by Carey Lewis
“He’s not happy. Tells me he just got into his beach wear and now I’m making him put on a suit again.”
“It’s a little blinding isn’t it?”
She watched Deacon turn to Harvey, then turned back to look up at her on the balcony. Into the phone he said, “He says that’s why peacocks have so many feathers.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if his wife makes him wear that so she can keep an eye on him from Philly.”
“How’d you know she wasn’t here?”
“Because I know Harvey.”
“We’re going to take a trip to the Millers about their house.”
At least they wouldn’t be talking about last night.
“THAT WAS AWFUL,” BROOKE SAID, coming out of the rundown house. It was a one bedroom Ben Miller moved his family into. It was his sister’s house, who was just coming off a divorce. She was already sharing the single bedroom with her eight year old son when Ben showed up with his family and nowhere to go. It was little bigger than a trailer.
They sat the Millers down and told them what they needed to tell them. The house was going to cost a lot to fix. They’d take the house off their hands, offering them the same amount as a house they saw for sale on the outskirts of Rounders Bend. They showed them the house online. It was much smaller than the farmhouse and considerably less land.
“But my life is the farm,” Ben had said.
“All the debt you’re going to accrue,” Harvey said, “think you’ll make that back with the farm? You’re not even making enough from it now to pay off what you’re going to owe for the repairs.”
“This could be exactly what you need,” his sister said, trying to get the kids to play outside. She didn’t want them to see their father’s tears. Brooke’s heart broke in that moment - telling him to give up everything he worked for being exactly what he needed. She felt like a monster.
Harvey had no idea why he was saying the things he was saying, but he knew what to say. They walked out of the house with a signed piece of paper saying Deacon Gray now owned the property. The paper didn’t mean anything of course, but like everything in life, it meant something if you believed it did.
They climbed back into the SUV which was parked on what was once grass in the small yard. There was no driveway. “I don’t know if I ever felt so awful in my life,” Brooke said.
“You done with me now?” Harvey asked from the backseat.
No one said anything as they left the house, going down the roads, the worn down neighborhood, the boarded up shops, the one street light that was broken.
“It’s not like we really own the house. He’s getting it back,” Deacon finally said.
“Leave me out of it,” Harvey said. “Whatever you two got going, you can leave me out of it from here on out. I come down here for a vacation.”
Deacon turned to look at Brooke. “He’s getting it back.”
She nodded, unsure what to say. They were silent the rest of the way to Myrtle Beach. They dropped Harvey off at the Caribbean Resort where he said, “You need anything, let me know.”
“You said you didn’t want any more of it.”
“Felt like the thing to say. I take a shower and wash all that off me, I’ll be fine. I’m a Realtor,” he said and smiled. “You give the house back, you’ll probably need me to explain why they’re getting it and not the money. They’re probably looking at houses Deke, make whatever you’re doing quick. They find one they like they’ll do something crazy and like ask for the money you promised them.”
They watched Harvey walk across the street and into the hotel.
“Probably just wants to put on that shirt again,” Brooke said.
“I saw him in it, he says, ‘Guess I put on some weight,’ like that was the only thing wrong with it.”
“Doesn’t help. So what’re we doing now?”
“Now we go and kick some people off our property.”
“WELL, WHEN IT DOESN’T RAIN it pours,” Cesar said with a giant smile, watching the Buick come down the drive. Deacon got out of the SUV, smile on his face as well, walking toward him.
“You eager to get to the bank? Put this behind you?”
“You ready to show me a movie?”
“Got some errands first,” Cesar said, curious to see which Deacon was standing in front of him. His wife was in the SUV, so he was leaning toward the ball-breaking version. “But we can swing by the bank first. Get that over with, get you on your way.”
“Thing is Cesar,” Deacon said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, “I already been to the bank.” He held the paper in front of Cesar’s face.
“What’s this?” Cesar asked, snatching the paper out of his hand.
“Says the house is mine and you’re trespassing.”
