No Good End (originally posted as 140 character tweets on Twitter)
Revised and in chronological order.
PART 1
Gus Gantt watched the alligator slice a V across Blue Lake. The odds of this gator having the man’s arm inside was 100 to 1.
Gus took notes. The alligator was 11 feet-long. The man with the missing arm was 6 feet-tall. He was also shot in the head at close range.
The hand at the end of the arm inside the gator likely held a 9mm that Gus needed to match a casing against, or maybe not.
The arm was worthless to Gus. He knew where it came from: Bass Johnson, a 300-pound pimp from Florida. He just wanted the gun.
Could an alligator be X-rayed? He watched the big reptile watching him in the tiny boat. It came straight at him.
Gus pulled his .45. The gator kept coming. He didn’t want to shoot it, but he would if it was hungry for a couple more arms.
The gator was 20 feet away when it slid under the chocolate water and the wake rocked the boat. Gus waited in the humidity. Then it came.
First the tail, then the teeth. Gus was in the water. He held his gun up to keep it dry. Froth from the ?ailing gator churned Gus upside down.
The gator was under his feet. He pushed to the surface, the tail hitting him in the head like a baseball bat. Pain gouged into his sinuses.
Gus ?red his M1911A1 once into the air from instinct. He tasted blood. Four feet away the gator slammed the sinking boat again and again.
Blood squinted from Gus’ eyes as he lined up an angle and unloaded 5 rounds in the direction of the spastic boat. Crimson stained the water.
He had one round left. The boat sank. The gator glided past him, brushing his arm. He was about to pull the trigger, but the attack was over.
Gus swam 30 yards, sloshed through the cattails and fell in the St. Augustine grass. He was soaked in muddy blood, his and the gator’s.
His cell was in his peacock blue, 1962 Galaxie 500, sitting under the loblollies. Gus stumbled to the car and made the call.
Forest rangers, sheriff’s of?cers and state troopers parked around the Ford. An ambulance pulled up. Gus hated crowds.
““Been stalking that gator?” said Sheriff Briggs. “He probably made you from your under-coverless vehicle here. Not subtle, Gus.”
“I used that johnboat, not my Galaxie,” Gus said. “The investigation – we didn’t have much evidence beyond a dead pimp with a chewed off arm.”
“Now we have a chewed up johnboat, a possible dead gator and an of?cer with a pop-knot upside his head,” said Briggs.
Gus held an ice pack to his swollen face. “We probably have that pimp’s gun as well,” he said. “Just have to get it out of the gator.”
“Can’t wait to do that,” said Briggs. “You know how much paperwork we got with killing an 11-footer in a national forest?
“If we match the gun,” said Gus, “we have a lot of evidence. And that pimp’s ?nger is on the trigger of a 9mm out there.”
“Briggs wiped sweat. “Divers will have to snorkel around 100 other gators and 1,000 moccasins to ?nd your damned gator.”
“He’s dead,” said Gus. “30 yards off the end of that pier. Should be as easy to ?nd as the leftovers of Bass Johnson.”
“Gus held out his arm, gun in hand, to indicate length. “This is what we’re looking for,” he pointed to his arm and gun. “This.”
“When the gator found Bass, he had fried chicken in one hand and that 9mm in the other,” said Briggs. “He ?red one round before he died.”
“One shot at who?” said Gus. The EMT was stitching up a gash on Gus’ cheek and applying orange liquid and a bandage.
““We got the shell from a tree,” said Briggs” ““He was low, shooting up. Maybe he’d taken the ?rst hit and was down. He just missed.”
“Could have, but nobody will miss that bastard.” Briggs spat a brown, Redman lugie into the water. “Not even the girl.”
“He hadn’t taken a bite of chicken, so they got him before he started eating,” said Gus. “With Bass, that is a dangerous maneuver.”
“Sheriff Briggs yelled at the divers, “Get on the gear. Let’s get this thing before sunset.” He turned to Gus and shook his head. “”That gun.”
“You and I both know the 9 mil is in that gator unless the shooter took it,” Gus interrupted Briggs “That is the other possibility.”
“Always other possibilities, Gus.” said Briggs. “Better be more than your bullets in that damned gator. Tax dollars are being spent here.”
“Bass was pimping that girl, you know the one, from over near Opp,” said Gus. “She was just a kid.” Gus used a sheet from the ambulance to wipe off his .45.
“The Florida boys have their jurisdiction,” said Briggs. “The trash gets dumped here. You know the gig. We take out the trash.”
“Too many people down there. Farms and swampland and gator holes up here,” said Gus. “And we’re understaffed.”
“Bass Johnson is dead,” said Briggs “The girl ain’t talking. The pimp ?red one shot, then he took two in the head, and chomp.”
“You like ?ction, Gus?” said Briggs. “Here’s my take: Drug deal gone bad out here in the woods. The girl has nothing to do with it.”But who’d kill a pimp over a hooker?” said Gus. Silence from Briggs.
“Her lover, close range with a .45 semi,” said Gus.
“They stole Bass’s car, so there was more than one of them.” Said Gus. “Someone followed him in here.”
“Some mobbed up guys from Atlanta or Mobile or New Orleans. Bass had no friends and plenty of enemies. And who cares?” said Briggs.
“Nobody,” Said Gus. “That’s just it. Johnson is dispensable. So why is the girl still hooking down there if he is gone?’
“A new pimp? No shortage of pimps. A fresh crop every day, just like kudzu. You cut a foot off and two more feet grow overnight.”
“I don’t think so,” said Gus. I think something else is going on. Sheriff Briggs looked at Gus like he had so many times before, with doubt.”
Sheriff Briggs was not just Gus’ boss; he was his ex-father-in-law. It was complicated like so many things in the South.
“Gus,” Briggs paused. “You’re a good cop. Maybe not a good husband, but a good cop. I trust you more than my daughter did.”
Briggs turned toward the divers in the pond. “If the gun is in that gator, we’ll have the weapon that shot, well, nobody.” He smiled at Gus.
“But you’ll have proven your point,” said Briggs. “And I guess at some point in this life, having your point proven is worth ?ghting for.”
Gus waited to see them extract the gator from the water. He ran his ?ngers over the scared ridges on his stomach and chest and shoulder.
Gus had been married to Jenny Briggs for 4 years. Jenny got the house. Gus got a singlewide in a soybean ?eld. It was not an ideal life.
Sheriff Briggs understood twisted family relations and saw it as part of daily life in a small town. He had grown up out in the county near Yellow River.
