Wildlife- Reckoning

by Jeff Menapace

  “And that prevents you from being courteous, does it?” Goatee asked.

  “We were courteous,” Morgan said. “We said ‘no thank you.’”

  Leigh grew impatient. “Seriously, guys; take a hint, all right?”

  Front Teeth scowled. “Fucking city cunts.”

  “Fucking inbred hick,” Leigh fired back.

  Stacey got in front of Leigh. “Leigh, stop it.”

  Front Teeth shoved Stacey aside and went for Leigh. Mick appeared and grabbed Front Teeth by the throat, ramming him backwards into the bar until his lower back slammed against the bar ledge, Mick then driving further still, keen on folding Front Teeth’s spine over the ledge in ways it was never meant to bend.

  Goatee rushed forward, threw a haymaker at the side of Mick’s head, Mick spotting the slow, heavy punch in his peripheral vision, letting go of Front Teeth and ducking under Goatee’s punch, popping right back up and firing a short, crisp right on Goatee’s jawline, spinning his head like a top, dropping him instantly, asleep before his plump body thudded to the floor.

  Front Teeth, witnessing the ease and fluidity with which his friend had been dispatched, made no attempt to launch his own attack. He simply dropped next to his sleeping friend and attempted to wake him.

  The bar had gone quiet, everyone’s eyes on the aftermath of the fray. Curiously, there was no shock on any patron’s face. What Stacey saw instead was a clear disdain for the scene, as if the fight had insulted them.

  And it had. Jumbo appeared seconds after, furious, brandishing a shotgun. Initially, after their pleasant exchange earlier, Stacey thought Jumbo might have been coming to their aid. To scold and toss the two men who’d started the ordeal.

  Stacey was only half right.

  Jumbo motioned to the door with the shotgun. “Get out. All of you.” His full cheeks were flushed with rage.

  “What?” Stacey said in disbelief.

  “I said get out of my bar, people. Right now.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Jumbo pointed the shotgun towards the far end of the bar, towards a big wooden sign high above the restrooms. Etched in black, the sign read: “You fight, you’re gone. PERIOD.”

  “Oh, come on,” Morgan said. “This was not our fault.”

  “Can’t you read?!” a female patron shouted from the other end of the bar.

  “This is bullshit,” Leigh said.

  Bryan approached. “We should go,” he said.

  Stacey was flabbergasted. “Jumbo…” she said, her expression pleading more than words ever could.

  Jumbo’s glare didn’t budge. “You fight, you’re gone. No exceptions.”

  “We should go,” Bryan said again.

  Morgan pointed down at the two men. Front Teeth was still trying to wake Goatee from his nap. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “These assholes started the whole thing.”

  “And they’ll be leaving too,” Jumbo said. “Now go.”

  “This is complete and utter bullshit,” Leigh said.

  Stacey was frustrated to the point of tears. “How the hell are we gonna get a boat now?” she asked the group. Back to Jumbo: “Fine—we’ll go. Can you at least recommend someone who can take us up the river?”

  “No.”

  Stacey turned her back on Jumbo and addressed the entire bar. “Is anyone here willing to take us up the river? We’ll pay you.”

  Three men rose from their table and exited the bar.

  Bryan spotted this. “Okay, now people are starting to leave. That is not a good sign. We need to go now.”

  Stacey tried one last time. “Jumbo, I am so, so sorry. Please…”

  Jumbo said nothing.

  She tried one last Hail Mary. “Don’t you want to be in the documentary?”

  Jumbo cocked the shotgun.

  Stacey visibly deflated, head and shoulders dropping with a sigh. Bryan put his arm around her and guided her out, the others following close behind.

  Chapter 24

  Stacey lit a cigarette the second they were outside.

  “Didn’t you already smoke Number Two?” Bryan asked.

  Stacey dragged hard on the cigarette. “Well, then I guess this is Number Three.”

  “But you’re going to want one later…”

  Stacey shot him a look that said back off. He did.

  Mick stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Stacey. That one guy was going after Leigh and—”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Stacey said.

  Morgan rubbed Mick’s shoulder. “You were just defending us, baby.”

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Leigh said. “I should have kept my stupid mouth shut.”

  “Just forget it,” Stacey said. She took a final drag of her cigarette, dropped it to the ground, and stubbed it out hard with the toe of her shoe.

  “So what now?” Tommy asked.

  “Go back to Stacey’s list?” Leigh asked. “Check out the next lead?”

  “What about a boat?” Bryan said. “Should we just try again tomorrow?”

  Stacey took a deep breath and let it out slow. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Leigh’s right. Maybe we should move on to the next place on the list.”

  A man approached, gravel under his tread announcing him before he asked: “Y’all need a boat to take you up the river?”

  ***

  Ten minutes earlier

  The three men who’d stood and exited Jumbo’s Tavern stood huddled in the parking lot, talking quickly.

  “They’ll be coming out soon,” Cooper Roy said. “Y’all hear what they was going on about in there? The interviews they was doing with that camera of theirs?”

  “I heard,” Wayne said.

  Cooper locked eyes with Travis. “What about you, Travis? You hear? Apparently, they’re fixing to film a documentary on what happened some years back.”

