The Payback Man

by Carolyn McSparren

  “My mama told me us Littles dassen’t ever get mad.” He looked at Eleanor under long, soft lashes. He reminded her of the Great Dane Ernest T., whose ungainly body and sore tummy had never once made him grumpy or angry at the people who worked with him.

  “See, all us Littles is big. My mama was tall as Steve and a lot wider, and my daddy could pull stumps without a mule. Mama said if she’d a’known I was gonna be as big as I am, she’d a never let Daddy name me Bigelow Little, Jr.—but she woulda, ’cause my daddy could be right mean when he was crossed and when he’d been drinking. By the time he got killed logging when I was eight, it was too late to change.”

  Eleanor nodded. She wasn’t certain what Big’s life story had to do with his crime, but now that he’d started talking, she wasn’t about to cut him off.

  “I’m not real smart, Doc, and I pure D hated school. Run off whenever I could until Mama stopped whupping me and just let me help with the farm and help folks stack wood and stuff.”

  “The report said you got in a fight in the parking lot of a roadhouse. Were you like your daddy? Did you drink, too?”

  “Lordy, no!” Big turned horrified eyes to her. “My mama woulda killed me if I ever touched a drop. My daddy used to run ’shine sometimes, and he always had a couple of bottles stashed, but the day he died Mama poured every one onto the hydrangeas. Took ’em two years to bloom. No, ma’am. I was in that parking lot ’cause I had a job.”

  “A job?”

  “Yes, ma’am. See, Mr. Dacus, the owner, hired me to wash dishes.”

  He picked up a dozen strands of pine straw and began to twiddle it in his fingers.

  At first Eleanor assumed he was keeping his hands busy so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes, but when she looked closely, she realized he’d begun to weave the straw into a small tight circle. “Can you weave pine baskets?”

  His fingers stopped and he dropped the straw.

  She picked it up. “This is beautiful, Big. It’s almost a lost art. How’d you learn to do that?”

  “Mama taught me. Her grandmamma taught her. Daddy said it was sissy, but I always kind of liked doing it. Holds real well once you get it started. My mama’s would hold water more’n an hour, longer if I varnished it.”

  She handed him his perfect circle. “Keep on doing it. Even small baskets like this one sell for a great deal of money.”

  “They do? Seems kinda silly, little old thing like this.”

  His huge, clumsy fingers didn’t seem so big and clumsy working with the flimsy straw. She encouraged him to go on with his story.

  “Yes ma’am. I washed the dishes, and sometimes if the customers got rowdy, Mr. Dacus would get me to ask them to leave.” He shrugged. “They mostly did.”

  “I’ll bet they did.”

  His fingers began to move faster and faster. “See, there was this bunch of boys home from college for Thanksgiving, at least that’s what Mama told me later. They’d been causin’ a real ruckus, and Mr. Dacus told me to ask ’em to leave. They did, but then a couple of them come back. They was in the parking lot when I come out to walk home.”

  “Did they have guns?”

  “Yes’m.” He looked up. “But they didn’t go to use ’em. Everybody’s got guns.”

  Too true, Eleanor thought.

  “They found somebody’s coon hound down the road.” He looked straight at her as though he was the teacher and she the student. “When folks hunt over coon hounds, like as not a couple of ’em’ll get lost. Folks look a while, then they take the rest of the hounds on home and hope the lost one’ll either find his way, or somebody’ll pick him up, see his collar and take him home. This ole boy, he was runnin’ a while. Lost his collar somewheres. You could tell he was a fine hound, though, just skinny.

  “I know’d both them boys, and I knowed they was bad, and they was still drunk and mad at getting thrown out. One of ’em, he had that ol’ dog by the scruff of the neck.”