Two years into college, Gus had ?unked out of the University of Alabama. Partying. It was the second regret of his life. Losing Jenny was the ?rst. She wouldn’t be the last.
Gus drifted from job to job. Eventually he tracked and hunted bail skippers for a bondsman. It was dangerous work but paid well.
Gus was no hero, no badass military type. He was a fortunate screw-up with simple tastes and a complicated mind.
His ?rst gig was Birmingham, then Atlanta. His was not the typical police detective’s resume. It was messy, with questions.
He had been arrested in Montgomery; assault; bar ?ght. He beat up a drunk bullying a woman. It ?t his quixotic disposition.
He got involved with an informant who died because of it. He shot two unarmed men when they pulled what he thought were pistols. They were cell phones.
Detective Elmore Briggs saw a good cop inside an angry malcontent; thought he could focus Gus’ energy. The results were mixed.
His new son-in-law followed every lead except the ones inside his own home. Working vice hurt Gus’ marriage. Working undercover ended it.
Gus was promoted to lead homicide detective the day his divorce was ?nal. He celebrated neither. He worked late.
Still Briggs backed Gus, warily. He avoided personal conversation with him when he could. The awkward contradiction kept Gus on edge.
His solution was to work more. 16 hours a day, 6 days a week. It showed on his face.
Gus worked the tough cases – murders, drugs, organized and unorganized crime. No wife; no life. He was a worker bee cop.
His future was aimless. He made little money, paid alimony to his boss’ daughter and had no savings. The economy didn’t help him.
Gus went to Miami for 5 years, then to Dallas and on to D.C., where he was shot six times in the middle of a street.
Rumors ?oated that it was a set up, an inside job. People said Gus was on a timer. Someone inside pegged him for a hit. He never knew.
But he had suspicions.
Gus celebrated his 35h birthday bleeding on the pavement. He was not sure surviving was in his best interest. Others felt the same.
Eventually, he left the force and went back to college. Instead of a diploma, he was looking for an education. He wanted the words he never had.
He went back to the junior college on the banks of the Conecuh River. Elmore Briggs was sheriff by then and Gus needed a job. It was far from D.C. so he took it.
When Briggs brought Gus into the department, it pissed some guys off. Nepotism. Briggs ignored the talk. “He’s honest and dogged like a Jack Russell – with the same goodness and faults.”
Both were on display as the divers dragged the gator to the slope. “Let’s see what we got,” said Sheriff Briggs.
Gus waited for the gun at the end of a pimp’s arm as the sun went down over Blue Lake.
They cut the gator open on the St. Augustine grass. Gus walked over to watch with Briggs.
A large, semi-digested arm gripped the slimy, Glock 9mm, 6 bullets in the clip. Gus watched the arm go into a bag.
“Got what you were looking for,” said Briggs” “Now you can connect the dots.”
“Lots of dots,” said Gus. He rubbed his swollen face. His clothes were almost dry. He reloaded his .45.
“Get some sleep and start on this tomorrow,” said Briggs. “All work and no sleep makes you a lonely bastard.”
“I was always a lonely bastard,” said Gus. “But thanks for reminding me.”
“The 9mm was tagged and bagged as well. Gus cranked the Galaxie. All the windows were down. He drove east, not towards home.”
“He pulled over, got out and rolled up the windows. The wind stirred a fecund smell from the river bottoms and drops landed like horse tears. Barbeque tinged the thick Alabama August breeze. Bugs collided with his left arm out the window. The sky bruised into a heavy Alabama rain.”
What did he know about this case?
Bass Johnson, dead pimp and dealer; shot in the head; gator bit the arm off his corpse; ?red his 9mm once. Gus needed a ballistic match.
Why was he in the woods next to a lake? No drugs were found. No car. A 300 lb. pimp does not walk to South Alabama from Destin.
Did the girl have a boyfriend? Was it a hit? At least 50 people wanted Bass Johnson dead. One succeeded.
Gus drove toward Opp. The girl’s parents would probably not consider this good news They were two of the 50 suspects.
Joline Skunker – ugly name for a girl so pretty – was 20 years old. A troubled youth, her sheet included drugs, DUI, shoplifting and B&E.
She’d been arrested for hooking in high school. It was no surprise to anyone, especially her parents, but it destroyed her dad’s business. It is tough to be a beautiful, drugged, hooker, thief in a town where most everyone goes to the same church or knows why you’re absent.
Skunker’s Restaurant had been in business on the outskirts of Opp since 1945. The shame of Jolene’s proclivities shut it down in 2007.
She ended up in Destin, broke with a drug habit: Vico, meth, heroin, cocaine, amps, anything she could sniff or swallow.
She collected a nickname on the street, combining her ?rst and last names: Joker. She had a Website for escorting She had regular customers. She had a 401k.
Her looks attracted customers. Her habits attracted Bass Johnson. They both attracted cops.
Bass had done time in Atmore – grand theft auto and dealing. Nothing stuck to him in the last few years but the DA kept trying.
Joker was picked up in bars and hotels, but nothing came of it. Bass paid her ?nes and business went on as usual.
Drugs came to Gulf Coast in small boats and every other way. Bass worked for a dealer name Tajo Vega, running girls who muled drugs.
Tajo did more than deal. He organized hits, hijackings, accidents and credit scams from New Orleans to Tampa. But he kept a skinny pro?le.
If Tajo wanted Bass dead, no one would have found the body. The pimp was left at a national park on a picnic table. Not Tajo’s style.
Tajo was a businessman ?rst, a thug second. Bass was the opposite. Jolene was collateral. Where tourists saw sand and fun, they saw opportunity.
Gus pulled into the Shunker’s yard. There was no defined driveway, just a grass path as wide as car tires. A dog lay on the porch, illuminated by a naked lightbulb. Gus walked to the door.
Mr. Skunker stood in the blue dark. Behind him a woman in a wheelchair watched Wheel of Fortune. She shouted answers at the screen.
“You look like a cop,” said Mr. Skunker. “I’ve talked to hundreds of them. Maybe thousands” What’s Jolene up to now. She dead?”
“No sir,” said Gus, showing his badge out of habit. “I don’t know how she is, actually. I would like to ask you some questions, though.”
“Mind sitting on the porch, Mama don’t like to have her show interrupted,” said Mr. Skunker. “She likes this and Deal or No Deal.”
“No problem,” said Gus. ‘When was the last time you saw Jolene?”
“Yesterday,” said Mr. Skunker. “Brought us $500 cash money and some Tupperware. I know how she earned it, but she’s a good girl at heart.”
“Bonnie Parker was too,” said Gus. “Things just turn out bad sometimes.”