  “I heard.”

  Cooper’s tone was almost flirtatious. “And how do you feel about that, son?”

  Travis glanced back towards the bar for a moment, then brought his attention back on Cooper and Wayne, his usual stone face now showing faint cracks of possibility. “I’m thinking that if they want a film about the Roys…then we should give it to them.”

  Chapter 25

  “Yes,” Stacey said. “Yes, please.”

  The man who’d offered them a boat up the river looked young to Bryan. He was tall and broad and held the typical hardened exterior of many of the locals they’d encountered thus far, but he was still clearly a young man. Bryan guessed him to be twenty-one at the oldest.

  “And y’all are making some kind of film?” the man asked. “Something about the Roy family and what happened years back?”

  “That’s right,” Stacey said. “What we really want is some footage of the actual Roy home. We know there’s some tour boats around who claim to take you there, but they’re really not. The real home is much deeper in the swamp. I researched the hell out of it. Are you okay taking us that far up the river?”

  The man shrugged. “Fine by me. In fact, I know exactly where it is you’re talking.”

  “The real house,” Stacey emphasized. “Not the fake one? The tourist one?”

  The man nodded. “Most true locals know where the real house is at. I’ll take you there.”

  Stacey pretended to buckle at the knees, throwing her head back and blowing a kiss towards the sky as if thanking God. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to us.”

  The man only nodded again.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Steven.”

  Stacey introduced Steven to everyone.

  “Pleased to meet y’all,” he said. “Follow me.”

  The man started towards the riverbank behind Jumbo’s, towards a small dock that held a few boats, large and small.

  No charge? Bryan wondered. And oh shit—what about Mick’s gun? Fucking Leigh and her shots…

  “How much do you want for the ride
?” Bryan asked.

  The man stopped and turned just before they arrived at the dock. He stuck out his lower lip. “Don’t know. Was gonna do it for nothing.”

  “We’ll take nothing,” Leigh said.

  Morgan elbowed her.

  “Oh, no, no, no…” Stacey said. “We have to give you something.”

  The man pointed to Tommy’s camera at his side. “How about you let me be in your film?”

  “Done,” Stacey said quickly.

  The man smiled. To Bryan the smile appeared forced, if not filled with some disdain, like the smile of a man kissing his boss’s ass.

  “You sure?” Bryan asked the man.

  Stacey spun on him. “What are you doing?” she said, low and without moving her lips.

  Bryan replied equally low and with little movement of the lips. “Nothing. I just think it’s a little strange he doesn’t want anything for it.”

  “He does want something; he wants to be in the documentary. And he will be. Now shut up.”

  “Y’all coming?” the man said. “If you’re fixing for some good footage, we should do it while the sun’s still up.”

  Bryan turned to Mick. “Mick, don’t you need to get something from your car first?”

  Morgan rolled her eyes.

  Mick went to reply, but Stacey got there first.

  “Get what?” she asked.

  “Something for the documentary,” Bryan replied.

  “What?”

  Even with a low voice and little movement of the lips, Bryan was still uneasy about mentioning a gun. If the man heard it, he would almost assuredly refuse them a ride.

  And is that such a bad thing? he thought. Better to have the gun and not need it than the reverse, yes?

  “Just something we need, okay?” he said, drilling her hard with his eyes. For years they’d professed to read one another’s minds. Bryan wished it true now more than ever.

  “Folks?” the man called. “Y’all coming or not?”

  Stacey turned her back on Bryan and started towards the man. “We’re coming, Steven.”

  Bryan looked over at Mick. Mick looked at Morgan. Morgan looked at Bryan. “It’s fine,” she mouthed to him.

  Bryan flashed on a conversation earlier in the car:

  Leigh: “Why do I feel like this is the part in the horror movie when people start yelling at the screen, telling us not to go?”

  Stacey: “Because it is like that.”

  Chapter 26

  The boat fit all six comfortably, with Steven at the helm. Bryan had to admit, for as young as the man looked, he clearly seemed to know what he was doing. Maneuvering in and out of treacherous channels. Deftly avoiding vegetation that looked particularly grabby. Slowing in the shallows and then speeding up and often gunning it to the delight of everyone when the water was deep and the stretch before them long.

  In the shallows now, dusk still a good hour away, the heat no less relentless, Bryan felt the need to speak to Steven, if only to make banal small talk.

  “So how long have you lived here?” he asked.

  Steven kept his eyes on the river. “My whole life.”

  “You like it?”

  “Like it?”

  “Sure—do you enjoy living around here?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You ever been outside of the Everglades? Traveled anywhere?”

  “Not really.”

  “So…do you know anything about what happened around here? The massacre? The Roy family? Do you remember it at all?”

  Steven took his eyes off the river and placed them on Bryan. Bryan saw nothing in the man’s eyes. Could read nothing on his face.

  “I remember,” he said.

  “Great,” Bryan said a little uneasily. “If you still want to be in the documentary, I’m sure Stacey would love to hear everything you know. Get it all on film.”

  Steven placed his eyes back on the river. “We’ll give you some good stuff for your documentary.”

