The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your weekend, Miss Threadgill,” Quinn said. He tapped at the bill on his cap. “Appreciate your time.”

  “You ain’t gonna call the warden on us?” she said, squinting up from the four-wheeler. “Right?”

  Quinn looked over at the big woman to her left. That woman shrugged, turned to the ground and spit.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have the name of that lawyer up in Corinth, would you?”

  “Shit.” Big Momma nodded, flicking away her second cigarette into the dead weeds. “Is that all you need? Let me go inside and get his card. My poontang’s about frozen to this here seat.”

  * * *

  * * *

  “So let me get this straight,” the girl said, joint held high in her left hand. “Some man your mother never saw before in her life attacked her outside some bar called the White Star Lounge. With a damn boxcutter?”

  TJ and Ladarius sat with the crazy girl at a black metal table and chairs outside on the deck. The girl said she didn’t want her father or stepmother to smell any weed in their vacation home or else there would be hell to pay. She also insisted that the for sale signs out by the road were just a big misunderstanding with the bank. And how her daddy, some hot-shit car dealer up in Fayetteville, already had the whole mess sorted out. The girl had the hood of the cheetah coat up on her head, her face shadowed as she burned down the joint to an orange pinprick.

  “It’s called the Southern Star,” TJ said. “And there were two men. But yeah. That’s pretty much it. Momma had had a lot to drink, which ain’t too different from most nights, but she managed to get the knife and cut one man before navigating her way home.”

  “While smashed?”

  “Yeah,” TJ said. “Momma was pretty shitfaced when she got home. Lots of what she said didn’t make a heck of a lot of sense. I did my best to calm her down, make sure she quit her crying. I took her bloody clothes and got her in the shower. When she finally settled down a bit, she was scared she’d killed the man. And that she might go to jail and those folks with the state would take her babies.”

  “Your mom has babies, too?” the girl said. “Damn.”

  “No,” TJ said, shaking her head. “You ain’t listening. We’re her babies. Me and John Wesley. That’s just what she calls us.”

  “Y’all are a little old to be called babies,” the girl said. “I’m just saying.”

  Behind the girl’s shoulder, back in the mansion, TJ could see Holly peeking out from the curtains. She’d stayed inside trying to console John Wesley, telling the boy that everything was just fine and dandy. When Holly noticed TJ staring back, the curtains dropped and Holly disappeared. TJ turned to the girl and said, “You never told us your name.”

  “Chastity.”

  “Chastity?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It means a woman who can’t have sex. I mean, ever.”

  “I know what chastity means.”

  Ladarius smiled, nearly laughed, and had to cover up half his face with his hand. He reached out and the girl, Chastity, handed back what was left of the joint.

  “Back in the dark ages, men used to put these things called chastity belts over a girl’s privates,” Chastity said. “When the men would go off and fight in the wars or crusades or some shit, they’d take the key with them. Isn’t that messed up?”

  “How’d they pee?” TJ asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chastity said. “Maybe they had a maid or a trusted servant who would unlock it for them. Anyway, I used to get called Chastity Belt all the time. So many times. How’s your belt, Chastity? You still got it locked down tight, Chastity? Well. I don’t want to talk too much. But my parents sure named me wrong. Nobody ever locked up my parts. My parts are mine, wild and free.”

  Chastity shrugged and pulled her knees up to her chest. She stared out at the lake for a long time. No one saying anything, TJ and Ladarius exchanging a few looks, not sure if everything was cool with them staying for a while or maybe they needed to haul ass and jump in the minivan. Get the hell out of Hot Springs and away from this crazy-ass girl.

  “Say,” Chastity said. “I have an idea. In exchange for a big favor, I let y’all stay here for as long as you like. I mean within reason. I don’t want you here when the weather gets warmer. I plan to pretty much live at the lake then. Did you know we have two boats? I love to ride around, ski a little bit in my bikini. Everybody knows me around here. If I’m not on Lake Hamilton, nobody is gonna have much fun.”

