by David Joy
Aiden took the shotgun from Thad, let it hang by his side, and Thad scuttled along the floor, running his hand beneath the couch to search for anything hidden. He came up empty-handed and pushed back to his feet. When Thad rounded the table and stood sandwiched between the body and Aiden, he unsheathed an old oak-handled knife that always hung fastened to his belt. That drop-point, Queen fixed-blade was what Aiden had given Thad when he headed off to Fort Bragg. The edge could carve calluses as thin as deli meat. Thad kept the knife that way. Almost every night he swiped the blade against whetstone, never even gave it a chance to lose its edge. He crouched beside the body and ran the blade under the nylon strap lashed over Wayne’s shoulder and across his back to just under his opposite arm. Thad pulled the sling tight against the blade, swiped the knife back toward himself, severing the nylon clean in two. Only the buttstock of the assault rifle showed from underneath the body, and that’s what Thad grabbed.
“What are you doing?” Aiden hollered. “Don’t move him.”
“He don’t care, Aiden. He’s dead.” Thad yanked on the rifle and it nudged a little farther from beneath Wayne’s body. “Take that pistol out of his hand.”
“There ain’t no way.”
“Get the pistol, for fuck’s sake.” Thad sat on the carpet, braced the soles of his boots against Wayne’s shoulder and ribs, and jerked as hard as he could, as if he were trying to pull a post from the ground. The rifle slid out from underneath Wayne’s body, the upper and lower receivers and the hand guard greasy with blood that hadn’t had the time or air to dry. Wayne’s face skated across the carpet till his neck was cocked at a horrible angle, his whole torso contorting. When the rifle came free it dragged across Thad’s pants and shirt, the severed sling painting him with bloodstains.
“You’ve got blood all over you.”
Thad glanced down at himself, then settled his eyes on the pistol in Wayne’s hand. “You going to grab that gun or not?”
“No. For God’s sake, no!”
“And why the hell not?”
“It’s a suicide, Thad, and that don’t leave questions, but the minute you take that gun out of his hand, you’ve got a man with his brains blown out and no reason for it. Now, get up.”
Thad stood, walked past Aiden, and turned into the bedroom just ahead of where a bar separated the living room from the kitchen. It wasn’t so much a bar as a large opening cut into the wall. From the couch, where Aiden had sat earlier, he’d watched Wayne go through the kitchen to get the drugs. Wayne had moved through quickly and cut into a room that Aiden couldn’t make out from that angle, but that’s where Wayne got the dope from. That’s where the stash would be if he had any more.
Aiden could hear Thad rummaging through Wayne’s room, kicking at things on the floor, shuffling papers, and yanking drawers out of the dresser. Aiden only glanced in as he passed. Thad was turning Wayne’s room inside out.
The kitchen was floored with yellowed linoleum, indented square tiles framed in green with a picture of arranged fruit centered on each. The linoleum curled against blackened baseboards beneath cabinets washed with a mossy green stain. Wayne’s whole kitchen seemed eaten with green: the cabinets wrapping the room, the outlines on tile, even some ivy border running the tops of the walls against the ceiling.
On the stove top next to dirtied cast-iron skillets stacked three high stood the bottle Wayne had used to shake and bake crystal. A two-liter bottle that had the top cut off and turned upside down like a funnel was on the counter beside the stove. Coffee filters had been fitted into the funnel, and Wayne had spooned what he’d cooked into the filters to separate the dope and let it drip-dry. The filters slumped into the bottleneck, all of the liquid having seeped through since they left. The smell that filled his house was concentrated in the kitchen, all of it hovering around that stove top and those bottles. When Aiden breathed through his mouth he could taste it like floor cleaner. He stood there with his eyes watering for a second before he remembered the room behind.