  Big was becoming agitated. His shoulders hunched, his fingers clutched at the straw and began tearing apart the careful weaving. “The other’n, he said that ol’ hound had so many fleas, wadn’t but one way to get rid of ’em. He had some kind of can in his hands, and he poured it all over that poor dog. I could smell it. Kerosene. What Mama and me used in the winter. That hound started howling and jumping around. Then the first one, he took out this fancy lighter, and he flicked it. He said if I didn’t get down on my hands and knees and apologize, they was gonna set that poor dog on fire.”

  Now it was Eleanor’s turn to shudder. She didn’t want to hear the rest of the story. Tears were flowing from Big’s eyes, streaming down his dusty cheeks.

  “See, I knowed them boys. Didn’t matter what I did, they was gonna burn that ol’ dog and make me watch it.” He dropped his head. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say, I got mad. Kinda lost track of time.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Next thing I know I’m running through the woods with that ol’ hound over my shoulder, and there’s all this crashing around and yelling behind me.”

  “What’d you do?” Eleanor whispered.

  “First, I washed that ole dog clean in the creek, then I went on home so Mama could give him a meal. Didn’t know noplace else to go.”

  “And you’re in jail for that? They should have pinned a medal on you.”

  “No ma’am, they shouldn’t. Folks said them boys was just funning. I had no call to break Dewayne’s shoulder and his arm in four places when I took that lighter away from him, said I was a danger to the community and had to be locked up to keep me from killing somebody. Said I was like Frank somebody’s monster.”

  “Frankenstein.” Eleanor could barely hear her own voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. I told Dewayne I was sorry.” He raised his head and his jaw set. “But I’m not. Not a bit. I’ll do my time, but I’d probably do the same thing again. See, they’re right. I am a danger to the community.”

  “What happened to the hound?”

  “Mama found the man owned him. He gave her a reward for finding him. He testified at my trial, said he woulda done the same thing or worse. But nobody believed me about the fire. See, I washed the dog off real good, and one of those boys—he’s the mayor’s boy.”

  “I see. Thank you for telling me, Big. Oh, and would you give me a lesson on how to weave those baskets sometime?”

  He smiled. “Sure, Doc.”

  At lunch she went home and called the number listed for the sheriff’s office in Marlton County, of which Mission was the county seat. Even if she believed Big, Ernest Portree would want confirmation. If anybody could tell her the circumstances of Big’s arrest, it should be the sheriff listed as the arresting officer. But she found out he’d retired.

  It took her some time to convince the young deputy to give her the sheriff’s home number, but eventually he did, and when she called, she found him at home having lunch. She explained the reason for her call. “Do you remember Bigelow Little’s case?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s one I am embarrassed to have on my record.”

  “Oh?”

  “See, the sheriff is an elected official, and I’d just won a real tough fight. The mayor backed me, so I owed him. But now I’m retired I don’t owe that fool or that scum-sucking hooligan son of his the time of day. Shoulda given Big a medal for what he did, not throwed him in jail for three years.”

  “So he told me the truth about saving the dog?”

  “Big Little can’t lie. Now, I’ll grant you that he broke that kid’s arm in four places—damned near tore it off at the shoulder. Don’t think the boy’s got the full use of it back yet, but given Big’s size and the way he feels about animals, it’s a miracle he didn’t tear his head off. People said his mama was a witch, but she was just a poor, uneducated hill woman who kept to herself. I used to see her in town sometimes selling those baskets of hers. Damn near tall as Big, with white hair she could sit on, and those blue eyes… No wonder folks gave her a wide berth. I’ve
heard she taught Big how to walk up on a wild doe with a fawn and pet her, but I doubt it. One of those country legends.”

  “So he’d be a good candidate for work release at a veterinary clinic?”

  “Perfect. When’s he due out?”

  “About six months, if he’s paroled.”

  “Tell the boy not to come back here for his own good.”

  “What about his mother’s place?”

  “She only rented the house and the land, too. After she died, everything got sold to pay for the funeral. Preacher saved a couple of boxes of family pictures and things up in his attic for Big, but they didn’t have much to start with. Mostly lived on social security after Big’s daddy’s death—until Big got to be eighteen.”

