Jason, moaning and thrusting faster, thought about whacking her on the ass and yelling ‘Ride ‘em cowboy!’ But he didn’t have time. He pressed his chest against her back, wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. His body quaked and he grunted. Then he moaned long and loud and buried himself deep inside her.
“Don’t stop,” Rita Mae whined as he slid out, leaving a slimy mess on her quilted bedspread. She lay back on the bed and slid her hands down her stomach, frowning as he walked over to the dresser. “What about me?”
What about you? Jason thought, as he grinned into the mirror, watching Rita Mae arch her back and dip a hand between her legs, rubbing and stroking and puckering her lips, her breath coming in short staccato bursts now, her frustrated frown becoming one of pleasure.
“You’re doin’ fine on your own.”
“Fucking prick,” she muttered, Jason laughing on his way to the bathroom, where he took a leak, and then ran some water into the sink. He looked into the mirror, at the swelling on the side of his head, touched it and winced. Sure got me good, he thought, and then thought about Alvie Ross and his goofy looking sidekick.
You don’t do something like this without leaving some kind of evidence behind.
Maybe they’re not as dumb as they look.
That evidence is going to tell us who killed that little girl.
“Shit.” Jason sighed. He splashed some water on his face and neck, wet a washcloth and wiped his cock, and then threw the washcloth onto the floor.
Your boy is still gonna walk that last mile.
Not as long as Theodore Croft is in office. Jason grinned. Not as long as my daddy’s one of the richest men in the goddamn county.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Well, I’ll sure keep an eye out for him,” Callie Hopkins said.
“All right, then.” Alvie Ross shrugged and turned to Earl. “Ready?”
“Yup.”
They had been up and down the Holler, stopping at several houses along the way. But nobody had seen the child. Cindy Clark told them the same as Jerry’s mother. He had come over to play but had left right after dark.
Callie hadn’t seen him, either. And as the two policemen turned to leave, she called out to them, “Tell June we’re a prayin’ for her.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Earl said. “We surely will.”
Once inside the car, Earl fired up the engine and pulled onto the road.
Alvie Ross sighed. “This is fucked-up,” he said, and fished a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket, shook one loose and lit it.
The road ended at a dirt driveway that led up to a fine-looking log cabin sitting in the middle of a large patch of land. The structure, surrounded by rosebushes and hedges, stood out from the mostly dilapidated shacks and shanties Earl had seen spread throughout the Holler. Earl noticed a freshly-painted barn, and a fenced-in pasture with a couple of cows grazing in it, the mid-afternoon sun sparkling off the hood of a new car parked in the yard. He slowed to a stop by the driveway, and looked up at a woman who sat in a rocking chair on the front porch. She had long black hair and a dark shawl draped over her shoulders, a scowl on her face as she stared down at them as if she had just stepped barefoot in a puddle of vomit.
Earl nodded toward the porch. “Who’s that?” he said.
“Arleta Briscomb,” Alvie Ross said, and then took a drag off his cigarette and flicked the ash out the window.
“Sure is a mighty fine-looking place.”
“Yeah, she used to live over by June and Luke, poorest white trash in the county… good ol’ Black Widow Briscomb.”
“What?”
“Thirteen years ago her boy disappeared. Couple of days later her husband kicked off, and all of a sudden Arleta buys this piece of land and pays Tommy Yarborough and his boys to build that log cabin. Don’t nobody know where the money came from.”
“Maybe it was insurance money.”
“On a dirt-poor drunken coal miner? Gimme a break.”
“You ever ask her?”
“Yeah.” Alvie Ross laughed. “She told me to go fuck myself.”
“Damn fine-looking house, though,” Earl said, glancing up at Arleta Briscomb, who seemed to be staring a hole right through them.
“Does kinda stick out, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah it does.” Earl pulled into the driveway. “Well, we’ve been to every other house around here. Let’s go see what Arleta Briscomb has to say.”
Earl pulled alongside the Model A, cutting the engine as Alvie Ross exited the car. He stepped into the yard, but before he could even shut the door, Arleta was calling out, “The hell are you two doin’ here?”