There wasn’t a door into the washroom, just a doorway. The small square floor was slopped shin-high with unwashed laundry. Both the washing machine and dryer had lids opened, but nothing inside. A narrow shelf ran above the appliances at eye level on the back wall with an opened box of powdered detergent and a stack of dryer sheets at one end of the shelf. On the other end, two tall olive-drab ammunition cans stood side by side. Aiden closed the dryer lid and set the pump shotgun there, slid the cans down from the shelf. Both were latched shut. Both had the same yellow letters stenciled on the sides:
100 CRTG .50 CAL
LINK M9
BALL M33
He unlatched the first can and opened the lid against a stiff hinge. The inside smelled of dirt and rust the way clumps of bolts and screws come to smell inside coffee cans once time has welded metal together. The can was filled nearly to the brim with blister packs of Sudafed. Aiden had no clue what the medicine would fetch, only that it’d be easy to sell. He latched the can shut and opened the second.
From the looks of it, Wayne Bryson had kept his entire business inside those two cans. Aiden’s first thought was how stupid Wayne had been to leave it all out in the open, but then again, he never left his house. His business came to him and his business never left the front room, so anyone who made it to the back of the house would’ve had to go through him. At that point, it wouldn’t much matter what he was hiding.
There were two ziplock bags filled just as heavy with crystal as the one Aiden and Thad had taken. Three rolls of money, bills coiled and banded as wide as beer cans, separated the two bags from a handful of small, square packs already weighed and measured for sale. There were fourteen or fifteen grams ready to serve to any tweaker who had a buck fifty to blow. Aiden was no good at math, but if every one of those packs was a gram, and if both those bags plus the one they already stole each held an ounce, then Wayne Bryson was sitting on nearly a quarter pound of methamphetamine when he put that pistol to his head and pulled the trigger. They’d never get top dollar, but with that cash and that dope, there was more than ten thousand dollars in drugs and money.
As fast as Aiden’s mind was already running, the thought of that much money sent him into a panic. He reopened the first canister, dumped the dope and cash on top of the medicine, snapped the can shut, swung it by his side like a briefcase, and headed out the way he’d come. Thad stood over Wayne Bryson’s body when Aiden came into the room.
When Thad saw Aiden there, he focused on what Aiden held. Standing at the threshold into the kitchen, Aiden had the shotgun in one hand and the can in the other. “What the hell is that?” Thad asked.
“Everything,” Aiden said.
“What do you mean everything?”
“The dope, the money, every-fucking-thing.”
Thad stood confused for a moment or two before he recognized the look in Aiden’s eyes and knew he meant it, an excitement coming over him then. Aiden was grinding his teeth and could hardly keep still. “Goddamn Lonely Love” was midway through on the Truckers album. It was the last song to play. It was Aiden’s favorite song. Thad tore out of the house and the screen door slapped closed behind him. Aiden stepped over Wayne Bryson’s body and took one more look at his face, one more look at where his brains had blown out of him.
(8)
The jury-rigged bridge that crossed the head of Woods Branch might’ve fallen to pieces when Aiden hit it running wide open out of Wayne Bryson’s drive. The warped planks and railroad ties that made up the bridge played like piano keys under the Ranchero’s tires, but he never let off and damn sure didn’t stop to check for damage. They were nearly back to pavement when Aiden almost ran her over. He thought someone had put a scarecrow in the road when the headlights hit her. Not until she waved her arms did he know she was real.
Aiden slammed on brakes and what little bit of gravel was left on the road kicked into dust that rose and rolled
like fiddlehead ferns above them. She waved her hands to try and keep the dirt out of her face, but it didn’t help. She just stood there coughing.
They’d never met, but Aiden recognized her from earlier. Julie Dietz was one of the lankiest women he’d ever seen. She might’ve dressed out at a hundred pounds, but that weight was stretched in every direction. Her shoulders stayed curled back, arms half bent in front of her. A purple tank top that looked like it was made for a child was fitted around her chest. The shirt rode high and showed off loose skin that looked like it was melting down her stomach. She wore cut-off blue jean shorts that should’ve fit tightly but didn’t. Pencil-thin legs stabbed at the ground like stilts as she walked up to the car and placed one hand on the hood.
