Long Black Curl

by Alex Bledsoe

  “That’s a pure-D fact. I just saw him. He’s sitting in his gopher hole crying, Deacon. Crying. Blood everywhere. Tried to get him to let me drive him to the emergency room over in Unicorn, or at least have Bliss come up and give him stitches, but he ain’t having none of it.”

  “Who did it?”

  “He wouldn’t say. But Peggy told me it was Bo-Kate Wisby.”

  Deacon let out a long, low whistle. “That explains why Chloe’s been snapping heads off all day. All right, I’ll call the rest. Where you want to meet?”

  Marshall thought it over. Normally, they met outside, under the sky, but the weather wasn’t conducive to that. He said, “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go up to the Catfish. Pass the word so somebody can bring a propane heater; that way our balls won’t freeze off.”

  * * *

  Deacon hung up the phone. His wife, Chloe, seated at the kitchen table working a sudoku puzzle, looked up and peered over her reading glasses at him. “What?”

  “I have to go out. Marshall Goins’s coming to pick me up. Somebody’s done attacked Rockhouse Hicks.”

  Chloe’s expression didn’t change. “I know.”

  “That what you been whispering about on the phone all day?”

  She nodded. “Peggy Goins told me.”

  “Did she tell you who did it?” he asked.

  “Bo-Kate Wisby.”

  The name hung between them.

  “Jefferson back as well?” Deacon asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Deacon took his heavy coat down from the hook. “That’s some bad news for everyone, ain’t it?”

  “It is. But there’s worse. Mandalay’s disappeared.”

  Deacon stopped in midmotion, one arm in a sleeve. “Disappeared?”

  “Last anyone saw of her, the bus let her off after school. She ain’t answering her phone. She ain’t reachable the other ways, either. Bliss is out looking for her.”

  Deacon nodded. Normally these First Daughter matters would stay secret, not just to men but to any women not part of the group. But clearly neither the return of Bo-Kate nor Mandalay’s disappearance could remain a First Daughter secret for long, and it was better to share the information than to risk something crucial getting missed.

  “You want me to get the boys out to look for her?”

  “Not until Bliss says so.”

  He scowled. “Might not do to wait. It’s cold out there.”

  “It’s Mandalay.”

  “I know, but … I mean, whatever else she is, she’s also a little girl. A lot of bad things can happen.”

  “I know. But we have to do it the right way. If Bliss doesn’t find her soon, I’m sure the word will go out.”

  He finished putting on his coat. “All right, if that’s the way it is.”

  “Be careful,” Chloe said as she stood. “It’s awful messy out there, according to the Weather Channel.” She kissed him, and he patted her backside.

  “Get a room, you two,” their teenage son Aiden said from the couch. If he’d followed the conversation, he gave no sign.

  “I’ll be careful,” Deacon assured her. “But I reckon it’s about to get a whole lot messier.”

  * * *

  Mandalay pushed through the snow toward the song. “I’m Nine Hundred Miles from My Home” was not exactly a staple in the Tufa repertoire, and while a lot of folks might know it, its sentiment didn’t really apply here where the Tufa lived; most of them stayed, and the ones who did leave came home one way or another.

  Then a strong blast of wind made her duck behind a tree. When it passed, the song was gone, and she was more lost than ever.

  How could this be happening? She was the leader of the First Daughters, the repository of their lore, history, and wisdom. Although it was difficult for her to access all that accumulated knowledge at once, in the past she’d always had the answer appear on its own, rising from her mind when needed. Now it simply didn’t happen.

  That meant one of two things. Either the night winds had taken it from her, which she knew they hadn’t done … or what was happening to her now had no precedent in the entire history of the Tufa.

  And that idea terrified her.

  Before she could give in to that fear, another noise rose over the wind. A male voice, singing.

  One morning, one morning, one morning in May

  I overheard a married man to a young girl say

  Arise you up, Pretty Katie, and come along with me

  Across the Blue Mountain to the Allegheny.

  Mandalay peeked around the trunk, toward the sound. A human shape emerged out of the snow, accompanied by a large dog.

