Alabama Noir

by Don Noble

  "What your mother did to you wasn't right."

  "Momma says she did her best."

  "She used you," he said. "You should be a star on the Disney Channel right now like that Selena Gomez or Demi Lovato. That tall pasty girl from Bunk'd, Peyton List? You're a hundred times prettier than that skinny Peyton List."

  "That was the plan."

  "What happened?" the man asked. "How could Big Nadine screw it up so bad?"

  "Guess you didn't see what happened at Legoland?"

  The man snorted, the engine revving them up past seventy miles per hour, passing signs advertising VISIT MOBILE, "America's First Mardi Gras" and billboards proclaiming HELL IS REAL, the front of the van all black and slick, reflecting light along the darkened interstate. "That's not what did it," he said. "What happened is your stupid mother devalued the Cassie Lyn brand. She took it too far, too fast. It didn't bother me when they first started selling your dolls on QVC, but when y'all did the skin-care line, shampoo, and costume jewelry, it made me sick. Even before the spinoff show and the meltdown, you'd already become overexposed."

  "Overexposed?" she said. "That's why we went back home."

  "To Guin."

  "We live in Gu-Win."

  "That's not what the sign said."

  "Gu-Win is between Guin and Winfield," she said. "Wasn't a bad little town before they built the interstate and made us a drive-by community. We've still got a Walmart and a drive-in movie theater called the Blue Moon. My momma ran a vegetable stand right off the highway for nearly fifty years selling tomatoes, corn, cantaloupes, and hot-boiled peanuts. Fifty years, can you imagine?"

  "I hate to say it, but your mother treats you like a trained monkey. I think she went back home because she couldn't cut it. Back to a forsaken state like Alabama? Does Big Nadine drink? She looks like a drinker, with her face all big and pink. Someone who'd down three or four lemondrop martinis a night."

  "Momma's a Baptist," Cassie Lyn said, her little hands folded in her lap, bubblegum nail polish starting to chip. "Sometimes she'll slip and have one margarita at Los Amigos over in Hamilton. We like that place lots better than La Casa Fiesta. Big Nadine says they make the best taco salad in the whole state."

  The man didn't answer, just drove with his mouth shut. Cassie Lyn grew quiet too, as they took a wide turn on the overpass right through Birmingham, headed toward the tall hills, and she looked over the city to see if she could spot the Vulcan statue. If the eyes were red, that would tell Cassie Lyn something, a sign from Jesus that she needed to go ahead with what she'd planned. She knew what she was doing walking out of that trailer with her pink backpack slung across her shoulder, seeing that black van parked out by the roadside. Everything she owned in the world in the backpack: two changes of clothes, her special teddy bear Reuben, sixty-two dollars, and her MacBook Pro.

  "Can I at least ask your name?"

  The man didn't answer.

  "Can I call you Daryl?" she said.

  "Why?"

  "'Cause first minute I laid eyes on you, when you hopped out of that van, I said to myself, That looks like a Daryl. Also, you had what Momma called crazy eyes. I could see it when you took off your sunglasses, playing that loud music from your car stereo. What was that song anyway?"

  "'I Want to Know What Love Is.'"

  "That some kind of praise music?"

  "It's Foreigner."

  "Hmm," said Cassie Lyn. "Sounded like they were speaking English to me."

  The man reached down, knocked an old tape into the radio, the praise music going away, a heavy guitar chord vibrating the insides of the car. "How about this?" he said. "Journey. You like to rock, sweet baby? I'll play you some real music from back in my day."

  "Where the hell we goin', Daryl?"

  "I can't say."

  "Why not?"

  "You might run off."

  "Run off?" Cassie Lyn said. "Why on earth would I do that? This is the best goddamn day of my life."

  "Me kidnapping you?'

  "Yes sir," she said. "But you better stop off for a six-pack and Marlboros soon. I don't travel on no fumes."

  "Don't you see what I brought?" Daryl said, wiping his eyes, nearly in tears. "Look in the back. I brought duct tape for your pretty little mouth. Ropes to bind your sweet, delicate limbs. And you know what? If you'd fought me, I even brought a gun. Doesn't that scare you? Doesn't that just chill you down to the bone, thinking on what I might do?"

  "There's an exit coming up," she said. "I think they got a Stuckey's. You mind getting me a pecan log? Sweet baby's getting hungry."

