The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “You’ll figure it out,” Holly said. “You always do, TJ. But leave. Go.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “That’s what I’m about to do. Me and John Wesley are walking back right now. We’re gonna get our damn shit and I’m gonna give Chastity one last chance.”

  “One last chance?” Holly said. “What are you thinking? How many chances does that girl need? From what I heard from the sheriff, she’s why you had to shoot the damn one-eyed trucker dead.”

  “You heard about that, huh?”

  “ ’Course I heard about it, TJ,” she said. “Are you crazy? Everybody’s heard about it. That’s what happens when you decide to tell your story to anyone who’s listening. Have you seen you got a hundred thousand folks following you?”

  “More like three hundred now,” TJ said, talking low in the phone while she and John Wesley turned into another wide curve of the park. “After I shot that trucker.”

  “You proud of that?”

  “Hell no, I’m not proud of it,” TJ said. “What would you do? Don’t get so damn cocky, Holly Harkins. What would you do to protect yourself and your little brother? This world hasn’t left me with too many options. Although I did just get me a nice coat and this phone I’m calling you on.”

  “You’re lucky I answered,” she said. “The number wasn’t familiar at all.”

  “You knew it was me just by the ring,” TJ said. “Didn’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Holly said. “Me and you always had that. That thought connection.”

  TJ stopped and let John Wesley walk on ahead, the streetlamps shining in the dark along the path. The old oaks looking like something from back in the dinosaur times. There wasn’t a single tree in Tibbehah County that could grow that thick without attracting greedy men with axes trying to make a quick dollar. Seemed like everything back home of any value got cut down or uprooted.

  “You okay?” TJ asked.

  “Sheriff Colson called again,” Holly said. “He said your life’s in danger.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘No shit, Sheriff,’ ” Holly said. “But he said it for real this time. He said that Chastity Bloodgood’s daddy hired some bad folks to come snatch her up before she’d get arrested and that you’d get killed if you stood in the way.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “They can have her.”

  “Please, TJ,” Holly said. “Just quit. Just stop what you’re doing. You can’t run and run till there’s no more road. That was just a fantasy we were telling ourselves.”

  TJ took a long breath. She looked to John Wesley playing on the long branch of the tree, so damn heavy and fat that it touched the ground. “Erase this number,” TJ said. “When I call you again, it’ll be from a new phone.”

  “What do I tell the sheriff?”

  “Tell him you never heard from me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Chastity and Graham got back from the parties at close to five in the morning, the sound of the brass band at that corner bar pounding in her ears, the pills and cocaine in her blood making her feel like her heart might explode. The night just couldn’t move fast enough, everything jumping from place to place, thought to thought. Time to time. Maybe if she hadn’t called Daddy at the dealership, she could’ve kept this party going on forever. If Graham could get some more cash, maybe sell his car, they could keep this up for a while. Maybe until Jazz Fest. The only thing that she needed to get rid of was TJ Byrd. That girl had been nothing but a goddamn anchor since she rescued those hicks back at the lake. TJ got what she needed and Chastity got a wild little ride. But that shit needed to end and that girl and her creepy little brother needed to go. When she got back to Graham’s house, she’d make it plain they couldn’t stay there anymore. Who was TJ to pass judgment on her life or on Graham’s friends? She wasn’t the one who was a goddamn killer.

  Graham nearly rammed into the side of his house while he squealed into the short driveway, parking sideways and leaving on the headlights as he stumbled up the front steps. Chastity followed, knowing he’d want her to meet him back in the bedroom. She’d already took care of him in the nasty bathroom stall and he’d felt up under her skirt while they were at the bar, enjoying her keeping eye contact with the bartender while he reached up into her panties. That’s when they’d decided it was time to go, feeling like they just might start doing it there right in front of the whole brass band going to “Little Liza Jane.” Everything so hazy and wild.

  She closed the front door and tiptoed around some new dude sleeping on the couch, before she nearly walked into a wall. Graham was waiting for her. His shirt already off, gripping her shoulders and pushing her down to her knees. She didn’t want to go to her knees but did anyway.

