The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “I saw the movie,” Domino said. “Sure had a fucked-up ending.”

  “Doesn’t have to be like that.”

  Domino exhaled a long breath and shook her head. Her breasts enormous and drooping in the small red top. She had some kind of tattoo on her big stomach written in a fancy scrawl. Domino noticed Lillie staring. “It says, ‘everything happens for a reason.’ ”

  “You believe that?” Lillie said.

  “Yeah, well, maybe.”

  “Don’t let that kid go down in a blaze of glory,” Lillie said. “He’s only seventeen.”

  Domino seemed to consider that, hand with long red manicured nails resting on her fatty hip. She had in colorized contacts that gave her eyes a weird, electric blue glow. The woman looked as if she’d just arrived in Memphis on a spaceship.

  “They was headed to fill up that busted-ass minivan and then get as far from down here as they could,” Domino said. “If I had to say, maybe Florida. Don’t even think about trying to track their damn phones. Ladarius too smart for that shit. They probably tossed all that mess into the Mississippi River. That’s the last I heard from him. Said don’t bother texting or nothing.”

  “Then they’re headed into Arkansas,” Lillie said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You got people in Arkansas?”

  Domino shook her head. She crossed her arms over her huge breasts and looked Lillie up and down. “You think that white girl really killed her own momma?”

  “Not my job.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “I care very much,” Lillie said. “And if I were you or anyone in your family, I’d reach out to Ladarius and make sure he walks away from this whole flaming shitshow.”

  “Any reward for that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How much we talking?”

  “Depends on what you got, Domino.”

  Domino nodded. “Let me see what I can do, Marshal Lady.”

  Lillie handed Domino her card and pulled up the hood of her black slicker, heading out into the flashing neon lights of Dixie Belles and into the cold rain.

  * * *

  * * *

  They’d spent all day outside a repair shop in Forrest City, Arkansas, taking turns walking around the Walmart with John Wesley while Ladarius waited on the repairs to the old minivan. He wanted to make sure none of them got screwed as he believed he knew the most about cars. Turned out it was only a busted belt, but the cost of the repairs knocked them down to fourteen dollars and they didn’t get back on the highway until nightfall. TJ was driving now, Ladarius up front, with Holly finally falling asleep in the back with John Wesley. They’d bought some Oreos and Tostitos, Little Debbies, and some cracker and cheese combos. TJ wasn’t sure where she was headed but decided to continue on Highway 70 to Hot Springs, no other reason than she knew there was a state park up that way, maybe a place they could park and hole up for a day or two. She had in one of her daddy’s favorite CDs, Poison, singing along to “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”

  “You know folks think you’re crazy listening to that old-school shit,” Ladarius said.

  “Old-school shit to you,” TJ said. “Classic to me. You hear that? CC DeVille. The band was never the same after he and Bret Michaels got into that fistfight at the MTV Music Awards in ’91. He was the backbone of Poison.”

  Ladarius nodded, not giving two shits as he sunk lower into the passenger seat, thumbing through a new cell phone.

  “You know where we’re headed?”

  “Nope.”

  “You know what we’re going to do?”

  “We better dump this piece of shit and get us a new ride.”

  “I switched the plates.”

  “I know you did.”

  “And bought this burner phone at the Walmart.”

  “You told me.”

  “We can’t keep going like this,” Ladarius said. “Riding around living off cupcakes and Oreos. Moving from town to town. Pretty soon we’re gonna run out of gas.”

  TJ looked down at the fuel gauge, a little less than a quarter of a tank left. She lifted her eyes to the road. Her stomach grumbled as she hadn’t had anything to eat since the chicken biscuit in Memphis. She wanted to leave what they had left for John Wesley.

  “You got an ATM card?”

  “Shit,” Ladarius said. “You know what we got to do.”

  “Holly says a lot of rich folks have houses up on some lakes.”

  “Holly ain’t gonna go for what you have in mind.”

