Absolute Corruption: Southern Justice Trilogy

by Cayce Poponea

  “I understand what you’re saying, and I will take care of any child which is proven to be mine. But—“

  Granddaddy’s words, spoken to me in this very barn, right before I was about to tell Momma I was moving off to New York, came back to me. “Being a man is more than an age you reach. It’s not only doing what’s right and just, it’s also standing up for what’s in your gut, even if it isn’t the popular vote.”

  “—But I won’t marry a girl who has no moral compass, or isn’t about to be a shareholder in a relationship which would benefit us both.” I had shared with Dylan the state in which I’d discovered Keena, before I tossed her out of my house. I suspected he’d given that information to our parents, but it was never really discussed. “Just as you don’t want to see Chase end up with a whore as a wife, I don’t want one clouding the mind of my family by pretending to be something she isn’t. Keena Marshall will never be Keena Morgan, unless she manages to marry Uncle Cecil.”

  Our only uncle on daddy’s side was too much of a bachelor to marry anybody. He worked hard at his job, following in Papaw’s shoes of being a veterinarian. He loved what he did, but he loved his freedom even more. He never bothered to keep a girl for very long, using the excuse there were far too many pretty ones to enjoy, than picking just one.

  “Dylan, what did you find out about Audrey?” With Daddy, saying nothing about something was the same as accepting it. I had stood my ground, offering no apologies about how I felt.

  “Well, she’s still living in the trailer park on James Island. The manager tells me the rent is paid up, which is a new thing since she started working for me. For the last week, a man I believe is the boyfriend, Lucas Campbell, has been coming over every few days. Always raising hell, and then storming out madder than a wet hen.”

  Dylan had been burning the candle at both ends. During the day, he’s elbow deep in motorcycles and chrome, but by night, he was following the trail Momma was certain existed.

  “I followed Mr. Campbell to a house which is rented to who I assume is his daddy. A Clifford Campbell, currently on house arrest for burglary and possession.”

  “What about the wife? Amy Campbell?”

  Dylan glanced away from Daddy, taking a pull from his long neck bottle. “Currently a guest down in Georgia. She got pulled over by the highway patrol with a little too much weed in her purse.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said regretfully. A look I couldn’t place taking residence on his face. He may present himself as a hard ass, but being with Claire had softened his resolve, a little.

  “Every time Lucas stops by, he trips over something when he first walks in. At first I gave credit to him for just being a dumb ass, but then it made me think. So, I made a visit to the power company, flashed the lady behind the desk my smile, and then my badge. According to their records, the trailer had its power shut off for nonpayment nearly a month ago. Miss Audrey is behind almost six hundred bucks.”

  “Did you take care of it?” Daddy questioned in a tone, which needed no definition. We were all taught to take care of the women in our lives, keeping them safe and happy. Something I was failing to do in my own wheelhouse.

  “No sir, I didn’t.” Dylan held up on hand, a warning he wasn’t finished. “Not because I didn’t want to, ‘cause I did. But because if I had, she would know I knew about her financial issues, and I’m not done looking into her. I want to know why she’s hanging around known felons, having a relationship with a married man, but yet doesn’t have a record herself. Until I’m satisfied with a solid answer to those questions, I’ll keep watchin’ and waitin’.”

  Sitting at my desk, having Lainie’s empty office only a short walk away, was a torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone. She had left a text message on my phone while I met with my brothers. She needed the day off to handle some things. I had texted her back to see if anything was wrong, she denied it, and wished me a good day.

  Lainie and I had spoken about what had happened. I’d tried to reassure her nothing had changed, but she reminded me something really big was about to happen.

  “Austin, I grew up with only an old photograph of my dad. He went to prison three days after I was born. My momma stopped going to visit him after she got pregnant with my sister. I hated being the little girl with no Daddy.”

  I’d sworn to her, that if this child turned out to be mine, that I would fight Keena for custody.

  “Austin, this is a child you’re talking about, one that needs both parents. Don’t rip him or her away from a mother who seems to care enough to find you.”

  She was right, and I fucking hated it. I hated the fact that in a matter of hours I’d watched her go from top of the world, to broken and scared. She had been the bigger person, and stepped back, allowing me to deal with all of this. Lainie was one in a million, and I was going to prove to her that I was the guy for her. I just had to figure out how.

  Momma had called me last night, told me she had been able to pull some strings with the help of her own gynecologist.

  “Dr. Perkins doesn’t deliver babies anymore, but he was able to get me the name of one of the best in the country. A, Dr. Sabrina Olsen, fellowship trained and a leader in her field.”

  I didn’t even try to hide my distaste for Keena from Momma.

  “Austin, I’m not certain how you stood her for so long.”

  A very good question, with answers growing from being a horny man in his twenties.

  “In the time she has been here, I’ve had to tear her away from the television to eat, and take a shower. She watches the same shows over and over, not a care in the world for anything else.”

  Somehow her interest in the lives of others made dealing with her a lot simpler. When she was enamored with the goings on of the Hollywood elite, she didn’t complain about the hours I kept, or the lack of devotion I gave to the relationship.