“This Bonnie Parker, she a friend of Jolene?” said Mr.Skunker. “Jolene has some good friends and some bad ones.”
“I’m interested in the bad ones,” said Gus” “You know any of them?”
“I don’t even know people at church because I don’t go no more,” said Mr. Skunker. “But they come here regularly. Money. I ain’t got none.”
“You ever heard the name Bass Johnson?” asked Gus. “Big man, from Destin.”
“I heard the name,” said Mr. Skunker” “Freckly feller. Came here with Jolene. Mama didn’t like it but I got along with him alright.”
“You seen him lately?” asked Gus.
“Yesterday. Came with Jolene,” said Mr. Skunker. “Brought me cigars. Brought Mama perfume. Expensive” But she don’t go nowhere to wear it. Smells too sweet to me.”
“What time was Mr. Johnson here?” asked Gus.
“Around dinner,” said Mr. Skunker. “He had another feller with him. Dark-skinned. He weren’t no American. I know that.”
“Dinnertime? Late afternoon?” asked Gus. “You get his name?”
To many Southerners, lunch is dinner and dinner is supper – and contradiction is a religion. Skunker understood the last latter.
“No, it was dinner – middle of the day,” said Mr. Skunker. “Didn’t get no name. I asked if they wanted some food but they said they’d already eat.”
“You didn’t talk to the dark-skinned man?” asked Gus. “Did you hear him talking? Did he have an accent?”
“I tried to talk to him, but he was kind of quiet,” said Mr. Skunker. “Sounded foreign though. I don’t know much about foreigners.”
“Can you describe him?” asked Gus. “How tall? Weight? What was he wearing? That kind of thing.”
“He was short and skinny,” said Mr. Skunker. “He mumbled a little. I don’t think he felt too good.”
“They were all in the same car?” asked Gus.
“No sir,” said Mr. Skunker. “The darker man and Johnson were in a white car. A Chevrolet, I believe. May have been a Dodge.”
“Jolene?” Asked Gus. “What was Jolene driving?”
“Her car. A little Pontiac,” said Mr. Skunker. “She got it last year. It was used, but nice. A convertible. Black.”
“Anything else,” asked Gus. “Anything different or strange or out of the ordinary?”
“Yeah,” said Mr.Skunker. He looked like he was remembering something many years ago. “The darker feller was bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” said Gus. “From where?”
“Gut shot, looked like to me. I was in Nam. Seen it before,” said Mr. Skunker. “He wouldn’t get out of the car. Just set there real quiet.”
Above them, clouds layered and lightning fingered the horizon.
Gus drove to his trailer. Rain sluiced off the aluminum porch. The electricity was out. He sat in the dark and drank a beer.
Flashes from the storm creased the dingy curtains and silhouetted his bare existence across the paneled walls. He kept the place spotless for no reason.
“He tried to think about the horrors of his job because it dulled the pain of his life. Rain pounded the aluminum roof in a liquid roar above him.”
Thunder followed seconds after the ?ashes He counted the time between the two. The belly of the storm was about 5 miles away.
His cell rang. It was his mother. She was drunk. He listened to her complain while he drank. He pulled out his .45 and started cleaning it.
He could do it with his eyes closed, so the dark didn’t matter. The smell of solvent and gun oil calmed him. She ?nally hung up. He had said only three words the entire call, “Sorry, mama. Sorry.”
Next day, Gus took a cold shower, ate a Pop Tart, chased it with Vanilla Coke and checked his texts; one from Briggs: “Ballistics prelim in.”
The morning was sticky and Gus was sweating when he walked into the of?ce. Briggs waved a sheet of paper from the hallway. “You see this?”
“I just walked in. It’s 7 AM. Nice to see you too,” said Gus. ”Is that the Ballistics? Johnson’s 9mm? I’m feeling lucky. Hit me.”
“The bullet in the tree,” Briggs paused. “Not Bass Johnson’s. The bullet in his head is Bass Johnson’s. Figure that.”
“No way,” said Gus. “Somebody shot him and put the gun in his hand. I guarantee it. Nothing matched the round in the tree?’
“Old bullet. Probably lodged in there years ago. Maybe somebody ?red a round from across the pond,” said Briggs.
“I talked to Jolene’s dad,” said Gus. “Said she and Bass and a darker man were at his place yesterday around noon.”
“A darker man?” said Briggs. “What does that mean? He had a tan?”
The old man said he was foreign. And he was bleeding.” Said Gus. “Bass and the bleeding man in one car, Jolene in another.”
“So where’s the darker, bleeding man and Jolene now?” asked Briggs. “No reports from any hospitals in two days.”
“Somebody had to see something.” Gus’ cell beeped. It was his mom. Perhaps she was drunk a little early today. He ignored it.
“I bet Jolene goes back home soon,” said Briggs. “We’ll keep and eye on Skunker’s place.”
“She doesn’t go home much and I doubt she will at all now. She is probably back in Destin,” said Gus.
“I smell an expense report from Destin,” said Briggs. “Just don’t bring any more bodies back up here. We got all we need.”
“I’m checking her bank account, credit cards, strip joints, whatever. And I still think a boyfriend is involved.” said Gus.
“Her old man knows more than he’s saying,” said Briggs. He took a sip of coffee and blew like it was too hot. “Damn, that’ll burn the hair off your tongue.”
“She’s hanging off the grid, so maybe she’s all cash,” said Gus. ‘I’ll ?nd her if she’s alive. I’ll ?nd her if she’s dead, too.”
Briggs walked to the window of Gus’ tight of?ce and watched the narrow street outside. A woman carried a baby to a truck.
“No good end,” said Briggs, behind him. “There’s seldom a good end to things like this. People are a fungus on the earth, except that baby right there.”
“Maybe this will be the one,” said Gus. “The good end.” He sat down and moused through information on his computer screen. “I need a new computer.”
“We need Jolene Skunker,” said Briggs. “I suspect the dark man, the foreigner, is dead somewhere. This girl is a bad news magnet.”
Heat split the asphalt on the highways; cooked it like the top of a pan of brownies Gus pulled into a mom and pop grocery on Highway 84.
The bell rang. No one showed. Gus yelled, “Anybody here?” An old woman with a box of chips walked out of the back room.
“Excuse me, ma’am, my name is Gus Gantt with the Sheriff’s department. Mind if I ask you some questions?” He flipped his badge.
“I ain’t done nothing, have I?” she looked at him hatefully. “We’re barely in business here. I’d rob my own store if there was any money.”
“No, you’re ?ne. I just want to ask if you have seen any of these people.” He pulled out three pictures printed from a laser.”