  “He wants to come home to visit his mother’s grave.”

  “Then let me know ahead of time, and somebody important better come with him. I’d hate to see him get hurt.”

  “That’s some town you got there, Sheriff.”

  “I know. Why I retired.” He sighed.

  The moment she’d hung up from speaking to the sheriff, she called Ernest Portree. He picked up his own phone. Eating at his desk as usual. She told him about the sheriff’s assessment and asked again to have Big on work release.

  “Give me twenty-four hours to assemble the paperwork. You get your people to fill out the forms, and we’ll let him go.”

  “I’d like to take him over there tomorrow to meet the staff, see if they approve of him. Would that be possible?”

  “Sure. Check him out and check him in. I’ll leave word.”

  “Now about Steve Chadwick…”

  “I said no, Eleanor. Drop it.”

  “No way. He’s eligible, we need him, and the next time I ask, I’ll have my ducks in a row.”

  STEVE WATCHED Eleanor surreptitiously all morning while he worked on the fences, saw her talk with Big and wondered what it was about. Big would tell him if he asked, but then the other men would know, as well. Better wait until they could be private.

  Eleanor had stayed well away from him, had refused to make eye contact, or even to speak to him.

  Last night he’d come close to having a panic attack for the first time since he’d moved from Big Mountain. He’d tried to focus on his escape and how great it would feel to kill Neil.

  This morning on the fence line he was closer to being truly alone with his thoughts than he’d been in three years. There had always been someone else in his cell, the yard, the showers, the latrines, the mess hall, even in his classes. He’d been constantly aware, always on the alert for trouble.

  But as the chill wind whipped his face, as his fingers mechanically tensioned and twisted and hammered, there were no distractions. He thought about his revenge. Once he’d worked out that Neil had killed Chelsea, had framed him for murder, had stolen the company, he’d hated the man with an all-consuming passion. And until now, when he visualized his revenge, he’d always focused on Neil’s terror as he faced death.

  Now instead he saw Neil’s dead body and Posey’s grief. She loved the man. Even if she knew for certain he’d murdered Chelsea, she’d still love him.

  Steve understood grief. God knows he faced it every day. Until now he’d never allowed himself to think of the aftermath of Neil’s death.

  Worst of all, Steve finally acknowledged that he would grieve for Neil, too.

  From the day Neil had walked into Steve’s dorm room his sophomore year, they’d shared pizza and beer, double-dated, played soccer and softball, married sisters, started a company together. Neil was the brother he’d never had.

  Steve had shared his hopes and his dreams, his innermost thoughts. He’d thought Neil had shared his. If he could be wrong about Neil, could he ever trust his judgment again?

  Facing that was hard. Letting go of his hatred was impossible.

  Or was it?

  If somehow Eleanor could believe in him, maybe he could find a way to live again as the man he’d thought he was. Maybe he could endure the rest of his sentence with equanimity. Maybe he could even let go of his need to avenge Chelsea.

  As Eleanor walked along the fence line behind him, he took his chance. “When do you want me to finish the computer program, Doc?” He kept his voice neutral and businesslike.

  For a moment he thought she wouldn’t stop or reply, but then she came over to him. He drank in the scent of her perfume—a barely detectable musky odor.

  “I’ve got my laptop locked in my vet chest in back of the truck. It’s fully charged, so you should be able to work outside the barn where Selma can see you for at least a couple of hours after lunch.”

  Selma wouldn’t detect any warmth in their exchange, but Steve realized he’d have relished the sound of her voice if she’d been reading the telephone book.

  “Hey, Doc, how come he’s the only one gets to play with your little computer?” Sweet Daddy leered at her.

  Selma snapped to attention. “Shut your face, little man.”

  “You got no call to diss me.”

  “You keep up that smart mouth, little man,” Selma replied, “and you’re gonna be on the next bus back to Big Mountain.”

  The moment Sweet Daddy had started to speak, Eleanor grabbed Steve’s arm and dug her fingers into the muscle. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Let me handle it.”