  “She has an appointment tomorrow, not that I’m asking you to go, but—“

  I knew what she was going to say, until science proved one way or another; I had to assume the baby was mine. Including attending doctor appointments, and all that entailed.

  Never let the fear of falling, keep you from learning how to fly.

  ~ Cayce Poponea

  Rain pelted down around me, blending in with the tears, which seemed to never end. People ran around me, scurrying for the safety of dry cover. I welcomed the rain. Its downward motion taking with it the sadness that had taken over my body. The icy temperature, the only thing reminding me I was alive, and awake in this living nightmare.

  Was it a dream when I’d stood on this same sidewalk, wrapped in the arms of a man I imagined only existed in fairy tales? Stories made from the hopes and dreams of lonely women who searched for the impossible. Had I become so desperate for love that I too had created the perfect man? One who cherished me to the ends of the earth, bathing me in his love and passion for me, promising me the world only he could give?

  I had worked so hard to send one demon back to hell, removing him from my slumber where he had worn out any welcome long ago. I never expected he would be replaced by a man who smiled the perfect smile, said the words I longed to hear, and chased the darkness away with a proclamation of love so fierce, the heavens themselves admitted defeat.

  My celebration seemed premature. The battle I’d waged against Greyson was really just a skirmish, one I couldn’t make happen by myself. Today was different. Today I was bent, bruised, and in need of healing, but far from broken and defeated. This time the battle would be won. Not out of sheer numbers or surrounded by a multitude of people who could defend me against the ghosts which lay in shadows, waiting for the moment they could attack. This time, I would win because the fire, which had nearly gone out inside of me, thanks to fear acting like drips of water and slowly extinguishing the flames, was now raging once again. My will and determination rising inside.

  Today, there was nothing except the shadows, and no multitude of people rall
ying around me. The rain had clouded the sun, making everything bleak and dull. Anything I could have feared from this place has been replaced with a sorrow I never imagined existed.

  My first step landed in mud, not surprisingly since the rain had been coming down since yesterday. I was grateful Austin had a meeting with his family, a pow-wow on what to do about Keena, and the blessed event. I took the time to get some real work done. The sadness giving me the edge I needed for a client who ran a tattoo shop not far from here.

  Today, I knew he would be in the office, only feet from the desk I loved. He had tried to convince me things wouldn’t change between us. But by that statement, it was clear he already saw the change happening without our permission.

  My second step sealed the fate of the shoes I’d loved from the moment I first saw them. Austin and I had been headed to a restaurant down town when we passed a high-end shoes store. I hadn’t meant to gasp and cry out like I had. But the shoes, with their feminine heel and strap, which would wrap around the wearer’s ankle, spoke to the inner shoe whore I refused to claim. Later that evening, as Austin and I shared a desert, a man dressed in a suit presented me with a box, the shoes from the store nestled inside.

  Now they were ruined from the rain, being exposed to forces they were never meant to face. Leather may work well for cows grazing in a field, but when it is processed and manipulated into a work of art, water and mud can be a death sentence. Much like the reappearance a pregnant girlfriend does to a relationship you thought was crafted with love.

  The lights from the library cast a warm glow on the soggy area at the bottom of the tree. I’d chosen this spot to take a rest, and have a real conversation with the evil, which happened here. My clothes would be joining my shoes in the garbage container, as the dark mud and grass stains will never come out of my white skirt. Another gift from Austin, after he’d accidently left a stain from a highlighter, on the one I had for years.

  “So, Cash, tell me. Do you have an army of people you left behind, all intent on ruining anything good that ever crosses my path?” Warm tears joined in the lake which had formed around me. Maybe if I stayed long enough it would wash away the pain. Stitch up the gash left behind in my heart.

  “Was your time here on Earth so fucked up you had to dish out as much misery and hate as you possibly could?” I grew tired of the irritation of my hair clinging to my skin, and wiped it back with the palm of both of my hands.

  “I forgave you the other day, spit in your face, and then told you to go to hell. I still mean all of those things, but I want you to listen to me and listen good. I’m going to stand up on my own two feet and walk away from this place. I am going to wake up every morning, and try like hell to make at least one person smile. So you remember this,” I stood up and away from the edge of the tree, dead leaves clinging to my wet exterior. “You remember as you’re sitting in hell, paying for every second of every moment of forever for the shit you inflicted while you were here, that I will get past this. I will be happy again. It might not be with Austin, but I will be happy in my own skin. You think about that as you sit in your prison. One you will never escape.”

  Crimson Door Tattoo parlor turned out to be on the block I would have come out on, had I not been stopped by Cash. The black building looked odd nestled in the historic sections of Charleston, surrounded by various businesses.

  I knew from their web page, since I had created the damn thing; they specialized in creative alternatives for tattoo enthusiasts. The owner, Slash Dorsey, a self-proclaimed lover of nineties heavy metal, insisted if I was ever in the market for ink, to call him up.