She studied the shots through drugstore glasses eyes and grunted three times. “Seen all three yesterday. That dark man right there was bleeding.”
”Why didn’t you call the police?” asked Gus “It didn’t seem shady?”
“Everything seems shady these days – the government, the church, the law, all them CEO’s. I ain’t calling on paying customers. They were my only cash all day.”
“What did they buy?” he asked. “Did they talk about anything you can remember? Mention anyone’s name?”
“Bought some cold drinks and some lunch meat and a box of Band Aids,” she said. “But that one man looked like he was far past Band Aids.”
“She had no information. Gus drove to P’s Place, a bar down the road. It was closed. He walked to the back door. It was open.
“Pete, you here?” he called into the smoky coldness. “You’re air conditioning the world out here, leaving your door open.”
Pete walked from the restroom with a mop. “Gus Gantt; I mean of?cer. How’s it hanging? What’s the haps today? A little early for a drink?”
“On the job. Looking for these three,” said Gus. “You seen them in the last few days? Heard anything about them?”
“Jolene looks good in that picture, don’t she?” he laughed. “Sad girl. What is she now, 18 years old? Dangerous as all hell.”
Pete leaned on the mop and looked at the three pics on the bar.
“Never seen that other guy,” said Pete. “Ain’t seen Jolene in a while. That’s good.”
“She’s not much older than that pic,” said Gus. “How about the other two? They all come in here lately? Together maybe?”
“That big man was in here late yesterday,” said Pete.
“Tell me about the big man,” said Gus. “What was he up to? Who was he with? All the usual questions.”
“Gus, I’m a black man owns a bar white people drink in,” said Pete. He looked past Gus out the open door. “I don’t get in their business.”
“This man is dead,” said Gus holding up the picture of Bass Johnson. He tapped the other picture. “This one is shot or maybe dead.”
“And Jolene is just ?ne, ain’t she,” said Pete grinning. “The people round her get hurt, but she is greased against evil.”
“She is slippery, I’ll give her that. But she knows something about these two. The big one was her pimp,” said Gus.
“Looked too nice for a pimp. Friendly face. A preacher maybe, but a pimp? Never would have guessed that one,” said Pete.
“He was a ballplayer once, I think. Football. Not a big time school. No Bama or Auburn or Florida. Smaller place.” said Gus.
“You think she shot him and that other dude? Cause she has it in her,” said Pete. “She is a child with a killer’s heart.”
“Or she’s just a victim of them all. I know she’s been a rough cob, but –”
“Pete interrupted, “Or her boyfriend did it. He’s in here all the time. Troublemaker. Redneck with a fast car. Don’t like him at all.”
“Got a name?” asked Gus. “I’d like to hear about him.”
“Name is Jerry. Fights anybody. The worst thing that could happen to a girl already in trouble,” said Pete.
“Don’t have a last name?” said Gus. “Everybody has a last name, except Madonna and Cher.”
“And Eminem,” aid Pete.”
Gus stood looking at Pete, expressionless. He scratched his head and pulled at his ear.
“White guy. Singer,” said Pete. “”You know, Eminem. Got a tune on the box over there, I think.”
“I know who he is, Pete. Just wondered if you knew Jolene’s boyfriend’s last name.” said Gus.
“From down around Destin. Don’t know why he’s up here so much if she’s down there. Maybe she’s here more than anybody knows,” said Pete.”
“No last name?” said Gus.
“Turdbody or Turnbody or something like that,” said Pete. He leaned on the bar. “I’d change my name if it’s the ?rst one.”
Gus left and went to get an overnight bag. He was going to Destin. He stopped by the of?ce to clear up the paperwork and get some cash.
As Gus walked in the door his cell rang. It was Briggs. “Got a dead man up here in the river. Skiers found him. Shot in the gut. No I.D.
“Our dark man,” said Gus. “Conecuh River, you say?”
“Yep. You headed to Destin?” asked Briggs.
“Just ?lling out the papers,” said Gus. “I need about $500.”
“Take $200 and get receipts,” said Briggs. “I’ll let you know if this is different than what we think it is up here.”
“You got my number,” said Gus. “Oh, I got a name for the boyfriend, sort of. From Pete out on 84.”
“What you mean, sort of?” Said Briggs. Gus could hear the coroner talking in the background. He was a fast-talker.
“Gus hesitated. “It’s Jerry Turdbody or Turnbody or something like that. I’m checking on which one.”
“Turdbody? said Briggs. “Only Jolene could ?nd a boy with a worst name than hers.”
Destin was still the most beautiful beach Gus had ever seen. This bar, however, was not adding to the resort ambience.
It sat away from the beach and was shrouded in neon beer signs. An oyster shell parking lot led to a purple door. Inside, people danced; outside; people fought.
The band played loud and badly. Gus walked into the haze looking for Jolene’s boyfriend. The bouncer spotted him.
“Why is a cop from Alabama down here?” said the bouncer. “You on vacation?”
“Road trip. Like in school,” said Gus. “School wouldn’t be your strong suit, would it?”
“The bouncer’s name was Brunt, and the name ?t him. He leaned forward. His shirt was too small and his was head too big.”
“Looking for Jolene Skunker or her boyfriend, Turdknocker or something like that,” said Gus. “This is my ?rst stop. You seen them?”
“Turdknocker?” said Brunt. “It’s Jerry Truberry. Wouldn’t call him Turdknocker. Not to his face. Maybe not behind his back, either.”
“You seen them or not?” said Gus. “Or maybe I call him Turdknocker into that lousy singer’s microphone. Give you credit for the nickname.”
“You might check the place up next to the bridge. Jimmy’s joint is always crawling with guys like Trueberry. You remember Jimmy, right?” said Brunt. He smiled.
“Yeah, I remember him,” said Gus. His eyes tightened.
“Figured you did. Hard to forget your old man, ain’t it? Especially when he’s such a ?ne example. Your brother’s there too.”
“So he knows where Jolene and Turdbumper are?” asked Gus. His words fell from the rim of his anger.
“If anybody does, he does,” said the bouncer. The band was playing so loud the bouncer had to yell. The song was more screaming than tune.
“If he tells me he doesn’t know, I’m coming back,” said Gus. “I don’t want to drive all the way over there just to come back here.”
“I don’t really care what you want, Gus,” he said. “I don’t like cops from Alabama.”
“Understandable,” said Gus. “They don’t like you either.”
Gus drove to his father’s bar. The setting sun cast the bridge’s shadow across the building. Gus took a deep breath and went in.