  Everything was spinning. Her mind racing so damn fast. “Oh, yeah,” Graham said. “Come on. Go. Do it.”

  Then there was a bright light. Someone had hit the switch and walked into the room. Chastity tried to cover her eyes with her forearm while she looked up to see TJ standing there with her daddy’s AR-15 in her hands. The one they couldn’t sell because of the inscription. vince bloodgood. american by birth, southern by the grace of god.

  The light sent her head reeling, feeling like she might puke. She gagged, putting a fist to her mouth. Graham looked paralyzed where he stood, his jeans below his knees, and hands over his boner.

  “You’re better than this,” TJ said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “We’re both better than where we ended up,” TJ said. “Come on.”

  “I told Daddy where I am,” Chastity said. “He said he’s sending people for me. Don’t you get it? You’re just a sideshow to this party.”

  TJ walked over to where Graham had thrown his keys. She picked them up and stashed them into her new coat pocket. “Don’t be so stupid,” TJ said, pulling Chastity off her knees. “Get your shit and let’s go. You’re done with this creep.”

  Chastity looked to TJ, squinting into the light, and the halo around the girl’s determined face. She nodded and damn well did as she was told.

  “And Graham?” TJ asked. “You say a goddamn word about who took your car and I’ll make sure you go down for statutory rape. I had me two uncles who did time down at Angola. A skinny white boy like you won’t last a week. Them boys will plug every damn hole you got.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dusty and Daddy rolled up on the house again at a little after five. Dusty up and alert after tossing back three Red Bulls and smoking a half pack of Vantage Lights. Daddy fast asleep in the passenger seat, coming to every so often and asking Momma if she’d taken the dogs out yet. What confused Dusty now was that there was a brand-new black Land Cruiser parked sideways in the house’s driveway with the headlights on and the doors wide open. Dusty got the idea to get out and stretch and have a little look-see.

  He didn’t get about halfway to the house when he saw a girl and a little boy come around to the Land Cruiser and open up the back hatch. As the hatch lifted up, he got a good view of the girl’s face and was at least eighty percent sure it was that outlaw TJ Byrd. Now where in the world was Miss Chastity? Dusty had been thinking on that name long and hard. Clean and pure, unspoiled little rich girl, down and dirty with the country folk. Ole Dusty would save her. Dusty and Daddy Nix to the fucking rescue. Fucking heroes for the ages. Maybe that ole boy in Fayetteville would let them trade in their old beater truck for a brand-new Silverado.

  Dusty stood there, cigarette dangling loose in his right hand while he adjusted his nuts with the left. He turned back to the truck to see Daddy out of the cab now waving to him like a goddamn idiot. “Hey,” the old man said. “Hey.” Dusty waved him off, giving him hand signals so no one else could hear. Hush, old man. Hush.

  Ten seconds later, there was Chastity Bloodgood herself coming out, acting of her own free will and
toting a little pink bag. She looked about as steady on her feet as a newborn fawn. Nobody held a gun on her. Nobody had her tied up like he’d been expecting. Dusty figured him and Daddy would bust in with guns drawn, finding that poor little girl hog-tied and gagged like pictures of the women he’d seen on the internet. Instead, it looked to all the world like she and that TJ Byrd was friends. Hell, she even stopped to hug TJ’s neck and pat her back.

  “What the gosh-dang fuck?” Dusty said, his cigarette burning down in his fingers.

  The big black Land Cruiser started up, red taillights aglow, and backed out in the empty street. Dusty stood there, looking into the windshield, the Byrd girl glancing over his face and then driving off.

  Dusty hobbled on back, his right knee acting up on him again, and crawled back behind the wheel.

  “You ready?” Daddy asked. “Whoo-wee.”

  “They’re leaving.”

  “What you mean, ‘leaving’?” he said. “It’s five in the goddamn morning.”

  “Miss Chastity got into that truck with TJ Byrd and some little kid,” Dusty said. “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Come on, boy,” Daddy said, pointing. So excited spit flew from his mouth. “Go. Go. Follow their ass, son. We ain’t getting paid to sit around and scratch our damn nuts.”

