by Ace Atkins
Lillie called up Charlie Hodge and briefed him on the situation. Charlie noted the mile marker and her location and said he’d make sure Louisiana Highway Patrol would set up a roadblock somewhere about Lockport. The thing that concerned Lillie most was TJ trying to bust through that, too, refusing to stop and maybe getting herself and her little brother hurt in the process. Nobody wanted that. Nobody wanted to see a wrongfully accused girl lying dead in a drainage ditch as a bunch of state troopers stood by with itchy fingers.
Lillie knew she had to slow them down, let TJ know she was on her side before they got up to Lockport. Lillie mashed the gas on the Dodge to ride up alongside when she heard from under the hood what sounded like a tumble of junk in a toolbox. The red light flashed on her dash and her Charger turned off and started to slow down real quick. Lillie slapped the wheel, calling the car everything but a Christian.
She was soon stalled in the middle of a two-lane, a big ole tanker truck blowing past her before she got out and saw steam and smelled the antifreeze coming out from the engine. The Land Cruiser kept on moving north across that flat, desolate gray landscape. Not another vehicle or building around them, just acres of yellowed weeds and water. The Land Cruiser moved slow and easy as if they were on an Easter parade.
Lillie left her driver’s door open and walked around to the trunk. She grabbed her scoped Winchester inside and found a solid place along the doorframe to steady her shot. She took in a deep breath and just as easy let it out, just like when she’d been on the Ole Miss Rifle Team, finding the rear tire of the Land Cruiser square in her sights. She made a quick adjustment for the wind and the distance and squeezed the trigger. Blam. The crack final and precise.
After the shot, the car skidded onto the shoulder and then back onto the road, the right side riding low and uneasy, the Land Cruiser finally slowing down. Tired and slap-ass worn out from these kids, Lillie walked forward down the highway, holding her rifle in her left hand and waving into TJ’s rearview with her right. She tried her best to look friendly.
But damn, it was hard.
* * *
* * *
“What do I do?”
“Keep driving,” TJ said. “Don’t stop for nothing.”
“Back tire’s blown,” John Wesley said. “I’m all over the place, Momma. I can’t control nothing.”
“What’d you call me?”
TJ gritted her teeth and pushed herself up in the backseat. When she turned around, John Wesley not driving but ten miles an hour, she saw that gray Dodge stalled and Lillie Virgil jogging up toward them waving her hand.
“Don’t stop.”
“Don’t have no choice.”
TJ looked forward through the windshield and saw a mess of flashing blue lights coming from up north. Highway patrol parking crooked and blocking the highway, men crawling out of their vehicles with guns drawn.
“I’m sorry, Momma.”
“I ain’t your damn momma,” TJ said, leaning back into the backseat. “I’m your sister, John Wesley. That’s a hell of a lot more important.”
“You gonna die, too?”
TJ didn’t answer. She looked down to see the blood had started flowing again from her leg, soaking through the ripped towel tied about her thigh. The engine was still running as John Wesley lowered the driver’s window, TJ seeing Lillie Virgil’s face up close and personal.
“End of the road, kids,” Lillie said. “Let me see your hands, TJ.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Holding down the bleeding.”
Lillie Virgil looked deeper into the car before knowing she was telling the damn truth. Lillie yelled over to those folks in the highway patrol to call up an ambulance right fucking now.
“They’re dead,” Lillie said.
“Who?” TJ said.
“The men who killed your momma,” Lillie said. “Figured y’all would want to hear that.”
“What about Chester Pratt?”
“I’m no Sunday school teacher so I’ll tell it to you straight,” Lillie said. “That good ole boy is fucked five ways from Sunday.”
TJ could only see the back of John Wesley but saw his head bow and heard him start to cry. The front door opened up and she saw big Lillie Virgil hugging her little brother, telling him everything was going to be okay. She was a friend of his momma’s.