  ➰

  PICTURE UP, B ROLL OF TODDLER CONTESTANTS TAKE THE STAGE . . . BIG SMILES. SPARKLY DRESSES. BLING PERSONIFIED.

  CUT TO:

  INT: EMBASSY SUITES, NASHVILLE.

  Big Nadine rushes around the motel room in a frenzy. Her assistant, Rosalita, runs into the bathroom and closes the door to the camera crew, sobbing.

  BIG NADINE: The hair didn't curl, we was running late on time, my dumb-ass boyfriend didn't find the right ho-tel. We are standing around at the lobby, waiting for him to show up with Cassie Lyn's wardrobe. I don't think any of this could go anywhere. This is the big time. This isn't just any competition. This is gosh-darn Little Miss Sassy Nashville. This is the damn Daytona 500 and the Super Bowl rolled into one. My people have messed up. And Cassie Lyn knows it. Look at her in tears, that little girl. I hate to disappoint her. This is all about her. All about her.

  Close: Cassie Lyn in full makeup and pajamas, playing with an iPhone, looking up at Bugs Bunny on the motel television.

  BIG NADINE: If that little girl ain't happy, Momma ain't happy. I think we better just pull this thing. Stop it. I can't put my little girl onstage like this. It just tears the guts out of me to send her on not pampered and prepared. How in the world could Rosalita be so almighty stupid as to mess up that wig? There ain't nothing to it. It's just some basic bouncy curls, made stiff with rollers and some hair spray. I swear to Jesus Christ Himself that woman didn't have but one job to do. I'm gonna send her on back with my boyfriend. That dumb bastard got himself drunk last night at an Applebee's in Chattanooga calling me like I'm supposed to come get him and make things right. He has all Cassie Lyn's things. How damn hard is that to remember?

  INT: EMBASSY SUITES LOBBY.

  Cassie Lyn, six, in a blue-velvet tracksuit, hair and makeup done, as they wait for a ride to the convention center.

  INTERVIEWER: Are you nervous?

  CASSIE LYN: Nope.

  INTERVIEWER: Do you hope you'll win?

  CASSIE LYN: I guess so. I hadn't really given it much thought. I'm really hungry. After the competition, Momma says she'll buy me some Popeyes fried chicken. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. My stomach is making weird sounds like it's mad at me.

  INT: HOTEL VAN—DAY.

  Big Nadine stares out the window, hand touching her temple, crying.

  BIG NADINE: Well, it's all about her and for her. If Cassie Lyn ain't happy, I'm not happy. This is all about her. All about her.

  ➰

  Daryl looked tired, rolling into the Stuckey's off the Hope Hull exit at nearly three o'clock in the morning, only to see it was closed down for the night. Cassie Lyn turned to him, giving him that real pouty look with her bottom lip poked out. "Sure had my heart set on a pecan log, Big Daddy."

  "Pecan log?" Daryl said. "I thought you had to pee-pee. Damn it. Just get on back in the van and we'll go across to that Love's. I need to get some gas anyway."

  "Why won't you tell me where we're going?"

  "It's a surprise."

  "You said somewhere real special and real warm," she said. "Is that true?"

  "Maybe."

  "Are you gonna kill me?"

  Daryl didn't answer, stroking his mustache, knocking the black van back in gear, driving slow and careful, blinker flashing to make a right turn. His face still half-covered in shadow.

  "You sure are funny," she said, trying to brighten the mood. "W
here is that little outfit, anyway?"

  "The French maid?"

  "Yes sir," she said. "You've got the song? 'Lady Marmalade'?"

  "I have the Moulin Rouge soundtrack on cassette," he said. "I taped it off HBO last year. Between us, I think you outdid Pink and Lil' Kim. And that Christina Aguilera. They don't have a thing on sassy little Miss Cassie Lyn."

  "I'm not so little anymore," she said. "My ass is as big as a steer."

  "Don't you say that," he shot back, pounding the wheel. "Don't you ever say that. Those people making comments online don't have a soul. You're as pretty as you've always been. Who am I to complain about a few extra pounds? I'm fat and bald. I lost my job selling TVs at Sears. My good years left the station about fifteen years ago. You look great, sweet baby. You look so damn great."