  He had me design an interactive page where the visitor could create a tattoo using clip art, uploaded photos, or even one of the thousands Slash had available in his gallery. The artist in me couldn’t help but take a stroll through the work he had done. One particular tattoo he had created for a woman, who had survived breast cancer, triggered an idea inside of me. Before I left the office yesterday, I composed a sample, which would have meaning just for me. Selecting a passage I had read in a romance novel awhile back.

  I had convinced him to make a feature where the creator of a tattoo could have it saved to the webpage for a short amount of time, that way they would have to come to his shop, as printing wasn’t an option. We also added a feature I created as a school project, someone could just snap a photo of the item. The only thing that would appear on the photo was a picture of a scary clown, blood dripping from his teeth.

  As I opened the door to the shop, the sound of an aged hinge creaked in protest at having to work after all these years. Music filled the space, welcoming me with the fact that I had evidently walked into the jungle, instead of a shop. “Mornin’ darlin’ be right with ya.” Having spoken with Slash a number of times in the last few days, I recognized his gravely voice from the back room. He sounded like he smoked ten packs a day, and had to be about forty years old.

  On the walls were the planks of colorful tattoos I expected to find. Hundreds of butterflies and dragons, all waiting to catch someone’s eye. All of the walls were painted dark. A mix between a deep red, with an undertone of black. Light cast down from panels in the ceiling, giving a spotlight to every single piece of art in the place. On the far back wall, the area I heard Slash’s voice resonate from, was a large poster of what looked like a band.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I sloshed my way over to inspect the poster more closely. What I had assumed was a photo of the band who could be heard over the speakers, was actually a photo of a very well presented cover band. Someone had taken a great deal of time, and effort to make them look extremely close to the originals.

  “That was taken in nineteen ninety nine, the year the world was doomed to financially implode due to a possible computer error. I worked in the corporate world back then, until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Slash looked nothing like I imagined. I pictured a buff, completely tattoo covered, human wall. What stood before me was a tiny guy, with studious glasses and thin greying dark hair, which was pulled into a low ponytail.

  “Several of my coworkers walked away from the banking industry, and into the fields we loved as a result. For a while, I played with this group of misfits. Driving around the country playing cover songs for whoever would let us in the door. One night, we were playing at this hole in the wall bar. It had maybe six people inside, which was the family who owned the bar I think, when a group of guys came in and ordered drinks. We didn’t pay them much mind, until they started shouting for us to play this song and that song. Before they left for the night, they had us come over to their table, where we instantly recognized them as the band we had just butchered. They were really cool about it, even gave me this hat as a thank you.” Pointing to a display case I hadn’t noticed. There under plexi-glass was the top hat, ever so familiar, with the guitarist who played for the real band.

  “Now, that is my story of how I wound up here. What’s yours?” He held out a hand for me to shake, his candor surprising me.

  “I’m Lainie Perry, I designed your web page.”

  “Okay, that tells me who you are, but not why you’re here.”

  He had a valid question, one I hadn’t expected from a tattoo artist. More like what can I do for you, followed by it will cost this much.

  “Come on, beautiful, you look like I did the day John Lennon died. Let’s get you warm, and a little drier before we discuss any tattoos.”

  Two cups of spiked coffee and a seat near the heater later, my clothes had stopped dripping, and my teeth were no longer chattering. Slash wrapped me in several blankets, as he took care of another client. My pocket had vibrated several times, text messages from Austin, telling me how much he loved and missed me. When Slash returned after finishing his ten thirty, he deemed me human enough to discuss a tattoo.

  While I didn’t have the urge to tell a complete stranger the entire story of what had happened, I did fill him in on the reason behind the design of tatt
oo I chose.

  “Now, Lainie, I’m not one to judge, but are you upset because the man has a past?”

  “No, of course not. I’m upset because—” I paused, unsure of what to say. “Well, you see, um—”

  “Lainie, you can’t be born into this world and not have a past. But by the story you tell, he seems to have chosen you over the mother of this child.” His gray eyes were filled with truth and wisdom, something I needed to hold on to.

  “But I want him to be a good father. To have the same relationship with his child that he has with his dad.”

  Slash took my hand, still so cold, his warm skin felt almost like fire. “Being a good father is more than being married to the mother. It’s teaching and nurturing, loving and discipline, finding the perfect balance between them. Let me ask you this; would you rather have a happy, healthy child who thrives in school, sports and social aspects, yet lives with only one of his parents, while the second lives in another house and has another family there? Or would you rather have a child who covers their ears at night to block out the shouting, learning from his father how to hit the woman he is married to, instead of love her in his own way?”

  It’s funny how we buy into the commercial advertisement of how a family should be, parents sharing a last name, and living under the same roof. All the while secretly wishing to be rescued by the guy on the movie screen.

  “One last thing, and then I will place that tattoo where we discussed. The woman may be carrying his baby, but she is an ex for a reason.”

  Slash was just finishing up, when the door hinge announced a new customer. I didn’t bother to look up, as I was too focused on the mirror he had strategically placed so I could watch him work.