“Where the hell did she come from?” Thad asked.
“I ain’t got a clue.” Aiden revved the engine and lurched forward a few inches, nudging her a little farther down the gravel. They were past the houses on Booker Branch, the lights from a single trailer up the hillside the only sign of anyone within earshot, so Aiden wasn’t worried about drawing attention. He laid on the horn and Julie winced, then he rolled down the window and slapped hard against the outside of the door yelling, “Get the fuck out of the road,” but still she didn’t move.
“Hold on a second, Aid,” Thad said, opening the door to step outside. “Let’s at least see what she wants.”
“We ain’t got time for this. We got to get the fuck out of here.”
“It won’t take a second,” Thad said, and before Aiden could respond, he was already out of the car.
Aiden couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could see the way that Julie was smiling, the way she slipped her hand onto Thad’s stomach, and that shit-eating grin that immediately came over Thad’s face. His first thought was to drive off, tires spinning, and leave both of them standing there in the dust, but he’d never left Thad behind, not once in their good-for-nothing lives. No matter how deep things got, it had always been the two of them, and no matter how bad Aiden wanted to, he would not leave him now.
Julie pointed to someplace up the ridge, and Thad turned to look where the trailer lights were shining through pin oaks and poplar. She walked over to the edge of the road and Thad came around to where the passenger-side door stood open.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Thad said, reaching in for his pack of cigarettes and shaking one loose into his lips.
“What the hell do you mean you’ll be back in a minute, Thad? Get in the goddamned car and let’s go.”
“Won’t take a minute, I swear,” Thad said. He grabbed the lighter from the bench seat and struck fire to the end of his cigarette, his face lit a bright yellow for a brief moment.
“Get in the car and let’s get the hell out of here,” Aiden pleaded, but nothing.
“I’m just running up there to her house right quick.” Thad pointed up the hill. “It’s right there. Hell, you can see it from here. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Goddamn it!” Aiden yelled, hammering his fists against the steering wheel, but Thad was already gone.
They pushed through a thicket of laurel at the road’s edge, and Aiden watched as they weaved back and forth up the ridge along a game trail to where the lights were shining. The creek cut away from the road, but Aiden could still hear water moving over stone somewhere down in the woods where Thad and Julie disappeared up the hill. Aiden didn’t like how still the night had suddenly become. He didn’t like being trapped there waiting. He was jumpy and felt like he was being watched. Sounds became more startling. He felt exposed. His mind flashed to all sorts of scenarios: What if some tweaker came up to the window with a pistol? What if Julie was just a diversion, and all of this was a setup? What if the law was hiding and spotlights flashed the woods into a sudden brightness and the bulls came barreling off the hillside as if from out of the sun?
The ammo can and guns were locked in a toolbox that stretched across the bed of the Ranchero, and Aiden thought it might be wise to step outside, grab one of those guns, and get ready. He didn’t know what he would do when it unfolded, what might happen when the pin hit the shell. All he knew for certain was that he was absolutely scared to death, and he sat there clenching the steering wheel as hard as he could, his knuckles like white stones as he stared into the darkness ahead.
(9)
Halfway up the hillside Julie Dietz spun around and pressed so close to Thad’s chest that he was sure she was going to kiss him. He was about to try when she raised one finger to his mouth, bit her bottom lip, and slid her other hand down the front of his jeans.
“You sure you’ve got enough for all of us?” Julie asked.
“There’s plenty,” Thad said. He could feel all the blood leaving his head and pumping down to where she held him.
“Show it to me,” Julie said, tightening her grip around him.
“It’s in the car.” Thad smiled, but Julie just squinted her eyes and shook her head.
“You better not be playing with me.”
“I ain’t playing with you at all.”
“Exactly how much y’all got?” Julie prodded.
Thad’s mind started to go places it had not gone in some time, and for a second or two he almost forgot where he was and what he was doing. “We need to get on up that hill,” he said. “You grab that friend of yours and you’ll see exactly what we’ve got.”
