by Ace Atkins
“I’ll help,” Lillie said, bringing the tray over to his bedside. She pushed the adjustable table over and positioned the tray above his bandaged legs. “Me and Ladarius are old friends. I’ve known this kid since he was stealing tricycles down in Sugar Ditch. Good times.”
The nurse wasn’t sure what to do. She looked at the patrol officer, and he held up the flat of his hand and nodded. The nurse left in a huff.
Lillie settled back in the chair as the officer left. She forked some scrambled eggs and held it to Ladarius’s face. “Open up,” Lillie said. “Here comes the airplane. But I got to warn you, kid. By the time you go to trial, you’ll be eighteen. Folks over at Parchman got a whole different program for pretty mouths.”
“Hell with you, lady.”
“Why’d you run?”
“Shit.”
“Did you do it?” Lillie said. “Did y’all stab and cut up TJ’s momma and stick her in that pickle barrel over in Parsham County? Sure would love to know.”
“Hell no,” Ladarius said. His voice hoarse and pleading. “That ain’t my style. I never hurt no one.”
“Whose idea was it?”
Ladarius shook his head. He dead-eyed the dark television screen, thumping his fingers on the rails of his bed, looking like a man who sure wanted to bolt but knew his legs wouldn’t take him far.
“I don’t have much time,” Lillie said. “Help me out. How can I get in touch with TJ? Maybe we can have a heart-to-heart, real woman-to-woman shit, talk about boys and manicures and running from the law on a homicide beef. You know, all the good pillow fight bullshit.”
“We didn’t do it.”
“I’m beginning to see the light.”
“You are?”
“Y’all got a hell of a friend in Sheriff Colson,” she said. “Isn’t my job one way or another. But I thought you kids were guilty as hell.”
Ladarius was quiet. She lifted up a piece of bacon and he shook his head again, making a stink face. With all the marks on his cheeks and lips, it looked like it might hurt the kid to chew gum. Lillie put down the bacon and stood up. She heard a voice in the hall, someone arguing with the plainclothes about access to the patient.
“I can get cleared to take you back tomorrow,” Lillie said. “But I’d prefer getting a head start to TJ and that girl y’all kidnapped.”
Ladarius snorted and turned his head away from Lillie. Lillie circled the bed and came over to the other side, watching the kid, looking at his sly little smile. Kid ate up that damn canary, feathers all over his mouth.
“Kidnapping isn’t funny,” Lillie said. “Y’all just upped the goddamn ante five hundred percent for some Barney Fife fucknuts to get an itchy trigger finger.”
“Shit,” Ladarius said. “That girl Chastity kidnapped her own damn self. She talked TJ into going along, said it would make folks listen up about Chester Pratt.”
“Well,” Lillie said. “That was dumber than shit, now, wasn’t it?”
“Sure seems so.”
Lillie placed her hands on her hips up under her black blazer, hearing the nurse coming up behind her and making a lot of racket. She wanted Lillie to turn around, but Lillie didn’t move.
“Which way?” Lillie asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Which state?”
“I don’t know.”
Lillie shook her head. She stepped back and lifted her chin at the nurse and two other nurses who’d entered the room trying to make a show. Ladarius McCade hadn’t been in their care twenty-four hours, but he’d already charmed the damn panties off the hospital staff.
“Long ride back to Tibbehah,” Lillie said. “Hope you like country music. I got a new Margo Price record I just can’t wait to play the whole way back.”
* * *
* * *
They had made it twenty miles south of Shreveport when TJ knew they were about to run out of gas. She pulled off the highway and into the first truck stop she spotted, hiding among the dozens of eighteen-wheelers. Chastity had to use the bathroom. John Wesley was hungry and wanted to know why they’d left Ladarius. TJ had to explain that she and Ladarius had a system. If he wasn’t back before six, something bad had happened and they needed to head on.
“He knows how to find us,” Chastity said. “He’s just waiting for the right time.”
“Right time for what?” John Wesley asked.