“Is that really true?” TJ asked. More men in uniforms came up and surrounded the Land Cruiser. Back door opening and cold air rushing inside. Damn, her leg hurt like a son of a bitch, that white cloth now a dark and deep red.
“Your momma and I used to run together,” Lillie Virgil said. “Way back when. I’m sorry for what happened. I should’ve known there was a hell of a lot more going on inside that trailer.”
TJ felt herself crying now, all of it breaking apart inside her and feeling like she just might damn well choke on all that pain and finality of never seeing her mother again. Maybe she’d even forgive her for the hell she put her kids through. One day.
“Momma sure used to be beautiful,” TJ said. “Before everybody used her up.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
By mid-March, it was finally warm enough for Quinn to put the jon boat into Choctaw Lake for a little bass fishing. Brandon had joined him, holding the tackle box and a sack full of sandwiches and healthy snacks that Maggie had made with implicit instructions not to ride by the Sonic on the way home. The water had warmed up quite a bit but was still cold down deep, Quinn knowing they’d have to do a little searching to find some bass active enough and ready to bite. They motored on over to one of his favorite spots on the lake where he knew an ancient old oak had fallen years before. He explained to Brandon where it lay and how to be careful not to snag his hook on any limbs. The boy listened, holding the fishing pole with a serious expression on his face, his eyes hidden by the Tibbehah Wildcats cap about two sizes two big.
Quinn stood and cast right into the little nook where he knew some big ones liked to hide, taking a seat again, reeling in the rubber worm nice and slow, just enough to animate it, make sure the fish thought it was alive and a tasty treat.
“John Wesley’s back in school,” Brandon said.
“I heard.”
“He’s got a new family.”
“A foster family,” Quinn said. “For now.”
“He’s got clean clothes and cleaned up some,” Brandon said. “He’s not as mean as he used to be. I don’t know how to explain it. But he’s just gotten real quiet. Kinda sad. And he ain’t fighting nobody.”
“You mean he’s not fighting anybody.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “That’s what I mean.”
“You know what happened to his mother?”
“I do.”
“Be kind to the kid,” Quinn said. “He could use a friend.”
“Also heard his sister’s in prison now, too.”
Quinn shook his head, reeling in the worm to the boat, and then recasting back into the same place, right into the crook of that big arm of the oak, where the bass could find a nice place to hide.
“She’s not in prison,” Quinn said. “But she’s in jail. There’s a difference. She’s got to answer for something bad that happened over in Shreveport.”
“What happened?”
“A man attacked her and her friend,” Quinn said. “She protected them.”
“What’s the crime in that?”
“I agree,” Quinn said. “But sometimes it takes a while for justice to shake out. For some it never does. Lot of times it depends on who you are, what color you are, or how much money you’ve got.”
“The Byrds don’t have any money.”
Quinn smiled, reeling the hook back in just as slow and deliberate, careful to tilt the end of his pole away from the tree and free from any snags. “I think that might change,” Quinn said. “Some fella tried to accuse John Wesley’s s
ister of all kinds of things and now he’s the one paying for it. I think when the truth is out, the Byrds may own everything that man’s got.”
Brandon looked deep in thought as he faced Quinn on the opposite bench. He had cast his hook but hadn’t started to reel it in. The kid had something pressing on his mind.
“Something you want to talk about?” Quinn asked.
“Well,” Brandon said. “I was wondering if after we go fishing, we might stop off at that new place by the truck stop?”
“Are you talking about Johnny Stagg’s Frontier Village?”
“Yes, sir,” Brandon said. “We got coupons at school yesterday for free tokens and free slices of pizza.”
“Hate to break it to you, Brandon,” Quinn said. “But nothing’s free with Johnny Stagg.”
“You know him?” Brandon said. “He came to our school yesterday to talk to kids about finding faith and family values after he’d made a few bad mistakes. Straying from the Lord and all that.”
“I bet he was wearing a cowboy hat.”
“How’d you know?”
