The Bastard Hand

by Heath Lowrance

  She looked at me, and a half-smile touched at her lips—a faint trace of her old sardonic self. “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. You ever hear that old song?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. If it weren’t for bad luck . . .” She shook her head. “Old country song. Long time ago. Think they used to sing it on Hee-Haw.”

  “Hee-haw.”

  “Yeah, Hee-Haw. Don’t you remember Hee-Haw? TV show. Buck Owens. Roy Clarke. It was—”

  “Tassie, would you start making sense? What the hell are you talking about?”

  She clasped her hands together fiercely, and a pained look flitted across her face. “Right. Sorry, I’m tired. Can’t seem to stay focused. It’s bad luck. Bad luck killed them.”

  “Bad luck.”

  “Capitol B, Bad, capitol L, Luck. Bad Luck, Inc. Sound familiar?”

  It did. It sounded very fucking familiar, and a cold spot opened up in my stomach. “Jesus,” I said. “The crack house.”

  She nodded. “They had ties, it seems. How’s that for bad luck? They sorta live up to their name, don’t they?”

  “Damnit,” I said. “Goddamnit.”

  Tassie cocked her head. “Funny. That’s just what I said.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Well,” she said, “Really very quickly, actually. They came in and there were a whole shitload of guns . . . and then a lot of firing of said guns. Then there was a lot of blood, quite an amazing amount of blood, really. And Bone was sitting next to me and then his brains were sorta on my lap. Well, not my lap exactly, more like my upper thigh here, you know, and I couldn’t move for a second which turned out to be a good thing because bullets were tearing up the sofa around me, and Vinnie—”

  “Tassie,” I said.

  She stopped mid-sentence, and then I saw it, saw her lower lip quivering. She looked at the dashboard.

  On the other side of the road the two dogs still fought, but it looked as if a winner was inevitable. The bigger one had its fangs buried in the other’s throat, and drops of blood spattered the road as the smaller dog tried to break free. Finally, with a distressed yelp, it managed to jerk itself out of the other dogs grip and limp away. The victor snarled after it, then almost as an afterthought bent its head down and dug into the hard-won meal.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t particularly happy to see her. Things were complicated enough. And it wasn’t as if she’d come bearing Beautiful Tidings.

  I said, “How did you find me?”

  She shook her head, still not looking at me. “Not hard. You really want me to go into all that?”

  “Why are you here?”

  She looked at me, startled. “I . . . I just told you. They killed Vinnie and Bone.”

  “No. Why are you here? Why have you gone to all this trouble to find me? I mean, what the hell do you expect me to do?”

  Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  I barreled on, “So it’s all finally caught up to you, has it? All the petty little robberies and back alley burglaries. This time you aren’t going to get away free and clean, right? This time they’re on to you. So what do you do? You go searching for the sucker who seemed so easy to manipulate last time.”

  Baffled hurt flashed briefly through her eyes, before being replaced by steeliness. I ignored it, kept talking, “Well, that’s just too bad, Tassie. See, things are catching up to me, too. I’ve got my own goddamn problems right now. Last thing I have time for is a bunch of goddamn gun-toting gangsters. So—”

  She cut me off, “Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie. Have I come at a bad time? Well, I’ll just re-schedule with your crisis secretary, shall I?” Anger seemed to have a good effect on her—the stunned, shell-shocked look had disappeared and now her face shined with sharp fury. “Why the hell do you think I’m here, you fucking moron? You think I’ve come here so Big Ol’ Charlie can protect me from the mean ol’ bad men? Don’t be an idiot.”

  “Look—”

  “Just listen to me. I’ve come here to warn you. They’re gonna be coming after you, too.”

  “They can’t—”

  “Yes they can. If I can find you, so can they. These guys mean business.”

  “Some stupid little street gang doesn’t have the resources to—”

  “This is no stupid little street gang and you know it. They’re big time. I came to tell you that you have to get away.”