“Nice to see you too, Arleta,” Alvie Ross told her.
“My ass!” she cackled.
She wore a gray cotton dress and a pair of faded-leather boots.
Earl wondered if she was just a crusty old hag who didn’t like cops, or if Alvie Ross had pushed too hard back when her husband died.
Arleta remained seated as the two policemen made their way to the porch, where Alvie Ross said, “Arleta, June Hodges’ little boy went missin’ last night. You seen him around anywhere?”
“The hell ya askin’ me for?”
Alvie Ross shook his head, took a drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out through his nostrils, eyes on Arleta as she brought a corncob pipe to her lips, struck a match off the armrest of her chair and stuck it to the bowl. The tobacco crackled and caught fire, flaming for an instant while Arleta drew smoke into her lungs, and dropped the spent match to the floor.
“Ma’am,” Earl said. “We’re just going to all the houses around here.”
“June’s worried sick about her little boy,” Alvie Ross said. “I know you’d help her if you could.”
“Why? Didn’t none of her people lift a finger to help me when my Johnny went to missin’. Didn’t nobody do a goddamn thing to find my boy.”
“Arleta, you know that’s not—”
“Vinnie mopin’ all around, driving hisself crazy with grief ‘til he had a goddamn heart attack. My boy gone to who knows where. Who helped me?”
“Goddamnit, Arleta. You know good and well John Chambers and me and a whole slew of other men looked high and low for those boys.”
Earl glanced over at Alvie Ross.
“Yeah, right.” Arleta took a pull on her pipe, and then pointed the stem at the deputy, smoke drifting from her mouth as she said, “Lotta good that did, huh?”
“Jesus, Arleta, you’ve got to know we did everything we could to find them boys. Hell, John Chambers never quit trying to find out what happened.”
Boys? Earl had heard enough. “The hell are you talking about?”
Arleta’s laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle. “Somebody took three little boys. Took ‘em and never brought ‘em back.”
“Thirteen years ago, Earl. About this time of year. One day little Frankie Stapleton didn’t come home from playing… thirteen-years-old. Next night, Arleta’s boy disappeared. Day after that, somebody took John Chambers’ seven-year-old nephew.”
“Never saw my boy again,” Arleta said, and then took another drag on her pipe.
“We never saw none of them boys again,” Alvie Ross said, dropping his cigarette to the yard and grinding it beneath his heel. “That’s one of the biggest mysteries to ever hit this town. That—” He spread his arms out wide—“and where Arleta got the money for all this.”
“That’s right,” Arleta said, scowling. “Now the goddamn truth comes out. That’s all the hell you ever cared about. If you’d spent as much time tryin’ to find my boy as you did worrying about my money, he might be here now.”
“You gotta admit it’s kinda curious.”
“Curious to you.”
“Big patch of land. Brand new log cabin and barn.”
“Fuck you.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“I gotta diamond mine.”
Alvie Ross snickered. “Yeah, right,” he sa
id.
“I do!”
“Where the fuck is it?”
“Right here!” Arleta pounded a fist against the arm of her rocker, laughing down at the policeman. “I’m sittin’ on it, you hillbilly cocksucker!”
“All right,” Earl said. “This ain’t getting us anywhere.”
“I’d think you’d have a little more sympathy for your neighbor,” Alvie Ross said. “After what you went through with Johnny.”
“Well I ain’t.” Arleta sucked on her pipe, the tobacco smoldering, glowing as wispy trails of smoke rose from the bowl. “If it’s her turn to have her heart ripped out, well that’s too goddamn bad, ain’t it?”
“The hell are you talking about?” Alvie Ross said. “Her turn.”
“Nothin’.”
“Look,” Earl said. “Did you see that boy yesterday, or last night? Do you know anything?”
“I didn’t see a goddamn thing,” Arleta said, staring at Earl as she turned her pipe upside down and tapped it against the side of her chair, sending spent ash and charred bits of tobacco tumbling down to the porch.
“Where’s Caleb?” Alvie Ross asked her.
“Why?”