  She sang out,

  I’ll buy you a horse, love, and a saddle to ride

  I’ll buy me another to ride by your side

  We’ll stop at every tavern and drink when we are dry

  Across the Blue Mountain goes Katie and I.

  The shape stopped. The dog barked once. “Who’s there?” the shape called.

  “My name’s Mandalay Harris. I reckon I’m lost. Who’s that?”

  “Luke Somerville. Lord a’mighty, girl, how’d you end up all the way out here?”

  “Like I said, I got lost. Reckon I have a talent for it.”

  “You sure do.” He came closer, and she could see his face. He was about the same age as her, black haired and big eyed. She’d seen him around school, but he belonged to Rockhouse’s people, and they tended not to interact with her folks anywhere but the Pair-A-Dice. She wondered if he knew who she was.

  “Well, you best come home with me and get out of this storm before you drop off into a gully and nobody finds you until spring. It’ll be full dark soon.”

  She didn’t realize he carried a rifle until he swung it up and rested it over his shoulder. She got a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

  “You could just point me toward the road,” she said, trying to sound casual. No matter who she was or how many secrets she carried, a bullet would kill her just like anything else alive.

  “The nearest road’s two miles away,” he said. “And you’re fifteen miles from your house.”

  She blinked in surprise. Fifteen miles? She couldn’t possibly have walked that far. Either she’d slipped into fae time without realizing it, which ought to be impossible, or the night winds had blown her here on purpose. Still, she thought wryly, better than nine hundred miles from home.

  She held back her hair from her face and studied him. He didn’t look dangerous, and she got no sense that he meant her harm. Perhaps he didn’t. But his family, seeing the head of the First Daughters walk into their house, might feel otherwise.

  “I know who you are,” he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “In case you were wondering. But it’s okay. My folks won’t hurt you.”

  “You a mind reader, too?”

  “I just figure that’s what I’d be thinking if I was in your shoes.”

  “If you were in my shoes, you’d be wishing you’d worn boots,” she said with a smile.

  He smiled back. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Mom’ll make us some hot chocolate.”

  She followed him through the snow, the big dog dancing around them both.

  6

  The convenience store door closed behind Junior Damo as he stomped his feet to dislodge the snow. The old man behind the counter, dressed in the chain’s bright orange and blue shirt, looked up from reading Entertainment Weekly. His name tag read TIRRELL.

  “Junior, what’re you doing out in this weather?” he asked. “Loretta finally kick you out?”

  “Nah, I’m on my way home to her, that’s why I need me some beer,” Junior said. He went to the cooler, nearly knocked over the WET FLOOR sign, and pulled a twelve-pack of Miller Lite from the rack. “Hey, you ain’t seen any of the Hickses around, have you?”

  “We’re all hicks, son,” Tirrell said with a grin, displaying the gap where two of his bottom teeth were missing.


  “Didn’t you teach college once?”

  “I did, but they don’t give tenure to hicks.”

  “Well, I meant the Hicks family. Rockhouse, Stoney, Jewel, Mason, any of them.”

  “Well, you know what happened to Rockhouse.

  “Of course,” Junior said, trying to sound blasé. After all the time he spent on the road, he’d forgotten just how fast the Tufa telegraph traveled. In the time it took him to get from the mountain to town, everyone in the county probably knew about it. And ever since that Collins woman stabbed him in the dick two summers ago, Stoney just sits around moping. He weighs three hundred pounds these days, so he don’t come to town much. Ain’t seen Jewel since he got married. Mason got some gas this morning, but he didn’t come in. Why you looking for them?”

  “Just want to see about hunting some squirrels,” Junior said as he ran his debit card through the machine. “You see any of ’em, tell ’em to call me.”

  “I ain’t your message boy, Junior.”

  Junior scowled at him. “Really? That’s your attitude? Somebody asks you to do something as simple as pass on a message if you see somebody, something that don’t even require you getting up off that stool, and you cain’t be bothered? No wonder you didn’t get that ten-four or whatever the hell it was.”