  "Do you love me?"

  "Of course I do," he said. "What do you think this story is all about?"

  * * *

  It was morning by the time they got to Gulf Shores, Daryl nearly nodding off at the wheel as he pulled into the Red Roof Inn parking lot. Cassie Lyn finishing up her third warm beer, eating a package of little donuts from the gas station, powdered sugar scattered across her little chunky legs. Looked to be nothing around them but miniature golf centers and water parks. Across the street, she saw a sign for a place called The Track that offered go-cart racing and an arcade for the kiddos.

  "Don't you even think about running."

  "How many times I got to tell you, Daryl? I'm not scared. Not one damn bit. I'm excited. Excited about where we're going. Excited about our future together."

  "Not even a little bit scared?" Daryl said. "You do know I'm going to have to tie you to the bed while I get some sleep. And if you try to run or scream, I'll have to put that duct tape across your pretty little mouth. You'll have to take in all your air from that pert little nose."

  "I won't run," she said. "I won't scream. But if you tie me up and tape up my mouth, just how am I gonna sing 'Lady Marmalade' for you?"

  Daryl shifted behind the wheel, like his insides had suddenly seized up, pain somewhere deep in his tight blue jeans. In the early morning light, she noticed his thick glasses were dirty and smudged. White powdered sugar on his mustache as he looked out at the motel lobby, thinking on the best way to play things.

  "You'd do that for me?" he said. "Why would you do that?"

  "Because you gave me a ride," she said. "You're my hero."

  "I'm not gonna drop you off like some kind of hitchhiker, Cassie Lyn. You're coming back with me to my special home. I spent the last two months getting the basement all nice and ready for you."

  "Like a pet," she said, smiling, twinkle in her eye. "Right?"

  "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that. You're not a pet. You're my special princess. My sweet, sweet baby. My cutie patootie."

  "Go get us the key, Daryl," Cassie Lyn said, touching his bony knee under the wheel. "I'm not going anywhere."

  Cassie Lyn watched Daryl run across the parking lot toward the office, reaching down and unzipping her backpack. The laptop was charged and ready, the gun strapped to her meaty little thigh. In the early morning dawn, Cassie Lyn let down the passenger window and breathed in that Gulf Coast air, smelling just like summertime. Ah.

  Wouldn't be long now.

  * * *

  The French maid outfit was a little snug, Daryl obviously not aware Cassie Lyn had put on ten more pounds over the holidays. There had been boxes of holiday cookies, Conecuh sausage, and dozens of little candy canes she sucked on in that elf costume. Every day was so damn boring in that little airless trailer, nothing to do but watch television, mostly the Hallmark Channel, and flip through trashy magazines Big Nadine bought for her at the Piggly Wiggly. National Enquirer, US Weekly, Cosmopolitan, and when she really felt generous, those big deluxe magazines that cost fourteen dollars about Jesus or the Civil War. Since Cassie Lyn had dropped out of school at eleven, Big Nadine figured buying her reading material was part of her education.

  She stared at herself in the mirror, smudging on the eye shadow and combing through her lashes with mascara. She'd normally have stuck on some falsies, added some blue or pink extensions into her hair. But Daryl, or whatever his name was, would have barely noticed. The man's hand shaking as he lowered himself into a chair by the window of the Red Roof Inn, Cassie Lyn telling him to be patient, she'd be right back.

  Cassie Lyn had set up her MacBook on the dresser, telling Daryl that she needed it to play her signature song. Daryl had offered to play his scratchy tape from his busted-ass boom box, but Cassie Lyn said it'd be more special, more like the show, if she handled it herself. She'd set the screen with a nice view of the room and then left to get ready.

  "My God," he said. "You've grown up. You're all grown up."

  "You don't like that?"

  "No," Daryl said. "It's just different."

  "Good different or bad different?"

  "You've gotten boobies," he said. "Big fat boobies."

  "Sit on the bed, Daryl, and shut your mouth."

  Daryl adjusted the thick dirty glasses on his face and did as he was told. The carpet was blue, the bedspread was gold and stained. Cassie Lyn reached for the coils of rope and threaded it through the headboard. She could hear the trucks and cars zooming past on the highway, morning light shining through the curtains, the yells and screams from the kids at the go-cart track. She bound his wrists nice and tight like she'd learned from Big Nadine's third husband, the sailboat captain. Just as Daryl was about to protest, she ripped off a nice thick strip of duct tape and covered his mouth. "Sit tight," she said.

