Holding Smoke Read online

  Ramey’s eyes jumped to Benji. The fight was turning ugly. Not with bruises and blood, but with cheap shots notched down to the bone. Too many banshees from the past and pledges for the future were foaming the waters between them. The horse and the heist hadn’t been spoken of for a while.

  Benji, leaning heavily on his cane, was shaking his head wearily. He’d done his share of hollering when the fight started, but it’d soon become clear that while Levi and Judah had no problem batting Benji’s loyalty around like a shuttlecock across a net, he wasn’t really being invited to play.

  “Come on, guys. Can we just stop with that already? I’m sick to death of y’all talking over me like I ain’t even here.”

  In the last of the pewter light, Benji’s eyes caught Ramey’s. He’d been the only one of them who had even glanced her way since the three men had corralled themselves in the middle of the yard and she’d slunk behind them to watch from the hood of her car. Ramey thought maybe he recognized too much of himself in her just then. A lesser degree of Cannon. Wanted, but only when needed. Ramey stared back at him, unblinking, and Benji quickly dipped his head. He lurched around on his cane to face Levi, farthest away from them all, standing with his back to his parked truck, arms crossed over his thick, barrel chest, the tendons in his neck popping, his brow dangerously low.

  “I mean, this is stupid. We going to hash out our whole damn childhood while we’re standing out here? If so, let me know so I can make some popcorn and pull up a chair.”

  Levi sneered.

  “Why don’t you just go on in the house then and find yourself the recliner? Must be hard, standing up on that busted leg.”

  Ramey’s eyes slipped back to Judah; she couldn’t bear the look on Benji’s face. Fortunately, Judah finally brought the conversation back around to where it had started.

  “So, were you going to tell me or not? About the horse? And the half-million dollars?”

  Benji sputtered. He’d been late to the confrontation, pulling up after Judah had already bounded down the porch steps to face off with Levi.

  “Half-million dollars? Wait, wait, what? What’re we talking about here?”

  Judah kept his eyes on Levi.

  “That’s right. That’s how much they were going to ransom the stolen horse for. Elrod and Levi. Without us. That money could save all our asses. Settle this shit with Sukey and her kin. Get the Cannons back on track.”

  Levi’s face creased into a scowl.

  “How you even know about this? Elrod come flapping his jaw to you?”

  Judah shook his head.

  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is why I had to find out from somebody else. What, were you just going to keep all that money for yourself?”

  Levi grunted and took a menacing step forward. He’d evaded this question at least three times already and Ramey didn’t think he was about to answer it now. She wished Judah would move on. Levi hadn’t been planning on telling them. He was a two-faced bastard. What did it matter why?

  “I didn’t think it was any of your business. Not everything is. You need to get that into your thick head, son.”

  Judah stepped forward to match him.

  “I ain’t your son.”

  “No, you’re just my whiney little brother who put on the big man’s britches. Running around, playing at being Daddy to us. Sherwood earned his place. You just stepped in it and it somehow stuck to you like dog shit on your shoe. You need to remember you ain’t the only Cannon ’round here.”

  Ramey, eyes still on Judah, slipped her head down to rest her cheek on her knee. They were back to this. It was never going to end. She almost wished one of them would start swinging just so they’d stop talking.

  “No, I’m just the only Cannon who gives a damn about the rest.”

  “You think so? And what’re you going to do about it, huh?”

  They squared off, facing one another, and then Judah said the words Ramey had been dreading all night.

  “Steal the damn horse.”

  Ramey felt held underwater, as if alone in a diving bell, with everyone on the outside of the shell fighting around her, her screams only echoing back. Judah knew what she thought, knew what she felt, she had made herself heard earlier when she’d first told him about Shelia’s visit. Ramey had agonized over the decision, worried it would make Judah snap, push him past the point of no return. She wished now, for her own sake, that she’d kept the heist information to herself. Let it ride on past, Levi be damned. Instead, she’d reluctantly given Judah all the details when he’d come home from Benji’s, but had also made her feelings about it known. She’d said her piece, made it clear they needed to get as far away from the ridiculous heist, and Levi, as possible. So, it wasn’t that Judah wasn’t aware of where she stood. He had just decided to stand someplace else.