  Dusty cranked the ignition and made a sweeping U-turn in the old truck. Daddy wide-ass awake now, nibbling on some homemade jerky he’d brought along special for the trip. He slurped at the strips of meat, spit dripping down his chin.

  As they drove away, Dusty noticed two flat black cars and a silver Charger speed past in the opposite direction. He wondered where the hell they were going in such a goddamn hurry.

  TWENTY-SIX

  At dawn, Lillie and Charlie Hodge, along with ten more marshals, four FBI agents, and six NOPD officers, raided the house on Audubon Park only to find four unarmed junkies inside sleeping it off. Lillie, never a stranger to threats and intimidations, kind of felt sorry for the kid who owned the house. A skinny-looking frat boy named Graham, with dark circles under his eyes, greasy black hair, and forearms poked so many damn times by a needle they looked like bruised fruit.

  “And you’re sticking by that story?” Lillie asked, standing over Graham, who sat on his unmade bed, head in hands. “Chastity Bloodgood left New Orleans with TJ Byrd and her little brother sometime last night? But you don’t know why or where they’re headed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You don’t look so good, Graham,” Lillie asked. “How long’s it been since you shot up?”

  “I don’t shoot up,” Graham said. “Shit, lady. I don’t mess with that crap. What makes you think that?”

  “Besides the marks on your arms and the fact your pupils are smaller than a mouse pecker?” Lillie asked. “Oh. I don’t know. You’re also about to fall asleep with almost twenty federal agents and cops tromping around your daddy’s house. Either you’re the chillest dude in the Big Easy or you’re on the backside of the big rush. Which is it?”

  “You’re crazy,” he said, leaning forward on the bed, shivering like he’d been locked in a deep freeze. His teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. “I say no to drugs. And yes to life.”

  “You’re a goddamn laugh riot, kid.”

  Charlie Hodge walked into the room and lifted up a baggie full of white powder and a box full of what the cool kids call drug paraphernalia. Lillie nodded to Charlie as he turned back to the main room with the other agents and Graham ducked his head back between his legs.

  “I spoke to your father,” Lillie said. “He sure is disappointed in you.”

  “My father is a massive dick,” Graham said, lifting the shaggy bangs from his eyes, smiling in a sleepy, lazy way. “He and his buddies aren’t any better. Only difference is they get high and order up strippers like they were pizzas. My dad better be careful, or I’ll show my mom a video I found in his sock drawer. I have to admit. I wasn’t sure my old man had it in him.”

  “Heartwarming,” Lillie said. “Maybe after you get out of jail, y’all can go on some kind of bonding trip where you both admit your weaknesses and shortcomings. I’m sure you both can hug it out by the campfire.”

  “Jail?” he said. “Why would I go to jail?”

  “Son of a bitch, kid,” Lillie said. “You sure do take the goddamn short bus on your way to Law and Order 101. You just gave shelter to a two-time murder suspect and the girl she’s accused of kidnapping. Not to mention the old-time opium den y’all got started here on the park.”

  “I didn’t know that girl Chastity brought a murderer to my house,” Graham said. “How was I supposed to recognize her?”

  “You follow TJ Byrd online,” Lillie said, scrolling through her phone and flashing the screen to the boy. “Or isn’t this your profile?”

  “I’m so damn tired,” he said. “Can’t we do this later? God. I’m so fucking tired.”

  Lillie looked about Graham’s room. The dirty bedsheets, empty beer bottles and bongs, pizza boxes, T-shirts, and jeans tossed haplessly across the floor. Lillie spotted a grouping of framed photos up on a chest of drawers and plucked one out the dead center. A little boy with black hair and big sad eyes stood with his parents on a tropical island Lillie couldn’t visit as a kid or afford as an adult.

  “This you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Your life doesn’t look so hard,” she said. “Where is that, Hawaii?”

  “Costa Rica,” he said. “Who said my life is hard?”