  I was starting to get annoyed with her cutting me off every time I opened my mouth. But now she just looked at me and in the silence I had nothing to say.

  I glanced across the road. The wild dog, blood flecking its muzzle, tore at the opossum carcass with single-minded fervor. That couldn’t be healthy, I thought, eating an animal right off the side of the road like that.

  Now it was my turn to have trouble staying focused.

  “Listen, Charlie.” Her voice sounded a bit calmer, but still sharp and clear. The dazed tone was gone and that was good, I supposed. “For all we know, they could be on their way down here even as we speak. Granted, this is a secluded little burg, but it’s nowhere near far enough away. We have to go, we have to get out, go somewhere safe.”

  “Yeah,” I said, still staring at the dog. Then, “No. No, I can’t.”

  “It’s not like there’s a choice here.”

  “No, I can’t go. I have . . . I have things I have to do.”

  She grimaced, grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. “Listen, you idiot. It doesn’t matter if you’ve made a little life for yourself here, man. It doesn’t matter if you’ve joined the church and are running for City fucking Council and have a wife and a kid and a dog now, you understand? These people will be coming to kill you. You—we—have to get out. Now.”

  I pulled myself together a bit—just a bit—and said, “No, it’s not like that. I have something . . . something very important I have to do.”

  “How important could it be? Jesus, man—”

  I said, “Very important. Fifty K worth of important.”

  That stopped her. She sat stunned for a moment, then said, “Oh. Fifty K. That is important, isn’t it?”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it, and she laughed too, almost reluctantly at first but then resigned to it, shaking her head. Ah, we could grow apart, Tassie and me, but we’d always have money in common, wouldn’t we?

  She said, “So you’ve got another scam going, and you didn’t even invite me. I’m hurt. How long is it going to take?”

  “It’s not really a scam, exactly. It’s complicated. But it should be all over by . . .” I figured in my head briefly, “It should be all over by Sunday.”

  She frowned. “That’s two days, Charlie.”

  “Plenty of time.”

  “I don’t know. It’s not safe. What kind of stunt are you pulling, anyway?”

  I put the Rover in gear, acting more together than I felt. “I’ll tell you all about it. But first, we have to find a safe place for you to stay in the meantime.”

  “You have somewhere in mind?”

  “Matter of fact, I do.”

  I eased back onto the road and headed toward Moker’s Hill.

  Without Mack and Henry around, the smell in the cabin had diminished to an almost bearable level. But Tassie had no idea how bad it once was. She stopped in the doorway and said, “Holy Christ! Please don’t tell me. I’m supposed to hole up here?”

  “You’ll get used to the smell.”

  “Charlie, that’s not a smell I wanna get used to.”

  I smiled, because that was exactly what I’d thought that first time here with the Reverend. “Open the windows then. Besides, it won’t be long.”

  She looked around the place dubiously, her eyes skimming over the handmade wooden table in the center of the room, the two well-made cots at either wall. Then her gaze stopped dead on the giant cross on the far wall, and the now-cold moonshine still at its base. “Holy Christ,” she said again.

  “You stay here,” I said, standing in the do
orway. “I’ll be by later tonight with some food, okay? But just try to lay low.”

  “Food, yeah. Food would be good, I haven’t eaten. When will you bring food?”

  “I don’t know. Later tonight, maybe a few hours.”

  She shook her head. “No, now. I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll bring it as soon as I can, okay? In the meantime, try to get some sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep if I don’t have something to eat.”

  “I can’t bring the goddamn food right away, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Tassie, just shut up and get some sleep, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

  Her mouth opened, about to say something else, but then she sighed and her shoulders slumped and she trudged over to the closest cot and sat down. When I left, a moment later, her head was on the pillow and her eyes were sliding shut. She mumbled, “G’bye Charlie,” as I closed the door behind me.

  I parked behind the house on Swan Road and walked up to the rear door and walked into the kitchen. Stella was at the sink, washing carrots for some extravagant yet down-home meal we would probably eat that night.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Wesley, you startled me!” she said, making a show of dropping a half-washed carrot and catching it just before it slipped down the drain.

