The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “None whatsoever,” he said. “Everybody’s got to make a living.”

  “Don’t call ahead,” Lillie said. “Okay? We’ll keep this between us. Maybe Domino will be so grateful we showed up to help that Christmas might come early.”

  “Y’all better watch your ass,” D’Shawn said. “My Domino is a whole lot of woman.”

  “So am I, D’Shawn,” Lillie said, turning back toward the steps. “So am I.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dusty and Flem had cut work for the day, the rain coming down too long and too strong to stay up on a ladder. They were cold, tired, and soaked, Dusty turning on the heater in their ’87 Chevy Silverado as they headed right for Varner’s Quick Mart, picking what was left of the daily lunch specials. Some fried chicken, green beans, and mac and cheese. The old man at the counter, none other than Luther Varner himself, held a cigarette that looked about a mile long and stared at them as if they weren’t nothing but shit on the bottom of his shoe. Him and Daddy didn’t give the old gray-headed fool the satisfaction of meeting his eye and hustled the Styrofoam containers and cold six-pack of Busch on back to the truck where they ate in silence, smacking their food and slurping their beers like Momma Lennie wouldn’t allow back home.

  “Ain’t you glad I was hard on you, boy,” Daddy said. “Or else you might’ve turned out just like that Chester Pratt, soft as warm butter.”

  “You was hard on me till you wasn’t,” Dusty said, mawing on a chicken leg. “Me and Darlene took our revenge against you. ’Specially when you was drunk.”

  “Maybe,” Daddy said. “Y’all ran the house like a couple red Indians. Hiding my Jim Beam and car keys. Tying me to that goddamn chair. If it hadn’t been for Momma, I mighta killed you both. Har. Har. Remember that time I doused you with lighter fluid and opened up that Zippo?”

  “I could never be like Chester Pratt,” Dusty said, sucking marrow from the bone. “That man was born soft.”

  “He’s damn lucky to know us,” Daddy said. “Doing what we always done, cleaning up someone else’s goddamn mess. Making sure things done right.”

  “You tell Momma?”

  “Hell no, I didn’t tell her,” Daddy said. “Your momma and I got ourselves a deal. Long as I make money, she don’t ask where it comes from. She does what she does on our land, tending to her people and collecting all them Disney figurines. And me and you head out and do what needs to be done.”

  “That Byrd woman had no call to stick you,” Dusty said. “You might’ve bled out.”

  “So you don’t blame me?” Daddy said. “For what I done?”

  “No, sir,” Dusty said. “I helped you. Didn’t I? Held her down while you did your cuttin’.”

  Dusty scraped up the rest of the mac and cheese with a spork and then took to licking the inside of the container. Daddy Flem cracked open his second beer and sucked it down nice and quick, knowing he didn’t have much time before Momma Lennie cut him off.

  “Momma ask what we was doing in the shed?”

  “Processing meat.”

  “Smart keeping them clothes and that saw around,” Dusty said. “I would’ve thrown ’em down in that ravine.”

  “Shit, no,” Daddy said, wiping off the beer from his grayed goatee. “That was our fucking insurance policy. Them and that cell phone.”

  “Wonder if the po-lice found that shit yet?” Dusty said. “Leaving that fancy pink boot sure was a nice touch, Daddy. Real nice.”

  “That’s what I taught you,” Daddy said. “Wadn’t it? I might’ve knocked you halfway ’cross the room few times. Choked your ass till you passed out. But I made you learn to do a job right. Measure twice and cut once. Choose stable ground for your ladder. Wear you some good boots or you just might break your damn neck.”

  “And don’t take nothing off no one.”

  “The Nixes ain’t big people,” Daddy said. “My granddaddy had to stand on three Coca-Cola crates to bury his head in my mawmaw’s titties. Now that old boy didn’t take no shit, either. Kilt a man once for patting him on the head like he was a child. That Byrd woman, that goddamn whore, shouldn’t’a stuck me like she did. She didn’t give me no choice.”