Chastity didn’t answer and opened the door, running out into the rain and toward the big, sprawling travel center. TJ leaned back into her seat and shut her eyes. She hadn’t slept all night. Ever since Ladarius headed out, she’d felt a sickness in her that something wrong was about to happen. Now they were stuck in Louisiana with three dollars and some change, a stolen car with hardly any gas, and no plan on how they were going to keep on heading south to Grand Isle and this great place Chastity kept bragging about.
“Can we eat?” John Wesley said.
“In a little while.”
“We need gas.”
“I know.”
“Why’d Holly and Ladarius both leave us, TJ?” he said. “Are they mad at you?”
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Would you please let me sleep? I just need some quiet. I need to think on some things. Damn, John Wesley. Just let me breathe for a hot damn minute.”
She was mad at herself for actually believing that Chester Pratt might stand up and halfway do the right thing. Somewhere she’d made sense of Chastity’s plan to call out his crooked ass online, make folks turn their attention on Chester, including Chastity’s supposedly rich and powerful daddy. But that was probably what got Ladarius, made him get mad and maybe a little sloppy stealing them a car. After the news of the kidnapping got out, their faces were damn near everywhere.
The rain fell harder as she saw Chastity standing by the side doors to the truck stop, talking to some old man in a ball cap. The old man reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, crushing some bills into Chastity’s hand. TJ watched the girl lean over and kiss the man on the cheek before running through the lot, zipping around trucks in the rain, and back to their car. She slammed the door behind her, shaking the rain from her hair.
“Well,” she said. “We can eat. Or we can drive.”
“How much did you get?”
“Twenty dollars,” Chastity said. “I told him I was the leader of a youth choir group and we’d run out of gas.”
“Isn’t that sweet.”
“No man can resist a pretty little girl with a Jesus complex.”
“You and John Wesley go ahead,” TJ said. “I just want to close my eyes for a minute.”
“I could do it again,” Chastity said. “You know.”
TJ had her seat reclined, eyes closed, trying her best not to worry about Ladarius. At least she knew he was alive and okay, even if he had been caught. Maybe that was all for the best. She shouldn’t have gotten him or Holly mixed up with this mess. This was her fight, and she’d keep running and telling the truth until that son of a bitch was in jail.
“You okay?” Chastity asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You should’ve been with me inside,” she said. “They got TVs up all over the place and all I saw was you and Ladarius. You two are famous as hell. More famous than I’ll ever be. I only saw me one time and no one seemed to even notice. They said he’s in stable condition. Did you know some dogs got on him?”
“I know.”
“How’d you know?”
“I called the sheriff this morning,” she said. “The one back in my home county.”
“Rookie mistake, TJ Byrd,” she said. “I don’t think you need to call anyone until we’re watching a mariachi band and drinking tequila somewhere in Cancun.”
“Hell of a dream.”
“You got something better?” Chastity said, eyeing TJ and rea
ching out to brush the black bangs from her eyes. “The new hair is a good look. Glad I made the post last night before we had to leave Texarkana. Let your fans know about the new TJ Byrd.”
“Maybe some of the cops won’t recognize me now.”
“That’s not why we did it,” Chastity said, patting TJ’s leg before opening the passenger door. “We did it because it looks cool as hell.”
* * *
* * *
Quinn headed on over to the Rebel to check out the busted glass doors and decimated ATM, hoping not to run into Johnny Stagg as the experience was almost always unpleasant. But there was Stagg himself, standing in the broken doorway strung with yellow tape making small talk with Kenny and Reggie, recounting the scene of the nearly great robbery. He was quick to offer video surveillance burned on DVDs and a few theories on who might be responsible.
“Good morning,” Quinn said, standing under the gas pump portico.
“Far from good, Sheriff,” Stagg said. “You should’ve seen the mess a few hours back. Scared the whale out of my woman working the register. She hadn’t seen those boys sneaking in and figured we got hit with an earthquake. Woman’s still picking glass out of her hair.”
“I see.”