  “We only take what we need,” she said. “Maybe grab a few things we can sell. TVs or jewelry. Holly knows our situation.”

  “That keeps us going for what?” he said. “Maybe a day or two. Then what? Driving around until the police come for us and take you back home and me back to juvie.”

  “Maybe then they’ll find out what happened,” she said. “Maybe then they’ll know Chester Pratt is a lying sack of shit.”

  “Why’s he trying to pin this all on you?”

  “I told the sheriff what I knew and he wouldn’t listen,” she said, punching the old CD player to a new track, “Nothin’ but a Good Time.” “I promised Momma I wouldn’t say a word about her stabbing that man outside the Southern Star. But I did anyway. Now no one believes it happened.”

  “Did she know them?”

  “She said she’d never seen them before in her life,” TJ said. “There was two of them. She thinks she mighta killed one. You saw the blood on her clothes. She got a knife free from one of them and stabbed him right in the belly.”

  “You right,” Ladarius said. “Can’t trust the law. You and me both straight on that.”

  TJ didn’t answer, agreeing with him. She kept on driving, running through the essential Poison, then Cinderella, and on to Bon Jovi. When the CD switched up to “Wanted Dead or Alive,” Ladarius looked over at TJ and shook his head. That one cut a little too damn close, so she changed it up to “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

  “Is that better?” she asked.

  Ladarius nodded.

  They didn’t talk for a long while, Ladarius falling asleep somewhere around Benton while TJ’s mind turned to messed-up images that kept popping into her thoughts. She imagined her mother cut up, tossed like trash or roadkill in some old gully, and the idea of it damn near hollowed her out. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, following that snaking road up into the hills and then down into the outskirts of Hot Springs, the lights bright in the cold dark, a nice welcome from the desolation of the highway from Little Rock. The signs kept on pressing her on toward Lake Hamilton, passing the old horse-racing track and a place called T-Rex Jurassic Golf and Go-carts, the last sending John Wesley bolt upright and pointing, “Whoa. Look at that.”

  “It’s closed.”

  “No, it ain’t,” he said. “Folks racing around that little track right now.”

  “We got to git where we’re going.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Big house on the lake that belongs to a friend of Holly’s momma.”

  “Can we get something to eat?”

  “There’ll be food when we get there.”

  “All right then.”

  They passed more billboards for boat rentals, eighteen-hole championship golf, fried fish shacks, and souvenir stores. TJ just figuring the road would lead them to where they needed to go, handing it over to the Lord for the direction although she hadn’t been to a church service since her momma and Chester Pratt dragged her to the new Baptist church out by the Rebel Truck Stop. The road curved up onto a big concrete bridge until she could finally see water, lit up from the streetlamps with signs to places called Kahuna Bay and Salty Dog Marina. More cheap hotels and a big old paddle wheeler like they docked up on the Mississippi River. TJ kept on driving and curving, feeling like s
he was headed right, but then she was lost, the lights of the lake a distant memory until she hit a long stretch of a country road with old barns and silos, now scared she’d missed the damn lake. The gas gauge in the red and they didn’t have but five dollars left between them.

  “Where are we?” John Wesley said.

  TJ couldn’t see in the full dark, turning off the main road by a wide-open pasture, following the white horse fence and hoping maybe she could just feel her way back to the water and all the promise she hoped they’d find. Soon she spotted a sign to some kind of new development and she looked in the rearview at her little brother, his face lit up like it did at the Chuck E. Cheese in Tupelo.

  “What’s it like?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That nice house.”

  “Well,” TJ said. “I ain’t too sure.”

  “It’s a big house,” Holly said. “Bigger than you ever been in, kid.”

  Holly leaned forward, God bless her, and pointed to where the road forked by a big realty sign. price reduced. foreclosure. bank-owned lakefront luxury. They wound up and around the hill until they saw an entrance with two tall brick pilings. A fancy hand-carved wood sign said firefly.

