The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “Where’s that man Bishop walks behind you?” the little man said. “Tends to your business?”

  Stagg didn’t like the way he was asking or the fact that he hadn’t seen nor heard from Mr. Bishop since late last night. The realization of who these fellas were must’ve showed on his face because it seemed to give great pleasure to this stocky little guy. He grinned bigger than shit and placed his hands on his hips as if he were a man twice his size.

  “You a Nix?” Stagg said.

  “I’m Dusty Nix,” the man said, nodding. “And over there, that gray-headed fella is my daddy. He goes by Flem.”

  “That’s a mighty old-fashioned name.”

  “Suits him,” Dusty Nix said. “He’s a mighty old-fashioned man. We come to talk to you about some work.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Same as Mr. Bishop done,” he said. “Only we do much better.”

  Stagg laughed and shook his head. He patted his pockets for another piece of peppermint candy but couldn’t find none. Dusty Nix reached out his hand, no bigger than an eight-year-old’s, and tried to pass him a little yellow butterscotch. Stagg let his hand hang there, not wanting to touch nothing come from that midget’s pocket.

  “Few men better than Mr. Bishop,” Stagg said, suddenly feeling as alone and naked as a fella with his peter out on a rifle range. “He’ll be around real soon.”

  “Is that right?” Nix said, slipping a few pieces of hard candy into Stagg’s shirt pocket. He stood close, plucking a Pall Mall into the side of his mouth and flicking on a lighter.

  “You got something on your mind, son?”

  “I did,” he said. “But that’s been taken care of. Make sure to give us a call if Mr. Bishop don’t show.”

  Dusty Nix nodded to his daddy, who hobbled over like a man with a wooden leg. He held some kind of package under his arm in a plain brown wrapper. The older man presented it to Stagg as if he’d just trucked the crown jewels into Tibbehah.

  “What the hell’s this?” Stagg asked.

  “Cajun sausage we make special during deer season,” the old man said, his lower teeth a wreck of rotten little brown pebbles. “Chop it up and mix it with some eggs. A little spicy, but sure do taste like a little bit of heaven.”

  Stagg accepted the package, the meat feeling warm and wet in the palm of his hands, as he watched the two odd little men head for the door. Midnight Man was quick up on his shoulder, breathing hard and giving a soft grunt as they disappeared into the parking lot.

  “What they want?” Midnight Man asked.

  “They wanted us to know Bishop fucked up,” Stagg said, handing off the package to Midnight Man. “Throw this shit in the dumpster. I’m headed home to shower.”

  “Something a-matter, Mr. Stagg?”

  Stagg looked down at the wetness on his hands. Blood had soaked through the package.

  * * *

  * * *

  Of all the dumb things Holly had done in her life, throwing in with TJ and Ladarius had to be the King Turd of them all. Just to run down a short list: aiding and abetting murder suspects, stealing her momma’s Dodge Grand Caravan minivan, ducking out on Phil Jr. over at the Captain’s Table, and taking the Lord’s name in vain at least sixteen times since leaving the Tibbehah County line. Now she was walking into the cold wind right at this very moment, trying to make her way back to Hot Springs, and hopefully on back to Mississippi before she started down a stretch of road that she could never come back from.

  “Holly!” someone yelled.

  She glanced quick over her shoulder and saw TJ hanging out the passenger window of that white Kia.

  “Come on,” TJ said, yelling some more. “Get in. We’re gonna get busted if you don’t check yourself.”

  Holly lifted her hand and extended her middle finger again, a salute to freedom and sanity, continuing her walk north along Highway 67. She was prepared to walk all the way back to Tibbehah County if necessary and would just as soon hop in a hot rod with the devil himself than climb in that car with TJ and that ridiculous girl who went by the name of Chastity. Wasn’t nothing chaste about that girl, running after both TJ and Ladarius at the same time. Holly shoved both hands in her coat and kept on walking ahead, Ladarius riding up behind her now, honking the horn. TJ and Chastity yelling to her now to come on and get inside.

  “Leave me alone,” Holly said, screaming.

