Holding Smoke

by Steph Post

  “Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof.”

  Sister Tulah was slightly surprised that Elah had become the handler of her latest operation. She didn’t know how the Elders communicated when they were alone or understand how exactly they accomplished the tasks she set before them, but Tulah was fairly certain that one of them always served as a leader, a point man, to see the job through. To her knowledge, this was the first time Elah had stepped into the role.

  “I hope what you have heard is good news. I am a patient woman, but there is much riding on this.”

  She nodded for him to continue.

  “The snare is laid for him in the ground, and a trap for him in the way.”

  Tulah grinned.

  “Now that is the sort of information I like to receive.”

  Elah stepped back into line and bowed his head. Tulah rocked gently back and forth as she thought about the best course of action for the latest obstacle that had stumbled into her path. The Elders waited passively, their shoulders slumped, their mouths collapsed into sinkholes. Tulah finally rolled her chair back and pried herself out of its embrace.

  “A problem that was once only on the horizon has now come into focus. You remember August Chesserman, yes?”

  The responses came in a jumbled burst akin to a Sunday night filled with the Holy Spirit.

  “Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron.”

  “Because ye have forsaken the Lord, he hath also forsaken you.”

  “Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God.”

  “And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.”

  Tulah nodded.

  “Good, you remember. August Chesserman. The backslidden and blind. The apostate. Father and grandfather to our own dear Brothers Byron and Matthew, who have stayed true to our church, even if the tree they sprang from has rotted to the core.”

  The Elders never showed any emotion whatsoever, but Tulah had been around the old men her entire life and she knew the signs. The slight hunching of shoulders, the trembling of a pinky finger, a deepening of the furrows around the mouth. The Elders were eager. Their favorite prey were the ones who had thought they’d gotten away.

  “Our former Brother August has now become more than a nuisance. He has become a liability. He dares in his threats to speak out against the church. Not only against our Lord in heaven, but against me. This cannot be tolerated. This cannot be allowed. Such a blighted tree must be felled.”

  The Elder who had spoken the least so far stepped forward. Tulah could see a curl to his fingers, almost as they were on the verge of forming a fist.

  “O Lord God, thou hast begun to shew thy servant thy greatness, and thy mighty hand: for what God is there in heaven or in earth, that can do according to thy works, and according to thy might?”

  Tulah barred her teeth in a Cheshire grin. She loved seeing the Elders like this, but they would not rob her of a confrontation she had long been looking forward to.

  “He is mine, though. I need you only to find him for me. Do you understand?”

  The Elder stepped back into line, his long fingers again limp as noodles at his sides.

  “He will pay a price, but he will pay it to me and to me alone. Yet the confirmation of his suffering will be your reward.”

  Tulah wedged herself out from behind the desk and marched around it to stand ramrod straight, directly in front of the four men. She nodded to each of them in turn, giving them her final words so they could depart.

  “Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people.”

  Sister Tulah unclasped her hands and turned her back on them.

  “Go forth and make it so.”

  *

  Shelia held the wax paper bag out in one hand and shook it roughly, like it was filled with treats for a dog. Benji, wedged underneath the silver Corolla braced up on teetering jacks in the gravel lot, merely grunted. Shelia shielded her eyes against the blistering afternoon sun before stepping over Benji’s sprawled legs—the left one cocked out at an unnatural angle—and retreating into the cool shade of the Cannon Salvage garage. She stripped off her cropped chenille sweater, tossed it onto the poker table in the corner of the garage, and then stood in one of the open bay doors with one hand on her hip and the other still holding the bag. Shelia shook it again, violently.

  “Bacon, egg, and cheese. Extra mayonnaise.”