  “What will you tell Big Daddy?” Ladarius asked.

  “I like this one,” Chastity said, her eyes sleepy. “I like him a lot. So he’s not your boyfriend? Or he is your boyfriend? Just what is the deal here, Miss TJ Byrd?”

  “Yeah,” TJ said. “I guess he’s mine.”

  “And what about you, Lafonzo?”

  “Ladarius,” Ladarius said. “My name is Ladarius.”

  “Anyhoo,” she said. “Are you in? Or are you out? You hold the key to TJ’s belt? Do you take this woman here to be your forever partner in crime? And in death do your asses part?”

  “Damn,” Ladarius said. “That’s some dark-ass shit.”

  “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen on the news about y’all,” said Chastity. “That’s some truly dark-ass shit.”

  “That favor,” Ladarius said. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Since y’all are so damn good at killing,” she said. “Could you do me a big solid and ride up to Fayetteville and slice and dice up my stepmother? I’ll warn you. She does do CrossFit and keeps in shape. Big old thighs and shoulders. But between both of y’all, I think you could take her. Then, kick back and relax on the lake. You saw that sign out front. Firefly. That’s what my real mother named the place. So many of those damn things here in the summer, buzzing around and lighting up the lake.”

  TJ couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The girl actually asked them, real casual and easy like it wasn’t a big deal, to run up to Fayetteville and kill her stepmother. She had to be kidding. After all, she and Ladarius had just met her. And if this girl Chastity actually believed they were killers, why wouldn’t they just kill her ass instead of sitting outside in the freezing fucking cold and smoking a goddamn joint?

  “We don’t kill people,” TJ said. “We didn’t kill my mother. We’ve never killed anyone.”

  “You said your momma killed some man?” Chastity asked. “But you didn’t finish the story. Then what happened? He come back to life?”

  “I don’t know,” TJ said, her mind clouding a bit. “I’m not sure. But I think someone he knew came back for her. Maybe they got to her before she could get out of Tibbehah County.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Tibbehah County, Mississippi,” TJ said. “You never heard of it?”

  “Nope,” Chastity said. “Sounds like the ass crack of the Mid-South.”

  TJ felt the blood rush into her face, the smug little rich girl calling her a liar, then a killer, then flirting with her boyfriend, and now calling her home a real shithole.

  “It’s beautiful country,” she said. “Runs alongside the Natchez Trace and a big national forest. We got all kinds of wildlife. Big lake where we fish in the summertime.”

  “Well,” she said. “That’s nice. Are y’all in or are y’all out?”

  “To kill your stepmomma?” Ladarius asked.

  “Yeah,” Chastity said. “I would really appreciate it.”

  TJ just shook her head some more and stood up, walking over to a rock wall, setting her elbows on the ledge while watching a hawk circle and circle far out on the water. A small boat passed the mansion and a choppy wake rolled wave after wave toward the shore, the floating docks rising and falling.

  “I’m sorry,” Chastity said. “I believe you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, ma’am.�
�� Chastity nodded. “But you do realize that you’re gonna have to get other folks to believe you, too.”

  TJ nodded, wind cutting off the lake and blowing her hair off her face. She reached back and pulled it into a ponytail, wishing she had a hair tie.

  “Wow.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re kinda pretty without all that shit covering up your face,” Chastity said. “You ever wear any makeup?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You got a real look to you, TJ,” she said. “Those blue eyes. Wow. Those are something fierce. You must be out on social media? Right? You’re keeping your people posted on this wild-ass road trip?”

  “Posted on what?”

  “On your run from the law,” Chastity said. “You and Ladarius being innocent?”

  TJ had no idea what the girl was saying. Chastity tilted her head and studied her face, like the way a contractor might before taking on a big job. “Yeah,” Chastity said. “Won’t be easy. But I can do it.”

  “Do what?” TJ said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “TJ Byrd,” Chastity said. “Wrongfully Accused Hero. Teenage Superstar. You know. Fucking damn well all of it, girl.”

