool against himself. Long John, who couldn’t ride, but made up for it by spending days at a time in the trailer out in the woods off Highway 18 cooking up halfway decent crystal meth, was buried in a recliner in front of the flat screen watching Ancient Aliens. He wasn’t too much use to anyone since he had lost his leg in a Ferris Wheel accident after a pint of vodka at the county fair, but it was always good to have someone else around to help hold down the fort if need be.

  Jack O’ Lantern slumped forward on the stool and let his gut sag out in front of him. He was tired and nervous. Only Slim Jim knew the urgency of their situation. Everyone else was understandably pissed about being robbed of the biggest payload in the history of the club, but they all seemed to have faith that Jack would rectify the situation and they’d have their money back by the end of the week. They didn’t know what Sister Tulah was really like and they certainly didn’t know about his conversation with her in the church. They didn’t know where Jack O’ Lantern had gotten the information on the Cannons and didn’t care enough to ask. His club thought he was taking care of business as usual, not realizing that in reality he was only a few gasps away from drowning.

  The front door of the clubhouse banged open and Jack O’ Lantern jerked his head up. It was Slim Jim, scowling. He was supposed to be on watch, so it couldn’t be good.

  “Hey, Jack, there’s somebody at the gate wants to talk to you.”

  “Did you tell him to screw off?”

  Jack O’ Lantern tried to crack a smile, but there was no reaction from Slim Jim. He leaned his elbows on the doorframe and stamped his boots.

  “Yeah, but he’s not budging. When I asked him who he was, all he said was that he was an elder. Whatever that means. Says he’s got a message for you. From that crazy church. I figured you might want to talk to him.”

  Jack O’ Lantern motioned for Slim Jim to shut up, but no one else was paying attention. He stood up from the barstool and followed Slim Jim out into the night. The gravel lot in front of the clubhouse was illuminated by motion sensor lights that flooded the ground with a sick yellow glow. Jack O’ Lantern could see that there was dark colored SUV parked outside the chain link gate and as he got closer he saw a man get out of the passenger side. He was carrying something at his side. Slim Jim saw it too and pulled his .45 out of the back of his jeans. Jack O’ Lantern glanced briefly at the gun, but didn’t slow down. He slid open the gate, but remained inside the gravel lot. The man stepped closer into the light, but stayed on his side of the gate as well.

  Jack O’ Lantern wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting, but this certainly wasn’t it. The man standing before him was ancient, tall and frail looking with a slightly stooped back. Even in the shadowy light Jack O’ Lantern could see the blue veins popping up from the man’s gnarled and translucent hands. His cheeks were sunken and his pale lips were so thin that his mouth appeared to disappear inside his narrow face. His skin was covered in age spots and his hair was snow white, the remaining strings of it raked back across his scalp. He looked like he should be sitting at a plastic table at an old folk’s home, eating green Jell-O with a bib tucked into his long sleeved dress shirt, not standing at the property edge of an outlaw motorcycle club. His only disconcerting feature was that he was wearing dark wraparound sunglasses at eleven o’clock at night. The old man was holding what looked like a wooden toolbox with a handle in his right hand. Jack O’ Lantern waited for the man to speak, but he only looked straight ahead in silence. Jack O’ Lantern put his hands in his pockets and leaned forward.

  “Yeah? What’d you want?”

  The old man didn’t speak. Jack O’ Lantern wondered if maybe he was blind. Maybe deaf and dumb, too. What the hell was Sister Tulah pulling now? Jack O’ Lantern looked over his shoulder, but Slim Jim only shrugged. Jack turned back to the old man and spoke loudly and slowly, as he would to some idiot from a foreign country.

  “You got something to tell me? From Tulah? Well, get on with it. I ain’t got all night.”

  The old man opened his mouth and from the angle of light hitting the man’s face, Jack O’ Lantern thought it resembled a black hole. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  “I have a message for you.”

  “Well, what is it? I just said I ain’t got all night.”

  The old man raised the wooden box at his side and held it out to Jack O’ Lantern.

  “That’s it? That’s the message?”

  The old man nodded slightly.

  “Take it.”