  “And maybe we’ll get something else, too?”

  “You talking about from that soft-bellied Chester Pratt?” Daddy said, cracking open his third beer, guzzling it straight down, a good quarter of it running down his goatee. “Now you’re talking, son.”

  ELEVEN

  Are you sure it’s her?” Donna Grace Webb asked. “Maybe it’s some kind of mistaken identity? That kind of thing happens more than you know it. I heard it for myself on one of those Dateline NBC shows. Some woman’s in trouble, folks think she’s dead, but she’s really drinking margaritas somewhere down in Cancun.”

  “I’m real sorry,” Quinn said, standing by the worktable of DG Creations flower shop. “I know y’all were good friends.”

  “So you’re sure?” she said. “I mean, real sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said. “The body we found was Gina Byrd. Lillie IDed Gina herself. I don’t mean to be harsh, but I promise you she’s not drinking margaritas down in Mexico.”

  Donna Grace was a big woman, somewhere in her late sixties, with chubby cheeks and red hair pinned up on top of her head. As Quinn offered a few more details, she looked unsteady on her feet, gripping the side of her table covered with bunches of roses and snipped baby’s breath. When he’d come out of the rain and into the little white house, she said she was making a bouquet for a big wedding supposed to happen on the Square tomorrow, that is, if this nasty weather would clear up.

  The little cottage seemed almost airless, closed up tight and smelling sweet and old at the same time, like a flower pressed between the pages of book. Donna Grace wore an oversized pink blouse over some fancy jeans with designs on the pockets, trying to look composed while she placed a fist to her forehead and mashed it tight. Tears fell down onto the table.

  Quinn hated these kinds of visits about worse than anything. But it was all part of the job, calling on loved ones and friends of folks who died quick and without notice. He took the calls when he could, car wrecks to heart attacks, murders and job accidents, often if he knew the people involved, not wanting to parcel out the worst part of the job to his deputies while he kept to his desk. The least he could do is knock on the door himself and let them know what had happened while looking them in the eye.

  “Someone killed her?” Donna Grace asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The things I’m hearing,” she said. “About the body they found. Things done to it.”

  Quinn didn’t answer. But the stories couldn’t be any worse than the truth. He just nodded back at Donna Grace while the woman went back to making the bouquet for the big wedding on the Square. She pruned the stems of long white roses and then set about working on a handful of spray roses, Quinn knowing the difference from all the varieties Maggie had planted last year. Maggie had singlehandedly turned their old farm into a botanical showcase.

  “Why?” she said.

  “That’s what I hope to find out.”

  “Some folks are saying it was little TJ,” she said. “Lord God.”

  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in rumors,” said Quinn. “I was hoping you might help.”

  “With who killed Gina?” Donna Grace shook her head and wiped the mascara off her cheeks with a paper towel. She snuffed out a laugh as if the question was just plain nuts. “I have no earthly idea.”

  Quinn walked over by the front counter, right alongside the glass refrigerator filled with orders ready for pickup. There was an old FTD sign behind the counter, the same one from when Donna Grace’s father owned the shop, golden Hermes hauling ass while holding a big fistful of flowers. The whole idea of someone wiring a shop for a flower order seemed like something for the history books.r />
  “I’ve known Gina for more than twenty years,” Donna Grace said, snuffling but still snipping, gathering, wrapping. “I’ve been with her through her ups and downs, trials and tribulations. Before her momma passed, I promised I’d look out for Gina.”

  “And how’s Gina been doing?”

  “Same as always,” Donna Grace said. “Sometimes she’s my employee of the month. And sometimes I’d have to fire her ass because she came to work stoned or drunk. Have you called on Chester Pratt? They been seeing each other for a while. Seems like Chester only feeds her trouble, giving her money for pills and as much booze as she can drink.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said. “And I’ll be calling on him again.”

