Lightwood Page 20

  “Judah!”

  His head snapped up as he tried to follow the sound of her voice. Judah stepped out from behind the Bronco with an astonished look on his face. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he slowly looked up to the edge of the quarry.

  “Ramey?”

  She stood up and waved her arm in the air so he could see her. His forehead was creased and his mouth hung wide open. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ramey couldn’t believe what she had done.

  Felton stood in the spacious foyer and looked up the carpeted stairs. His bedroom was up there. With the same twin bed he had slept in all his life and the same brown oval rug and the same single window that looked out over the driveway with a view of the church, the highway and the rangy woods beyond. The window had been nailed shut when he was a child and even as a teenager he had never been able to pry it open. As an adult he hadn’t even bothered to try. There were posters of reptiles ripped from the pages of Ranger Rick magazines he had stolen from the Kentsville Public Library and a mobile he had once made out of hollow tortoise shells hanging above the child’s size desk in the corner. And there was air conditioning. And a bathroom right down the hall. Felton gazed up the flight of stairs and wondered how long he was going to be banished to his camper this time.

  “Are you coming in, Felton?”

  He turned away from the stairs and stepped into the dining room. It was bright outside, but the heavy, velvet curtains had been drawn against the afternoon heat and sunlight. The room was full of darkly lacquered wood and shadows. Felton recognized the ever-present smell of potpourri and Pinesol. A line of Hummel figurines eyed him from the sideboard and several pastel portraits of Jesus stared accusingly at him from all sides of the room. At the end of the long dining room table, that could seat ten, but had only ever hosted three, Sister Tulah sat with hands clasped, mouth puckered and pale eyes shining through the gloom. Felton edged his way around the table and sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair. Only Tulah’s chair at the head of the table was allowed to have any padding.

  Felton rested his hands in his lap and stared down at them. He waited for Tulah to clear her throat and speak.

  “Do you like sleeping out in that tin can camper with all of those disgusting reptiles?”

  Felton didn’t raise his eyes.

  “They’re my friends.”

  Sister Tulah exploded into cruel laughter.

  “Sometimes I can’t even believe we’re kin. I can’t believe we’re of the same flesh and blood.”

  Sister Tulah smacked her thin lips, but Felton said nothing.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing your mother’s dead. Saved Rowena the pain of having to see how unnatural you’ve become.”

  Felton slumped his shoulders and sighed. He had heard it all before.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “And to think how hard your Uncle Walter tried to raise you up like a man before he died. Well, maybe it’s not entirely your fault. Walt wasn’t much of a man himself.”

  Felton sat up straight and looked at Sister Tulah. He kept his face flat and emotionless.

  “What do you want?”

  Tulah narrowed her eyes at him and rubbed her palms together.

  “It’s funny, Felton, hearing you address me like that. Considering the world of trouble and pain you’ve caused me as of late. I’d expect a little more humility from somebody who has made the mistakes you’ve made. From somebody who is ultimately such a pathetic, lazy screw-up.”

  Felton shifted in his seat, but kept his gaze on Tulah. He knew what this was all about, he knew the routine: she wanted something from him, but had to go to lengths to shame him before she could ask. He had a feeling that this was something bigger than the snake, though. Otherwise, why would she have invited him into the house when he was supposed to be banned from stepping foot in it?

  “I can’t believe I’ve even let you back through my front door. Can’t believe I’ve let your sniveling, cowering self sit at the same table as me. It’s a disgrace. Really, just a disgrace.”

  But Felton wasn’t sniveling. It had begun to dawn on him that Tulah wasn’t coming to him this time because it was convenient, but because it was necessary. He had something she not only wanted, but needed. He felt a strange flush creep into his face and he tried to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. Felton quickly looked away from Tulah and kept his eyes cast down as she continued to berate him.

