by Ace Atkins
“Pleasure doing business with you, Chester,” Stagg said. “I knowed your brother Ronnie for a long while. And now I know which of you is the smarter one.”
“You really gonna do something?”
“We tried explaining it to you nice, son,” Stagg said. “But I’ll be dog. You just wouldn’t listen.”
* * *
* * *
“What the hell was that about?” TJ asked.
“Shut up,” Holly said. “Just please shut up.”
“Don’t you see it?” TJ asked. “Don’t you see how you’re making a damn fool out of yourself? Chastity was just helping out. Trying to make sure I look right before she sets things up for us. How the hell else are we going to make folks to listen to me? Your ass ain’t on the line, Holly Harkins. It’s me and Ladarius that folks are blaming for what happened to Momma.”
“Why don’t you try and look in a mirror,” Holly said. “You look ridiculous. I thought you didn’t wear makeup. You look like some kind of. Well, I don’t know. Some kind of damn harlot.”
TJ shook her head, disappointed as hell seeing Holly act like a fool kid in front of Chastity. Harlot? Only a Sunday school regular would talk like that. She and Chastity had just been playing around in that big mirrored bathroom, Chastity making jokes about how much she hated her stepmother and how much that painting of the woman and her big fake tatas embarrassed the hell out of her. Holly had walked in, cupping her hand to her mouth like she’d just seen the worst thing in the world, letting out a little cry and running from the room. All TJ had been doing was letting Chastity give her some fresh clothes and paint up her face a bit. What the hell had gotten into Holly anyway?
“It’s just not you, is all,” Holly said. “And who is this Chastity? We don’t know her. We don’t know nothing about her.”
“She didn’t call the cops, did she?”
“Bless her black heart. While you and that girl were playing house, I’m the one who had to explain things to John Wesley,” Holly said. “I told him the good Lord up in heaven needed his mother up there real bad and not to be sad, it was a time to rejoice.”
“Did he believe it?”
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “That boy’s real good at holding in his emotions but it sure made him quit crying.”
“Come on,” TJ said, reaching out and grabbing Holly’s hands. They stood together, out in the cold of the big stone patio. “Let’s both calm down and think. What Chastity said makes some sense. When I told her what happened back in Tibbehah and how me and Ladarius got blamed for it, Chastity’s the one who had the idea of taking the truth to the people. She said we’re the ones who should be in charge to tell our own story about Momma, about those men who come for her, and how they’re probably the ones who killed her.”
“You don’t know that,” Holly said. “You don’t even know if those men were real. You said your mom was high as a kite.”
“Then who else would it be?”
“You know damn well who.”
“Chester Pratt?” TJ said. “Couldn’t be Chester. My momma had that old man wrapped around her little finger. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t stand that son of a bitch. He may be a cheat and a liar, but he’s no killer. He’s not like the other men she fell in with. I could tell he was worried sick that she was missing. Naw, Momma went on her own with this one.”
“You need to think on it, TJ,” Holly said. “Open your damn eyes after you get done making up your face and sweetening your mouth for your new rich friend.”
“Sweetening my mouth?” TJ asked. “Damn. She’s not my friend. Hell, I just met the girl. Give me a goddamn break. You’re acting like a jealous kid.”
“Well,” Holly said. “You look ridiculous. What’s that you’re wearing?”
TJ looked down at the little blue sweater dress with a hoodie and little pockets out front, some nice new suede booties that fit her just about perfect.
“Just a dress,” TJ said. “She has two closets full of ’em. Why? You don’t like the way I look?”
Holly wiped the tears off her cheeks and shook her head. “You look beautiful, TJ,” she said. “You just don’t look like you.”
TJ placed her hands in the pockets of the dress, legs bare and cold as she looked up at the big house, a patchwork of light under gray skies. The wind kicked up again with a little rain and flashing light across the lake.
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” TJ said. “Wouldn’t you just love to be someone else? Even for a second? Who in their goddamn mind would want to be living this fucked-up hand I’ve been dealt?”