  She removed his dirty glasses, his eyes looking like they were going to pop from his head. Daryl just getting the idea.

  She walked over to the dresser, pressing the space bar to illuminate the screen. Cassie Lyn TV was live and streaming. She already had 562 folks watching, more following every second. When she got to two thousand, she'd start taking requests.

  Cassie Lyn pressed play on iTunes and "Lady Marmalade" started pumping from the tiny speakers, sounding tinny and hollow as she began to shake, bend over, and smack her butt. Looking between her legs, she could see more and more and more followers coming online. Request after request before even asking.

  When she'd realized that BIGDADDY88 was finally coming for her, she'd changed the settings on the Cassie Lyn site, sending money into her own personal account, something she'd had for three years but Big Nadine never knew about.

  Cassie Lyn set her foot at the edge of the dresser and unstrapped the gun from her chunky little leg.

  Daryl's eyes got real big as she posed in front of the camera, Daryl being able to see himself as clear as a reflection in the mirror. Cassie Lyn brought the little barrel up to her lips and blew on it as if it were hot. More and more and more requests. More cutesy poses. Shoot him! Kill him! Right in the nuts! People online were like this. So damn bloodthirsty behind the keyboard. They wanted to see some real fun, reality-based action.

  Cassie Lyn bent over the keyboard and simply typed: HOW MUCH?

  Before even pressing send, TOKYOJOE09 presented an offer even larger than she'd imagined. It was what Cassie Lyn had decided was her "getting with the program" amount.

  "So sorry, Daryl," she said, aiming the pistol at him strapped to the bed. "Ain't nothing personal about it."

  He was screaming down deep behind the tape, thrashing in the bed from side to side. Snot coming out of his nose. Cassie Lyn aimed the pistol, turning back for a moment to see how high her tokens had gone. Spinning and spinning, coins pinging and pinging that piggy bank.

  It was enough. It would get her far. She turned back to Daryl with a big ol' pageant smile. Make 'em love you!

  "It was never about you, sweet baby," she said. "It's all about the money, honey. Good night, Big Daddy."

  The man closed his eyes and began to weep.

  PART III

  I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

  THE GOOD THIEF

&nbs
p; by Ravi Howard

  Escambia County

  For his final meal, all Thomas Elijah Raymond asked for was the cake, the one he remembered from Rachel's Luncheonette in Phenix City. Prison rules would not allow food brought in from the outside. Safety concerns. So if Rachel Walker said yes, she would have to come to Holman on the day of the execution and make it there. How to feel about such a thing. Reluctant but somehow compelled. When the day arrived, the warden's assistant greeted Rachel and escorted her to the kitchen. She could now match a face to the familiar voice she'd heard so many times over the phone in the few weeks before.

  "Mrs. Walker, the warden will be here in just a minute. Can I get you anything in the meantime?" Francine asked.

  "No thank you. I believe I'm fine." Rachel wanted to sound more certain, and to dismiss any worry on her behalf. She wanted to manage that on her own.

  As Francine disappeared out the swinging metal doors, Rachel watched her through round windows. The secretary walked past the corrections officer stationed outside and made her way down the corridor. The sound of her heels on the concrete was muted by the thick steel doors that had by then stopped swinging. Rachel was alone now, in the newly constructed wing of Holman Prison. It was the biggest kitchen she had ever seen.

  The smell of her restaurant kitchen had always given her comfort. It was not the smell of any particular dish, but instead, the slow, thin layers built up over the years. There was always cinnamon near, even if it wasn't needed for a recipe. Bowls of it curled like scrolls used to write down histories. She wished she had brought some with her. This place smelled of bleach and ammonia. It whispered nothing.

  Stainless steel shelves lined the freshly painted walls. Ceiling lamps spread a dull glaze across the metal fixtures. Fluorescent bulbs gave a uniform pale, except for a single lamp that flickered, blinking rays the color newspaper turns. A dozen parallel steel islands rose from the white tile floor, wrapped in thick blue plastic pulled taut over narrow shelves and secured around the edges of the counters. Two adjacent counters had been uncovered and arranged for her use.