  Benji ignored her. She watched his hand shoot out from underneath the car and grope around for one of the tools scattered across a plastic tarp. Shelia huffed and glanced around. Aside from the columns of crushed cars all the way in the back, Benji’s truck and Shelia’s own Rabbit parked haphazardly around the side of the garage, the lot was deserted, just an empty expanse of sandy gravel, dotted with oil slicks and prickled with beds of sandspurs and patches of dying goosegrass. Business, legitimate or otherwise, had been slow. Too slow. Shelia tugged on her high ponytail and swatted at a hovering mosquito hawk, frantically trying to find its way out of the garage. Well, she might’ve agreed to help Ramey out with the books while Judah was in jail, but she couldn’t account for trade. What was she supposed to do, stand out on the side of the highway in a bikini, waving a sign? Benji had seriously suggested that a little while back and she had threatened to pour her beer over his head in response. That had been on one of their good days. If it had been on one of their bad days, who knows what she might’ve done. Just last week they’d gotten into a screaming match so bad that the manager of the barbeque joint across the street had come over to see if he needed to call the cops or a coroner. Both she and Benji had come out of that one scarred, her wrist bruised and the back of his hand scabbed where she’d stabbed him with a ballpoint pen. They had been arguing about the radio station that day.

  Shelia opened the paper bag, withdrew a soggy biscuit, and took a bite. She called out to him with her mouth full.

  “I saw that bottle of Wild Turkey last night. Come on, Benji. I picked this up from Buddy’s on my way, just for you. Aubrey Barrow swears by it for a cure.”

  The biscuit was terrible, but as soon as Benji scooted out from underneath the Corolla, Shelia took another bite, chewing and smacking loudly. Benji raised himself up on his elbows and shot her a look that was half-disgusted, half-grateful. She dropped the rest of the biscuit back into the bag and held it out to him again. Benji’s face and neck were swathed with oil and he rubbed hard at one eye while he felt around for his cane and awkwardly climbed to standing. Shelia didn’t offer to help; she knew better. Beneath the streaks of grease and the long, crinkled tracks of scars running down the left side of his face and disappearing underneath the collar of his grimy coveralls, Shelia could see the weary signs of an unforgiving hangover. Benji’s blue eyes were bloodshot and his mostly unmarred right cheek was sunken and sallow. He hobbled across the gravel to her, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual. Benji snatched the bag out of her outstretched hand, but did so with a snarky grin. The expression came off as ghoulish on his wrecked face, though Shelia still liked to see him smile.

  Benji opened the bag and stuffed the half-eaten breakfast sandwich into his mouth all at once, mumbling around it.

  “I’m not hungover. Just tired.”

  Shelia’s eyebrows leapt up, but she followed him inside. She slid out one of the metal folding chairs around the poker table and sat down across from him.

  “Sure.”

  She almost added that it seemed everyone who had been at the party last night was hurting, except for her, but she caught herself. Shelia had come by the salvage yard to check on their non-existent customers, but also to tell Benji what she’d overheard Levi, Elrod, and Dinah discussing in the Blue Bird’s laundry room. She wanted to wait for the right moment, though, before saying anything. And
Benji stuffing his face wasn’t the right moment.

  Benji choked down the biscuit, crumpled the bag, and tossed it into the five-gallon paint bucket they used as a trashcan. He missed.

  “I’m just tired. Damn car still leaking oil like a sieve, the one lift that was working before is stuck and yet here I am. I still got that Suburban out front to finish breaking down, too. Jesus. You see anybody else working today? Nope. Just me.”

  “And me.”

  Benji ignored her and picked at a rip in the faded green felt.

  “I barely got my own truck working again this morning. I should be looking at it right now, not rolling around under that clunker out there.”

  Shelia shrugged, though she didn’t like the edge in Benji’s voice.

  “Somebody’s got to keep the lights on. You heard Ramey last night. We’re broke.”

  “We?”

  Shelia almost groaned; not this again. It was day to day on whether or not she counted as part of the Cannon “crew,” whatever that meant. Some days, she was the woman who had warned the Cannons about Weaver, who had stabbed that lunatic in the kidney with a carving fork, saving Ramey’s life, and who had taken shots at Weaver’s men over Benji’s shoulder through the broken glass of Ramey’s living room window. And some days, she was the woman who had run with the Scorpions, who had lured Benji out of Limey’s knowing full well what was in store for him. Shelia herself didn’t know where she should stand. She honestly didn’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about it, but it did make these sorts of conversations frustrating.