“Maybe he saw Jerry yesterday. Maybe Jerry’s run off. Maybe he told Caleb where he went. They are friends, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, they’re friends.”
“Is he here, ma’am?” Earl asked her.
“He’s in the barn.”
Alvie Ross turned. “C’mon, Earl,” he said.
Footsteps thudded across the porch as Arleta stood up and followed Alvie Ross, who looked over his shoulder and said, “You don’t have to come, Arleta.”
“The hell I don’t.”
They went around the side of the house, across the yard to the barn, which sat thirty yards away. Chickens ran around in front of it, cackling and pecking at feed, ten or so yards away from a lone billy goat that stood off to the side, chewing on a sprig of grass. The chickens scattered when the trio approached the closed barn door, while inside the barn, a cow lowed, mooed and bellowed. Hooves shuffled as somebody said, “Goddamn it!”, and the loud, frantic bellowing started again.
“CALEB!” Arleta screamed as she grabbed the wooden door handle. “GODDAMN YOU, CALEB!”
“Oh shit!” a child’s voice called out from inside as Arleta yanked the handle, the hinges groaned and the door swung open, revealing a young man standing behind a cow, grinning sheepishly, pants around his ankles as his stiff cock swayed before him.
Still bellowing, the wide-eyed cow shuffled sideways, knocking over an upside-down wooden bucket as he shambled away from the boy.
“My God!” Earl said, as Alvie Ross huffed out a laugh, and Arleta let loose an anguished cry, “CAAALEB!”
Caleb pulled his pants to his waist and dashed across the barn, up a makeshift ladder into the hayloft, while Earl stood dumbfounded, and Alvie Ross shouted, “Caleb!”
“Get out!” Arleta yelled.
“Caleb!” Alvie Ross called out. “We wanta ask you some questions!”
“Get out!” Arleta screamed.
“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no Jerry Hodges!”
Earl put a hand across his mouth to hide the grin spreading across his face, and Alvie Ross walked over to the ladder, shaking his head and smirking as he grabbed its sides and started up.
“YOU CAN’T COME UP HERE! DON’T LET ‘EM COME UP HERE, MAMA!” A fistful of hay appeared at the ladder’s top. Caleb, laughing, hurled it at the deputy.
Arleta screamed, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BARN!”
Earl, shrugging his shoulders, nodded toward the open door.
“Damn, Arleta,” Alvie Ross said, as he stepped down, grinning. “You need to get that boy some trim.”
“GO, GODDAMN YOU! NOW!” Arleta shrieked, drawing a chuckle from Alvie Ross as he followed Earl into the barnyard.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I still can’t believe it,” Vernie Borders told her cousin while standing in line at the Dime Store.
Katrina sadly shook her head. “God bless her soul. And Jason and Tony’s, too.”
Vernie had bumped into Katrina while shopping for a new shirt for Paul Jr. He would need one for the funeral, and a new pair of shoes, maybe. The funeral. Whenever that was going to be.
“Why would God take them little babies?” Katrina asked her.
“He didn’t. That no good creep she was married to took ‘em. Killed Missy, too.”
“You know what I mean. Why would He let it happen? My God what them boys must’ve gone through.”
Vernie took hold of Katrina’s hand and gripped it tightly, tears welling in eyes already puffy and rimmed red from crying. “It’s not for us to understand His mysterious ways.” A single tear rolled down Vernie’s cheek as she continued, remembering her childhood on Ward Rock Mountain, all the times she and her brothers and sisters had spent gathered around their mother and grandmother, the wisdom imparted. “We cannot know God’s plan, or why He permits these things to happen. We’ve got to have faith there’s a reason for what He’s a doin’.”
“No, Vernie. There ain’t no reason for this. There can’t be.”
“Yes, cousin. There is. I know in my heart, God has a plan for Missy.”
“You ready, Katrina?” the woman behind the cash register said.