  “To think that I used to hope that one day you would outgrow your weak ways and your peculiar inclinations. To think that I used to believe that one day you could be somebody. To think that I once thought you could have even half a chance of ever beginning to fill my shoes. I must have been delusional the day I ever looked at you as a child and thought I could make something out of you.”

  Felton wasn’t listening. He suddenly jerked his head up and met Sister Tulah’s eyes. They went wide when she realized how he was looking at her. Felton kept his voice steady.

  “What do I get?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What do I get in return for whatever it is you want from me?”

  Sister Tulah glared hard at Felton and did not look away. She seemed to be waiting for him to recant, but he kept his gaze level and his mouth shut tightly. She couldn’t see that underneath the table Felton was squeezing his hands together so hard he was starting to loose circulation in some of his fingers.

  “Fine.”

  Tulah smoothed her hands across the embroidered placemat in front of her. She traced her thick fingers slowly across the knotted pink roses.

  “Today just seems to be the day for everybody else to think they have the upper hand. But that’s okay. You reap what you sow, you know, you reap what you sow.”

  Felton, with his new found sense of importance, was undeterred.

  “What do I get?”

  Sister Tulah bared her teeth in a grotesque grin.

  “Do you want to be allowed back in the house?”

  Felton nodded.

  “Then you better start telling me everything you know about the man who has my money.”

  “ARE YOU shitting me?”

  Jack O’ Lantern ran his hand over his face and then slammed it down on the plastic foldout table. Slim Jim sat opposite him, but kept his composure. His mouth was drawn into a grim line and his eyes were sunken, tired. Whereas Jack’s face was aflame with frustration, Slim Jim’s cheeks sagged and his face had a gray cast to it. He sat still, with his shoulders slumped forward, not defeated, just exhausted.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. We had him, but then they had us.”

  Jack O’ Lantern turned to Toadie, sitting at the corner of the table, blood seeping through the white gauze Legs had pressed against his wounded shoulder. Sweat was beaded across his forehead and upper lip in thick drops and his skin was taking on a waxy sheen. His eyes were still bright with adrenaline, though, and he didn’t seem to notice Legs at his side.

  “How many shooters?”

  Toadie rolled his head toward Jack O’ Lantern and though his eyes were glittering, Jack could tell that they were going in and out of focus. He was looking at a point over Jack’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know, at least two. Had to be at least two. Maybe more. They were high up on the rock wall and we couldn’t see em.”

  Jack’s mouth twisted in disgust.

  “Save it.”

  Toadie winced as Legs lifted the gauze to inspect the wound. He turned his head awkwardly to try and look down at his shoulder. His teeth were chattering and his skin was slick with cold sweat. Jack O’ Lantern turned back to Slim Jim.

  “Which one of the Cannons did you actually have?”

  Slim Jim shook his head.

  “He wouldn’t say his name.”

  Legs looked up from the bloody mess he was trying to hold together.

  “Big beefy dude?”

  “Nah.”

  “Musta been the other brother then. Didn’t your cous
in say the older one was a real bull? Built like a freight truck or something.”

  Slim Jim’s mouth sagged into a frown.

  “We don’t even know if it was the Cannons. The guy wasn’t saying nothin’. I loosened his jaw up for him, but he still kept his clam shut. We were just about to bring him back when the shooting started.”

  Jack O’ Lantern slammed his palm down on the table again. He was shaking and Legs backed away from the table slightly, afraid that Jack was going to toss it. It had happened before. Jack spoke through clenched teeth and glared at Slim Jim.

  “It was the Cannons.”

  His blue eyes were shooting daggers at Slim Jim, but Legs took advantage of the pause. He pulled away the gauze from Toadie’s bloody shoulder to show Jack O’ Lantern.

  “Hey, boss? The bullet’s still in there. We gotta get him to a hospital.”

  Jack’s eyes didn’t leave Slim Jim.

  “Nobody’s going anywhere right now.”

  “I’m telling you, he needs a doctor.”