  “You sure?” TJ asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  TJ turned the wheel and headed up the gravel road, letting down her driver’s window so she could see where they were going. Soon they saw the outline of one of the biggest houses she’d ever seen in her life, with a tile roof and stucco walls and plenty of no trespass signs posted on skinny oaks along a fence line. The house was dark, weeds grown up along the drive and knee-deep up to big front steps. She pulled off the drive and into a thicket of little trees and shut off the engine. John Wesley hopped out fast as Ladarius came awake with a start, looking like a man who’d been free-falling in dreamland, snoring and kicking and then turning to TJ to get hold of himself.

  “Welcome home.”

  “You crazy?” he said. “This place got to be wired up out the ass.”

  “You saying you can’t bust in?” TJ asked. “The great Ladarius McCade? Or was that just a bunch of bullshit?”

  “Damn, girl,” he said. “You know how to turn those screws.”

  Ladarius shook his head, got out of the minivan, and soon they all headed up the drive and around the back of the property, up to a big-tiled patio with a view out onto the depths of the endless cold lake. Little lights flickered across the water; green and red bulbs shone at the end of a pier down the hill.

  Ladarius disappeared, and five minutes later, he came through the house and opened up the back door.

  “I was gonna cut the power,” he said. “But there ain’t no power. I guess rich folks forget to pay their bills, too. Cut the phone line with my pocketknife. Just to make sure.”

  “Security box?”

  “Deader than hell.”

  “What’s it like?”

  Ladarius grinned big and held the door open wide. “How about y’all come in and see.”

  Ladarius turned on his cell phone, shining the light onto the marble floors. While the outside had gone wild, the inside looked as if someone had just stepped out for a moment and planned to be back any minute. It was cold, feeling even colder in the big house than it was outside, and they could see their breaths as they headed deeper into the mansion.

  “I can get the power back on,” Ladarius said, blowing into his fist. “What do you think?”

  TJ looked to Holly, Holly giving a little shrug, not at all comfortable with breaking and entering. John Wesley stood close to TJ, her arm around his shoulder walking him through the big house, looking up at his sister wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Alarm will get tripped,” TJ said.

  “I’ll cut that box loose first,” Ladarius said. “Shit. Who you talking to? Come on now.”

  TJ left John Wesley with Holly to go find the kitchen and she headed back outside with Ladarius. He’d found a screwdriver and a set of pliers inside. TJ held the phone for a flashlight while he pried and pulled, snipping the tag from the electric company off the junction box.

  “We needed this,” TJ said, closing her eyes. “I prayed about it the whole way from Little Rock. I prayed like I hadn’t my whole life. I promised God I’d get straight if we could get a little rest. Lord. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Let’s see how you did, TJ Byrd.”

  Ladarius opened the junction box and flipped up the master switch, the downstairs of the mansion glowing with warm yellow light. They held their breath and waited, listening for an alarm but hearing only the stillness of the lake and pine trees shuddering in the cold wind.

  TJ exhaled and smiled.

  “Come on, now,” Ladarius said. “Let’s see what these rich folks got to eat.”

  TWELVE

  Insurance settlement?” Maggie asked.

  “There’d been something in the news about it,” Quinn said. “Remember last year all those stories about that nursing home in Corinth? Seems that TJ’s grandmother, Jerry Jeff Valentine’s momma, died in their care. I don’t know how much money they got or when, or if, they got it yet.”

  It was the next morning, cold and rainy, Quinn in the kitchen with Maggie, relaying every step he’d made after leaving Donna Grace’s flower shop on the Square. He’d stopped by the Southern Star again and spent an hour speaking with the bartender, Coonie the Cajun, about the last time he’d seen Gina Byrd. It had been about ten days ago, and he’d had to get her into a taxi, one of only three taxis in Tibbehah County. Coonie said Gina had been a regular most nights, although he’d been off for the last week, down on the coast deep-sea fishing for drum and redfish.