  Jack O’ Lantern reached out and grasped the handle of the box. He could see that it was tightly latched. As soon as Jack had possession of the box, the old man retreated to the SUV and whoever was driving it slammed on the gas. The SUV’s tires spun and then the vehicle roared around
and flew back down the sandy drive. Jack O’ Lantern watched the receding taillights and then looked down at the box he had dropped to his side. Slim Jim came up next to Jack and eyed the box.

  “That’s a message?”

  “I guess so. You sure that guy said he was from the church?”

  Slim Jim nodded.

  “That’s what he said. Last steps to something or another church. What’d you think’s in there? A bomb?”

  Jack O’ Lantern rolled his eyes as Slim Jim wrenched the gate closed.

  “No, I don’t think it’s a bomb, dumbass. What do you think, that old guy’s a terrorist? I’m surprised he was able to stand up without falling over or pissing himself.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you make yourself useful and hold the box so I can figure out how to open it.”

  Slim Jim put his gun back in the waistband of his jeans and stretched out his arms to cradle the box while Jack O’ Lantern fumbled with the clasp. It wasn’t locked, but the metal was rusty and didn’t want to open easily. Just as he popped the latch, though, Jack O’ Lantern heard it. He understood the sound, but it didn’t register with him fast enough. He slid back the top of the box and the snake struck.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  The serpent’s long fangs missed Jack O’ Lantern’s hand, but he felt the soft scales under the snake’s head graze his thumb. He jerked away and Slim Jim dropped the box on the ground.

  “What the hell was that? You all right, man?”

  Jack O’ Lantern jumped back.

  “Where is it? Goddamnit, Jimmy, where is it? Is it still in the box?”

  They backed away from the wooden box, but they could still hear the unnerving rattle coming from inside.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Well, shit, find out!”

  “You find out!”

  They heard the rattle again and as they watched, the snake’s triangle head slowly inched out of the shadow of the overturned box and began to weave along the ground. Slim Jim was shaking, but Jack O’ Lantern was clear headed enough to react.

  “Give me your gun.”

  Slim Jim was transfixed. The snake was almost all the way out of the box and stretching out its long, thick body toward the fence.

  “I said, give me your gun!”

  Slim Jim didn’t move. Jack O’ Lantern grabbed the .45 out of the back of Slim Jim’s waistband, took aim and fired. He missed the first time and the snake sprung back and began to coil, but the next bullet found its mark. The snake snapped up in the air, but could no longer do any harm. The headless body writhed for a moment more, the rattles still trembling and creating their haunting warning sound, but soon it fell still. Slim Jim couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Jack O’ Lantern handed the gun back and approached the box. He kicked away what was left of the snake and cautiously nudged the box with the toe of his boot. It appeared empty. He kicked it upright and peered inside. There was nothing else in it save for a folded scrap of paper at the bottom. Jack O’ Lantern bent down and retrieved it.

  “What is it, Jack?”

  Jack O’ Lantern shook his head and walked closer to the floodlights so he could see better. He unfolded the paper, turned it right side up and felt a cold hand reach out, take hold of his heart and begin to squeeze. In neat, black letters the paper read:

  And these signs shall follow them that believe: in my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them – Mark 16:17-18

  Jack O’ Lantern read the words over and over and then closed his eyes. If he thought he knew what he was dealing with before, he now realized that he knew nothing.

  Judah held the edge of the glass against his forehead for a moment and then sighed and gulped the whiskey down. He gingerly set the glass back on the bar and peered down into it. He studied the thin amber film on the bottom of the glass. For a moment he was lucid, aware that he was sitting in a bar, getting as wasted as he could, ignoring phone calls from the woman he cared about, disrespecting the man serving him drinks whom he considered a friend, and beginning to embarrass the other patrons around him. He stared at the bottom of the glass and felt his throat close as he remembered the placid face of the doctor in the hospital hallway who had calmly let the words Benji and chance of survival pass between his lips. But as quickly as it had descended upon him, the moment of clarity evaporated and was replaced by the reckless anger and abandon brought on by a serious desire to get as drunk as possible. Judah picked up the empty glass before him and slammed it down on the bar.

  “Another.”