“Penny, is Jimmy here,” he asked the woman at the bar. She was leathery, in her late forties and nursed a ginger ale. Gus had known her most of his life.
“No but your brother is,” she said. “He’s in the back shucking oysters.
“Been a long time, Gus.” She said. “How you doing?”
“On the job, like always. You okay?” he asked.
“Same. On the job, like always. I work at the docks during the day. Had to take a second job. Times are tough.” she said.
Gus nodded and walked to the back and found his brother, Ab Gantt, smoking and shucking oysters on a metal table.”
“I thought you quit,” said Gus.
“Shucking? No. Still shucking .The pearly husks call to me in the night.” said Ab. “Shuck me. Shuck me.”
“Smoking.” said Gus.
“I started again,” said Ab. “You on the job or is this a family reunion?”
“He here?” asked Gus.
“Be back soon. Went to get more O’s,” said Ab. “He’ll be surprised to see you. What is it? Five years?”
“Four,” said Gus. “Looking for Jolene Skunker and her boyfriend. Bouncer up the road said Jimmy would know.”
“You and everybody else,” said Ab. “Jolene is a ghost. Her boyfriend? He’s plenty alive.”
“You saying she’s dead?” asked Gus.
“No, Jolene’s just a beautiful story that nobody can tell,” said Ab. “She may not even be real.”
“That’s poetic, Ab,” said Gus. “But she’s real and so are two dead men up in Alabama. One is Bass Johnson. You know him?”
“Yep,” said Ab.”
“So what do you know?” asked Gus. “I need some help here.”
“You could have just called,” said Ab. “Why come all the way down here to ask questions that one phone call would have answered?”
“So I’m asking. You got any answers?” asked Gus. “I have a $200 limit before I have to go back. I’d like to have something to show for it.”
“Jolene lives with this guy. Name is Trueburry, over near the beach. Penny sees her more than me. We all avoid Trueberry,” said Ab.
He kept shucking oysters mindlessly without looking, just by feel, like Gus cleaning his .45. “I don’t like her or him in here.”
“She does lead trouble around on a leash,” said Gus.”
“That would be Trueberry. Violent, tats up his neck, dangerous tendencies, drugs, for sure, maybe hits, works for Tajo Vega,” said Ab.
“Seems like everybody does,” said Gus.
Jimmy Gantt walked in carrying a box of oysters on ice. He stopped and stared at Gus for a few seconds. “Did your mama die?” he said.
“She’s working on it a bottle at a time,” said Gus. “You okay?”
“Maybe,” said Jimmy. “Why are you here?”
“Working on a murder case up in Alabama Two men. One is Bass Johnson. Jolene Skunker and her boyfriend are involved,” said Gus.
“Trueberry,” said Jimmy. “Bad news right there. Let it alone. You ain’t up for this.”
“No choice. It’s my job,” said Gus. He picked up and oyster and rubbed the roughness. It stirred a childhood memory. He laid it down.
“Gus, I ain’t exactly been father of the year, but maybe you should leave these people alone,” said Jimmy. “Let Briggs handle it.”
“I’m going to ?nish it. Haven’t had much luck lately, Pop. I need a win,” said Gus. “”I’ll be ?ne. I’ve dealt with tougher.”
“Really?” said Jimmy.
“Jimmy didn’t look up. He knew what his past was. Ab knew it too. Jimmy picked up a knife and started shucking. Gus looked at the ?oor.
“Nobody wins this game, Gus. Not even the winners,” said Ab. “Want some oysters, a beer maybe?” He wanted to change the subject.
“You need to lighten up, son. Have a beer,” said Jimmy. ”Briggs knows these types. Let him do it.”
“No Pops. It’s mine to ?nish. Got a schedule “Briggs gave it to me.” said Gus. “If you see these two, call me.”
“Gus knew where Ab meant when he said, “Over near the beach.” It was Tajo’s place.”
Gus drove along Highway 98. Shards of concrete condos pushed up out of the sugar-white sand and gouged the darkening orange sky.
The Gulf was once visible along this road. Now resorts stood like tombstones against ocassional hurricanes, hiding the aqua surf.
He pulled up in front of the house and a guard walked to his car and stood next to the back window like a cop.
Gus eased into the evening humidity and smiled at the guy. The man showed no expression. A Glock was holstered on his belt.
“Long way from your stomping grounds, aren’t you?” said the man. “Bass isn’t here. But you know that, don’t you?”
Jules Aiken was 6’5” and 270 lbs. He wore a sports coat even in the heat. He was sweating. Gus never liked the man. It was mutual.
“Tajo around?” asked Gus. He refused to look at Jules. He watched a woman in a bikini walk around the house to the pool.
“Who?” asked Jules. “Don’t know that name. Maybe check down the road at one of the condos.”
“Jules had been with Tajo for years. He was the gate man, loyal and dangerous, but not a scholar. He was an ex-con like everyone else.
“Jolene here?” asked Gus. He cracked his back and looked up at the pink house behind the wall and tall shrubs. A tiny man watered the grass.
“Joker? No. She wore out her welcome. So did her friend, the redneck,” said the man. “Check up your way? I hear they took a little trip.”
“How about another man. Maybe he was on that trip too – dark complexion, gut shot, riding with Bass,” said Gus. “You know the one?”
“Gus, I’m trying to be nice here. Cooperate. You wanted info, I gave it to you. You want more, I can arrange it,” said Jules.
“Jules, Jules. I can call you Jules, right?” said Gus. “Listen pal, I got bodies stacking up like cordwood. If I can talk to Tajo –”
“I’d like to accommodate you but he’s out right now. Busy man. You know how it is. Got a business to run, payroll to make.”
“What business would that be?” asked Gus. “Killing pimps and selling drugs to kids and harboring hookers and redneck boyfriends?”
“Okay, time to go. You have no juris here. I’m done. I’ll let Tajo know you asked about him. Give him your best, all that,” said Jules.
“So you don’t know anything about the $900,000 in the woods up near us?” Said Gus. “Big leather bag near the pond where we found Bass.”
“Jules studied Gus’ face to see if he was lying. He wiped sweat from his neck. “I don’t know anything about that,” said Jules.
Gus saw he’d hit a soft spot somewhere in the little reptilian part of Jules’ brain. He push harder. The sun dipped behind a palm.
“We dusted it. Bass and his dead buddy’s ?ngerprints are on it. Jolene’s were too. And another set we don’t know. Maybe the redneck?”
Gus was making it up as he went along. Jules’ brain cramped around the lie. His eyes seemed to move closer together and his mouth twitched.