“I don’t understand how a couple fellas roll up to the biggest business in this county and feel comfortable pulling out a money machine at their leisure,” he said. “Doesn’t seem right.”
Quinn removed his sunglasses and scratched at the corner of his eye with his little finger. The front doors hung misshapen and twisted, pebbles of broken glass across the side entrance. A neon sign in the window advertising they were open twenty-four hours and offered hot fresh coffee, the latter being a damn lie.
“Can you see much on the tape?” Quinn asked.
“Not at all,” Stagg said. “One fella was white. Other was black. Both around six feet tall, wearing masks up over their faces with baseball caps. Other than their color, couldn’t tell which from which. Either one of them wasn’t no brain trust. Tried yanking that machine through the brick wall and not the glass doors.”
“I heard,” Quinn said. “They take anything else?”
“White fella took a couple Slim Jims,” Stagg said. “You can see it on the tape. Slips a mess of ’em into his jacket pocket just as clear as day. They wasn’t in the store more than two minutes. White boy is the one who wrapped the chain around the machine, while the black boy goosed up the truck.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t keep your ATM so close to the door,” Quinn said. “This one yours or does it belong to a vendor?”
The reddened skin on his bony cheeks and bulbous nose turned a brighter red. “If y’all were doing your cotton-picking job maybe I wouldn’t have to worry where I place my machine,” he said. “And it’s a vendor. Some fine folks I do business with down in New Orleans.”
“That a fact?” Quinn asked. “We’ve had some complaints about bank card hacks. Thought it might be some card readers out on your pumps. I’ll check out the machine, too.”
Stagg sucked at his tooth, placed a skeletal hand into his khaki pants, jingling some change. “You do that, Sheriff,” he said. “I got me some work to do.”
Stagg turned and Quinn followed him in through the busted door. Over the entrance to the diner, Quinn spotted several T-shirts in all sizes and colors pinned up along the wall. A wide yellow banner read get your tj byrd gear here. supplies limited.
Stagg stopped halfway, right near the beer cooler. He offered a big grin.
“Homegrown heroes,” he said. “Ain’t that something?”
“Is that what they are?”
“Ole Machine Gun Kelly was born and raised in Memphis,” Stagg said. “His wife Kathryn come from Saltillo. Just part of the landscape around here, son. Guilty or innocent don’t make no difference to me.”
“Kind of bad taste,” Quinn said. “Don’t you think? On account of what happened to the Byrd woman.”
Stagg shrugged, moving away from Quinn for a moment to shake a few hands. Give a laugh or two about today’s homemade pies. Chocolate and pecan. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Midnight Man done outdid himself today. Quinn watched and waited as Johnny Stagg did Johnny Stagg, holding court at the Rebel.
“What were you saying again, Sheriff?”
“I said selling T-shirts and bumper stickers about a homicide is in poor taste.”
Stagg grinned. He scratched at his cheek and looked down at his brand-new cordovan loafers.
“Don’t you think?”
“Just a little local color,” Stagg said. “Don’t mean nothing personal by it.”
“Gina Byrd’s body was found over in Parsham.”
“Everybody knows that.”
“Heard you’ve been doing business in Parsham, Johnny,” Quinn said. “You and Sheriff Lovemaiden gotten to be real tight.”
“What if we had?” he said. “You think I know something about that killing? ’Cause I don’t. I never met those kids before in my life.”
“But you do know Chester Pratt?”
Stagg didn’t say anything. Quinn’s cell buzzed in his pocket and he declined the call. He turned to see Kenny working to take prints on the door, Reggie on the ATM itself. A brisk cold wind blowing the tape around the entrance.
“Breaks my heart,” Stagg said. “What that man’s been through.”
Quinn nodded. His cell buzzed again, noticing the same number calling back, but not recognizing it.
“Hold that thought.”
“I’ll be in my office,” Stagg said, winking. “Case you need me.”
Quinn walked toward the door and took the call, moving past Kenny and out under the portico and the gas pumps. A young woman’s voice said, “I think I got your man.”