Cesar was trying to read the paper, too full of rage to put sentences together. He looked up at Deacon, saw that smug TV star smile on his lips. “What happens if I don’t want to leave? You going to call the cops?”
“Think I might.”
“That’d be stupid.”
“Because you have a movie? Tell you what, you show me that movie right now I’ll give you this piece of paper. House is yours.”
Cesar smiled. It turned into a laugh. “You think I want this house?”
“We both know you got nothing on me. I’ll give you a day to get all your shit off my land. Go our separate ways, no hard feelings.”
“Or you call the cops?”
“You have video of me? I’ll say I was drugged up, try my luck that way. You don’t have video and still try to put me there? Shit, I’ll take my chances, my word against yours. Any way this goes down, you’re out of my life. The only choice you have is the one you’re not seeing. If you want to go to jail.”
The smile faded from Cesar’s lips. He looked to the SUV, back to Deacon. “You act all tough in front of your old lady, I don’t want to take that illusion from her.”
Cesar watched Deacon’s eyes move to Hector then back. He said, “I can say the same thing about you.”
Their eyes were locked, each waiting for the other to back down.
“We got a deal or not?” Deacon asked.
“You think this is going to stop me?” Cesar asked, holding up the paper. “Tell me where on here it says it stops me.” He shoved the paper in front of Deacon’s face, touching his nose. With his other hand, Cesar reached behind him and pulled the Glock from his pants.
“You really don’t know or you just can’t read—” and then Cesar struck Deacon through the paper with the gun, smashing his nose. He dropped to his ass and Cesar stepped forward and clubbed him in the head with the butt of the gun, sprawling Deacon out.
Cesar looked at the paper. “Maybe it was there where you got blood on it. Can’t read it now.”
Deacon was on his side, his arm outstretched, moving slow like he was underwater. Guy trying to get his bearings, figure out what happened.
Cesar looked back to Hector who still hadn’t moved. Then he looked to the SUV and pointed the gun at Brooke. He motioned her to get out. She did.
“You know what,” Cesar said, “this is working out perfectly.” He looked down at Deacon. “You and me going to see a buddy of yours, see what he has to say. You understand?” Deacon had his arm outstretched, afraid of being hit again. “I’m not hitting you tough guy, I need you to drive.” Deacon slowly moved his hand to his forehead, still laying on his side, moving like his joints were stuck.
He looked to Hector. “You mind watching his old lady, making sure our star plays along?” Hector walked over to Brooke and took her arm, bringing her toward the barn.
Cesar looked down at Deacon who was now staring at the blood on his fingertips. Cesar crouched down, trying to get his attention. “This is something you’re going to find important. How you act the rest of the day will determine if you and your wife get to live another one.”
THEY WATCHED THE ACURA TEAR out of the drive, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Brooke and H
ector stood there for a long minute after it was gone, watching the dust settle, seeming to drop at their feet.
“You want a beer?” Hector asked. “They tell me it’s Norwegian but I think it’s German.”
“A little early isn’t it?”
“Odd day isn’t it?”
Brooke nodded. She needed to figure out the situation, decide how she wanted to play it. Hector held out his hand and Brooke gave him the keys to the Buick. He walked up to the house and went inside.
They were done playing, that much was true. They seemed so calm because her and Deacon were in their world now. She had told Deacon his plan wouldn’t work. If these guys played by the rules of the law, they wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. When she told him this, he gave her that line he always did - “You got a better idea?”
“We can just leave.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he said. Smiling, like he was enjoying all this.
She looked back to the house and saw Hector coming out with a red and white tall-can. He opened it and handed it to her.
“We’re going for a drive,” he said and then got in the driver’s side of the SUV. She stood there, unable to move. “I can’t leave you alone can I?”
She took a sip of the beer. It wasn’t bad.
Brooke didn’t say anything as they drove away from the farm. Going down these long roads with acres and acres of farmland surrounding them. Tractors and cows in the distance, silos and barns.