  She figured she might run for it. Maybe make a break for the trees and lose them for good. The thought of finally tearing away from TJ left a hard feeling in her heart, like something real bad inside her had got rotten, meat going spoiled. As she walked, she started to cry, and goddamn, she hated to cry. All the feeling of being kids with TJ and playing on the monkey bars or swimming in Choctaw Lake, sitting with TJ as she tried to work on her dead daddy’s Monte Carlo, acting like a miracle had been performed when that motor turned over not once, but twice, that old black piece of shit not being worth nothing other than playing those old cassette tapes of Cheap Trick and Bon Jovi. “Livin’ on a Prayer.” What a shitty lie that had been.

  “Get in the fucking car,” Ladarius said. “You’re gonna get our ass caught.”

  Holly stopped walking. Ladarius pulled up beside her, both TJ hanging out the front window and Chastity hanging out the back, smiling so big it looked as if her big rosy cheeks might break.

  “Not with her,” Holly said. “Dump that crazy bitch right here and right now. Or y’all best move on. It’s time to make a goddamn stand, TJ. You ain’t known that girl but a day.”

  Ladarius revved the motor, rolling slow and easy beside them. Behind them, Holly facing south while the car faced north, she spotted a highway patrol car running fast and hard down the highway. The patrol car flashed its lights at them but kept on driving, heading on to something bigger and more important on down the road. Her heart had nearly stopped.

  But it had been enough. TJ slid on back inside the car, looking straight ahead and telling Ladarius to go ahead and go. Stand on it. Chastity poked out her lower lip and gave a fake-ass crying face before Holly pulled her fist back and rushed forward to smack her good in her nose. That glass window went up real fast. Now it was just Holly and TJ.

  “I thought you were my friend,” TJ said.

  “You made your choice.”

  “We ain’t coming back,” TJ said. “Not now. Not ever. Hope you got on your good shoes.”

  “Y’all aren’t gonna make it,” Holly said. “You know that. Right? That crazy-ass girl is gonna get all y’all killed.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “That’s where y’all are headed,” Holly said, walking more, more determined now than she’d ever been. “But not me. I’m headed home even if I have to walk the whole damn way. Just don’t expect flowers and tears on y’all’s grave. I’m over it.”

  NINETEEN

  Raven Yancy stood on the running board of the Big Green Machine and leaned in the passenger window to get a better look at Halley. Halley had settled into Maggie’s lap as they’d waited for Raven to get a short break at the emergency room, eyes closed and sleeping as the cold wind whipped around the truck. The black woman, long and lithe with prominent cheekbones and large brown eyes, was dressed in her bright green scrubs and held her cap. She shivered and hugged her arms around her waist, saying she didn’t have much time.

  “Still don’t know how this man got you pregnant,” Raven said. “When he left the hospital, he could barely walk.”

  “Maggie inspired me,” Quinn said.

  “Inspired something,” Raven said. “Y’all should’ve been more careful. You might’ve busted up a lung. Cracked another rib.”

  “We were careful,” Maggie said. “Although we had to get creative.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Raven held up the flat of her hand and shook her head. “I get it, Mags. Don’t need diagrams and in-depth explanations.”


  Quinn leaned onto the center console, so Raven might hear him better. He asked if she’d heard about or seen any patients in the last week or so that might have stab wounds.

  “White males,” Quinn said.

  “Always causing trouble.”

  “Some bad folks,” Quinn said. “If you do know them, or have contact with them, contact me first.”

  “What kind of cuts?” Raven said.

  “Stab wounds,” Maggie said. “Deep-tissue puncture wound or it might just be an infected laceration. They’d come in needing drainage, maybe wound debridement.”

  “Hmm,” Raven said, smiling down at Halley’s sleeping face. “Can’t think of anything right offhand. Cut folks usually come in around the holidays. Someone getting testy about the turkey. But I’ll ask around, maybe call out to some of the rural clinics, too.”

  “Appreciate that,” Quinn said.

  “This has something to do with Gina Byrd,” Raven asked. “Right?”