Quinn kept on reeling in the line, the shadows along the bank of the lake stretching out to the water’s edge. He could feel the sun on his face and along his arms. Tonight, he and Maggie planned to host a cookout at the farm with his mother, Boom, and maybe a few surprise guests. His mother hadn’t said it outright, but he expected his sister Caddy, his nephew Jason, and his old friend Donnie to show up from over in Austin. Lately, there had been some talk about Caddy and Donnie finally getting married.
“How about we hit Sonic,” Quinn said. “But skip the Frontier Village.”
“You don’t like that man Johnny Stagg,” Brandon said. “Do you?”
“I think some folks become mean,” Quinn said. “And others are born mean.”
“You think he can change?” Brandon asked. “Like John Wesley did?”
The thought of Stagg changing made Quinn smile quite a bit, reeling in the hook, and casting it back into the lake. He knew those big fat ones were hiding down there slow and deep, but they’d strike soon.
“I think Johnny Stagg won’t be satisfied until he uses up everything and everybody in Tibbehah County,” Quinn said. “It’s just in his nature. He’ll never quit. And he’ll recruit other soulless people like him to join his effort.”
“What’re you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to put that old man back in the cage where he belongs,” Quinn said. “I don’t quit, either.”
* * *
* * *
“Sure do appreciate you coming, Sheriff,” Johnny Stagg said, standing at the ticket counter to Frontier Village on opening day. The registers were pinging with all the cash and credit cards being run, Stagg now sure that this new direction had been the way to go.
Bruce Lovemaiden shook his hand and removed his white cowboy hat that he’d worn special for the occasion. Johnny Stagg had one on, too, bought from the Western wear shop on the Jericho Square. Black with a silver concho band.
“Brought my two grandboys with me today,” Lovemaiden said. Two big-headed fat kids, looking like miniature versions of the sheriff, stood up right next to him. The boys looked for all the world like twins to Johnny Stagg, except one boy was about two inches taller. They both had the same wide, doughy face and haircut with the bangs cut straight across their foreheads. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber.
“Send ’em right on in,” Stagg said, reaching into his slicker for some golden tokens. “And take these. You two rascals let me know when y’all run out.”
“We weren’t asking for no special favors, Mr. Stagg,” Lovemaiden said. “I’d be glad to pay the fifteen dollars to let ’em in.”
“Not today,” Stagg said with a wink, opening up the rope for them both. “Y’all go have yourself a good ole time.”
The two boys jostled off over toward the line to the bouncy inflatable Haunted Gold Mine. The metal walls of the old titty bar echoed with kids’ voices and laughter, jumping and playing, the tinkling of that player piano in the old-time saloon where they served up Coca-Colas and Icees. Stagg’s face went soft, grinning big at the whole scene, thinking that maybe his heart really had changed after being put away. This sure was something special for the entire community.
“Well,” Lovemaiden said, still holding his hat in his hand and looking around at the kiddos leaping from attraction to attraction, bounding up the stairs to the crow’s nest where Fannie Hathcock used to keep her office and was now filled with video games and pinball machines. “I thought I might try my hand over at the shooting gallery.”
“That one’s special,” Stagg said. “Used to be up at Libertyland in Memphis before it all got torn down. Bought it from a black fella who’d kept it safe in storage over up in Frayser.”
Lovemaiden nodded, placed his smallish cowboy hat back on his huge head, and moved toward the entrance.
“One thing before you get down to that Ole West fun,” Stagg said, touching Lovemaiden’s shoulder. “I got a fella that I sure would love you to meet.”
“Yes, sir,” Lovemaiden said. “Who’s that?”
“Someone who’s gonna turn our counties into a better, stronger, God-fearing world.”