“Never met a guy so ashamed of who he is,” Hector said, drinking his beer while he was driving. “Like he’s wearing his skin like a sin. Like that movie Demi Moore did, had that letter ‘A’ stuck to her.”
“Scarlet Letter?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I didn’t pay much attention, just hoping to see titties. Cesar gone through a whole Demi Moore phase. Man thinks movies the most American thing there is so he’s obsessed with them. Long time ago I get him to watch Scarface thinking he’s going to like it, them both being Hispanic folk doing the same thing pretty much. It’s over he says to me he liked the original better. Shit, I thought Pacino was the original. He tells me Howard Hughes made the first one then puts on the movie DiCaprio plays him. Man obsessed with planes pissing in milk bottles.”
Hector slowed at a stop sign and made a left. More farm land in front of them.
“I thought Cate Blanchett was good in that.”
“Man, that one’s good in anything. You see that one she plays the teacher bangs the kid? I had that kind of childhood I wouldn’t be complaining. These kids are lucky, getting to bang their teachers, who don’t want to do that?” He took another swig of his beer. “Thing is Cesar’s going on about Scarface, but I look over, I know he’s digging on it but he’s not letting himself. Like he’s embarrassed for liking something has to do with his culture.”
Brooke looked over at him, saw him lost in thought. “You taking me some place to kill me?” she asked. Better to get it out in the open.
Hector laughed. “This be a good place for it huh? No sweetheart, killing you ain’t going to do me any good. You like the beer?”
“It’s not bad,” she said, taking another sip. “I’m with you though, I couldn’t tell you if it’s German or Norwegian.”
“I grew up thinking Heineken was German ‘till someone comes along tells me it’s Dutch. Made me doubt everything I knew about beer.”
Brooke looked ahead, saw they were coming into the Historical District of Rounders Bend. Relief settled over her until Hector made a right, going away from it.
“Thing is,” Hector said, “you can’t watch movies with the guy. He’ll sit you down and make you watch it but he’s going to talk. Giving you history of the picture because he read something once or listened to a commentary. Don’t matter if it’s the first time you’re watching it or the tenth, he’s telling you the same shit every time. Man’s got to let you know how smart he is.”
They were driving along a rural road, worn down houses lining the street, spaced further and further apart. “Sounds like you’re convincing yourself to leave him.”
Hector pulled the Buick down a dirt and gravel drive and turned it off. He turned to her and said, “I’m already convinced,” then he took the keys and got out of the SUV, telling her he’d only be a minute.
She thought about running, but there was nowhere to run to. Besides, she wondered what they’d do to Deacon if she took off. So instead she watched Hector walk down the drive, along the side of the house. She heard barking from inside, the door rattling, dogs wanting to get out and protect their property. She watched Hector walk to the back of the house, into the tree line. Watched him move to the left and reach into a tree. Watched him panic when whatever he was looking for wasn’t there.
His attitude changed when he came back. He was furious. Sat in the driver’s seat, breathing heavily, his head down. And then he turned to her and asked, “You don’t happen to have Huey’s number do you? He’s not answering when I call.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CESAR WASN’T TALKING FOR MOST of the ride. That was fine with Deacon, still trying to shake the blur from his vision. It wasn’t until they got on the 501 heading north that Cesar said, “The shit you pulled yesterday I had to respect. Came out of nowhere. Problem was you start overplaying the role.”
Deacon looked over from the driver’s seat, saw a big blurry gun on Cesar’s lap, his hand wrapped around the grip. “What you got to learn,” Cesar said, “is movies ain’t real life. There’s a time and place to be putting on the act. I let you slide yesterday but there’s only so much I’m going to take. Man’s got to know his limitations.”
Deacon looked from the Glock to Cesar, his eyes managing to half focus. “You just quote Dirty Harry?” he asked.