* * *
What a difference a day makes, Fraley thought, and then muttered, “No shit” under his breath, while he stood in the lobby watching Amy Farrell count out some bills and hand them to Lester Hayes. Beside her, Cathy Brooks punched the keys on her adding machine and flipped open a green, clothbound ledger. He had heard his father say those words many a time after a particularly bad event had occurred, and the dawning of a new day had brought a fresh set of opportunities his way. And no truer words could ever have been spoken on this day. Yesterday all hell had broken loose, the bank wiped out, the town devastated, Amy and Cathy terrorized, Cathy damned near raped right in front of him. Fraley, thoroughly depressed, had spent the evening lying on the couch in his living room, an icepack pressed to his battered and beaten face while his wife paced nervously back and forth, wringing her hands. Finally, around ten o’clock, someone rapped on the front door, and Marjorie Fraley ushered the tired-looking sheriff into their living room.
And now the money was back where it belonged, sorted and segregated into neat little stacks on shelves in the bank’s vault, and those three bastards were where they belonged: stretched out in the basement of Ezra Butcher’s funeral home.
What a difference a day makes.
He felt better this morning. Just knowing the money was back made a huge difference. His knee, which Doc Fletcher had pronounced ‘bruised but not broken’, had started to come around. Though his face was still a painful mess, he’d opened the bank with a smile, one that had grown wider when the girls showed up for work.
Fraley heard an engine rumble up to the curb. He walked over to the window, nervous, even though he knew there was nothing to worry about, not really. The robbers were dead and gone, their old jalopy abandoned over in Weaver’s Creek. He looked outside, smiling when Henry Walker got out of his truck and shut the door behind him.
Quickly as he could, he made his way to the sidewalk, calling out, “Henry!”
Walker turned, smiling when he saw Fraley waving at him. “I’ll be damned.”
“Thanks a lot, Henry, for what you did. Taking me over to Doc Fletcher’s, staying there and making sure I got home all right.”
“My pleasure,” Henry said, and then walked over and shook hands with the banker. “Didn’t think I’d see you around for a while.”
“Heh.” Fraley grinned, wincing as a twinge of pain crept up his jaw. “Felt better this morning. A lot better.”
“I’ll just bet you did,” Henry said, giving him a friendly pat on the back. “Gettin’ that money back didn’t hurt none either, did it?”
“Felt damn good is what it did.” Fraley smiled. Even though ther
e was over two thousand dollars missing when he tallied up the loot, it still made him feel mighty good to sock what he did get back into the vault. “Where you going?”
“Aw, just gonna walk around town a bit. I get a little cabin fever sometimes, all cooped up in the gas station.”
“Hell, I’ll walk with you. I’ve been cooped up a little today myself.”
They started up Main Street, side by side. An old car rumbled by, and Henry raised a hand and waved. “Hey, Freddie boy!” he called out as the car went past them. A door opened on their left and an elderly woman walked out of Jacobi’s Jewelers, sunlight sparkling and glinting off the glass door as it closed behind her, and the smiling woman said, “Hi, Mr. Fraley.”
“Hiya, Sylvie,” Fraley said, smiling as she stepped off the curb and shuffled across the street.
The two men walked behind a car waiting at a stop sign at Second and Main, and then crossed the street. When they were back on the sidewalk, Henry said, “I reckon you heard about Missy Thomas.”
“Jesus,” Fraley said. “What a tragedy. Ezra Butcher told me about it this morning when he came into the bank.”
“Poor old Ezra. He’s got six bodies over there.”
Fraley sighed and shook his head. “What a way to make a living. He said Missy was beat so bad he barely recognized her. Doesn’t know if he’ll be able to make her right for the funeral or not… and those poor little boys.”
“I know. Just think about Ezra Jr. and Charlie. They had to lift their bodies and carry ‘em down to the hearse, and then lay that young mother and her babies out on a cold slab of steel in the funeral home. And do God only knows what to them.” Henry paused. “Look at that,” he said, and held his arm out. “Goosebumps runnin’ up my arms just thinkin’ about it.”
Henry and Fraley stopped for a moment, Fraley looking out at the cars going up and down Main Street, and then glancing down at his watch. It was four o’clock. “They know who done it yet?”
“Huh?” Henry turned to face him.
“Who killed them.”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
Lord of the Mountain Page 17