Quinn put a finger into his left ear to hear the caller better. “Come again?”
“I said I think I got your man,” the woman’s voice said. “Deep cut. Bad infection. This is Raven, by the way.”
“Tell me.”
“Man didn’t leave a name,” she said. “Came into a mobile clinic up toward Blackjack. I have the paperwork right here.”
“Any description?”
“Got more than that, Sheriff,” Raven said. “A nurse I know took the pointy tip of a blade or a razor or something out of the wound. About as big as thumbnail. That make any sense to you, Quinn?”
TWENTY-TWO
TJ slept for a few hours, barely noticing when Chastity and John Wesley got back from the truck stop. The cold winds that followed the rain buffeted and shook the stolen Kia, the sky a deep red streaked with black clouds. They’d both gotten the cheeseburger special with fries and a Coke, a whole five dollars to spare since Chastity decided not to tip the surly waitress. The woman nosy as hell, asking where they were going and where they had been, wanting to know if they were traveling alone or with Momma and Daddy. Chastity told TJ she’d put that old woman right in her place, saying all she wanted was some ketchup for her fries and to be left the hell alone.
“A whole five dollars,” TJ said.
“Five-dollar bill.”
“Maybe we should gas up?”
“We can’t leave until we got twenty dollars,” Chastity said. “That way we’ll be sure to make it to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans?” TJ said. “You never said anything about New Orleans. That’s not on the way.”
“Sure it is,” Chastity said. “And I have a friend who lives down there. I texted him. Don’t you worry. It was private and all. I’d trust this boy with my life. We did three weeks in rehab in Jackson Hole. He’s got a nice house over at Audubon Park. I think it’s a fine rest stop before heading on to Grand Isle.”
“That sounds dumber than hell.”
“He knows the situation,” Chastity said. “He’s cool. He’s been following our adventures online. He and his friend think you’re cute
, too. Which helps. Boys are so damn stupid. They’ll do anything in the world for a pretty face and a tight little ass.”
“Maybe he’s fooling you,” TJ said. “Maybe he’s already called the police.”
“Not this kid,” Chastity said. “He’s just like you. Doesn’t trust the police at all. His family is fucking loaded. Oil money and all that. They had to pay a ton to keep his record clean. Says his whole life was almost ruined after he got busted at the House of Blues with nothing but a fucking dime bag and some pills.”
“Sounds like a real winner.”
“Trust me,” Chastity said. “We can make a few new posts, too. Light’s too damn bad right now. I don’t want to mess up our next big step. This is the post where you introduce me as your new partner in crime. Once you explained what happened with that asshole Chester Pratt, I joined the TJ Byrd movement. A big push by young folks to get heard and be listened to. That’s it? Right? That’s what makes you so important. You got framed for killing your own mother but had to run because no one would listen. But all that’s about to change. Once you’re cleared, you’ll be famous. And I’ll make sure you stay famous.”
“And what if your plan turns to shit?”
“Gas up my daddy’s boat and cut over to the Yucatán, baby,” Chastity said. “Party city. I know people there, too. I hooked up with a bartender at an all-inclusive last Christmas with my family. I told him I was eighteen. His name is Pablo and he’d do anything in the world for me.”
TJ nodded and leaned back into her seat, looking through the windshield splattered with raindrops. “Fine,” she said. “But we need more money.”
“That’s nothing,” Chastity said. “Leave that all up to me.”
* * *
* * *
Some rough weather blew into Tibbehah County that night, making Quinn and Boom late for supper at Quinn’s mother’s house. There had been a nasty accident on the road to Burnt Oak, two kids out joyriding had turned over their truck in a drainage ditch. Both were okay, but one had busted up his leg pretty bad. Boom had been out along Highway 45, pulling a county vehicle from where it had skidded from the road and dove deep into some mud. He and Quinn looked worse for wear when they’d showed up. Quinn took Boom’s jacket, splattered in mud, and hung it out in the hallway as Jean fixed them each a warm plate.