* * *
* * *
The locals in Forrest City, Arkansas, got tipped that the Byrd Gang may have stopped off at a place called Gage Auto early yesterday with a busted belt on their minivan. Lillie Virgil and Charlie Hodge headed that way the next afternoon, meeting up with Bubba Gage himself at his place a half mile off I-40. Bubba excited like hell to meet them, offering up some bitter coffee and a whole load of BS on just how keen his mind had been identifying the crew. They were quick and shifty. The black kid trying to screw him down a whole fifty dollars. But he didn’t take their mess.
“How’d they pay?” Lillie asked.
“Cash,” Bubba said, scratching at his cheek. “Wouldn’t take a credit card if they tried. You know it’d be stolen. What’s that boy’s name again?”
“Ladarius McCade.”
“Yeah,” he said. “He done most of the talking. Real cocky like he knowed more about cars than me. Shit. Kid looked barely old enough to drive. Had bleach blond afro and sported a few earrings. Peeled off that cash like he’d earned every dollar himself.”
“Maybe he did.”
“TV outta Memphis called that boy a felon,” he said. “Ain’t that right? That’s what they are. Right? Crew of thieving-ass kids.”
“Sure,” Lillie said, looking over at Charlie Hodge. “If it was really them.”
Charlie walked up beside Lillie and showed the man Ladarius’s last booking photo from his phone and then scrolled through to a few pictures of TJ. Bubba stepped back, cocked his neck to get him a better view, and nodded. He was a tall, thick guy with a lot of black hair and grease on his split knuckles. He might’ve been half-decent-looking if someone would hose him off.
“Yep,” Bubba said. “That’s the boy. Not too sure on that white girl, the one who killed her momma. There was two of them. Just like that gang. And a little kid asking a whole bunch of questions, those girls telling him to sit still, be quiet while they watched that Paternity Court.”
“Did they say anything about where they were headed?” Charlie asked.
“Last I seen them, the two girls and that kid crossed the road to the Walmart,” Bubba Gage said, leaning back into a wobbly little office chair. The office portion of Gage Auto was housed in a small metal shed next to the big, open garage. The walls decorated with photos of great moments of the Gage Auto softball team and a few real nuggets of wisdom like we share pride in your ride, trust is our biggest asset, and real men provide and real women appreciate it. “I told that boy he was damn lucky they didn’t blow up their damn engine. They shoulda called a wrecker when they throwed that belt.”
“Sure they were headed to the Walmart?” Lillie asked.
“Not a hell of a lot else in Forrest City,” Bubba said. “I think I heard they were getting some Little Debbies for the kid. That boy kept on cussing about how hungry he was. I tried to give him a damn donut, but he wouldn’t take it.”
Lillie nodded. Charlie headed out the door, back to the car. When Charlie Hodge was done, he was damn well done and on to the next thing.
“Let me ask you a question,” Bubba said. “Is there some kind of reward for them kids? For information leading to their arrest and all that?”
“Probably,” Lillie said. “But what do I know? I’m just some woman grateful t
o have a job. You men do all the work.”
“You seen the sign?” he said. “That’s just a little joke between me and my boys. Don’t make too much of it.”
“Sure,” Lillie said. “Every great man has a woman behind him, propping his ass up.”
“You’re a good-lookin’ woman, Miss Virgil,” Gage said, smiling. “I’m sure your husband appreciates it.”
“I’m not married.”
“Good-lookin’ woman like you?” he said. “Federal goddamn marshal? Shoot. How’d you like to join me for an early dinner over at Iguana’s Tex-Mex? Have us some cold margaritas and a few of them deep-fried chimichangas. Maybe head on down to Frog’s for some karaoke? You look like the kind of woman who sure could belt out a good ole country song. Me and you doin’ some ole-school Kenny and Dolly would just about bring the place down.”
“Tell you what,” Lillie said. “You head on over and I’ll meet you there later.”
Bubba looked a little skeptical. “You’re pulling my chain?” he said. “Aren’t you?”