  Hope you’re a bit more fucking animated than you are now, Bryan thought. Then: Wait—did he say “we?” “We’ll” give you some good stuff?

  “We?” Bryan said.

  Steven glanced at him again, looking somewhat put out. “What?”

  “You said we’ll give you some good stuff.”

  Steven turned back to the river. “It’s just a southern thing. The British do it as well. ’Stead of saying something like ‘I had a bad day,’ they might go ‘we had a bad day.’ Understand?”

  Bryan did understand. He was quite familiar with the way the English often spoke, having studied psychology abroad for a semester. To say he was stunned that this seemingly limited

  (did you learn nothing at Jumbo’s about judging a book by its cover, Bryan?)

  young man knew about British vernacular was an understatement.

  Except Bryan could not recall in his experience what this young man was professing to be true. Never once had he heard a southerner use the royal “we” in place of “I” or “us” in place of “me.”

  The closest thing he’d ever heard was the using of “our” before one’s name to imply family or a close-knit bond among friends. “He’s tired, our Bryan is.” Or perhaps: “He’s sweating his balls off, our Bryan is.” Or perhaps more relevant: “He thinks something’s a bit off about this Steven fella, our Bryan does.”

  So what did that leave then? The guy slipped up and was now lying to cover his tracks? “We’ll give you some good stuff” meant precisely what it sounded like?

  Which then meant what exactly?

  The impossible then happened: Bryan felt momentarily cold.

  It would mean “we’ll” means there are more people in our immediate future. Strangers. Out in the middle of nowhere.

  But was that so bad? They never did find out where the guy was initially heading. For all they knew, he was on his way to meet friends or family; his mentioning of “we” could have been implying them, with his assumption that they’d be willing to help with the documentary. He was, after all, willing to forgo money in exchange for an appearance in the film. Perhaps he was thinking his friends or family, if that was the case, would be willing to do the same?

  Yes. Yes, that was very plausible. Except for one thing: Why lie about it?

  Bryan felt cold again, the bristles on the back of his neck standing to attention.

  Was he being a pussy? No one else looked concerned at all. And as much as it poked a little at his ego, he had to admit it was comforting to have someone as physically capable as Mick there. He’d certainly beaten the piss out of those two guys in the bar with no problem.

  His gun, though. They’d left his gun. What if they had guns? Punches are no match for bullets.

  What if who has guns? You’re too far into your fucking head, man. Stacey will spot it like she always does and start—

  “Hey,” Stacey said to him. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing,” he lied. “Why?”

  “You’ve got that look.”

  “What look?”

  She made a face as though annoyed they had to play the game. “Your I’m lost in my head and I can’t find the door look. What’s wrong?”

  He put his arm around her and squeezed, kissing the top of her head. “I’m fine, honey; I swear. I was just daydreaming, I guess.”

  She pulled away and looked at him. She no longer appeared annoyed, yet no less tired they were still playing the game. “You know I know you better than anyone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I can tell when you’re lying?”

  “I—yes.”

  “Well, then I’ll ask again. What’s wrong?”

  He put his arm around her again, kissed the top of her head again, leaned back, and said: “Honey, I swear; everything’s fine. I just zoned out for a little bit—” He tried the most genuine smile he’d ever attempted in his life. “I’m back now, though.” He chuckled for added effect.

  She’s seeing through t
his like a weak mystery. Bring out the levity guns? Or will she see through that deflection even more so?

  “As long as you’re on this Earth—”

  “Stop.” She wrinkled her brow at him, the whodunit more transparent than he feared.

  Still, he had to try. “Don’t pinch my nipple?” he said or, more accurately, asked with a hopeful little smile.

  She sighed, shook her head, and rested it on his shoulder. “Let the record show that I know you’re full of shit,” she said.

  “Noted.”

  Bryan risked a subtle glance Steven’s way, hoping to study him unobserved. As before, he saw nothing in the man’s eyes, nothing on his face. And this was not for Bryan’s inability to read, but because nothing was there for the reading. The man appeared head-to-toe empty, as if something had been taken from him.

  Can’t be completely empty. Something has to be stoking the fires down below, making him work. Whatever was taken had to have been replaced with something, right? What sort of fuel is going into the fire now?

  Cold again, bristles on the nape of his neck standing to attention again, Bryan was glad Stacey’s head was still on his shoulder. He didn’t want her looking at him right now.

  Chapter 27

  Trudy Roy whistled a tune as she prepared refreshments for the night. To the onlooker, she might have seemed like a woman preparing to host a little gathering. And she was. The goings-on, however, that would be taking place in this little gathering would make the onlooker soil their pants.

  Darla appeared at her mother’s side, tugging at her elbow, more fidgety than usual. Roy Night rivaled her birthday. Combine that with the fact that she’d claimed first place in their last affair (much to Harlon’s disgust) and she was just about ready to burst, eager to repeat last year’s victory. To claim a second trophy for her shelf.

  “Baby girl,” Trudy said, “if you don’t settle, you’re gonna be wiped out before we even begin.” An empty threat if there ever was one. Darla could outlast them all.

  “I’m gonna win again!” Darla declared.