  Lillie set the framed photo back down and walked back to the bed. Graham’s eyes fluttered closed and she kicked at his bare feet to keep him awake. “Where are those kids headed?”

  “You can’t believe anything Chastity says,” he said. “Did you know she told me she was eighteen?”

  “I’m sure you were a true upstanding gentleman with her, anyway,” Lillie said. “Right?”

  “She lies,” Graham said. “Like all the fucking time. I could tell you what she said. But I don’t believe it. And then you’d come back here and blame it all on me.”

  “Oh,” Lillie said. “You won’t be here. You’re headed to the Orleans Parish Prison. You know that great old song? Oh, how I do love Johnny Cash. They found him down by the Ponchartrain and cuffed his ass with a big iron chain.”

  Graham lifted his dark eyes to Lillie and shut them for a long moment, exhaling from his nose and swallowing. “Will you let me go if I tell you what Chastity said?”

  “Nope.”

  “Will you let me go if you find them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why would I want to help?” Graham said.

  “ ’Cause you’re fucked five ways from Sunday, Graham,” Lillie said. “If I put in a good word, old Daddy Warbucks in Atlanta might loot the stripper fund for some hot shit rehab in California. You’ll be up to your asshole and eyeballs in naked yoga, veggie frittatas, and circle jerks before you know it. But if you don’t help and something happens to those kids, I just might hold that against you. And that wouldn’t be good.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s about the tall and short of it.”

  “If I help, I need my shit back,” he said. “Just one last time. Before you take me in.”

  “Your drugs?” Lillie asked. “Come on, Graham. That’s between you, the locals, and Lord Jesus. Comprende?”

  Graham nodded. He stared down at his feet, and then back up at Lillie. He looked like a rat squirming in a steel trap.

  “I need help.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “I didn’t touch her,” Graham said. “I swear she wanted me to. But I didn’t touch Chastity. She’s like a little sister to me.”

  “Ain’t that so Louisiana,” Lillie said. “Where is she?”

  “Her father has a fishing cabin,” Graham said. “Somewhere on the Gulf. I
think that’s where they were going. I don’t know. Maybe. They were talking about it.”

  Lillie nodded and left Graham to fall back into his bed while she walked out to the second-story patio to look out across Audubon Park. The early morning joggers, walkers, and bikers bundled up to exercise on the bright clear morning. Lillie had left her jacket inside and her breath clouded before her as she started to make a few calls.

  A few minutes later, someone below whistled and called out her name. Lillie looked down at the pedestrian street facing the house. Damn if it wasn’t Quinn Colson. All the way from Tibbehah County.

  And he’d brought four coffees in a cardboard tray. God bless him.

  * * *

  * * *

  They made it out of New Orleans and down to Cut Off in Lafourche Parish before they needed gas. Chastity had three hundred and forty-two dollars in her purse, explaining how she’d sold most of her daddy’s guns and kept a little money hidden from Graham.

  “Why’d you keep the semiauto?” TJ asked.

  “Sentimental, I guess,” Chastity said. “It was Daddy’s favorite.”

  TJ stayed behind while Chastity and John Wesley went into the convenience store, with Chastity promising John Wesley sausage biscuits and all the boiled shrimp he could eat once they got to Grand Isle. TJ wasn’t exactly sure how it was all gonna work once they got down there, unhitching her daddy’s big boat, fueling up, and navigating all the way over to Old Mexico. All she knew was that they were gone from that goddamn zombie house and those dark-eyed druggies, and that fresh air blowing through the windows in Graham’s Land Cruiser felt like a little slice of heaven.

  TJ got out and started pumping gas after Chastity had paid thirty dollars. She said that would be plenty to get them where they were headed. TJ hadn’t slept all night, worried how they were going to get free and what they’d do if they’d been stranded in the city. At one point, she thought about leaving John Wesley in a big fancy hotel, telling him to let the folks there know he was lost and needed help. But her little brother would’ve never gone for that. Through this whole fucked-up road trip, that boy had never left her side. He was tough and brave as hell. And the idea of leaving him while hiding out somewhere else made her guts turn inside out.