In the Valley of the Devil

by Hank Early

  I didn’t remember anything else until I heard Rufus’s voice coming from above me, and the smell of old piss invading my nostrils from every side.

  30

  Rufus helped me wash most of the piss and blood off my face, but there was nothing I could do about my blue jeans and shirt, which were also soaked through.

  “What the hell happened?” he said.

  “I got jumped by Walsh, Argent, and some kid.”

  “Did you piss yourself?”

  “No, Walsh pissed on me.”

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  I looked in the mirror. My Braves hat had even been darkened on one side by piss. My nose looked crooked and hurt with every beat of my heart. My lip was so swollen, it looked like roses were growing out of it.

  “He also threatened those kids if I didn’t stop trying to find Mary.”

  “Fuck him. He’s got to go down.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think we can count on much support from Patterson.”’

  “I thought you said he was a good man.”

  “He’s not crooked like Hank Shaw was, but he’s still comprised. The mayor is tight with Walsh.” I splashed some water on my face. “I need some pain meds.”

  “I got whiskey at my place. Tons of it.”

  I shook my head. “I need to go to Susan’s.”

  “Why Susan’s?”

  “That’s where the kids are. I’ve got to make sure they’re all right.”

  “Makes sense,” Rufus said. “Then what?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to think. There was the tattoo artist who did Lambert’s tattoo. I’d already planned to pay him a visit with Ronnie the next day. There was also the warehouse that both Lambert and Ronnie had guarded for Lane Jefferson. There seemed like more, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

  “I got some places to check out tomorrow, but I’m going to need Ronnie,” I said. “You’re welcome to come along … but maybe you need to work on protest stuff.”

  He nodded. “I’m available if I can help.”

  “I know.”

  “And I’d like to think I’m more useful than that asshole.”

  “You are … in most cases, but the things I need to do tomorrow … well, one of them is going to be illegal.”

  “Shit, let’s get you to bed. You ain’t thinking straight.”

  Leaving the bar that night would normally have been beyond embarrassing, but I was still too pissed about Walsh all but admitting he’d masterminded taking Mary, not to mention his threat toward Virginia and Briscoe, to give a good goddamn.

  People cleared a path for us as we came through, probably as much due to the smell of piss as the way we looked, which I’m sure was ghoulish at best and downright horrific at worst.

  At the door, I turned around and saw Jeb Walsh back at the table with his friends, including Mayor Keith. He raised his glass at me and smiled.

  31

  I noticed the moon as I drove to Susan’s place. It wasn’t full—not yet—but in a few days it would be. I remembered what Lambert had said about seeing Old Nathaniel in the full moon, how the cornfield became a different place under the light of a full moon. Virginia had said the same thing, and I wondered if it was possible that this talk of full moons mattered in a way I was missing.

  Each breath I took through my nostrils, felt like a windstorm of pain, and my gut felt like it was bleeding on the inside, so maybe I wasn’t even thinking right, but the moon suddenly seemed important.

  “Was there anything in the legend about Old Nathaniel and the moon?” I asked Rufus as I made the turn into Riley’s nicest neighborhood, a quaint little area called Tumble Brook.

  “Not that I know of, but nothing would surprise me. Could be he got conflated with the werewolf myth. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just noticing the moon. And the people who claim to have seen Old Nathaniel all mentioned that they could see him clearly because of the full moon. Apparently, the cornfield comes alive when the moon is full.”

  Rufus grunted but didn’t offer anything else.

  Despite the pain, I kept glancing at the moon, trying to estimate how many days until it was full again. Three? Maybe.

  The GPS on my phone told me Susan’s house was up on the right. I’d called earlier, and she’d said Rufus and I were both more than welcome to stay, as long as one of us didn’t mind sleeping on the couch.

  I pulled into the driveway and stopped the engine. “When you open the car door,” I said, “the walkway will be right there. It’ll get you to the steps of her porch.”

  “You ain’t coming?”

  “I need to think for a minute.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got to get some sleep, so that’s going to put you on the couch. Good with that?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He got out of the car, and I watched as he navigated his way slowly to her front door.

  I opened my smartphone and searched for moon phases, Georgia. I clicked the first link that appeared, and a chart showed up, detailing the moon cycle in this area for the entire year. I zoomed in and found October. The first full moon was on October 5. It was listed as the Harvest Moon. I went back to the home screen and saw that today was Saturday, September 30. The 5th would be on Thursday. As soon as I realized that, I was struck by the overwhelming sense that something else was happening on Thursday, something that I needed to remember.

  Something that hadn’t made a lot of sense when I’d first heard about it …

  Of course. Walsh’s rally for traditional values was Thursday, something that had struck me as a strange time to plan an event that he clearly hoped would be big. Unless, of course, part of the point of the event was to make sure everyone was distracted …

  But from what? That’s where my full moon theory fell apart. Even if my gut told me the full moon was important, and that Walsh’s rally was a ruse, I still had no idea what either one of those two things meant.

  I sighed and started to get out of the truck. Then I stopped. It had been several days since I’d tried it. Might as well give it a shot. I unlocked my phone and dialed Mary’s cell.