“If nobody claims it, I guess we’ll use to improve local schools or roads maybe. Have a big barbecue on Labor Day,” said Gus.
“A car pulled into Tajo’s driveway. The gate opened. It was not Tajo, Jolene or the boyfriend. Gus wrote on the back of a business card. He held the card out for Jules. “I guess we are done here,” said Gus. “This is for Tajo. I think he’ll want to read it.”
“Jules took the card and walked around Gus’ Galaxie 500, examining the paint. “Nice car,” he said. “No scratches or dents. Vintage.”
“Yeah,” said Gus. “Vintage.”
“Jules wiped his thumb along the trunk deck. “See you down the road, of?cer,” he said. He waved the card, then tucked it in his shirt.”
While Gus was talking to Jules in front of Tajo’s house, a ?shing boat was pulling into a private Panama City pier.
“Gus’ cell rang. A woman’s voice he didn’t know said, “A boat in PC is unloading enough H to stone everyone in the panhandle.” Click.”
“Restricted number. He called his of?ce. “I just got a call from a restricted number,” he said. “Something about heroin. Can you trace it?”
“Hey, Gus. If I worked with the DEA, maybe,” said Cllyde Herman, the dispatcher. “I’ll give you Speck. Maybe he can help.”
Speck Reems was the department’s computer guru. “Gus, you want me to trace a restricted call?”
“Yeah,” said Gus.”
“I’ll call the phone company,” said Speck. “Let you know.”
Tajo Vega sat in a Porsche in the parking lot of a golf course. He was waiting for two calls One about the boat. One about Gus.
He got out of the car and walked to the fairway in the dark, talking calmly, then hurriedly. He laughed. It echoed through the trees.”
On the dock in Panama City, 6 men unloaded 530 kilos of heroin wedged inside the walls of a ?shing boat.
$31,800,000 worth of heroin was packed inside couch cushions and reloaded into four 18-wheelers.
The night air was buggy. Gus drove to a bar “Gulf brine mixed with the aroma of hamburgers on a grill. His mother called.
She left a message. He ordered a cheeseburger and fries with a Coke at the counter, then called the Panama City Police Department.
He asked for Frank Lowe, a detective he knew. Frank was not in. He described the heroin call. Another detective took the information.
Speck beeped in.
“Got a trace on your restricted number. It’s here. 334 area code. Skunker’s number.”
“Jolene?” asked Gus.
“No. Her old man,” said Speck. “How bout that? You down there and she’s right here.”
“Gus paid the tab and pulled onto the highway, then took a short-cut road toward Panama City.”
He broke his rule and ate in the Galaxie – carefully. He called Briggs on his speed dial Brigg’s answered.
The ?rst bullet hit his roof liner. Another tore through the front seat next to him. The third dinged off the metal dash above the radio.
The fourth bullet completely shattered his back window and a fourth blew his rearview mirror across the highway. He saw no car behind him.
He slammed on brakes and spun the massive Ford. Cheeseburger and fries splattered across the interior. Coke soaked his face. His cell bounced in the floor.
is cell
A motorcycle with its lights off gored into the rear door and revved deep into the passenger compartment.
The front tire hit the back of Gus’ seat, bouncing him off the steering wheel. The cycle was wedged into the Galaxie. Its engine screamed.
Gus pulled at his .45, but the steering of the old car was too tough. He accelerated hard. The car whipped up oyster shells beside the road.
The rider was hanging onto the doorpost. Gus shoved the brake again and the man lost his grip and rolled past the car into the road ahead.
Slowing the Galaxie, Gus focused on the ?opping rider in his headlights. Legs bent at odd angles. An arm arched awkwardly behind him.
The man was breaking like wood across the asphalt. Metal raked sparks. Gus pulled over. His engine idled. The man skidded to a stop.
Gus found his cell. He limped away from the car. Smoke drifted into the scrub beside a drainage ditch. The road was a crimson smear.
Gus reached for the door handle. An 18 wheeler loaded with couch pillows blew past. The man in the road was gone in a blur of red lights.
The Galaxie ached in a tangle of twisted Detroit steel and broken glass. The protruding cycle roared, its rear wheel still burning rubber.
Gus pulled his .45 and shot three times into the cycle to kill the engine. It ground down in and thudded to a steamy hiss.
“Instead of calling 911, Gus called Jimmy. Ab answered. “I need a ride. Somebody just tried to kill me,” said Gus.”
“You okay?” said Ab.
Gus sat down beside a putrid, ?attened sail cat next to the road. “Galaxie is totaled. Guy is vaporized,” he said. “Hit by a truck.”
“They just shot the place up, here. We got bodies all over. Pop is good. Penny is dead,” said Ab.
“Penny?” said Gus. “They shot Penny?” His stomach felt like he had swallowed roo?ng nails.
“Yep. And about ten more,” said Ab. ”It’s a mess and a half.”
“Come get me,” said Gus. Ab could hear Jimmy’s past in Gus’ voice. He didn’t like the sound.
Lightning bugs hovered above the ground Jolene Skunker had always been fascinated by the bugs. She caught one and cupped it in her hands.
Her red ?ngernail polish brightened with each glow. She held the insect to her face and thought about the light. She had so little.
Her life had been darkness. From the day in 6th grade when two high school boys held her down to this lightning bug, she had been afraid.
Jerry Trueberry was not much better than other boys she had known. He considered her property. She loved and hated him. That’s how abuse works.
Vodka eased it until 9th grade, when weed and bourbon dulled the pain and guilt and nightmares. She was cursed with beauty, however.
Girls in high school hated her. Boys loved her It was a volatile mix of emotions. She tilted off balance. Soon she started shoplifting.
Small things tucked into a pocket turned to clothes and electronics. Her friends got shadier and then she robbed The Spiller’s store.
She was with Josh and Mikey. She distracted old man Spiller while they ran with beer. Spiller never knew what happened.
She robbed 12 stores before she spent a night in jail. Not enough evidence. She was lucky that way. People around her did hard time.
Jolene started calling herself Joker as a joke. After a while she despised the name she had created.
Her father tried to be strict 15 years too late. She was on a bad road by the time his parenting skills kicked in. Her mother’s never did.
A series on men threaded her life, older men, men who should have known better – 30 year-old men who should have gone to jail.
Jolene got prettier and prettier. By her senior year in high school, she was stripping in Florida. She had money. She bought a car.
Bass Johnson found her in a strip joint. He told Tajo Vega. He came to see. Her life turned both amazing and horrible all at once.
Bass gave her money and drugs and asked for nothing until a Friday night when Tajo was lonely. Bass took her to the mansion.