  I walked through the kitchen into the long central hall that led to the front doors. I paused there and looked at this place that, in another life, under other circumstances, I might have been able to call home for a while. A pile of wood and brick, as transitory as everything else. Built to last, built to last two hundred, maybe three hundred years, but to hell with that, right? The Coliseum in Rome was built to last, too, and look at it now.

  And the thing about it was, the thing about it was, see, that I just didn’t give a damn.

  I found Louis in the sitting room, taking it easy for a change, kicking back in the leather armchair, reading a book about World War II fighter planes. Don’t know where that one came from—I hadn’t noticed it on the shelf. He looked startled when I came in, immediately closed the book up and placed it on the side table and stood up.

  “Mr. Wesley, hello, good afternoon.”

  “You don’t have to jump up every time I walk in the room, Louis. You’re allowed to relax sometimes.”

  In the last couple of weeks, Louis had warmed up to me considerably, had begun to understand that I didn’t like, let alone require, his constant presence. He’d learned that if I wanted a drink, I could get it my own goddamn self and if I needed a snack I knew where the refrigerator was.

  But embarrassment at being caught loafing caused him to revert briefly back to his previous stiffness: “Would you like a drink, Mr. Wesley?”

  “Well, you know, Louis, a drink sounds just great. Make it a vodka and tonic.”

  He’d expected, of course, for me to say, Hey, don’t be silly, take it easy, Louis, I’ll get it myself. But not this time. I was feeling a bit like a bastard, smiling and watching him and enjoying his growing discomfort.

  He nodded, moved quickly and smoothly to the bar and made my drink. Just as he was dropping a wedge of lime, I said, “Why don’t you make one for yourself, too?”

  He smiled at me pleasantly. “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Wesley.”

  “But I insist. Have a drink, Louis.”

  “No, I really couldn’t. I—”

  “Louis,” I said, putting some force behind my words. “You will make yourself a goddamn drink, is that clear? You will make yourself a drink and come over here and sit the fuck down, right now.”

  He paused, confusion playing across his face. Is the seedy little bastard playing tricks with me? he’d be thinking. Is he trying to be clever again, God help him? But the smile on my face wasn’t a playful one.

  Carefully, he set my drink on the bar and began making one for himself. I approached the bar, took my drink, had a healthy sip. It tasted nice, fresh lime cool and bitter against my tongue, the sharp bite of expensive vodka beneath it. One of my favorite things, a good drink. Had that always been true of me? I couldn’t really remember.

  When Louis had his drink made he looked at me and I said, “Okay, then. Come over here and sit down, Louis. I wanna have a word with you.”

  He did as he was told, drink in his thin hand.

  When he’d settled back in the armchair, he looked up at me, nervous but trying to maintain the professional attitude. He held his drink like it was a bag of dog shit and said, “Something you’d like to discuss with me, Mr. Wesley?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, there is, Louis. See, I wanted to ask your opinion about something. Your advice, I guess.”

  I was aware of the odd, vaguely menacing tone in my voice and wasn’t sure exactly why it was there—maybe for the effect it seemed to have on Louis. Maybe because I knew he had the potential to lie to me and I wanted him to be aware of the fact that I would accept no lies or that I would know them if I heard them.

  He said, “Well . . . anything I can offer . . .”

  “There’s a young man who I run into from time to time around town,” I said. “Has a very odd name. China Bones. You know him?”

  Louis shifted in his seat and his eyes moved away from mine. “Yes,” he said. “Everyone knows him.”

  I nodded. “He’s an interesting kid, isn’t he? Really a very good guitar player, not a bad voice, either.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard him. He’s very talented.”

  “Kinda weird, when you think about it. A kid his age, playing and singing the blues. I mean, normally you associate blues with the elderly black guy playing his guitar, looking all like John Lee Hooker or something. But China Bones, he’s like, what, nineteen, maybe early twenties?”