  “Man, what bug crawled up your ass and died?” Tirrell said.

  “You. And every single damn one of us. We don’t do a damn thing to help each other out. We won’t even pass on a fucking message if there’s nothing in it for us.”

  “You turning into a socialist? Did you sign up for Obamacare or something?”

  “Do you even know what a socialist is? ’Cause I don’t.” Junior turned to leave.

  Tirrell laughed. “Actually, I do. And I’ll tell ’em if I see ’em. But you’re gonna owe me a favor.”

  “See?” Junior said as he went out the door. “That’s what I mean. Nobody does nothing for nobody.”

  He got into his truck, started the engine, and took one of the beers from the cardboard case. The first beer he ever drank was Miller, when he was fourteen, and although he’d sampled others over the years, he kept returning to that familiar, icy tang. It represented to him what “beer” in general was supposed to taste like, and the freedom that came with it.

  Of course, that freedom—like the beautiful girls, and the fancy clubs, and the friends who always laughed at your jokes—was just an illusion. No, actually, it was worse. It was a lie. Like a woman saying she loves you just to get away from her parents.

  In the side-view mirror, he saw the old man talking on the phone, and smiled. He could make the Tufa telegraph work for him, too. Whichever Hicks Tirrell was calling, the word would get back to the one Junior actually wanted to talk to. Then things could progress. Seeing old Rockhouse bloody, mutilated, and afraid had opened up vast chasms of ambition in Junior, and he saw no reason to wait to put his plan into action, especially with Bo-Kate Wisby skulking around. But first he had to know what might be in his path.

  He put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the highway. He turned on his lights, as it was getting dark. He passed four cars heading the other way. Anytime he saw more than two vehicles together, he assumed they were on their way to a meeting of the Silent Sons. Once he’d wanted more than anything to be a member, but now he just saw them as one more obstacle.

  Let them talk, he thought. While they’re flapping their gums, I’ll be doing something. We’ll see who stands tallest when it’s all done.

  * * *

  It took almost an hour for Bliss to reach the Hyatt farm. The snow was particularly slushy, and even her four-wheel-drive had to proceed with caution. She saw an extra truck already there, and realized Chloe had called her daughter, Bronwyn.

  Ever since her marriage to Craig Chess and her move to his home across the county line in Unicorn, Bronwyn had spent a vast amount of time commuting back and forth. Even now, eight months pregnant, she was as likely to be here as at her own place. It signaled no trouble in her new marriage; she and Craig had hashed all this out ahead of time, and he was, as always, even-tempered and supportive. Bliss, who lived alone and probably always would, envied them more than anyone knew.

  But now First Daughter business had called the three of them together. She struggled up the slope to the front door, knocked, and was immediately let in. She stood on the rug and took off her boots and coat, then gratefully accepted the hot coffee Chloe offered.

  Bronwyn sat at the kitchen table and didn’t stand. On her slender build, the baby made her look like she’d swallowed the king of pumpkins whole, and her face was drawn tight with discomfort. She said at once, “Are you sure?”

  “Good to see you, too, Bronwyn.” She looked around. “Where’s Aiden?”

  “He’s in his room,” Chloe said. Her youngest child, thirteen and stereotypically sullen, interacted with the family less and less. “Playing Minecraft. That’s all he does anymore.”

  “Never mind that,” Bronwyn said, although she knew more about her baby brother than their mother did. She knew that he liked a girl from a farm down the road, and often snuck out to meet her. Since the girl also liked another boy, one who was older and had a motorcycle, Bronwyn also knew the source of Aiden’s sulkiness. “Are you sure it’s her? Did you see her?”

  “I haven’t seen her myself,” Bliss said. “But Peggy has.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Chloe said. “She might’ve changed a lot. Maybe Peggy made a mistake.”

  “Could you mistake anybody else for Bo-Kate Wisby?” Bliss asked.

  “Maybe one of them barracuda fish,” Chloe said.

  “I’ve been hearing about her all my life,” Bronwyn said, shifting to find a better position, “but I thought she couldn’t come back.”