“If I pulled it any harder, Bubba, you’d go cross-eyed.”
“Damn,” he said. “I like a woman with some spunk. But not one that carries a Sig Sauer on her hip. That’s what it is, ain’t it?”
“Yep, a .357,” Lillie said. “Sure you can’t help us out some? I would indeed appreciate it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I mighta heard a word or two about California.”
“California?” Lillie asked. “There you go. I knew you had in you. Two-time business-of-the-year award winner like yourself.”
“One of those girls mighta mentioned something about driving until there weren’t no road left,” Bubba said, rubbing his dirty neck. “Wanted to know how far it was to Los Angeles. Truth is, I don’t think those kids had much money left after they paid me.”
“Anything else?”
Bubba stepped back and opened his arms wide. “All I got, Miss Virgil,” he said. “Sure you can’t stay a while? ‘Islands in the stream. That is what we are.’ Or ‘We’ve got tonight. Who needs tomorrow, babe. Why don’t you stay?’ ”
“You’re a real sweetheart, Bubba,” Lillie said. “A grease-stained romantic.”
“Don’t tell no one,” Bubba said, pressing a finger to his lips. “You’ll ruin my repatation.”
* * *
* * *
Since she didn’t have anywhere else better to go or anything else better to do, Chastity figured she might as well hang with the redneck outlaws for a while. The last thing she wanted was to head back to Fayetteville and fetch coffee for her daddy’s pervert salesmen at the Chevy dealership. The ones who made sly little comments about her figure and gave her dirty little winks while sending her across the road to Applebee’s for fried chicken salads and jalapeño poppers while they closed that big deal on a brand-new Tahoe.
She hadn’t been home but two months from rehab when her daddy and Sharon sent her back to a new place, this one south of Little Rock, a rustic campground that ran about a thousand dollars a day where you could walk hiking trails and sit around campfires with the other addicts, admitting to all your greatest adventures when you’d been flying high on pills and booze. Chastity was there a whole three days before talking a groundskeeper into driving her back to Fayetteville, where she got her silver G-Wagen and hightailed it down to the lake house. Her daddy and Sharon never telling her they’d lost the damn thing in bankruptcy on that stupid outlet mall in Branson.
Chastity figured she could stay here until Daddy came for her, getting all emotional and tearful, explaining once again how her addiction came from her mother’s side as Uncle Jeff was a goddamn fuckup himself, despite her daddy trying to help him be a success in life.
“You okay?” TJ Byrd asked.
Chastity was working on a little mascara in the master bedroom mirror, big white light bulbs giving her an up-close microscopic view of her pores.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m cool,” TJ said. “Don’t worry about it. It was no big thing.”
“It’s just makeup and clothes,” Chastity said. “That big girl ran from the room like a scared rabbit.”
“She’s not used to seeing me like this,” TJ said. “Just startled her a bit.”
“You in a dress?”
“Without jeans,” she said. “And shit-kicking boots and old flannel shirts.”
“Weird,” Chastity said, rolling the stick around her lips and making a pouty kiss in the mirror. “Very weird.”
“Have you seen Ladarius and my little brother?”
“I gave them the keys to the boat,” she said. “Showed them where my daddy keeps the gas cans.”
“It’s freezing rain out there,” TJ said. “I don’t want my little brother on a boat.”
“They’re fine,” she said. “Any idiot can run those things. I told your brother to put on a life jacket. Say, are you hungry? I’m damn well starved. There’s a little place around the corner that serves up hot catfish and shrimp plates. I think you’d like it.”
TJ shook her head, the girl looking a hell of a lot better after Chastity improved her appearance by a thousand percent. That little country girl could almost pass for an Abercrombie model.
“Still full off that stolen steak?”
“It wasn’t stolen.”
“Borrowed steak,” Chastity said. “Y’all are still full off that borrowed steak?”
“I don’t want nothing to eat,” TJ said, moving closer in the bathroom and taking a seat up on the sink counter. “I saw something online that’s made me ill.”