She felt like the homecoming queen she could never be. Tajo treated her like a woman. Then he treated her worse. Then he invited friends.
Bass kept her in cash and sent her to conventions and parties. She knew almost every hotel on the Gulf Coast with her eyes closed. She kept them closed, mostly.
She could not watch her own life anymore. Booze and drugs didn’t help. She tried heroin. Then Bass killed a john in Pensacola. She watched.
The man was an insurance agent, or so he said. Customers never told the truth about their lives. Jolene had no truth in her life anyway.
It went on and on, cops and jails, heroin and hotel ceilings and numbness from Vicodin. Through it all, however, Jolene stayed beautiful.
She knelt in the bermuda grass of her father’s back yard holding the ?re?y to her face. She felt like a child for a few moments. It was an alien feeling.
Trueberry pulled under the Chinaberry tree. The lights from the car turned the lightning bugs invisible. He yelled for her to come on.
““Just a minute, hon. I have to call Julie,” she said. She went in the house and used her father’s phone.
There was no Julie, but it didn’t keep Jolene from calling her every night. Julie was her only friend.
On the dark highway, Six police cars, four ?re trucks, two ambulances and the coroner gathered at the scene. Gus showed his badge three times.
He refused ambulance care, was treated on the scene and gave his statement twice. Being across the state line didn’t earn him points.
“Mr. Gantt, you leave your jurisdiction, out of state, come here, cause more trouble than the criminals you’re chasing,” said Detective Yaw.
“I talked to my father, brother and a jackass at Tajo’s place. Then a guy rams a motorcycle up my ass on the highway,” said Gus. ”Sorry.”
“You should have let us know you were investigating down here. Professional courtesy. Is that a word y’all use up in Alabama?” said Yaw.
“You were up in my area a couple of days ago. Bass Johnson, a local businessman from here had a little trouble,” said Gus. “Did you call?”
“Bass Johnson is a dead pimp,” said Yaw. “Not a local businessman.”
“Really. Was it the bullet in his head or the missing arm that clued you boys in?” said Gus. “You just showed up in a cruiser.”
Yaw didn’t respond.
“Professional courtesy goes both ways,” said Gus. “Am I supposed to be happy about this? My Galaxie is totaled. Do your job.”
“Do my job?” said Yaw.
“If you did, I wouldn’t have to. You got a crime syndicate operating out of your ?nest neighborhood and a boatload of heroin off a boat.”
Gus held ice to his re-injured head. The steering wheel had hit him right where the alligator slapped him.
“We’re both cops. Let’s start over. Tell me about the heroin?” said Yaw. “Where?”
“Call the PC detectives. I got a restricted call about it. From Jolene Skunker’s parent’s house,” said Gus. “”May have been Jolene who called.”
Yaw called the Panama City police about the boat. They had no intel.
“You got a guy who parks a cycle in my back door and gets blended by a hit and run truck,” said Gus. “I’ll trade my armless pimp for this.”
“You ID that other John Doe up there yet?” asked Yaw. “Cause I may be able to help you there. The dark guy, as y’all say.”
“Now we’re playing on the same team? said Gus. “I like that better. I watch ESPN Amazing what a team can do when they play together.”
Yaw ignored Gus’ anger. “Your John Doe is Raul Human,” said Yaw “Pronounced Whooo-man.”
“Works for Tajo?” asked Gus.
“No. He’s a cop. From New Orleans,” said Yaw.
“A cop? It just gets better and better,” said Gus.
“Briggs called. “It’s my boss,” said Gus. “You mind?”
“Go ahead. Be in my of?ce in the morning and we’ll paper this up,” said Yaw.
Gus nodded and took the call. Ab drove up to get Gus. Briggs was pissed.
Trueberry drove through Crestview slowly so as not to attract undue attention from the locals.
Then he attracted it buy robbing a convenience store.
“Jolene kept the car in drive with her foot on the brake. He jumped in. She gunned it, leaving marks in the parking lot.
“Got $232 and some smokes. That’s all he had,” said Trueberry. “Don’t go too fast. A cop sits up here under I-10.”
Jolene drove fast anyway. She had done this before. “We better hit another place on the way down. We need at least $500,” she said.
Trueberry didn’t say anything. Just looked out the window into the rural darkness. They passed a large church.
“Shame it ain’t Sunday,” he said. “Bet we could get two grand out of the offering.”
“Robbing Peter to pay Paul,” she said. “I heard that on TV.”
“Peter and Paul,” he said. He lit a cigarette. “I’d rob them both.”
“Tajo paced the patio of his mansion. “This is a screwup he said to Jules.” Tajo didn’t like to curse. He was Catholic.
“Blue is dead, hit by our own truck. This yahoo, Gantt, is alive and looking for trouble. And some numb nuts shoots up Jimmy’s place.”
“Jules stood facing Tajo, arms folded behind his back, military style. He attended military school. Habits stick.”
“That would be Jingo,” said Jules. “He wanted to impress you. Wipe out the brother and his old man too.”
“He failed.” Said Tajo. “You know Jimmy? Jimmy Gantt is crazy. He’s old, but crazy don’t go away. It sours.”
“I heard some things about him,” said Jules” “He was a rough cob back in the day.”
“He was a hit man. Contracts. Killed at least 40 people on this side of Vietnam. Probably did a hundred over there. That’s technically a mass murderer, I guess.” said Tajo. “Never got caught.”
“We’ll watch him,” said Jules. “That was then. This is now.”
“I’m not afraid of him, but my father was,” said Tajo. “Old school inconvenience.” He looked at his watch. “Get me Jingo.”
Tajo squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Better yet, put him in a bait box. Small pieces.”
Briggs put Gus on paid leave. He was too hot to talk about it. Gus understood. Things had turned squirrelly fast.
“Briggs is not too happy,” said Gus. “Can’t say I blame him.”
Ab drove west with Gus. The ?ashing lights got smaller behind them. A possum scrambled across the road. Its naked, ?eshy tail followed.
“Man, I’m sorry about your car. I know you loved that thing,” said Ab. “Just glad you are okay. You are okay, right?”
“Yeah. Just sore. I will get reimbursed for that Galaxie. You and Pop will get paid up for the bar,” Said Gus. “Tajo has deep pockets.”
“Tajo is hard to get to,” said Ab. “Big cushion around that boy. They’re armed like Afghan rebels.”
“He’s got $31 million or so in heroin on the street here. He’ll be shipping that out as soon as he can. North probably,” said Gus.”
Gus felt a warm surge pour through him. It was a genetic anger passed down through Jimmy Gantt’s blood. “To get that H north, he’s got to go through Alabama.”