  “She shouldn’t be able to,” Bliss said. “She was sung all the way out. It’s the only time that’s ever happened since we came here. She shouldn’t even be able to find Needsville anymore.”

  “So how did it happen?” Bronwyn pressed.

  “That’s just one of the questions we have to find the answer to.” Bliss’s cell phone rang, and she looked at the number. “Well, shit.”

  “What?” said Chloe.

  “It’s Junior Damo.”

  “You going to answer it?” Chloe asked.

  Bliss shrugged and put the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, Junior, I remember you. What can I do for you?” She paused to listen. “Is that a fact? I hadn’t heard about that. What do you think she wants?” Again she listened, and her face hardened. “Well, that just ain’t going to happen. So why are you calling to tell me this?”

  This time she listened for a long moment. “I see. I’ll pass it on, then. It ain’t my decision. Yeah, I got your number. Good-bye.” She turned off her phone and said, “Junior wants to meet with Mandalay.”

  “What about?”

  “He figures we may all have to get together to get rid of Bo-Kate.”

  “She’s just one woman,” Bronwyn said. “If y’all want, I can—”

  “No,” Bliss and Chloe said together.

  “What, you think we should just talk to her? Get all touchy-feely with her?”

  “I think that may be a better first step,” Chloe said.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t do touchy-feely. I do punchy-bleedy.”

  “I know,” Bliss said. “That’s why you’re not the right person for this.”

  Bronwyn glared at them both. “It’s because I’m pregnant, isn’t it?”

  “It’s because it ain’t your place,” Bliss said.

  “She’s causing trouble. I’m the one who usually stops it when people do that.”

  “This is bigger than what you handle,” Bliss said. “Junior confirmed what Peggy told me: Bo-Kate cut off Rockhouse’s extra fingers. Now I have to go find Mandalay. Get the word out to the other First Daughters, if they don’t already know. Which reminds me … either of you had any dreams about airplanes?”

  Chloe and Bronwyn
shook their heads.

  “Nothing about flying around outside one of them old single-engine planes? Okay, guess it was just me. I’ll be in touch. If I don’t find her before midnight, we’ll have to put the word out to everyone.” She left and descended the hill to her truck. The snow had begun to fall again.

  * * *

  Nigel’s voice vibrated along with the shuddering SUV as he said, “Your people’s definition of ‘road’ is very fluid, isn’t it?”

  “This isn’t a road,” Bo-Kate said through clenched teeth. “It’s a driveway.”

  “Does anyone ever use it to leave?”

  “Not if they can help it.”

  It was early evening, and the mountain shadows made it dark for all practical purposes. The trees and terrain kept the house hidden until the very last minute, when the SUV rounded a bend and emerged into a clearing. The headlights raked dramatically across the front porch, illuminating the old, intact Doric columns.

  Nigel frowned at the dilapidated house, two stories tall, with gables on the roof. Several windows were boarded up; the remaining ones were dark.

  An rust-rimmed pickup and a gigantic, ancient Ford sedan were parked next to each other, and on the porch rested a worn, battered refrigerator and stove. As they parked, two nondescript dogs, one bigger than the other, appeared and barked warnings.

  “Hush up, you two,” Bo-Kate said as she climbed out. “Don’t make me put a boot to your asses.”

  The smaller dog yelped once at the sight of her and ran off into the darkness. The bigger one lowered its head submissively and skulked forward until she could pet it. It whined, and eventually its big tail thumped the ground.

  “Missed me, huh?” Bo-Kate said.

  “You know this dog?” Nigel asked.

  “Of course I do. This is Stinkerbelle. Known her since she was a pup. That little one that ran off is Cheeto-Bear.”

  “I thought you said you’d been gone from here for twenty-some years?”

  Bo-Kate patted Nigel’s smooth cheek. “Nigel, there’s something you’ve got to realize about the Tufa, and I haven’t told you about it, because there was no way you’d believe it sitting in Boscos on Twenty-first Avenue.”

  “And that’s what?”