  She crossed one leg over the other and snapped her head to the side as she waved her hand vaguely around.

  “You. The Cannons. Whoever.”

  Benji continued to pick at the rip in the felt.

  “I call Judah this morning, see what I should do now he’s out of the can, and he tells me to just head on to the garage. Go work on some car. He and Ramey got important business to attend to. And I ain’t invited.”

  Shelia drummed her chipped red nails on the edge of the table and Benji suddenly jerked his head up.

  “I should’ve just called up Levi instead, seen what he had going on. You heard what he were saying last night, about expanding. About really bringing in some opportunities for us. Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

  Shelia kept silent, trying to judge Benji’s mood. He was swinging from morose to petulant in a hurry, and that was never a good sign.

  “I mean, Levi can be an ass, sure, but at least he’s always been around. Always been there for me. Judah took off with that girl Cassie and then those years in prison. Then as soon as he gets back, he hooks up with Ramey. Walking around all googly-eyed for the past six months. Don’t got time for nobody else. Don’t got time for me, that’s for sure.”

  “That ain’t fair, Benji.”

  Or remotely accurate. She’d seen the haunted look in Judah’s eyes. It had been there since the first time she’d met him in the parking lot outside the county hospital. Judah had shoved her up against a van and almost strangled her for what she’d done to his little brother. There’d been nothing googly in those eyes.

  Benji glowered at her.

  “I’ll tell you what ain’t fair. Having your life ruined and then thinking you’re going to be part of something big, only to be told to hurry up and get back to being small. But me and Levi, now, we could do something. We could put something together. Something that mattered.”

  Shelia immediately thought of the conversation she’d overhead. The horse. The money. And Levi’s adamant refusal to include Judah or Benji, despite the other two almost demanding it. Dinah had said something about needing more guys for her to plan work. Elrod had insisted that Judah would be an asset and, at the very least, Benji could serve as a look out. The very least. That comment had grated on Shelia, but not nearly as much as Levi’s mocking response. He’d informed Dinah and Elrod that Benji was the last person on earth he’d tell about the plan. That he’d be sure to go sniveling to Judah about it, and Judah would just shut it all down. And without Judah, Benji was useless.

  Shelia let her eyes rest on Benji’s bent head, on his sandy blond hair, dappled with grit and oil. Least. Last. Sniveling. Useless. She’d been too busy at the time trying to listen and remember to let those words really sink in. Now, with Benji’s hunched form in front of her, she wanted to go jump in her Rabbit, find Levi, and break his nose for him. It was less than he deserved. Maybe she’d break a few other things while she was at it, too. It was clear to her, though, she couldn’t tell Benji about the plan she’d overheard. Not yet, anyway. Not when he was like this. Not when it was one of the dark days.

  6

  The cool, stale air—laced with the memories of a thousand crushed cigarettes and a thousand more spilled beers—rushed over Judah in a drowning wave, rank, but reassuring and familiar. It reminded Judah of simpler times, when the end of the day was more about getting loaded and putting the moves on the pretty girl by the jukebox, and less about just trying to stay alive. Judah stood in the open doorway of The Ace in the Hole with the late afternoon sun at his back and the dark, welcoming cavern of the bar, his bar, before him. He inhaled the air, ripe with sweat and mildew, and let the heavy metal door slam behind him while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. As he swept the bar, Judah’s gaze settled on the old man sitting at one of the scattered high-top tables, his arm curled protectively around his beer. At the sound of the door, he’d jerked his head around, almost snarling over his pint glass. Judah waited for the man’s rheumy eyes to latch on to his before he gave the order.

  “Get out.”