  It rang three times, just as it had always done and then went to voicemail.

  “This is Mary. I promise I’ll call you back. Just leave a message and tell me who you are and what you want!”

  There was a long beep, which I knew signified her voicemail box was almost full. When the beep ended, I began to speak.

  “It’s Earl. I love you. I—I’m going to find you. Wherever you are, I’m going to be there too. Just give me a little more—” The line beeped, signaling that there was no more room on her voicemail.

  “—time,” I said into the silent phone.

  * * *

  After a shower, Susan plied me with Percocet, and I fell asleep on the couch, feeling nothing for the first time since Mary had vanished. I knew it was a risk because every second wasted seemed like it took me further away from ever seeing Mary again, but I also knew that pushing my body too hard would lessen the chance of me ever finding her.

  So I slept and didn’t wake up until nearly ten, when Briscoe began tugging on my beard and giggling. Despite feeling like I’d been kicked in the mouth and pissed on the night before, I couldn’t help but laugh too. He was so damned cute.

  I sat up, realizing I had not dreamed of the black water rising, or if I had, it was lost to me now in the fog of the Percocet. I heard voices coming from the kitchen, and then Virginia stepped in.

  “There you are. Leave Mr. Earl alone.”

  Briscoe giggled and toddled away as if he was being chased.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I need to get up.”

  “Ms. Susan made breakfast.”

  “I smell it,” I said.

  Virginia went back into the kitchen, and I sat there for a moment, trying to think. I couldn’t afford to linger over breakfast. I’d have to grab something and get out the door.

  When I walked into the kitchen, Rufus had Briscoe
in his lap and was letting the boy play with his jowls. I laughed at that, mostly because Briscoe didn’t seem to be the least bit intimidated by Rufus or the outsized shades he wore.

  “How do you feel?” Susan asked.

  “Perfect,” I lied.

  “I doubt that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “What’s the plan for today?” Rufus said as I sat down.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Ah,” Rufus said, “you’re breaking the law with Ronnie.”

  “We’re not breaking the law. We’re just going to hit up a tattoo parlor where somebody has supposedly seen Old Nathaniel.” I didn’t mention that we hoped to find out where the warehouse was on Summer Mountain, so we could break into it.

  “Should I just hang here?” Rufus asked.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Are you kidding? Susan’s a great cook, and”—he grinned—“these kids are damned fine company.”

  32

  Before going to Ronnie’s, I went by my place to check on Goose. He was beside himself when he saw me, and it made me feel guilty about leaving him here by himself. I decided that when I had a chance, I’d see how Susan felt about a dog joining them.

  I plugged my phone in to charge and called Ronnie while Goose continued to paw my leg to get me to pet him.

  About an hour later, I pulled up to Ronnie’s place.

  He met me outside and nodded toward his truck. “I’ll drive.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “You want this to look legit, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let me drive.”

  Maybe he had a point. My truck was standard issue, no frills, the kind of truck a man drove who didn’t have tattoos all over his body. Ronnie’s jacked-up piece of shit would lend an air of legitimacy to our visit. Reluctantly, I shut my truck off and walked over.

  He lit a cigarette as he pulled across the creek and past the old church cemetery, toward the road. “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “I reckon you can do most anything your heart desires, Earl.”

  “Why the jacked-up truck?”

  “You’re kidding, right? That is a fine, fine piece of machinery. It’s a Ram body with Big O tires and a salvaged hemi that makes six hundred horsepower. I can’t even measure the damn torque. Hell, that truck will crush anything else on the road, and I do mean crush. As in roll over it. Damn, I get all evangelical just talking about it.”

  “I’ll bet it’s a damn fuel hog,” I said.

  “Hey, grizzly bears are food hogs, but that don’t make them any less fearsome. You gotta feed the beast.”

  “But … I guess. How practical is it anyway? You’ve got to use a step stool to get inside. Either that or strain your back, and with you needing money all the time…”

  He looked at me blankly, and I realized his feelings about that truck went beyond reason. Trying to get him to think rationally about that truck was akin to trying to make my father think rationally about his faith. It wasn’t going to happen.

  After a quick stop at McDonald’s for some biscuits, we arrived twenty minutes later at the base of Small Mountain, where a trailer park I recognized was positioned on the side of the hill.

  One of the trailers had a sign on top that said “Tatoo’s Here.” In the yard, another sign read, “Drank Machines for sell.”

  Ronnie pointed at that one and giggled. I shook my head, not so much at the poor grammar as at the thought of someone actually coming out here to purchase a drink machine.

  We climbed down from the truck and walked up the hill. I couldn’t help but glance over at the trailer I’d visited with Mary over a year ago. Inside, we’d found two people grieving the loss of a young girl who’d committed suicide years earlier. They’d acted angry at first and then shocked when they realized that Mary and I actually cared about them and the girl who’d killed herself. It was a good reminder as we approached the tattoo parlor: the people in this community were tough on the outside, but just as vulnerable as the rest of us underneath.

  “You been here before?” I asked Ronnie.

  “I get mine over in Chatsworth. I used to fuck a girl there. But you want to find out about Old Nathaniel, right?”