  Deep furrows tracked across Levi’s broad forehead.

  “What?”

  “I want in.”

  Levi blinked in surprise.

  “You want in? You been bitching at me this whole time—”

  “Because you didn’t tell me. Weren’t going to tell me. And I ain’t letting that one go, neither. But if this opportunity is real, then we’re going to take it.”

  Judah’s gaze flickered to Ramey. She immediately lifted her head, but didn’t bother to shake it. It was all in her eyes, everything she wanted to say, everything she already had. And if he dared to look close enough, everything she ever would. It was all there. She widened her eyes, stilled the trembling of her bottom lip, felt a quailing that wasn’t so much an acknowledgment of defeat as a resolution. She had only so much to give. She had only so much.

  His glance skimmed past her and landed on Benji, nodding enthusiastically, before it returned to Levi, more suspicious now than confused.

  “You serious? You can’t go backing out once you sign on. Can’t turn tail or get cold feet. Can’t let somebody change your mind.”

  Levi’s eyes were on Ramey, but Judah’s eyes were on Levi.

  “I’m serious.”

  Judah turned on his heel and headed for the house. With his back to Ramey, she couldn’t see the expression on his face, but he threw one hand up in the air as he spoke over his shoulder.

  “Call your friends, Levi. Tell them I want to meet. If they want the Cannons, they’ve got us. All of us.”

  Ramey put her forehead on her knees and felt the knock of the gods. It was done.

  *

  Felton stood outside the Last Steps of Deliverance Church of God and listened.

  “And then God said, yes he did, he said, I will even appoint over you terror, consumption, and the burning ague, that shall consume the eyes, and cause sorrow of heart!”

  Felton could see no more than vague, backlit shapes through the frosted glass of the closed front doors, but Sister Tulah’s voice reached him loud and clear. It soared through the congregation, through the shiny new wood and the expensive new glass and pierced him in the chest like a spear finding its mark. The verse was from the Book of Leviticus. His aunt’s favorite, after Deuteronomy. Her words, her perverted interpretation of the Lord’s glory, meant nothing to him now. The bark of her caustic voice was familiar, but the bite was missing. For him, at any rate. Felton’s eyes suddenly went wide and his mouth slack as the veil lifted and the realization washed over him—she no longer had any power over him. He no longer belonged to her.

  Behind him, Tyler kicked the bumper of the van, parked halfway up on the sidewalk as every space in the parking lot was taken. He wouldn’t look toward the church.

  “Um, you sure about this? Maybe we should come back later. You know, when there’s not a meeting or a service or whatever going on.”

  Felton tore his eyes away from the glass and looked over his shoulder. Tyler was repeatedly kicking at the rusty chrome with one of his unlaced Vans. Dustin was hanging back, too, with his hands in the pockets of his olive military-style jacket and a scowl on his
face.

  “Why’re they even having church right now? It’s got to be, what, nine o’clock at night?”

  Tyler stopped kicking the van long enough to push a wave of greasy hair out of his eyes.

  “Dude. He told us on the drive down. These are, like, crazy church people. Wackos. They take what it says in the Bible like it really happened. Every word. And they dance and speak all wild and shit. Like in The Exorcist. Or that one movie, with that one chick. You know?”

  Felton frowned slightly. He had indeed tried to explain some of the tenants of the Last Steps church to Juniper and the boys as they wound their way down south, first along Highway 23 and then the long, unfurling ribbon of 301, but it had been difficult. He remembered using the words “saints,” not “wackos,” and “charismatic,” not “crazy.” Felton had haltingly sketched out some of their beliefs, told them about faith healing and angels and the descending Holy Ghost. He was sure that he hadn’t mentioned Tulah’s rites for exorcising demons, so he didn’t know where Tyler was getting that from. But then, Felton had seen only two films in his life, Gone with the Wind and The Ten Commandments, so what did he know?