* * *
* * *
Lillie Virgil drove over to Hot Springs that afternoon to visit with Ladarius McCade, who was still being held there for stealing that brand-new Kia Sorento out at Lake Hamilton. The old couple that owned the car hadn’t had it two weeks and wanted Ladarius prosecuted to every inch of the law. Weeks later, and out of the hospital, he was being held at the Garland County Juvenile Detention Center. It wasn’t the Peabody Hotel, but it wasn’t exactly Parchman Farm, either. The guards found Lillie a nice big concrete table by the basketball courts to meet with Ladarius.
He was still on crutches as they brought him through the gated fence. He hobbled along fast, his right leg bandaged and braced, and he had to sit crossways because his knee wouldn’t bend.
“Congratulations,” Lillie said. “You don’t look like I expected.”
“And how’s that?” Ladarius said, smiling. The blond cut out of his hair, shaved down tighter on the top.
“I expected you to look like shit warmed over,” Lillie said. “But you appear to be half decent, kid. A little fucked up, kind of crippled, but you may just make it.”
Ladarius laughed. He looked off at the basketball court and waved to a couple boys shooting hoops. It was a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. She figured she might stop off for barbecue at McClard’s before riding back. She had the next four days off and Rose had already planned out their itinerary: zoo, botanic gardens, Pink Palace, and maybe a hike along the Wolf River and lunch at Las Tortugas. That kid loved some tamales.
“You taking me somewhere?” Ladarius asked.
“Nope,” she said. “Just figured I’d check in. I promised your grandmomma I’d look out for you.”
“Momma Della Mae won’t speak to me,” he said. “I tried calling her, too.”
“That woman has her ways,” Lillie said. “Be patient. You’re gonna be just fine.”
Ladarius glanced away for a moment, looking like he might get emotional. Lillie wasn’t expecting that and for a hot second regretted her ride over from Memphis. She didn’t plan on spending her day crying around a juvie basketball court.
“I ain’t worried about me,” he said. “I’m worried about TJ.”
Lillie smiled and shook her head. Damn, that kid was pussy-whipped.
“What is it?”
“That man TJ shot at the truck stop was a shitbird pedophile.”
“So?” he said. “Doesn’t make it legal what she did.”
“He tried to molest Chastity Bloodgood in the cab of his truck and was coming for TJ,” she said. “TJ didn’t have a choice. Did you know his truck was called the fucking Purple
People Eater?”
“The word of two kids won’t mean shit against a full-grown man.”
“Maybe,” Lillie said. “But dash cam footage doesn’t lie. The whole thing was caught on video by the truck right up behind them. You can see that son of a bitch grab Chastity by the neck and come right for TJ. Sorry you don’t have a phone to see it. That whole show is online now. You should’ve seen the crowd at TJ’s last appearance before the judge. Standing room only. Everyone holding up signs. FreeByrd T-shirts. Damn. I wish I got a piece of that action. Whoever is printing those must be making a mint.”
Ladarius nodded. Lillie folded her hands in front of her, watching the boy’s face, recalling the few times she’d busted him when she was with the sheriff’s office. He’d always been polite and respectful, promising he’d go straight and stay away from his Uncle Dupuy. She knew that wasn’t going to happen then and wasn’t going to happen now. There’d be another time between them, Ladarius running from the law again, and holy hell, how Lillie didn’t want that to happen. She kinda liked the kid.
She reached into her leather jacket and passed along a business card. Ladarius read it and looked up at Lillie.
“Who’s this?”
“Meanest lawyer in Memphis,” Lillie said.
“You know him?”
“He’s a real bastard but kind of a friend.”
“I can’t afford this.”
Lillie nodded. “I know,” she said. “Give him a call on Monday. He’ll get you out by the end of the day. Make sure to play up your leg hurting to the judge.”
“It does hurt.”
“You’re doing it already,” Lillie said. “I just might shed a tiny tear.”
Ladarius smiled big, holding the card tight in his left hand. One of the kids from the basketball court hit an amazing shot, the other kids yelling and talking shit. She could tell Ladarius wanted to join them if his leg wasn’t still so mangled.
“Why you doing this?”