  “Maybe,” Quinn said.

  Maggie narrowed her eyes at Quinn and shook her head. “She might as well know everything,” she said. “If you can’t trust my best friend, who can you trust?”

  Quinn nodded, cell phone buzzing next to his coffee tumbler. It was Reggie Caruthers and he pressed mute as he answered Raven. “I think two men attacked Gina Byrd before she was reported missing,” Quinn said. “One of them might’ve been stabbed. It would’ve been bad enough that Gina got away from them.”

  “ ’Least for a while,” Raven said.

  Maggie swaddled Halley deeper into a soft blue blanket, a beanie with earflaps snug on her head. Maggie had knitted both the blanket and the beanie for her.

  “If you find those men attacked Gina,” Raven said, “you think those kids might be innocent?”

  “That’s the idea,” Quinn said.

  “Ladarius McCade is my second cousin,” Raven said. “He’s a good kid. Gets in trouble but wouldn’t ever hurt no one. You know the type?”

  “I used to be the type,” Quinn said.

  Raven stepped off the running board, arms hugging herself tight as the scrubs fluttered around her. “I’ll do all I can,” she said.

  “Dinner soon?” Maggie asked.

  “What y’all cooking?” Raven said.

  “Maybe some tofu power bowls,” she said. “With brown rice.”

  “My mother cooks for us, too,” Quinn said. “Chicken and dumplings with some peach cobbler for dessert.”

  “Sorry, Maggie,” she said. “But that’s what I’m talking about. Count me in.”

  * * *

  * * *

  “I’m hungry,” John Wesley said.

  “We’re all hungry, kid,” Chastity said. “But we can’t go out. Not till it’s dark.”

  “Why not?” John Wesley asked.

  TJ came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and drying off her hair as Ladarius gave her a nice once-over. Four people and two single beds. Not much for privacy here at the Tri-State Motel in Texarkana.

  “Lots of people looking for us,” TJ said. “We just need to be careful.”

  “Bad people?” he asked.

  “Not bad,” TJ said. “But not good for us. We’ll get something to eat a little later. Just rest up now.”

  “I don’t want to rest,” he said. “This place sucks. Smells like puke and piss in here.”

  “Hush your mouth.”

  “Tell me I’m lying, TJ,” John Wesley said. “Why can’t I just walk out and get some air? There’s a swimming pool outside. And some swings.”

  “It’s too cold,” TJ said. “And that old pool is empty.”

  “I’d rather freeze my damn peter off than sit around in this stink,” John Wesley said. “TV’s busted, too. Can’t get nothing but the weather and shows of folks trying to sell you jewelry. You can pay for a movie called Three Musketeers but Ladarius won’t let me.”

  “It’s a flick,” he said. “Ain’t fighting with those swords.”

  TJ reached into her bag for some underwear, jeans, and a fresh clean hoodie. She changed in the steamy bathroom and walked back out to tie her hair up in a bun. Everyone was quiet now. Chastity on her phone, scrolling faster than she thought humanly possible, with John Wesley and Ladarius laying in the bed, cover turned down on account of all the stains. They watched two old ladies selling a wood cutting craft set. TJ knew it had to remind John Wesley of Momma, the way she’d sit for hours outside at her workbench, making door hangings for Miss Donna Grace’s flower shop. work hard/pray hard. welcome, y’all. simply blessed. And TJ’s personal favorite, welcome to the shitshow. hope you brought alcohol. That one really made her momma laugh.

  “You all right?” Ladarius asked.

  TJ nodded.

  “Wanna step outside for a smoke?” he said.

  Chastity turned and looked up from her screen. “Okay.”

  “You stay here,” Ladarius said. “Watch John Wesley. We’ll be right back. Got something private to discuss with TJ.”

  Chastity winked at the both of them, like they were going to go back to that stolen car to fool around. Everything they’d been through, being chased out by the cops, running that boat across the cold lake, and having to steal a car, and now Chastity was thinking they’re about to get down and dirty. That girl had no limits. No wonder Holly left.

  “Here,” he said, handing TJ a cigarette.