  “I don’t know his exact age,” Louis said, “but I suspect early twenties.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, early twenties.” Then, “He used to do some work around here, didn’t he?”

  “What?”

  “China. He used to do some odd jobs around the house here, right? Maybe raking leaves or cutting the grass or something like that?”

  Louis swallowed, forced a thoughtful look on his face. His drink still rested, untasted, in his hand. He said, “Well, let me see . . .” and grimaced. “Well, yes, yes, I believe he did. Yes. It’s been some time though.”

  “Some time? About how long?”

  Louis shrugged, shook his head, then tried an easy smile instead of the thoughtful look. “Ah, well, I haven’t thought of young China in so long, you see. Why the sudden interest, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I shrugged back at him, my smile not so easy or friendly. “He’s an interesting kid, that’s all. How long ago did he work here?”

  “Well,” Louis said. “I suppose it’s been seven or eight years now. He was just a boy, really. Even then, he’d have his guitar with him all the time, he’d play for the Widow Garrity when he was done with his work and she’d always give him something extra.” He finally took a sip of his drink, looked at me earnestly. “The Widow was quite fond of him.”

  “So why did he stop working for her?”

  The earnest expression fell off his face and he swallowed again. “I don’t . . . well, I’m sure I wouldn’t—”

  “Why, Louis?”

  “Well—”

  If he’d had an answer prepared, I never got to hear it. Just then, the sitting room door opened and Elise came in and Louis stood up, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the leather chair.

  Elise shook her head, amused, said, “Oh, no. Is Charlie teaching you his bad habits, Louis?”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Garrity, I—”

  “My fault,” I said. “I insisted Louis have a drink.”

  “What am I, an ogre all of a sudden? Go ahead and finish your drink, Louis, don’t be silly.”

  She looked incredible, as usual, her gold-red hair pulled back in a loose pony-tail, her glasses (she’d taken to wearing them regularly, knowing I liked them) sitting low on her nose. Black Capri’s, red pullover e
mphasizing her figure. She said, “You boys must think I’m some kind of monster, Louis not even allowed to sit down and relax for a minute.”

  “Of course not, Miss Garrity.” Louis placed the drink carefully on the side table. “I’ll send Stella in immediately to clean up my mess. May I get you anything?”

  Grinning, bemused, Elise shook her head. She picked up Louis’s drink, saying, “In that case, I’ll finish this for you,” and took a sip. Louis nodded curtly and made his exit, not looking at me.

  I finished my drink, went to the bar to make another. Elise ambled over, all casual poise and confident ease. She leaned against the bar on the opposite side and rattled the ice in her glass. “How about another cube? Louis only dropped two of them in here.”

  I fished out another two or three ice cubes with my hand and plopped them into her glass and her drink splashed onto the cuff of her sweater. She made a playful, surprised sound, started to laugh, then looked at my face. I wasn’t laughing.

  “Charlie?” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Everything’s great.”

  “You . . . you seem as if there’s something on your mind.”

  I put down my drink, rested my fists on the bar, and looked at her intently.

  “Charlie?” More than a touch of nervousness crept into her voice, and she involuntarily took a step away from me, as if afraid I’d flip out and come at her with the ice tongs.

  I had no intention of hurting her. In fact, I didn’t even want to be threatening enough to make her that nervous. I forced a smile on my face, hoped it looked reassuring.

  She took another step back.

  I said, “It’s nothing. I went to see the Reverend this morning.”

  “Oh.” A bit of relief swept across her features—not too much, just a little. The situation with the Reverend wasn’t a cakewalk, but it least she knew what that one was all about. “Did it . . . did it go like you wanted?”

  “Sure. It went great. Just like I wanted. ’cause, you know, I really want this, I really do. It all makes me happy.”

  She licked her lips, said, “Okay, so I phrased that poorly. I don’t want this anymore than you do, Charlie. What I meant was, did it go . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to put it.