  “I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show on Monday,” Donna Grace said. “We had some words last week on account of her not showing last Tuesday. I would’ve fired her a hundred times if she didn’t have a real knack for colors and organization. She made some right smart door hangings. Just made a whole batch for Valentine’s Day. Prettiest things you ever saw in your life. Little hearts and pink carnations. God, Quinn. This can’t be right. Nothing about this makes sense.”

  “Was she having trouble with TJ?”

  “Some,” she said. “Not any more than any other momma with a teenage girl.”

  “I heard sometimes things got physical,” Quinn said.

  “Between Gina and TJ?” she said. “I never heard nothing like that.”

  “Did she ever mention Ladarius McCade?”

  “Lord, yes,” Donna Grace said. “Sometimes that boy and TJ stopped by the shop. So handsome and funny. That crazy blond hair of his. Just last week he came in and bought a dozen roses for his grandmother Della Mae. Wasn’t that nice? I can’t believe the things I’m hearing about him now. That can’t be true now. Can it?”

  Quinn didn’t answer, as running down everything Ladarius McCade had been charged with over the years would’ve taken some time. He leaned against the counter, watching Donna Grace tie together the bouquet with baby blue ribbon, eyes down on her work, a few tears still falling. “You know I used to date your daddy,” she said. “Before your momma got ahold of him. How’s he doing anyway?”

  “Fine,” Quinn said. “I guess.”

  “Y’all don’t talk?”

  “When he left town, he saddled me with some problems,” Quinn said. “It’s been a few years since we spoke.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Your father was quite a fella. When he’d come home from Hollywood, this whole town would come alive. He’d always have some new car or motorcycle. One time he brought this hippie gal named Bunny with him. She was a real hoot, crazy as a loon and wild as a march hare, but I liked her a lot. Wore bell bottoms and big ole clogs. Wonder what happened to her? So damn long ago.”

  “Did Gina confide any personal problems with you?” Quinn said. “I heard she might’ve been having money trouble.”

  “Gina didn’t have much,” Donna Grace said. “I’d think she’d gotten herself straight only to find out she’d blown her money for the week down at the Southern Star. Have you checked with her friends down there?”

  “A few,” Quinn said. “I heard she had some trouble there the other night?”

  Donna Grace shrugged and Quinn turned to the see rain tapping on the front windows of the little cottage.

  “I hadn’t heard a thing about any trouble,” Donna Grace said. “Gina was going through a smooth patch lately. She told me that things were looking up for her and her whole family. They got some kind of insurance settlement that would keep them from having to buy groceries with an EBT card.”

  “Insurance settlement?”

  “Yes, sir,” Donna Grace said. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t heard about that? TJ’s daddy’s momma died at some broke-down facility up in Corinth. Bunch of families got together and sued the pants off those people.”

  “I may have read something about it.”

  “Don’t ask me how much they got,” Donna Grace said. “But Gina had called the money they got a real gift from God.”

  “Do you know what she did with the payment?” Quinn said.

  “I figured they had a bunch of bills to pay,” Donna Grace said, swallowing hard and closing her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. I’ve tried not to think about this all morning, convincing myself that Gina is gonna be all right. That those horrible stories can’t be true. Not here. Not in Jericho.”

  Quinn nodded. He offered more condolences while Donna Grace picked up a bouquet and twirled it in her hand, smiling softly.

  “Seems like yesterday I was stringing flowers for your parents’ wedding,” she said. “Jason talked the whole town into donating something. We hung Christmas lights in the old oaks on the Square, folks barbecuing and carrying on until sunup. Your daddy sure was crazy about Miss Jean. Makes me sad sometimes when I think they’re not together anymore.”

  “I guess folks grow apart.”

  Donna Grace tossed Quinn the bouquet. He wasn’t expecting it and barely caught it before it hit the floor.

  “Give these to Jean for me,” she said. “A little private joke between us. Hope it makes her smile.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Lillie identified herself to the bouncer at Dixie Belles, a muscly white boy in an official Grizz jersey, while Charlie Hodge waited outside in case Domino decided to bolt. Both of them had a good look at the woman’s booking photo from 201 Poplar: prostitution, possession with intent, and assault on a law enforcement officer.