  They didn’t go anywhere, just hung by the motel door, TJ taking a seat in an old ratty chair outside the window, watching the traffic roll on by.

  “John Wesley’s right,” Ladarius said. “This place sucks.”

  “Took all the money we had.”

  “Chastity’s holding back,” he said.

  “Credit cards,” TJ said. “But how dumb would that be?”

  “Pretty damn dumb,” he said. “I still don’t like what y’all did. Posting that shit online. You with a gun, acting like we kidnapped that stupid girl. That ain’t gonna get us nowhere but jail.”

  TJ took a drag of the cigarette and let it out slow. She was bone tired, sinking in the chair, wanting to close her eyes just for a minute. “But she’s not wrong.”

  “About getting money?”

  “We got one night here,” she said. “Then what?”

  “Her daddy would know where we at.”

  “Ways around that,” she said. “Venmo and shit. Only one big thing. We’re gonna need another car. Especially by tomorrow when the word’s out.”

  Ladarius smirked and scratched at his neck with the back of his fingers. “Are you asking your boyfriend to use his great and fine talents to get y’all’s asses down to Louisiana? Or wherever the fuck we’re going.”

  “Nothing fancy,” she said. “Doesn’t have to be nice. Just something that’ll get the five hundred miles due south.”

  “Still need food,” he said. “Still need gas.”

  TJ passed him the cigarette and reached for his hand and smiled up at him, while he looked out at the highway, back and forth across the road. Nothing but an empty dirt lot, cracked asphalt, and a used car lot a half mile back.

  “Let me handle the money,” she said. “You get us a new ride.”

  “And how are you going to get us more money?” he said. “Rob a damn bank?”

  “Chastity wants to cut my hair real short and dye it black.”

  “And what’s that gonna do?”

  “She said we need a lot more followers and more views,” she said. “She said I need to present an iconic image. Whatever the fuck that means.”

  “It’s about shaking down her ole man,” Ladarius said. “And sticking it to Chester Pratt.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Well,” Ladarius said, grinning and rubbing his goatee. “Good luck with all that. I don’t know how that plan will wor
k out, but I bet that hair’s gonna look hot as hell.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Johnny Stagg was at the Rebel, back in his office, trying the best he could to wrap his mind around what he’d just seen and smelled, put warm and wet right in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t thought too much about what he’d sent ole Mr. Bishop to do. After all, that was the cost of doing business in his county. But to have tables turned on him, flipped damn well upside down, was unacceptable. Those midgets came to him with their damn hands out, wanting a little something extra for leaving Chester Pratt alone and asking to come into Stagg’s fold as trusted employees of his organization. They couldn’t be serious. But they damn sure were.

  Stagg spun in his chair, checking out the flat-screen monitors, now live and in living color. Two screens brightening up with the noon news out of Memphis and Tupelo, Stagg clicking up the sound to hear if there was anything new about that TJ Byrd and the McCade boy. And damn if wasn’t all their lead story, Mississippi Teens Suspected of Kidnapping Fayetteville Girl.

  A picture of a pretty blue-eyed girl flashed on the screen, looking for all the world like that troublemaking Nellie from Little House on the Prairie. Stagg remembering that time Nellie pushed that ole Laura Ingalls right into the dirt, the little punk arguing about playing Uncle John or Ring Around the Rosie. Or that time Nellie sucked on a peppermint stick at her daddy’s general store and called those Ingalls girls country trash that didn’t have a penny. Nellie was a damn hoot. This little old girl looked cut from the same cloth. Evil-eyed and mischievous.

  Stagg grinned, thinking about just what in the damn hell TJ Byrd had gotten herself into. Murder. Kidnapping. Extortion. She was turning out right smart. For country trash.

  The news showed video of TJ Byrd standing on the roadside somewhere with that girl from Arkansas. From that sly little grin on that blonde-headed girl’s face, she was in on the whole dang charade. TJ Byrd stood with a gun in boots and an old flannel shirt saying that if Chester Pratt came forward and confessed his sins they’d let that girl go free and clear.