  Burke hung up the phone at the end of bar and came down to stand in front of Judah. He crossed his knobby arms in front of his thin, bony chest and eyed Judah. Judah eyed him back. Burke finally sighed and slid Judah’s glass away from him.

  “I ain’t giving you another drink, son, til’ you tell me what’s going on.”

  Judah reached for his cigarettes.

  “I told you not to call me son.”

  “Does it look like I care? Now, you want another drink or not? I can just as soon have your ass thrown out of here. Free up some space.”

  “You gonna try to move me, old man?”

  Burke picked up the glass and started to set it in the sink behind the bar. Judah lit a cigarette and waved the smoke out his eyes.

  “All right, all right. Give me the drink and I’ll spill my guts. I’ll yank my bleeding heart out and smack it down right here on the bar in front of you. Whatever you want. I don’t give a shit no more.”

  Burke set the glass back in front of Judah and filled it with half a shot of whiskey. Judah watched the liquor dribbling into the glass and raised his eyebrows when Burke jerked the bottle up.

  “Start talking, Judey-boy.”

  Judah squinted at the whiskey. He set his cigarette in the ashtray and wrapped his fingers around the glass.

  “What is this? An interrogation or something? Are we bargaining here? You been watching too many spy movies.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m looking out for you. I’ve known you since you were in short pants. Hell, I knew your mother when she was in the hospital giving birth to you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You told me the story a million times, Burke. And Sherwood was too drunk to be there. And you were the one who came in and saved the day.”

  Judah raised the glass to his lips, but didn’t drink from it.

  “Were you banging her too? Probably shoulda been. Least she woulda got something outta life sides wasting away to disease and getting nothing but grief from Sherwood.”

  “You watch your mouth.”

  Judah grinned devilishly and downed the whiskey. He set the glass on the bar, but Burke made no move to refill it.

  “You know, Judah, you sure turned into an asshole. I ain’t seen you since they locked you up and now I really wish they’d kept you there.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Judah tried to reach across the bar to grab Burke’s arm, but only succeeding in knocking over the ashtray. He tipped it back upright and tried to pick up the wrong end of his cigarette from the bar. He jerked his fingers back and rubbed them together. Burked watched him and shook his head.

  “Man, something’s got you messed up tonight.”

  Judah looked down at the polished wood of the bar and then up at the row of liquor bottles along the wall. He ran his hand over his face and exhaled loudly.

  “I’m sorry for what I said about you and my mama. But damnit, Burke, Benji’s in the hospital.”

  Burke leaned over the bar.

  “What?”

  “Something bad happened to him. Something real bad. They don’t even know if he’s gonna make it. Shit, this is Benji we’re talking about. Benji. And we did it. We did it, Burke. Benji didn’t do nothing. We did it. And he’s lying in some hospital bed now cause of what we did.”

  “Whoa, hold on there, son.”r />
  “No, it’s the truth. And I’m just as guilty as they are. I went along with it, again. I’m a stupid, stupid, cowardly worm who can’t even think for himself.”

  Burke smacked the bar in front of Judah and leaned even closer.

  “Watch what you’re saying. You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Burke jerked the whiskey bottle out of the well and filled the empty glass in front of Judah to the brim. Judah stared at it blankly. He shook his head and blinked a few times. Burke started to walk back down to the end of the bar.

  “Drink that and get yourself together.”

  Judah eyed the glass. He shouted down to the end of the bar.

  “I thought you wanted me to talk about it.”

  Burke had the phone in his hand and was punching in numbers. He cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder and turned around to Judah.

  “And I thought you wanted another drink. I just remembered that I gotta call Alma bout something. Give me a second.”

  Burke turned to face the wall and Judah looked at the glass in front of him. He closed one eye and squinted. The blurry double of two glasses focused into one. He reached for his cigarettes, but only rested his hand on the pack. The bar was beginning to spin around him. Judah looked over to his right and couldn’t tell if the person sitting on the next bar stool over was male or female. He let his eyes drift up the opposite wall, glazing over the neon Miller High Life sign. The blazing colors were a blur and made his head hurt. Judah gave up trying to orient himself and returned to staring at the full whiskey glass in front of him. Soon Burke appeared behind the glass and Judah raised his eyes.

  “Everything okay with your wife?”