  Dustin shook his head and tugged on one of his dreadlocks.

  “I don’t know, man. My grandma took me to church every Sunday up until I was twelve years old and there was singing and carrying on, but there wasn’t nothing like what I’m hearing coming from behind those doors right now. That shit ain’t right.”

  Felton turned back around to face the church, but he still caught Tyler’s whisper.

  “You think that lady screeching is his aunt? The one he came to see?”

  “I think so. He said she was the preacher.”

  “Man. I wouldn’t be him for a million bucks right now. I can’t imagine being related to that harpy.”

  Faint amusement brushed over Felton’s lips. They had no idea. He felt a hand on his arm and looked over at Juniper. She had come around the van to stand beside him. Her eyes were enormous but unafraid as she stared at the shadow puppets behind the glass.

  “It’s not going to end anytime soon, is it?”

  Felton shook his head.

  “No. Not for a few hours. It sounds like she’s just getting started.”

  His head tilted slightly as he listened.

  “…and cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you. Abhor! Now, brothers and sisters, do you know what abhor means? Do you understand what God is saying to you? If you do, you should be down on your knees…”

  Juniper rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

  “Well, if it needs to be now, then it’s now.”

  She squeezed his shoulder and dropped her hand to her side.

  “Are you scared?”

  Sister Tulah’s mesmerizing eye flashed before him. Her eye, and the snarl of her mouth. The iniquity of her very being. Felton whispered.

  “No.”

  “Do you want us to go in with you? We will.”

  From behind them, Dustin called out.

  “Speak for yourself, Juni.”

  Juniper raised her hand and swatted back at Dustin like he was a fly.

  “I’m serious. We’ll go in with you.”

  Felton smiled down at her. Even as Sister Tulah’s voice continued to crescendo, accompanied by the “Amen!”s and “Yes, Lord!”s and “Hallelujah!”s of her followers, a strange, halcyon calm settled across Felton’s shoulders like a warm mantel. There was no pallid Snake writhing before him, no lines hissed from the Book of Isaiah, no sensation of fire running up his spine, no singing in his veins. He had nothing guiding him at all, yet he felt awash in peace. He would open the doors, he would stand before Sister Tulah, he would receive his judgment, he would understand why he had been called back. For a moment, Felton was as light as a feather, as bright as a butterfly’s clipped wing. He shook his head, still smiling.

  “No. Just me.”

  Felton rested his hand lightly on the scrolled handle, paused, and then gripped it firmly before swinging the door open.

  “I won’t be long.”

  He stepped inside the small entryway—a new addition, he noted—and passed through a second set of open doors to stand at the back of the church. Everyone was on their feet, a few men swaying, a few women with their hands in the air, but for the most part, the congregation stood stock-still, riveted by Sister Tulah. Felton watched his aunt range across the low stage like a lion hunting its prey, going in for the kill, and had the peculiar sensation that he was seeing her with new eyes, as if his own before had been plucked out and left behind in the swamp. Felton crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Sister Tulah to notice him. It didn’t take long.

  “And then the Lord says—”

  As soon as her gaze fell upon him, Sister Tulah’s mouth snapped shut like a trap. Felton waited for the fear to circle around him and squeeze, but he never felt its adamantine grip. He had not been lying to Juniper; he was not afraid. Felton lifted his chin, just slightly, and stared down the Gorgon who was doing her damnedest to master him. Their eyes stayed locked as the heads of the congregation hesitantly began to turn. When Sister Tulah finally found her voice, it was resolute, shot through with acrimony and abhorrence.

  “The Lord says, And I will break the pride of your power; and I will make your heaven as iron, and your earth as brass. Brother Felton.”

  Tulah stepped to the edge of the stage and clasped her hands in front of her.

  “You have come back to us. Back to the church. How astonishing.”