  Jack O’ Lantern kicked his chair back, the metal legs screeching against the concrete floor. Toadie raised his head sharply at the sound, but only looked off into the distance.

  “And I’m telling you, no hospitals! You want to be the one explaining this in the police report? You’re just gonna have to do what you can here. He ain’t gonna die from a bullet in the shoulder. Now everybody, get out of here and give me some Goddamn room to think!”

  Legs put his arm around Toadie and helped him up. They lurched away toward the couch across the room. Slim Jim stood, but didn’t move away from the table.

  “Jack.”

  Jack O’ Lantern stood up and leaned across the table on his knuckles. His voice was low and dangerous.

  “I don’t want to hear another word. It was the Cannons.”

  Slim Jim nodded and put his hands in his pockets, causing his bony shoulders to arch up.

  “I know. But it’s not about that. Shelia called me while Toadie and I were waiting for that second car.”

  Jack O’ Lantern closed his eyes. Slim Jim could see his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as Jack tried to maintain some form of cool. When he opened his eyes, they were livid and his voice was trembling with anger.

  “I don’t want to hear about that dumb whore either. What’s wrong with you, Jimmy? Don’t tell me you answered the call.”

  “I did.”

  Jack O’ Lantern stood up straight and ran a sweaty hand through his hair.

  “I gotta explain what we’re dealing with right now? I gotta draw you a picture or something?”

  Slim Jim’s face was expressionless.

  “Jack.”

  “We got a family of psycho hillbillies who stole a hundred and fifty thousand dollars right outta our hands and are now taking pot shots at us like they’re hunting squirrels. I got two guys laid up now and I got snakes and fire showing up on my doorstep. I don’t got time for Shelia’s sorry-ass phone calls and I certainly don’t got the time for you to be taking them.”

  “She knows about that Cannon boy. I think she’s starting to feel bad about the whole thing.”

  Jack O’ Lantern laughed.

  “Tell her to take it up with her therapist.”

  Slim Jim’s eyes were wary.

  “You’re not worried about her talking?”

  “So what if she does?”

  Jack O’ Lantern pulled his lighter out of his pocket and flipped it open and closed.

  “I think today proved that the Cannons know what we did to that kid and they know where we are. She can go squawking all she wants to them and it don’t make no difference now.”

  Slim Jim considered this for a moment and then nodded once. He relaxed his shoulders slightly.

  “Fine.”

  “And Jimmy, if she calls you again, you damn well better not answer it. You understand?”

  Slim Jim met Jack’s blazing eyes and then quickly looked away.

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  Jack O’ Lantern flipped the top on his lighter a few more times and then shoved it back in his pocket. He waved his hand at Slim Jim.

  “All right. Now go make sure tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dumber are actually standing at the gate, doing their job. Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on around here?”

  THE OLD man stood in front of Tulah’s desk in the tiny church office. It was getting late, past twilight, but the man had entered the church wearing dark, wraparound sunglasses and he kept them on inside. Two white bars of florescent light were reflected in the black lenses as the man stared straight ahead at the wall just above Sister Tulah’s head. His long sleeved white shirt was immaculately pressed and, though he stood with his narrow shoulders stooped and his thin hands hanging down, clasped low in front of him, he gave off the impression of standing at attention. He licked his thin, chapped lips with the tip of his colorless tongue and waited.

  Sister Tulah finished shuffling through tax forms and stacked them together neatly in a pile to her right. She rested her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned back in her reclining desk chair. She surveyed the space in front of her, to make sure that everything was in the right place and then she finally looked up at the elder.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  There was no response. Tulah picked up a ballpoint pen and tapped it on the pile of papers.

  “Tell me. Are you familiar with the book of Mathew?”

  The old man nodded slowly.

  “Chapter twenty-one? Verse twelve?”

  The man spoke in a voice completely devoid of tone.

  “Then Jesus went into the temple of God and drove out all those who bought and sold in the temple, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves.”

  Sister Tulah waved her hand at him.