  FIFTEEN

  Johnny Stagg watched with great amusement as his boy Bishop walked Chester Pratt into the back office at the Rebel and slammed his head down onto his glass-topped desk. Stagg appreciated the theatrics of the situation, even though it knocked over some fresh prune juice one of his girls had just brought him.

  Pratt didn’t even try to fight it. His cheek flush to the desk, staring right at Stagg as Stagg wiped off the spilled purple juice near his telephone line. The boy’s face was redder than a damn beet, bug-eyed, and swallowing air as Stagg leaned back in his padded leather chair and placed a bony finger to his lips. What to do? What to do?

  Damn, it was fun to be back in the goddamn saddle.

  “We waited and waited, Mr. Pratt,” Stagg said. “And you never showed. Seems like you was trying to make a monkey outta me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make a monkey out of no one,” Pratt said. “Please. Can he please let go of my neck? I got back problems and need to use the toilet.”

  Stagg reached down and patted Chester’s cheek, looking up to Bishop and nodding. “Me and you had a done deal,” Stagg said. “Don’t tell me you’re rethinking my kind and most generous offer?”

  “No, sir,” Pratt said, standing up and rubbing out some kinks from his neck, red marks across his skin where Bishop had grabbed hold of him. “Everything’s just gotten kind of complicated. I know you said you could get me out of trouble with the law. But at the moment, that’s not my most urgent and pressing concern.”

  Stagg leaned back into his swivel chair, nodding, waiting for the bullshit to flow from Chester Pratt like creamed corn out of an old goose. “Mm-hmm,” Stagg said. “And what would be more urgent and pressing than keeping your ass on good terms with the law?”

  “Just how were you figuring on helping?” Pratt asked. “Just for conversation. You got a line on that Quinn Colson? Do you have some kind of photos or something to make him back off? Maybe Sheriff Colson and the girls from over at the old Booby Trap doing the dirty bop?”

  “How I work and what I do ain’t none of your concern, Mr. Pratt,” Stagg said. “I told you the law wouldn’t be on you about what happened to that Byrd woman. And you agreed to make me a full partner in your business right across the road there. That seems about as simple as simple can be. Mr. Bishop? You got that agreement with you?”

  Bishop hadn’t stopped staring at Chester Pratt. He stood wide-legged and jackbooted in camo pants and a camo vest over a gray hoodie, smelling of kerosene and cigarettes. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the contract folded long and halfway and placed it nice and gentle on Stagg’s desk. Stagg appreciated the man’s professionalism.

  “I’ll even let you use a special pen given to me by the chancellor of Ole Miss this Christmas,” Stagg said. “Sent me a handwritten note and everything. Ain’t that class?”

  Pratt didn’t seem to be listening. He just leaned against Stagg’s desk and closed his eyes. Mr. Bishop stood not a foot behind him, stroking his brushy beard, looking like he would take a great deal of pleasure in kicking the dogshit out of ole Chester Pratt.

  “It ain’t that simple.”

  “It ain’t?” Stagg said, finding himself laughing. “Seems simple to me.”

  “I didn’t kill that woman.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” Stagg said. “Sure you didn’t. Well, then. Best of luck with Quinn Colson and that ole sheriff from over in Parsham bird-dogging your ass. I won’t get in the way. No, sir. Johnny T. Stagg will back right off. You’re on your own.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Chester Pratt repeated. His eyes a serious deep blue, the finger marks on his throat starting to fade just a bit. “But . . .”

  “I’m listening, son.” Stagg reached for the prune juice and rattled the ice in the glass. After five years of fried foods and soggy-ass vegetables at the federal lockup, it was gonna take months before he got his gut working right again. He finished the rest of the juice and set the glass aside, waiting for Pratt to go on and tell him what was on his mind.

  “I know these ole boys in town,” said Chester Pratt. “A couple of roofers called the Nixes, father and son. You know ’em?”