Julie smiled like she knew she had him, pulled her hand back out of his pants, and the two of them made their way up the hillside out of the woods onto a scraggly strip of yard to the trailer. When they reached the small square of decking boards and stood in the porch light, Thad breathed against her ear. “Hurry up in there. I ain’t waiting much longer.”
Julie grabbed Thad’s hand and leaned back until he was the only thing keeping her from falling. She laughed and let go, opened the door, and went inside, and Thad turned his back against the trailer. He had his head to the side, ear pressed against the metal so that he could hear the muffled television and Julie’s voice.
That night in Wilmington Thad told Aiden about was the last time a woman had touched him. That had been almost six years before. Thinking back on it, Thad knew that even that night was a fluke. Maybe the girl had been looking to get back at her old man or maybe she just wanted to fuck, but she walked into the bar that night looking for someone to take back to her bed and there hadn’t been but three men in the whole place to choose from. One was Chaz Johnson, who had a birthmark that painted half his face purple, and she wouldn’t hardly look at him. Todd Cunningham, a farm boy from Alabama with muscles that carved shadows into his shirt, would have probably been her first choice, but he was head down on the table, drooling out of the corner of his mouth. That left Thad, and so he went home with her, and though it hadn’t been all that good and she passed out sometime in the middle, she was the one he thought about the whole time he was gone. There were nights he wondered if she remembered him, and other nights that he just didn’t care.
Julie came outside and introduced Thad to her friend. Her name was Meredith, and she pulled the door shut as she stepped onto the narrow porch. She whipped a long braided ponytail that hung down her back like rope across her shoulder. A loose T-shirt hung over her like a nightgown and almost covered the ragged pair of cotton boxers she wore for shorts. Her legs were welted with mosquito bites, maybe fleabites, maybe just scabs, but whatever it was speckled her shins with dark pocks. Looking her over, Thad wished he’d just told Julie to hop in the car when he had the chance. But it was too late to turn back so he just led them down the hill.
Meredith smiled at Aiden with a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth as she slid in beside him on the bench seat, her dimpled thigh nudging against his leg. Thad took the window and Julie climbed onto his lap, and he slammed the door, packing the four of them inside the cab like potted meat. The engine cranked and Aiden hit the headlights and Thad watched as Me
redith put her hand on Aiden’s knee and ran her way up his leg. Aiden turned with a look like he just might kill them all, but Thad laughed and gave a lazy wink. He moved his hand under the front of Julie Dietz’s shirt and said, “These girls say they want to party.”
• • •
JULIE DIETZ WAS down to her panties and strutted around the trailer like a lanky crane as soon as they hit the door. She plopped beside Thad onto the stained couch and crossed her legs, stroked her hand along his spine, and flipped her hair out of her face. Loretta Lynn stood by Julie’s ankles and watched her curiously.
Thad slid his license out of his billfold and rolled a dollar bill into a straw, set them side by side on the table in front of him where the revolver lay. He lit a cigarette from his pack and blew a heavy cloud of smoke into the center of the room.
“Let me get one of those,” Meredith said from the edge of a ladder-back chair between the couch and kitchen. She hunched over with her elbows rested on her knees.
Thad shook a cigarette free, just the filter extended from the open end of the pack, and offered it toward her. Meredith snatched the whole pack out of his hand, bit the butt between her teeth, and tilted her head back until the cigarette was free.
“Lighter,” she said, her eyes wide and brow raised, as if even having to ask were some great burden.
An orange Bic was on the table, and Thad threw it like a dart into her shoulder. She sneered and leaned down to retrieve it from the floor, lit her smoke, and tossed the lighter back into his lap without ever saying a word. With his face toward the ceiling, Thad leaned back and rubbed his hands anxiously along his thighs.
The door opened and Aiden stood over the threshold with his right hand balled into a fist outstretched into the room.