“Man, keep your eyes on the road,” Cesar said, grabbing at the wheel, bringing the car back into their lane. Deacon slowly moved his head back to the windshield. He felt like he was in a dream. Like he was running away from the bad guy but moving in slow motion.
“You wanted me to drive,” Deacon said. He wondered if it came out slurred.
“Thought you could take a hit. Forgot you was coddled your whole life.” Cesar was looking out the window again. “That’s something they don’t show you either. Man gets hit with a gun he just falls down, knocked out. Comes to, he’s fine again, remembers everything. Maybe he’s dizzy he first wakes up, rubs his head he’s okay after. You’re finding out first hand that’s not the case.”
“Get off my lawn,” Deacon said. He had no idea why he was quoting Clint Eastwood.
Cesar looked over to him, chuckling to himself. “That’s the one he’s supposed to be some old racist. Comeback performance they said, telling those colored kids to go away. Shit you ask me, that’s a tame version of Taxi Driver. Some paint-by-numbers bullshit. Man riding on his reputation on that one.”
Deacon was trying to concentrate on the road when he felt his left eye stinging. He closed it and tried to open it again, but the stinging was still there and then he couldn’t see. “I can’t see.”
“You got blood in your eye. We’re almost there. See that sign up there says ‘Bubs Barbecue?’”
“I can’t see.”
“You got two eyes, use the other one. It’s coming up.”
Deacon kept his left eye closed and felt the blood collect in his eye socket, then slide down his cheek. From his right eye, he was able to make out colors, the green of the grass, the gray of the road.
“Slow down, you’re turning in here,” Cesar said.
Deacon slowed the car to almost a stop and turned the wheel. He felt a bump and the car rocked with a scraping sound underneath. He stopped the car once he was over the sidewalk. Cesar had him pull in a little more and then park.
They got out of the car and Cesar walked around to stand in front of Deacon. He was using a cloth to wipe his eye and forehead. “That’s the thing about cuts on the head. It’s just skin on skull and they bleed a lot. Want to he
ar the good news?”
Deacon tried to focus on Cesar. He was able to see the gold tooth.
“The cut’s in your hairline, won’t be noticeable once it stops bleeding. The swelling goes down they’ll put you on camera again.”
“I’m walking away?”
“I told you, you play this right you will. Your pretty wife too.”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Just plays one on TV?”
“Yes. Is she here?”
Cesar laughed again. “No, another buddy of yours we’re going to meet up with.” Cesar took Deacon under his arm and led him into Bub’s Barbecue Pit. His vision was getting better, he could make out blurry outlines of chairs, booths, and people. He could see the hallway at the back that led to the washrooms, or maybe it was the kitchen. There was a window in the back where he thought he saw people dressed in white back there. Maybe the cooks.
He was led by Cesar down an aisle with chairs to the left, booths to the right. He sat Deacon down in a booth facing the back of the restaurant, then took a seat across from him to face the door. Deacon turned, his legs hanging out the side of the booth, looking at the entire restaurant.
“What you think you’re doing?” Cesar asked.
“Trying to see where we are,” Deacon said. He felt the blood trickle down from his hairline, onto his forehead again. “Why we here?”
“We’re meeting a friend of yours here, I already told you.”
“I can’t see anyone.”
“You’ll recognize him. Guy likes to go around pretending he’s something he’s not. Starting to ring a bell?”
Deacon squinted as the blood dripped onto his cheek. He could make out shapes of people. There was someone he thought he recognized, but couldn’t be sure. Things were coming into focus, but too slowly. The person he thought he recognized stared back at him.
THE PLACE SMELLED GREAT, CARTER thought to himself, sitting in Bub’s Barbecue Pit, waiting for the man that belonged to the voice on the phone. He had a table in the corner, near the front, where he could look out the windows, see anyone before they came in. He held off on ordering, just got a water and told the waitress he was waiting for someone. What he really wanted was that beer he’d be having right now while his legs dangled off a fishing dock. But that wasn’t happening all because he answered a phone.