  The bouncer got a girl and the girl then got another man, this one saying he was the day manager and didn’t want trouble. This man was copper-colored, bald as a coot with a Fu Manchu and a physique that looked like a former bodybuilder who one day up and said fuck it. “Nope,” he said. “No way. Come back when you got some paper.”

  “Okay,” Lillie said. “But with traffic, I’ll make it just in time for the dinner show. I saw the billboard outside. Y’all got a real-life porn star coming to town? That’s some real class.”

  “Kiley Ryan,” he said. “She once took on a whole football team by herself. It was some kind of record. Maybe you should stick around, lady. Learn a few tricks.”

  The man laughed at that, turning to the bouncer, who smirked. Lillie’s face didn’t change and soon the laughing died down.

  “That’s okay,” Lillie said. “Probably better training for a guy like you. You look like you spent a little time inside. Probably need to keep limber to make some new friends.”

  “I don’t need your shit today,” he said. “Bring back some paper or quit harassing my people.”

  “When I come back with more people, it might delay Miss Ryan’s one-woman show,” she said. “Or you can just go get Domino and we can all go about our day.”

  “Just who the fuck are you?”

  “Lillie Virgil,” she said. “U.S. Marshal. You’ve probably seen me around before. Shitbirds are drawn to this place like the fucking swallows to Capistrano.”

  “Why you gotta go and be like that?” the manager said. “Speaking to me like I ain’t nothin’. Running down my place. This is the number one gentlemen’s club in the Mid-South. I picked up the award myself at last year’s expo presented at the Criss Angel Theater in Vegas.”

  “Criss Angel Theater?” Lillie said. “Whoo-wee. Your momma must be real proud.”

  The bald-headed manager stood there, his back to the white faux-leather doors into the club. Lillie could hear the pumping dance music and smell the fried food. A sign above the door read: no concealed weapons: guns, knives, etc. on this property. Nothing like a down-home Memphis shake joint.

  Lillie was about to press harder as a stout woman with a black and red weave busted out from the front doors. Domino had on a red bikini with no shoes, dollar bills crammed into her G-string. Her backside looked like
two scoops of melting chocolate ice cream.

  “Heard you was looking for me,” Domino said. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Looking for your cousin Ladarius.”

  “Hadn’t seen that boy since Christmastime down in the country,” she said. “Momma Della Mae made us a big spread. Biscuits, homemade sausage, and gravy. Fried pies. All that shit.”

  Domino patted the manager’s arm and the man kept on staring at Lillie for a moment before turning and walking away. The bouncer stood by the twin doors into the club.

  “He was at your apartment last night,” Lillie said.

  “Who the fuck told you that?”

  “D’Shawn,” Lillie said, lying. “Y’all had a little pajama party. Drank some beers, ordered some Papa John’s.”

  “Goddamn,” she said. “I’m gonna beat that boy’s ass when I get home.”

  “Where they’d go?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be telling no Jane Law,” she said, looking at the badge hanging around Lillie’s neck and the Sig on her hip. “Big, sturdy woman like you shouldn’t carry no gun. You look strong enough to work that pole real good.”

  “Appreciate that, Domino,” Lillie said. “Maybe if this whole U.S. Marshal gig doesn’t work out, I’ll come back and pay you a visit. I heard it’s all in the thighs.”

  “Some in the thighs,” Domino said. “A little bit more in the butt. You got to know how to work that big ass. Shake it and smack it.”

  “Right now my big ass is trying to run down that cousin of yours before he gets himself in any more trouble.”

  “Gave that boy a hundred bucks and sent him on his way,” Domino said, shrugging a little. “Can’t do much since he’s been pussy-whipped by some little white girl. A white girl that might’ve gone and killed her own damn mother. Shit. What you think about that?”

  “I think me and you need to become fast friends,” Lillie said. “Ever heard of Bonnie and Clyde?”