  Stagg shook his head, giving a noncommittal shrug, swiveling right to left in his chair, his eyes absently leaving Chester and looking back over at all the monitors at the Rebel. Just yesterday he’d set up cameras outside and inside of the Frontier Village, and right at that very moment the Haunted Gold Mine was being inflated and filling that big space. With any luck, they’d be opened up for Easter. Maybe get Mr. Bishop or Midnight Man to crawl into a bunny costume and hippy hop it all over Dodge City.

  Stagg took a breath. “You might’ve heard I spent the last few years incarcerated over in Montgomery,” he said. “Lots of folks have come and gone in Tibbehah during that time. Can’t say I’ve ever had the displeasure to run across the Nix boys.”

  “They weren’t supposed to kill her.”

  Stagg understood now, lifting his eyes up to Bishop. Knowing they had the son of a bitch now. Without another word, Bishop snatched up Chester Pratt’s bony ass from behind, like a man going to cornhole a fella in the shower, and forced him to grab that fancy silver pen from Ole Miss. “Sign it,” Bishop said. “Sign it, you leathery ole fuck.”

  Stagg grinned. “No need in getting personal about it, Bishop,” he said. “But I sure would sign that thing, Chester. ’Cause no matter if you drawn and quartered that woman or had it hired out, the law will be coming for your ass quick and hard, boy. If I were in your predicament, I’d sure as hell add us to your team.”

  “Those boys are crazy,” Pratt said. “They want ten grand from me or they’re gonna turn over this cell phone they got. They say I may have texted some threats to Miss Byrd the night they came for her at the Southern Star.”

  “Signs and wonders,” Stagg said. “Damn, Chester. Sounds like you’re fucked five ways from Sunday.”

  Bishop placed his big hairy hand over Chester’s slim, bony one and forced him to start scrawling out his name.

  “If they get me for murder,” Pratt said. “I’ll tell ’em you forced me to sign this. It won’t be worth any more than a dog turd left on your lawn.”

  Stagg reached up and over Chester’s arm for his fancy porcelain candy bowl, the one that had belonged to his dear sweet wife before she’d lost her damn mind and had to be institutionalized. God bless her. He unwrapped the candy and started to suck on its minty sweetness.

  “You scared of a couple goddamn roofers?” Stagg asked.

  Even as he was being held solid and still by Bishop, Pratt was able to offer a simple nod. “Gina somehow cut the old one,” he said. “
She got loose and they followed her home. They’re the ones who chopped her up and drove her out to Parsham.”

  “Dumped her and her car at the same location,” Stagg said. “Seems like those old boys had a plan to shake your ass down from the git-go. You been studying on that?”

  Pratt nodded again. Stagg told Bishop to let him loose, Bishop getting so damn frustrated that a man like Chester Pratt wouldn’t bend to his will that he walked over to a corner and punched the brick wall.

  “This don’t change a thing,” Stagg said. “Sign the papers and me and Bishop will make sure you’re in the clear.”

  “These men ain’t right in the head,” Pratt said. “They live, act, and smell like animals.”

  “Contractors?” Stagg said. “I got contractor problems half my damn life. They act big and tough, trying to force your hand to get paid more than they’re worth. Don’t you worry about nothing, Mr. Pratt. Me and Mr. Bishop coming into your business is a true gift from the Almighty. Everything happens for a reason. Now, don’t it?”

  Chester Pratt stepped back, and for a quick moment, Stagg thought he might try and run out the door. But then better sense seemed to prevail and he turned away from Bishop breathing down his neck and looked right at Johnny Stagg. He let out a great deal of air, his bony shoulders sinking, and then started to cry just a bit. Stagg sure could’ve skipped that last part but waited and let the boy go ahead and get his emotions behind him.

  “Come on, now,” Stagg said. “We good?”

  Pratt reached out his right hand. And Stagg again offered him the Ole Miss chancellor’s silver pen.

  And quick as two shakes of a lamb’s tail, that boy scratched off his name in three places. He didn’t even read what it said or nothing. Stagg grinned and reached for more peppermint candy, offering some to both the men in his office.