“Briggs just cut you loose,” said Ab.”
“I still have a badge. I’m still on the payroll. Briggs will talk to me tomorrow. He does this about three times a year.”
Lightning ?ashed to the north, somewhere over south Alabama. The smell of rain and ion rushed down. A storm was on the way.
““Smell that? Soybeans. All the way from LA,” said Gus.”
““Lower Alabama,” said Ab. “Home cooking.”
“And alligators,” said Gus. He rubbed his head again. “One knocked the hell out of me in Blue Lake. Had to shoot him.”
“You really do live an interesting life,” said Gus. “I shuck oysters all day.” Ab wasn’t telling Gus everything.
“Sorry about the bar. I’ve known Penny a long time. That chews at me. Pop’s not going to let this go,” said Gus.
“No. I’d say he’s going to have a ?ashback. I’m not sure he can handle it anymore,” said Ab. “This is close, not business.”
““Not sure I can handle it anymore, either. Going to be hard to uphold the law the way I feel,” said Gus. “The press will be all over Pop. TV, newspaper, bloggers.”
“Already are,” said Ab. “TV trucks were at the bar when I left. Reporters talked to Pop.” Last thing he wants is his face on TV.”
“Mama call you?” asked Gus.”
“Yeah, She was in the bag. Said you didn’t answer. Could hardly understand her. She was upset about what she saw on the news,” said Ab.
“I started this mess. I should have just let the investigation slide. Nobody cared two shits about this. Should have just let it die.”
“You ?nd out who the dark man was?” asked Ab.
“He was a cop from New Orleans. Odd name, Raul Human. Pronounced Whoo-man. Should have let NOPD and the guys here worry about it,” said Gus. “I’m giving these guys crap and they have it together better than me.”
“Got too much of Pop in you to let things go easily,” said Ab. “Pop said one day you’d step in a pile.”
“Smeared it across two states,” said Gus. “Hell of a stink. You don’t have to be involved, Ab. You know that. I hurt you and Pop enough.”
Ab said nothing for at least a minute. He turned to Gus and saw his own face in the rearview mirror. “Pop hurt us both enough.”
Gus stared at the passing parking lots and building painted pastel colors. Tourists drank in funky-named bars. It started to rain.
The streets shined in colors and the trees bent to the south. It all seemed so normal. Gus feared normal.
Up ahead middle-aged couples huddled under the awning of a bar and grill. All the men wore Hawaiian shirts like a Boomer uniform.
“Want a beer?” asked Ab. “We need to talk.”
“It’s on me. I still have some expense account money,” said Gus.
“I think you just spent it all back there,” said Ab. “I’m buying.”
Rain beat the windshield in front of Jolene and Trueberry. The window was cracked to let the smoke out. Water splattered the inside.
“I should have done my nails,” said Jolene. “And picked up a book. A paperback. I love romance novel, and crime ?ction. Some history too.”
“You just did your nails,” said Trueberry. “I hate reading. Always have. They made us read Moby Dick and stuff in high school. I hated that teacher too.”
“You went to high school?” said Jolene. She laughed. “Did you graduate?”
“I ain’t stupid, Jolene. Just mean,” he said. “You like school?”
“I liked the school part. I hated the girls Bitches. Every one of them. I’d like to visit each one now and wave that 9 mm around.”
Jolene’s eyes teared up. Her cheeks reddened. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Total bitches.”
“He pulled the 9 mm out of his belt and held it up, grip forward toward her. “Want to go back and visit some of them?” He grinned.
“Screw them. I never want to see them again. It’s not worth my time to watch them piss their pants,” she said. “They’re in college anyway.”
“Your old man ever mess with you?” he said, not looking at her. It was a question he had wanted to ask a hundred times.
“What do you mean by that?” she said.
“You know,” he said, slipping the gun back in his belt. “You got to admit he seems a little weird.”
She jammed both feet into the brake pedal as hard as she could. Almost stood up on it. The car shimmied and skidded and caromed to a stop.
Trueberry lurched forward. The seatbelt sunk into the muscles in his chest and abdomen. He braced against the dash with both hands.
Rivulets of rain slung through the window “What the hell are you doing, Jolene?” he yelled.”
“My father was the best man in my life. Is the best man. He is decent and good, unlike you and all those other bastards.” She gritted her teeth.
“My mama’s nuts. Something went wrong with her mind when she went through the change. But she was crazy before,” she said”. “Ugly crazy.” He eyes glazed with hatred.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Calm the hell down” “Relax, baby. Just asking.”
She had his 9 mm out of his pants before he could say a word. She held it tight to his cheek. He froze. She circled it around his ear.
“You want to ask me that again? she said. She leaned back and pressed the barrel into his jaw, straightening her arm. He felt the roundness.”
“The safety’s on,” he said calmly. “You want to kill a man, you better take off the safety.”
She hit the button, rolling down his window and ?red a round past his face. Powder burned his eyes. His ears rang. Cordite hung in the air.
The bullet exploded into the inky rain outside. Lightning and thunder rolled above them. The shot seemed like part of the weather.
“I took it off when I pulled it,” she said. “You think because I’m pretty I’m stupid. I read. I watch. I listen. I learn.”
Silence.
“This ain’t the ?rst time I’ve ?red a 9 mm,” she said. “”I know what it feels like. The rip and crunch. You know it too.”
“If I got to die, I want you to do it,” he said. “Killed by an angel. I can deal with that 100%. Go ahead. Slop my brains out in the rain.”
“My father is my best friend next to Julie,” she said. “And Julie knows me head to heel. Don’t say things like that anymore.”
“I bet your daddy don’t know you like this,” he said. ”Such a good man and all, how’s he feel about what you do? His little criminal?”
“He hates it. But he loves me,” she said pulling the gun down and clicking the safety “Think about what just happened. Think hard, Jerry.”
“He took the 9 mm and scratched his chin with it. “I could kill you right now,” he said. “What do you think about that?”
“You think I care? I’m already dead. This ain’t going anywhere good and I know it. You think you can win? You think you’re a badass?”
He tucked the gun back in. The car was soaked. Her beautiful viciousness clung to him. He de?ated. “I know what I am,” he said.”
“You are just the next guy,” she said. “The next statistic. A 110 pound girl just took your gun and stuck it in your ear.”
Jolene took a deep breath and Trueberry let his out. It was a bond of violence between them. Violence was all they had in common.
“You’re alive because I got some of my daddy running through my veins,” she said.
Her face was illuminated green by the instruments. “My mama’s the part of me that almost just blew your head off.”