“I told you to steer clear of that crap,” Chastity said. “Remember what I said. Control the message. Use your damn voice and your good looks. You’re gonna be the one to tell the whole truth about the real killers.”
“Things have changed,” TJ said. “I don’t know what to think.”
“About who killed your mom?”
TJ nodded, pulled out her phone, and showed Chastity as Chastity pulled her hair up into a cute little messy bun. The whole idea of getting the boyfriend and the kid onto a boat was to spend a little more time with TJ to coach her on the finer points of being a social media sensation. She’d already registered TJ’s new Insta page, her old one depressing as hell with nothing but pictures of old rock stars, rusted cars, and Bible quotations. The new one was called FREEBYRD.
The girl showed her a story off some news station in Memphis, footage of a bony-looking old dude in a fuzzy sweater with sunglasses on top of his head. The bottom of the screen said boyfriend says teenage lovers plotted murder.
“What in the fuck is this?” Chastity asked.
“Lies,” TJ said. “Lies and bullshit. Bullshit and lies.”
CHESTER PRATT: I was worried about Gina’s safety after her daughter pulled a gun on us a few weeks back. She said if we tried to send her away, she’d kill both of us. We prayed and prayed on it. Thinking she’d never do something so horrible. Good Lord. It didn’t have to be like this. I only wish I could’ve been with Gina when the kids came for her.
REPORTER: Chester Pratt says TJ Byrd had bragged about Ladarius McCade’s ability to steal cars and strip them for parts. According to Mr. Pratt, TJ said the same thing might happen to them if they tried to separate the two teenage lovers.
“Holly was right,” TJ said, taking the phone back and sliding it into the sweater dress pocket. “Chester’s behind all this.”
“Who’s Holly?”
“My friend,” TJ said. “The goddamn girl we were just talking about.”
“Big freckle face?” Chastity said. “Sorry. If that girl was any more boring, she’d be damn well invisible.”
“Don’t say that,” TJ said. “Don’t you ever talk about my best friend.”
“Or what?” Chastity said. “You and L
adarius gonna chop me up, too?”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny,” Chastity said, smiling. “I wouldn’t joke if I thought y’all were guilty.”
“Goddamn Chester Pratt.”
TJ reached for a towel on the rack and began to wipe the makeup from her face. Chastity shook her head, so much good work gone wasted. The girl was crying a little bit now, too. Softer than she’d thought TJ Byrd would be when she’d first heard about the teenage killers on the run from Mississippi.
“Why aren’t you scared of us?” TJ asked. “Seems like everybody else is.”
“Maybe because I don’t much give a damn either way,” she said. Chastity turned over her forearm to show where she liked to cut on herself a little bit, a long trail of neat and even scars, like someone keeping box scores on a baseball game. Or at least that’s what her last therapist had told her.
“No one will listen,” TJ said.
“We make them listen.”
“How’s that?” TJ said. “By making me all gussied up and pretty? That sounds like more bullshit to me. And I’m done with that. I’m ready to fight back.”
Chastity put her makeup back into a white leather purse and walked from the bathroom, Sharon’s gigantic boobies staring at her like a couple of knowing eyes. She headed on into the bedroom with the big four-post bed and grasped hold, twirling back and forth, drunk with thought. And a little carefree after taking a whole Klonopin with her morning Diet Coke.
“Make them listen.”
“How do you do that?”
“Grab hold of something to make people take notice.”
“We’re just some country-ass kids,” TJ said. “Nobody gives a damn about us. Chester has money. He’s already sweet-talked the sheriffs down there. And now he’s putting out his lies on TV. Only reason he’s doing that is to scatter the damn truth.”
“You got me,” Chastity said, breaking free of the post and walking over to TJ. She grasped the girl’s small hands and put them onto her shoulders. “Listen. People are already looking for me. People want me. If folks won’t listen, I can help you get the truth and get us both money. Money for me to live my own life and money for y’all to get far, far away from here.”