  “Continue.”

  “And he said to them, it is written my house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.”

  Only the man’s mouth had moved; his body stood like a statue in the center of the office. Not even the rising and falling of his chest could be noticed. Sister Tulah’s nose wrinkled in a smirk.

  “Correct. It seems that there are so many dens of thievery nowadays, wouldn’t you say? Popping up all over the place like mushrooms after a storm.”

  The man didn’t answer her. Tulah tapped the pen again and then pointed it at the man.

  “Now Deuteronomy. That’s one of my favorites. One of my absolute favorites. All kinds of crazy events occurring within those pages. We can read Deuteronomy and feel that God is really speaking to us, you know? How about it? Do you happen to know chapter thirty-two, verse twenty-two? That’s a real mover and shaker.”

  The old man’s lips parted.

  “For a fire is kindled in my anger, and shall burn to the lowest Hell; it shall consume the earth her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains.”

  Sister Tulah nodded and her pale eyes narrowed as she looked up at the man.

  “Do you know what you need to do?”

  The man dipped his chin slightly to indicate that he did. Tulah leaned back in her chair and swiveled slightly from side to side.

  “Good. In the morning, then. And make sure you call him and have him meet you there.”

  Sister Tulah lavished a ghoulish grin on the old man and rapped her fleshy knuckles on the desk.

  “I want him to see it.”

  The elder bowed his head and slowly crept out of the room.

  Judah pulled a ribbed white undershirt over his head and let Ramey’s screen door bang closed behind him. The wave of heat that assailed him was like walking into a brick wall. He had cursed the rattling window air conditioning units in Ramey’s apartment when he woke tangled in suffocating, sweat soaked sheets, but now he was tempted to duck back inside and press his face against the flimsy plastic slats for relief. The sun was just now beginning to climb in the sky, it couldn’t have been much p
ast nine, but already the cracked thermometer tacked to the side of the apartment building was pushing ninety. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and then through his hair, though he knew he was probably only making it worse. He fixed the cuffs of his jeans over his bare feet and then stood to take in the scene around him: an empty street already beginning to steam in the heat, a yappy dog barking somewhere in the distance as if its tiny life depended on it, and Ramey, eyes closed, chin in her hand, elbow on her knees, sitting on top of the patio table in the open area outside her apartment. Judah walked across the hot pavement and slipped a cigarette out of the pack sitting next to her. She didn’t open her eyes.

  “You know those things are gonna kill you.”

  Judah lit the cigarette and squinted upwards through the smoke. A hawk, buoyed up by the rising heat waves, was slowly skimming across the sky.

  “When I was a kid, I thought that you should only smoke cigarettes when it was cold.”

  He sat down on the table next to her.

  “I thought it was like some kinda device to warm you up inside. Like a little tiny space heater for your face or something.”

  Ramey opened her eyes and crushed her cigarette out in the overflowing plastic ashtray between them.

  “Wow. I guess that explains a lot.”

  Judah stared across the street.

  “I couldn’t never figure out why everybody was smoking all the year round. It just didn’t make no sense to me.”

  “You ever tell this theory of yours to anybody?”

  Judah smiled.

  “I asked Sherwood about it once. He was buying a carton down at the convenience store and I asked him something about why he needed to warm himself up when it was near a hundred degrees outside.”

  Ramey turned her head to look in Judah’s direction.

  “He laugh or smack you?”

  “Both, I think.”

  Ramey turned away from him and they stared out at the empty road in silence. Judah finished his cigarette and reached for her hand. She tried to pull away, but he laced his fingers through hers and held her firmly.

  “We gotta talk about this, Ramey.”

  She wouldn’t look at him.

  “We do?”

  “You ain’t put more’n ten words together at one time since we left The Pit. I know you were up half the night sitting at that kitchen table, just smoking cigarettes and trying to find the answers on the walls. Trying to find answers that don’t exist to questions you don’t even have in your head yet.”