  “What’s more to the point, Elroy,” Eleanor added, “if you don’t shape up and start pulling your load of the work, you’re going to be off this team.”

  It was like looking into the eyes of a wolverine. For a moment Steve thought Sweet Daddy was actually going to lunge at Eleanor, and he thrust her behind him. Then Sweet Daddy stepped back, pasted a stupid grin on his face and raised his hands in front of his chest. “Riiight. Sweet Daddy just havin’ a little fun. Ya’ll need to loosen up and take a joke.” He picked up his fencing tool and marched back to his place in the fence, where he began to twist wire fiercely.

  Both Eleanor and Selma blew out their breaths.

  That was the second time women had forced Sweet Daddy to back down in front of the others. He was used to controlling women, not being under their command. Steve didn’t think Eleanor had any idea how serious a breach of Sweet Daddy’s rules of etiquette she’d just committed, but Selma should. It was Selma’s job to know.

  He’d have to convince Eleanor to carry out her threat and toss Sweet Daddy off her team, but in such a way that Sweet Daddy thought the summons came from someone outside the group. That way there would be no reprisals either against the team members or the staff.

  He caught Gil’s eye. Gil nodded, barely moving his head. Gil was an old con. He didn’t want any trouble, either.

  After lunch, Eleanor brought Steve her laptop.

  “Easier to work in the office,” he said. “I can spread your notes out on the desk.”

  “All right. I’ll simply tell Selma that I choose to have you work in the office. She won’t like it, but she’ll agree.”

  ELEANOR SLIPPED IN half an hour later, closed the door behind her and stood in front of the desk with her hands behind her. She didn’t want him to know that she’d intertwined her fingers to keep them from shaking. Being alone in this small room with him gave her gooseflesh. “How’s your back?” At least she could keep their exchanges casual.

  He looked up at her with those fine sad eyes of his. “The liniment you brought really helped.”

  “I’m glad.” She hadn’t noticed the touches of silver along his temples before, but now under the single light-bulb, she could see what the cropped prison haircut had disguised. Had the pressures of prison life accelerated the process?

  “When do you think you’ll be finished with the program?” she asked. “We should start entering data.”

  He eased his shoulders and leaned back in the rickety desk chair. “All I’m lacking now is a few neat touches like buttons to make the program more user-friendly. It should be simple for anyone to update or change if you decide you need additional data
in the future when I’m not here.”

  She came around the desk, so eager to see what he’d done that she forgot to keep her distance until she was practically leaning over him. She felt her heart speed up, but her voice sounded normal. Good. “I hope you made it idiot-proof.”

  “You know what they say—whenever you make something idiot-proof, God makes a better idiot.”

  “Show me.”

  He shoved back and stood with difficulty, hands on either side of the computer. The liniment hadn’t been completely successful, then. He was still sore.

  Eleanor kept forgetting how tall he was. She backed away quickly while he moved out of her way in the other direction.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  “I’d rather see a demonstration.”

  “Consider yourself the test idiot.”

  He actually smiled. One corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes danced for a moment before going flat again.

  “I may be a better idiot than you planned.”

  “We’ll see.” He held the back of the desk chair.

  She slipped into it. “I’m okay with straight word processing, but I’ve never used a database.”

  “Time to learn.” He leaned over so that he could see the screen. He’d braced his right hand on the desk, while his left arm lay across the back of the desk chair.

  Eleanor kept her eyes fixed on the screen, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her senses were filled by him, the slight scent of perspiration that lingered on his skin, his breath warm and close to her ear, his shoulder almost touching hers.

  “What?” she asked, and turned her face toward his.

  Big mistake.

  He looked down at her, his eyes warmed to gold by the harsh light above their heads.

  And his mouth…

  HE COULDN’T TAKE HIS EYES off her lips. All he could hear was the roaring of blood in his ears. He might have been speaking pig Latin, for all he knew. The room was suddenly too hot. She was too close. And those full, soft lips…