  I nodded. “And how to get to the warehouse.”

  “Follow my lead then. You can act, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Can you act like a piece of shit?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good.”

  He pushed open the door slowly. It looked like a regular trailer. There was a dingy couch sitting on top of dingy carpet in front of an old television. The TV was tuned to a local station, and Judge Judy was on, talking about her lack of patience for people who didn’t respect authority. Seated on the couch was a teenage girl wearing a tank top that revealed detailed and colorful ink on her shoulders and arms. She had a sucker in her mouth and seemed transfixed by Judge Judy’s monologue.

  “Hey,” Ronnie said. “I need a tattoo.”

  The girl didn’t turn around. She just pointed toward another doorway, which appeared to lead into the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She gave no indication that she heard me.

  I followed Ronnie into the kitchen, where a man sat at a table, eating lunch. He was probably in his forties but took care of himself. He was as thin as Lambert described him, but not without a layer of roped muscle revealed by a loose tank top. Even though Lambert, had told us he didn’t have tattoos, it was still surprising to see his skin unmarred by ink. He nodded at Ronnie and me and put down his fork.

  “One or both?” he asked.

  “One,” Ronnie said. “Me.”

  I didn’t realize Ronnie had been planning to actually get another tattoo, but I was glad for it now. This guy didn’t look like a man who would take kindly to questions or having his time wasted.

  The man at the table glanced at me and then back at Ronnie. “What’s he—your daddy?”

  “No, he’s my ride. Truck’s in the shop.”

  The man at the table studied me carefully, as if there was something about me that he didn’t like. I tried to assume the role of a racist asshole and sat down across from him. “I don’t have long,” I said.

  “That truck outside belongs to you?” he said.

  “Yeah. You like it?”

  “What kind of hemi does it have?”

  I tried hard to remember what Ronnie had said, but had to guess. “Seven hundred.”

  It must have been reasonable because the man nodded, satisfied.

  “I work at my own pace,” the tattoo artist said. “If either of you are going to rush me, fuck off. Leave now.”

  “Fine,” I said, pretending to be pissed at Ronnie for wasting my time.

  Ronnie sat down. “I’m Ronnie,” he said. “This is Earl.”

  The tattoo artist nodded. “I’m Anton. It’s Russian.” He looked at Ronnie. “Got something in mind?”

  “Yeah. I want Old Nathaniel.”

  “What do you know about Old Nathaniel?”

  “I know he kills darkies,” Ronnie answered without missing a beat. He was convincing.

  Anton looked at me, smiling slightly. “You two are into killing coons, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me ask you,” he said. “How many coons have you killed?”

  Ronnie cracked his knuckles. “This some kind of requirement to get a tattoo?”

  “Just conversation,” Anton said, and that was the first time I picked up the very slight tinge of a Russian accent. He hadn’t been born in these mountains, but he’d been here long enough to replace the Russian accent with hillbilly. Mostly.

  “I killed one last year,” Ronnie said. He sounded damn confident, so confident I wondered if maybe he had.

  Anton turned to me. “And you?”

  I swallowed. “I ain’t killed any, but I’ve killed a white man.”

  Anton smiled. “A queer, I hope?”<
br />
  I shook my head. “No, just an asshole.”

  This seemed to satisfy Anton. “Okay,” he said. “To the parlor.”

  He led us to a room off the kitchen where he’d set up a cot and his tattoo instruments.

  “Where?” he said.

  Ronnie lifted his shirt. “On my back.”

  “Lie down.”

  Ronnie, shirt still up, lay down on the cot.

  Anton looked at me.

  “So many people these days are wanting Old Nathaniel. It’s like he’s alive and well. Where did you boys hear about him?”

  “Online,” I said. “And we know a guy who saw him. Said he got his tattoo from you. That’s why we came.”

  “What guy is this?”

  Ronnie spoke up. “Dude goes by the name of Pit. We go way back. Went to visit him at Hays the other day, and he spoke highly of your skills.”

  “I remember the guy. Fucking lunatic,” Anton said, but the way he said it made it seem like a compliment.

  “He said you could tell us how to get to a place we need to find.” I lied, figuring it was worth a shot.

  Anton nodded, ignoring my last statement. “I’ve seen him too.”

  I decided I could circle back to the warehouse later. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s like…” Anton seemed to consider his words carefully. “He’s like an avenging angel, come down to set the world right. He’s like a white man who’s had enough, you know? So, he puts on a mask and only then can he become what he truly is, which is more than a man. He becomes a god.”

  “When did you see him?” I asked.

  “Back in the summer. Me and some buddies heard he likes to hunt on the full moon, so we went out to the cornfield. You know the cornfield, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Lane Jefferson’s place.”

  “Right. We went to Lane Jefferson’s cornfield. We didn’t know what we were doing, so we just parked and stumbled in. We were there five minutes when I decided we’d never find him. It was a maze inside there. You think there’s going to be rows, but there’s no rows, just stalks everywhere you turn.

  “I told the boys we needed to start trying to find our way out, but one of them—I think it was Drew—pointed at a light moving in the distance.”