  Sebren Cole had been the oldest barfly in The Ace even when Sherwood Cannon was in his prime and Judah was sneaking bottles of beer out of the back coolers to share with his high school buddies. Sebren knew what it meant when a Cannon dipped his chin, growled out a command, and marked a man with that wolf-eyed stare. Still, he slowly brought his whiskered mouth down to the rim of his warm, sweating glass and sucked on the beer. Judah let his hands curl up into fists.

  “Now.”

  Sebren sullenly poured himself out of his chair, lifted his beer carefully with both knotty hands, and shuffled past. Judah didn’t bother to hold the door open for the old man, but only waited, tense as a livewire, until he heard the door bang behind him. Judah leveled his stare now at Burke, standing frozen behind the bar with a wet rag still in hand. Burke hesitated, one eyebrow cocked to see if he was needed. Judah continued to let his eyes bore into him and Burke tactfully reached for a pack of Marlboros by the register.

  “Think I’ll just go and have me a smoke.”

  Judah waited until Burke disappeared out the back door before making a move. In three long strides he was across the room, his right arm out and swinging.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  Levi, hunched over on a barstool with his back to Judah, was ready for him, of course, but Judah feinted and managed to get a glancing shot in the jaw with a wild right hook before Levi found his feet. Judah ducked and tried to spring out of range as Levi swung back, missing his punch, but looping his thick arm around Judah’s neck as they scuffled. Levi squeezed, choking Judah and lifting him backward up off his kicking feet. Judah drove his elbow into Levi’s gut, twisted around, and broke away before Levi could catch him again. The two brothers circled one another, each dancing just out of reach, but Judah knew he was no match for Levi in a brawl, and Levi knew it, too. Oh, it would feel good to begin with, slugging it out, letting everything release in the flow of fists against flesh, in the hot, blinding burn of a fight, but it wouldn’t fix anything. Put him in the hospital possibly, but do nothing to make his problems go away.

  Judah coughed and panted, still keeping his distance, but Levi’s heavy brow lifted when he realized Judah was backing down. Levi rubbed his jaw and grumbled.

  “Got that out of your system?”

  Judah caught his breath and nodded toward the bar.

  �
��Drink? We need to talk.”

  Levi looked from Judah to the bar and back again before finally shrugging his shoulders and resuming his seat. Judah made a point to keep a stool between them as he gingerly sat down, but Levi brayed out a laugh, pounding his fist on the bar.

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll get you back for that cheap shot one day. But you say you want to talk, let’s talk. Let’s get it all out. Whatever’s got your panties in a knot, go ahead, lay it on me.”

  Levi snorted and drained the last of his beer.

  “’Less it’s woman problems. You can keep that shit to yourself.”

  Judah reached over the bar and grabbed two rocks glasses and a bottle of Jack from the well. As he did, Judah glanced up at the murmuring television in the corner next to the row of dusty top-shelf liquor bottles. Judge Judy was heaping scorn down upon him from the grainy screen. The Michelob sign next to the cloudy bar mirror was still glowing pink instead of red, and fruit flies still drifted up from the rust-rimmed sink, most likely still clogged with cocktail straws and moldy lime rinds. Even the Hooters calendar pinned to the wall next to the row of exposed light switches was still stuck in time, though Miss August was favoring Judah with a brighter smile than the Honorable Judge. It was almost as if the two months Judah had spent in jail hadn’t even occurred. He shook his head, focusing, as he poured an inch of Jack in each glass and slid one over to Levi. Judah immediately swallowed the whiskey in one long gulp and gasped.

  “All right, tell me about Toby.”

  Levi glanced down at the glass in front of him, but made no move to touch it.

  “Who?”

  Judah poured again.

  “Don’t play dumb. Sukey Lewis’s nephew. Or grandnephew. Whatever. You thought it’d be a good idea to say hi to him out in the parking lot a couple of nights ago. Make some threats, steal cash that wasn’t the Cannons’, leave the kid with a few cracked ribs.”