  “You think maybe she and TJ were fighting over the split?” Maggie said. “Seeing as how it was TJ’s grandmother. Not Gina’s blood relative.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Quinn said. “I didn’t have any choice but to join Sheriff Lovemaiden to file those charges. The mess we found in the old shed didn’t help her any.”

  Maggie refilled his coffee mug and joined him at their old pecan wood table, an original piece that had belonged to his Uncle Hamp and before that his grandfather. The damn thing must’ve weighed six hundred pounds.

  “You look tired,” Quinn said. “Sure you don’t need some help?”

  “Your momma is coming over later,” Maggie said. “I can sleep then. Halley slept good last night. I’m hoping she’ll get easier than Brandon. I promise you this is a lot better than when Brandon was born. Rick was on his third deployment in Afghanistan and we’d just gotten to Camp Pendleton two months before. I barely knew anyone. The other wives helped some. But it wasn’t like being at home.”

  “Well, you’re home now,” Quinn said. “And I promise you that my mother will give you more assistance than you can ever need. Or might want.”

  “She misses Little Jason.”

  “I know.”

  “And Caddy.”

  “Just make sure to keep her busy,” Quinn said. “If you like.”

  “I know she drove your sister crazy,” Maggie said. “But I appreciate her. My momma wasn’t like Jean at all. I have to be honest, my mother was a hell of a lot more like Gina Byrd.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true,” Maggie said. “I’ve told you most of it. Why do think I loved spending summers with my grandmother here? It was about the only place me and my sister had some stability. Our house was up and down all the time. A damn powder keg between her and my daddy when my daddy came home off the road.”

  “Was she unfaithful?”

  “Always,” Maggie said. “I hated Friday nights. That’s when she’d leave me with my sister and head down to the joint on the county line. It always reminded me of the Boars Nest on the Dukes of Hazzard, a real redneck love shack. Most time we didn’t see her till late Satur
day, coming home with a mind-splitting headache, contrite and small, curled up on the couch and trying to gather enough strength for Sunday service.”

  “Did your daddy know?”

  “He had to,” Maggie said. “My daddy wasn’t a stupid man. But I think he had his own favorite stops to pull in on the road. I always figured they’d come to some kind of agreement for the good of us girls. If I heard that one time in their fights, I heard it a thousand. I wish to God they’d just split up. Nobody should live that way. Sometimes when things got bad, I mean real bad, he’d knock that woman halfway across the room. Part of me got to believing she deserved it. That sounds awful. Doesn’t it?”

  Quinn drank some coffee. He reached for Maggie’s hand.

  Maggie looked comfortable and warm in sweatpants, white tank top, and a heavy hand-knitted sweater over her shoulders. She always made him feel warm and loved when he was with her, a real and authentic connection that he’d never had with Anna Lee Amsden. Anna Lee had been all fire and heat, but without any trust or warmth. From the time they’d been kids, Anna Lee had wanted nothing more than to get free from Tibbehah County and find a man who’d be a lot more than a sergeant in the U.S. Army. She’d finally gotten her wish when she married the town doctor and later moved up to Memphis to get away from Quinn for good.

  “What are you thinking about?” Maggie said.

  “How damn lucky I was to find you.”

  “Shacking up with the bank robber’s ex,” Maggie said. “Making an honest woman of her.”

  “You’ve always been an honest woman.”

  “Now you’re just trying to get me into bed.”

  “I wouldn’t fight you if you tried.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t fight you,” Maggie said, sliding from her chair, coming around the table and taking a seat in Quinn’s lap. She smelled musky and sweet, her skin salty as he kissed her neck and her mouth. It had been a long time.

  Maggie moved along the chair, peeling out of her sweater, and wrapping her arms around Quinn’s neck. They kissed for a while, the old chair creaking on the hardwood floor, rain tapping along the kitchen windows.