  Her voice was dripping venom like honey, but it had lost its sting for him. Felton bowed his head. There was still no Snake, no lights opalescent in the sky, only the sonorous knelling of a bell, far away, somewhere in the back of his skull. More and more heads swiveled and gasps escaped lips and soon Sister Tulah’s entire congregation was ogling him, some with suspicion, some with pity, but most with an open-faced awe. The low susurration of his name rippled across the room. Felton swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  More whispers reached his ears. “Miracle” and “Blessed” and “Sign.” The carillon chiming in his head grew louder and louder, crashing against the murmurs swirling around him. The one sound overtook the others and Felton snapped his head up, filled with a golden silence. Felton spoke as if for the first time, in a voice that was finally his own, in absolution.

  “I have returned.”

  8

  Dinah had imagined Judah Cannon rolling up as if fronting a posse of some kind, and, for the most part, she wasn’t disappointed. She stood up from the battered poker table as a Cutlass ground to a billowing, dusty stop in front of the open bay doors of Cannon Salvage. Judah, a man she had so far seen only from a distance—across the street or on the opposite side of a parking lot—stepped out of the passenger’s side and singled her out with a decisive glint in his storm cloud eyes. As he sauntered toward her through the staggering noon sunlight, the rest of his crew circled around the car and followed. Of course, it wasn’t exactly as if they’d just walked out of a music video. Benji, the kid brother she’d so far only heard about, was limping slightly, jabbing at the uneven gravel with an aluminum cane. Shelia was just a few steps paces behind, her eyes heavy with unblotted mascara, mouth in a knot, her shimmering violet nails picking at the fringe swinging down across the front of her suede halter top. She was obviously worried that Dinah either knew, or would find out, that she had eavesdropped on the conversation in the laundry room and then told the Cannons. Dinah wondered which one of them Shelia had run to. Her eyes were tracking Benji, but maybe she’d gone straight to the top and told Judah himself. She enjoyed watching Shelia squirm, especially after she’d so fully played into Dinah’s hand.

  Or maybe Shelia had confided in the enigma among them. Ramey. There was certainly nothing disappointing about her. She’d caught up to Judah and the two entered the garage side-by-side, just as Dinah would have expected. Of course,
she’d already spent her brief time in Silas asking around, and there was no doubt that Judah Cannon and Ramey Barrow had risen to the ranks of a storied couple. Just from the way they moved together, both with shoulders back, her long hair caught in the breeze, his chiseled face stoic and careworn, Dinah could understand why. She’d heard all about how they’d grown up together, children of notorious families, star-crossed—according to some of the local biddies, at least—though it’d taken the pair until just recently to see the light and fall into each other’s arms. Recently, as Dinah understood it, meant Judah getting out of prison back in May.

  Ramey’s eyes had a wicked luster to them, though, and from the way her jaw was sawing back and forth, it was clear she wanted nothing to do with the meeting. Dinah knew she could handle the others, but Ramey might be trouble. She made a point to focus only on Judah, now standing in the center of the garage. He glanced briefly at Elrod and Levi, hanging back by one of the lifts, before nodding curtly to her. She volleyed a guarded smile back.

  “Judah Cannon.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “And Dinah…?”

  “Moore.”

  There was no reaction on Judah’s face, though Dinah suspected he’d been hoping to hear a name he recognized. The scowl on Ramey’s face was slicing deeper by the second as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. Dinah knew she needed to hurry up and sell Judah before Ramey found a way to change his mind. She stepped back, gesturing to the poker table, and she and Judah sat down while everyone else circled and took up places around them. Dinah scraped the legs of the folding chair back against the concrete floor until she was comfortable and then rested her forearms on the edge of the table. Judah took out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one, but she shook her head. Once they were settled, Dinah couldn’t help herself and she shot Levi a sly grin over Judah’s shoulder.

  “Glad to see Levi finally saw the writing on the wall and brought you on board. You almost missed your chance.”